“Mama, did you know that when a mother goose sees a fox, she pretends to have a broken wing? She flaps and splashes away into deep water, so the fox follows her and drowns while her chicks hide all safe. Isn’t that brave?”

“I did not know that,” Pari said. She beamed as Alemi ran ahead of her in the wooded park that flanked the suburb’s sole shopping mall. 

“I saw it on the nature channel; it’s my favourite.” Alemi slowed down and caught his mother’s hand. “But why do the foxes follow the goose with the broken wing every time? They must be stupid!”

“They must be — everyone knows that you shouldn’t mess with mama geese; we’re the cleverest creatures on the planet.”

“You’re not a goose! Silly mama!”

“No, but I am your mother, and don’t you forget it,” she teased, pulling him into a hug. Alemi squirmed from her grasp and scampered away with the boundless energy of an eleven-year-old, his body all knees and elbows. Pari rejoiced in his freedom, though she knew that he missed the communal TV in the refugee centre, tuned to endless reruns of wildlife documentaries.

Pari and Alemi were on their way to the mall. Their papers had finally come through – they had new names, money and their own place to live. Alemi was looking forward to starting school; he dreamed of being a scientist, of understanding the natural world. Pari hoped the teachers were ready for her son’s insatiable curiosity.

A breeze shook the park’s cherry trees and showered her with petals. There were other mothers in the park, enjoying the first warm day of spring with their children. Pari smiled, savouring a moment of peace. She was looking forward to shopping. Her first purchase as a free woman had been a burka, practical and modest. Today she would get soft underwear and Alemi would get the new trainers he’d been coveting. She had resolved never again to endure the humiliation she’d felt when picking through the bales of worn garments that the aid agencies had supplied. 

She put her hands in her capacious pockets and fingered the contents, comforted by the smooth shapes she felt there. She had everything that she needed to build a new life. There would be no going back, to the refugee camp or to the life they’d known before, with Tariq, Alemi’s father and leader of an extreme Jihadi encampment.

The mall was a low concrete building, constructed in 1970, when regional shopping centres were a new thing. Today it was part of Paris’ dreary fringe, a world away from the glittering galleries of Lafayette in the city centre. The red “Discount” posters splashed over the windows drew attention from the cracked walls and chipped signs. A bored security guard sat by the entrance. Alemi ran through the doors eagerly: the shabby mall was a thrilling bazaar full of treasures that had been denied him during their exodus.

Pari looked around as she stepped inside, blinking quickly to adapt her eyes to the shade. Vigilance was a hard habit to break; after all, it had kept them alive during the dangerous and squalid journey from Libya to France the previous year.

The mall was busy that morning, mainly women, some in veils, others in Western dress. Then she saw the men. They were sitting at a table outside the mall’s cafe and seemed to be laughing over a coffee. But Pari noticed that they were alert, eyes darting from the security cameras to the guard at the entrance.

She knew those men, not by name but by type; they were there to cause trouble. She had a keen ability to assess people, a talent that her husband had been quick to exploit. She’d been studying psychology at Princeton University when she met Tariq. He was charming, with a fierce intelligence to match hers. They were married within the year then moved back to North Africa after graduation. He soon became a Jihadi leader. She became responsible for taking care of the many impressionable young women that flocked to the cause, helping their transition to the austere and disciplined life of the camp. Pari became powerful and skilled, but her status was secured when she gave Tariq a son to become his successor. As Alemi grew, Tariq proudly talked of his ambitions for Alemi, of how his son would become a great leader.

Pari’s could not have imagined how she would be challenged and changed by her overwhelming love for her son. She tried to be a good wife to Tariq, but her son’s needs called to her more strongly every day. It had come to a head when Alemi was seven years old and fascinated with the world around him. He had run to her, clutching something in his hand…

“Mama, look, a new beetle. Can we look him up in the book?”

“Hush, child, maybe later.” She’d looked around anxiously. Books were forbidden, but she’d confiscated a nature book from one of the recruits and hidden it for Alemi. “Maybe you can draw it in your notebook, then we can look it up later.”

