There Is No Alternative - Day 13: Steel rosaries

It is highly probable that the lockdown that started this Friday prevented me from perpetrating my zina. Finally, I got dearly attached to those exquisite, non intrusive manners of my banlieusard lover, named after that old Arabic poet Ibn Mamar who loved Busaina. The only love affair of those last 15 years, and who knows, maybe the last love affair of my life. At least it provides me with a good recollection, even if it is only of those avid kisses the first time he came chez moi. 
As I said, it is the religion that tears us apart, so that I hesitate on the brink of committing my zina, for the first and only time in my life. Perhaps it would be easier if we lived in the Bedouin Arabia, in the time of Jamil and Busaina. But it is the Parisian banlieue, 15th century Hijri, and I am afraid of disillusionment. I got too much used to those extra sophisticated erotic gadgets that my husband sends me through the Amazon to enjoy an intercourse with a live man. The thing would be obviously too short and of too little excitement, and it would cost me my religion. 
On the other hand, the events in Poland cause me a creepy sensation. As if my zina could put me in a real danger of unwanted pregnancy. It is not like this, of course, I have my pills and my condoms and my right to abortion granted by my religion and entirely covered by my medical insurance. But it brings me bad memories, the memories of my youth, of that creeping anxiety I used to experience as a young woman. 
I was 21, if I calculate correctly, when the abortion became illegal in Poland. And even when it was legal, oh, how much abuse, how many traumas I could bring to my narration. We never felt safe, me, my mother, whoever. Certainly, now, as I am 48, the probability I might ever become pregnant in my life slowly goes down to the round zero. But I lived all my womanly life in the shadow of Polish fundamentalism. Only now the women of my country are awaken from that long slumber. Awaken only to see their rights shrinking. 
I do not believe in the victory of this Polish revolution. To the contrary, I follow with increasing preoccupation the growth of violence against women. Those fascist boys of Poland got an explicit permission to attack, an invitation. They have metal bars and steel rosaries. They are told to "defend their churches" against the protesters that are explicitly qualified as "satanic".
There is an abysmal difference between my religion and their religion. Perhaps because mine creates those smoothly mannered, non intrusive men who kiss avidly and keep telling me: Tu n'es pas obligée... And of course, this is what creates the biggest temptation of all.