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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Virginity test


Responding to a knock at my door, I noticed a tall dark skinned man wearing a turban. He was smiling, revealing a mouthful of pearly white teeth. In his hands, he held a manilla envelope. By the look of it, it was packed full of money. Hundred dollar bills it looked like.

Normally, my redneck instincts would kick in and I would just blow this guy off. No we don’t want any. No wait, does India have a Reader’s Digest Giveaway? Maybe it’s my lucky day.

I had the feeling that I was fixing to get paid for something, I had to find out what for.

He said that his name was Amad. He apologized for intruding then said that he had a problem that he had just prayed over. Passing my mailbox, he noticed the letters H H H. Since he was Hindu, he took that as a sign from God Almighty. The answer to his prayer.

He said that he and his sister are Hindu, they live in India. She wants to marry a man in Pakistan, he is a Muslim, of another faith. Tribal laws being what they are, their marriage present a dilemma.

Oh oh, here we go, I thought. Running Bear and Loving White Dove. Only these Indians were of a different tribe. Not convinced about his story, I looked out the window at my mailbox. The numbers were old and peeling. At first glance, the original 11248 did look more like H H H. An honest mistake. Maybe.

I explained to Amad that the numbers were misleading. They were old, faded and peeling. He replied, “Oh, I thought those were your initials and took it as sign from God that you were the man to help me with my problem.”

Now I’ve taken a lot of ribbing over the years about my initials. After all since my name is Mike Frailey, the names I’ve been called weren’t Massey Ferguson. When I told him that my intials were MF, he smiled and said, “That’s even better.”

He went on to explain that his sister had gone to school in America. She met and fell in love with a boy from Pakistan. Even though they were of different faiths, they wanted to get married.

At first, both families were against it. They relented though, only slightly if certain conditions were met. First, her family would only allow it if they were married in a Hindu ceremony in India. His family required a dowery on her part, to be paid up front before the wedding. Since she had gone to school in America, his family required that she take a virginity test. If she failed this test, the money would be forfeited and the marriage called off.

Wow, I thought. This is getting more interesting by the minute. First an envelope full of cash, then a story about a Hindu marrying a Muslim and now a virginity test.

I guess this story about Indians needed a cowboy because here he was, standing in my doorway. I didn’t know if he was appealing to me for advice or wanted some active participation on my part.

“Okay,” I said, “Just where do I fit in?”

He came back with, “We need some one to deliver the dowery and to administer the test.” In my mind, there’s only one way to do a virginity test. Before I had time to ask just how am I supposed to do a virginity test, he explained. “It’s very simple, in a room of privacy you just stick two fingers in about two inches. If she is a virgin you will feel the wall of the hymen. This you can then declare and the ceremony will continue.”

This story keeps getting deeper. I asked then, “What if there isn’t a hymen? I mean she’s been to school in America. There’s a different set of values here, rather than there.”

Amad went on to say that the wedding would be called off, the dowery would forfeited and the bride returned to her family.

Alright. This seems simple enough I thought. Maybe I should count that money and see just what we’re talking about. After all, something seems fishy. Why do they need me?

I asked him, “Hey, why do ya’ll need me. I’m, a Christian? India and Pakistan is a long damn way. I don’t even have a passport.

He said that they needed someone who was of neither faith, an in betweener so to speak. A person that didn’t have a stake in the outcome. He said that he was a diplomat, that I could accompany him as an attache without the need of a passport.

This seemed like a suicide mission if ever there was one. What is she wasn’t a virgin, His family would keep the money and the wedding would be off. Her family would be seeking vengeance. I would be the one to blame. After all, they aren’t going to harm their own daughter, are they? Suddenly, I didn’t feel so lucky.

The more he talked, the more he seemed familiar. I asked him if he was the guy that’s been calling me about my truck warranty. At this, he just laughed. I had a feeling that he knew what I was talking about. Then he said, “Oh, you drive a truck, that is good.”

That’s when I recognized his voice.

I said, “Hey ain’t you the guy on the phone at the Suicide Hotline?” I think I recognize your voice.”

He said, “Yes, that is a function I sometimes perform. Just how did you recognize my voice.?”

I told him that, “A few weeks ago, before Christmas, I was down and out, I called the Hotline to listen to a reassuring voice. When I mentioned that I was thinking about killing myself, you said, That’s good, can you drive a truck?”

I’ve got to replace those numbers on my mailbox.

Submitted: January 05, 2021

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