Alemi had run towards their quarters, just as Tariq emerged through the door.

“What have you got there, son?”

“I have a new beetle. Did you know that there are different beetles for everything? They even eat poo! If we didn’t have beetles, the world wouldn’t work!”

“Let me see the beetle.”

Alemi had handed it over. Tariq crushed the insect in his fist.

“You have no time for beetles. You must learn how to fight, how to lead. Everything we have comes from God and it is blasphemy to say that beetles make this world. Do you understand?”

Pari had seen Alemi open his mouth to argue, but she caught his eye, hoping that he would read her warning.

“Yes, Papa,” Alemi had replied.

Tariq had ruffled his son’s hair and turned away to inspect the camp. He called his son to follow him. Only Pari had seen the tears shimmering in Alemi’s eyes. She was filled with rage. She had been naive to think that Alemi would have the opportunities that she and his father had enjoyed. He would never have an education or go to university or travel for anything other than to cause terror. The only option available to him was to fulfil his father’s savage ambition. Her rage had cooled into hard, icy determination; her son wanted more; she would give him more. She planned their escape, propelled by the innocent light of Alemi’s dream to become a naturalist.

Pari shook her head; this was no time to be dwelling on the past. The men at the cafe were now watching the mall’s entrance. There was a third man standing outside. The grubby glass blurred her view, but she’d know that face, those mannerisms, anywhere. It was Tariq. 

She looked around the mall – Alemi was nowhere to be seen. She strolled carefully from shop to shop, peering through the open frontages, trying not to run and betray her dread. She had sensed that the men were not in a rush – if they had time, she had time.

She found Alemi at the back of a sportswear shop. She sat him on a low bench and handed him a pair of trainers to try on while she checked her surroundings. Alemi was well hidden behind the racks of clothes and wire bins full of basketballs.

Pari took a deep breath and planned her next move, her thoughts clouded by concern. Why was Tariq here? She couldn’t believe that she was his target after the care she’d taken to cover her trail. She’d used every skill she possessed to escape from Libya, breathing a little easier with each border they had crossed. She’d taken the chance to vanish when the crowded fishing boat carrying them over the Mediterranean had capsized, tossing them into an uncaring sea. The rescue teams found a handful of survivors on an Italian beach, along with the many misshapen bodies of women and children battered by the waves. The death of children attracted the reporters. Pari had been quick to tell the authorities that two of the bodies belonged to an infamous Jihadi wife and her son; the news of their apparent death would soon filter back to Tariq.  

“No, mama, it doesn’t fit.” Alemi’s whining voice pulled her back to the present. She’d just seen the men move towards the mall entrance and had grabbed a pair of infant’s sneakers without thinking.

“Shush shush. I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for some sneakers of the correct size.

The sound of the first shot shocked her, even though she had known it would come. She grabbed Alemi, who looked frightened but resolute.

“You must hide, like before, remember?”

Alemi nodded silently. This was a game he played well; their survival had depended on it. She pointed at a display bin full of basketballs. He jumped in and squiggled down until he was hidden. She piled the last few balls over him.

Satisfied that Alemi was invisible, she made her way to a doorway at the back of the shop; it opened into a storeroom with a set of concrete steps that led upwards. She ran up the stairs and emerged onto a flat roof with a grubby glass skylight, which gave a view of the atrium below.

She peered down carefully. The mall’s security guard lay unmoving. She assumed he was dead. One gunman was watching the entrance while the other rounded up people from the shops. There was no sign of Tariq. She guessed that he was outside, watching the action unfold. He had always liked to run “practice” attacks with the least capable, most disposable of his recruits. She frowned. The men held too few hostages.

She heard a whimper behind her. Scores of staff and shoppers were cowering int the emergency doorways. They’d flocked to the roof at the sound of the first shot. Two narrow ladders led down from the roof, an escape of sorts, but the people were frozen, frightened of drawing attention to themselves. 

Pari turned away from them and peered through the skylight again. The men were shouting and bludgeoning their kneeling hostages. The sun emerged from behind a cloud. As the skylight’s facets focused its rays on the tableau below, Pari made a decision. She tapped the skylight hard and screamed. She saw one of the gunmen signal urgently to his companion, who ran to the nearest stairwell.

As the terrorist burst through the door to the roof, Pari threw herself onto the ground and begged for her life, her burka flapping as she shook her arms in supplication. The gunman looked at her in contempt then dismissed her, looking for better hostages. As he turned away, she took a gun from her pocket and shot him squarely in the back. He dropped instantly; she dropped near him and lay still.

The sound of the shot galvanised the people on the roof. They panicked and ran in circles, desperately looking for shelter. Drawn by the noise, the second gunman burst onto the roof. He fired a volley of shots into the crowd; in the gap he’d created, he saw his companion’s body, and that of a woman, her burka fluttering in the breeze. He did not see Pari’s gun as she shot him in the head.

Pari leapt to her feet and shouted at the people to flee. The crowd pushed eagerly towards the escape ladders. In the confusion, she ran back down the stairs to the sportswear shop.

“Alemi?” she cried softly.

Basketballs flew out and bounced towards the atrium as he leapt from the bin. The movement startled the kneeling hostages, who charged to the mall’s entrance and pushed through the door. Armed police greeted them. Pari realised that she could never leave the mall quietly through the frenzied mob of police, hostages, and onlookers at the front door. There were already hordes of TV crews there, keen for a scoop on the city’s latest terrorist attack.

She led Alemi to the roof, intending to join the confused mass of people milling around the escape ladders, but as she scanned the park below, she saw Tariq. He was coldly observing how the security services were being deployed. She cursed the cruel destiny that had brought them all to this place.

She thought quickly. She concealed her gun in the wide sleeve of her burka and ran back to the stairs leading down to the sportswear shop. She fired a shot down the stairs, hoping that the sound would draw the police’s attention into the mall. The crowd on the roof was frenzied by the noise and rushed for the escape ladders. She grabbed Alemi and pushed people out of the way until they were safely on the ground, where a few paramedics were being overwhelmed by frightened survivors.

On the ground, Pari pushed through the crowds until she reached the edge of the park, She looked over to where Tariq was watching the action around the mall’s entrance. She turned away, hoping to escape while everyone was distracted, but she stopped suddenly. Maybe this was not cruel fate, maybe Allah was giving her the opportunity to free her son forever. She thought of the mother goose, the risk was appalling, but if this fox was killed, they would have peace forever. 

She whispered to Alemi, “Walk to the edge of the park, don’t run, I will meet you there soon.”

Pari limped toward Tariq, keeping her eyes downcast and willing herself to move slowly. He was still absorbed in the action. The police were moving into the mall while crowds of survivors and onlookers ran in every direction. 

Pari drew closer, muscles trembling as she strained not to alarm Tariq’s quick reflexes.

“Please, sir, can you help me?” she pleaded, clutching her chest and limping nearer.

Tariq glanced at her, unwilling to interrupt his surveillance, but then he glanced again. As his eyes widened with recognition, she shot him three times in the chest. 

In the chaos following the gunshots, Pari ducked down, quickly stripping off her burka to reveal Western clothes beneath. She had never lost the habit of being prepared, of carrying everything she needed for flight. She shook out her long hair and dashed back to where Alemi was waiting.

Pari held Alemi’s hand as they strode briskly through the park, occasionally looking back, like curious bystanders. When they reached the trees, Alemi pulled free and skipped away from her, exuberantly kicking through drifts of cherry blossom with his new trainers. Her heart burst with joy at his resilience. Mama goose rolled her shoulders, releasing the tension she’d held there for so many years. She spread her arms wide and ran after her son, her wings unscathed, her exultant laughter filling the air.

– Alex Grey

Author’s Note: This story was inspired when I witnessed a goose flapping around, pretending to be injured, in order to draw a fox away from her vulnerable goslings. The fox soon got into trouble in the river current, though on that occasion he managed to swim to safety. Don’t mess with moms of any species, they’re fierce!