A Brighter Fear (15 page)

I slept fitfully. I remember waking, feeling too hot, waking again, feeling too cold. I remember hearing footsteps and tears, mumblings of others dreaming, heavy sighs upon them waking.

But for me there were no dreams. Not of Aziz, not of money, and not of trucks or boats or new countries. No decisions arriving subconsciously into my brain, delivered by a messenger who knew better what to do than I did.

I had a day. One day to get the money. One day to give it.

One day before I left.

Or one day to save Aziz.

By the time the sun had set on that day, I could be gone. And Aziz could be dead. Or I could be at home. And Aziz could be alive. There was no choice when it was said like that. No decision to be made. How could I even contemplate leaving?

But would they really kill him? I wondered how much money Hana had already. And she had the rest of the day to find more. And Saad and Fatima would help. Surely? Wouldn’t that be enough?

My mind swam back and forth with indecision. I wished I could talk to someone. Talk it over with someone. With Layla? But no, I couldn’t burden her with all that. After not seeing her for so long, to turn up on her doorstep with that? I couldn’t do it.

I waited a few hours, until Hana was up and friends were with her. I told the oldest child I wouldn’t be long, told him not to mention that I’d gone, and I slipped out of the house.

I had thought about where I must go, what I must do and what I must say, but now, I felt at a loss. I was scared. It wasn’t safe, and the chance that I wouldn’t return home again was very real. Could I really do this?

I headed for the gas station, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’d be there again. I remembered that day, that meeting. Not the first. But the first that I could remember with fondness; my hands shaking as I passed him some chai, those bright blue eyes searching into mine. Those first moments, those first words, a sparkle of something I hadn’t felt in so long, of friendship, of hope. And as I bungled along with my abaya over my body and my hijab over my head, without much of a plan other than of finding him, I thought of everything that had happened since that meeting.

I kept my head down as I turned the corner, excitement daring to lift in my chest. And I waited as long as I could before looking up, keeping that feeling alive, but when I did, when my eyes scoured through the dust, and the cars, and the people, there were no troops, there was no Steve.

Where should I go? What should I do? Where would I find him? My head swam with thoughts and questions, and I wandered, down streets, across roads, past shops, over bridges, stupidly and thoughtlessly, my desperation rising and my fear eating me that I would not make it home. What was I thinking? Walking around alone, through streets and across areas I knew were dangerous? But in my mind there was only one reason and only one answer; I had to find him.

My feet ached; sweat dripped from me. I was scared. I didn’t know where I was, or where I was heading. I looked up and found myself in front of the Assassin’s Gate, the entrance to the Green Zone; home to soldiers and diplomats, bureaucrats and journalists. A safe haven for them, guarded by soldiers. I walked towards it, the sunlight reflecting from its sandstone, trees lining its approach, soldiers guarding the safety that lay within. I could see barbed wire and tanks, blockades and guns.

Was he in there, somewhere in the expanse which lay beyond those guards? Wondering about me and my trip to the west? I tried to talk to a soldier, a guard. What was his full name? they asked. I don’t know, I replied, he’s Sergeant Stevens, everyone calls him Steve. What battalion is he with? What business do you have with him? What’s his rank and number?

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, came every reply I gave.

They mocked me, laughed at me, pointed their guns at me and told me to leave. But I stood my ground and refused. What had got into me? I didn’t know. I have to speak to him, I told them. They shook their heads at me, warning me. But what choice did I have?

I stared at one of them as he marched towards me, his eyebrows lowered, his lip sneered, disgust dripping from him, his gun raised.

He looked like he was going to hurt me and suddenly I was struck by fear. A brighter fear than ever before. I sucked in breath, hot and panicky.

And the pain hit me. And I fell to the floor.

My eyes were closed, my vision flashing white.

I lifted my hand to my cheek and felt warm blood running down, staring at it on my fingers.

The soldier stood above me, the butt of his gun raised above my head. I put my arms up to protect myself, and my head spun as I struggled to my feet. But the soldier didn’t back up, he stood over me, forcing his way towards me, forcing me back with his sheer presence. I shied backwards, stepping away, his face leering into mine, his spit showering me, his dark glasses obscuring his face, reflecting back my fear. I stumbled again, on to the floor, my hands, my face, my clothes covered in dirt, blood dripping down my cheek.

He grabbed hold of my arm, his fingers digging into my skin through my clothes, and he dragged me away; my feet not fast enough to pull myself upright, my legs bare, scrambling. He threw me on to the floor and strode away, and for a moment I stayed there, watching him go, my skin sore and grazed, gravel stuck into my shins, my face bruised and bleeding, embarrassment pouring from me as people walked around me, avoiding me.

I wanted to sit there, stay there. For the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I felt vulnerable. Felt shame dripping from me. But I stood up, wiped my face and brushed myself down. And I took a deep breath and turned away from the Green Zone, and I was determined to carry on.

I was shaking as I headed back across the river, the weight of a thousand worlds on my shoulders, the responsibility of one man’s life in my hands. My face was sore, my hands covered in dried blood, my body ached, but I walked on with my head high, staring into the face of every soldier I saw, at every tank, every humvee, hoping to see him.

I had no idea how long I’d been gone, but my stomach growled and my throat burned. I knew I was running out of time and options. The day was disappearing, dwindling away as was my life there.

I was nearing home when I saw them. What possessed me to approach them, I really don’t know. Maybe that I could be humiliated no more. Or that they would do no worse than the guard had. Or perhaps it was desperation. Hopelessness.

I didn’t know what they were doing – their truck had stopped, the engine still turning over, a soldier still at the wheel. A few were walking about, one smoking, glancing down the street, a couple talking to an Iraqi, another few standing around, chatting.

As I walked over, one nodded to the other, pointing in my direction. He took off his glasses as I approached, squinting at me through the sunlight.

“I’m looking for Sergeant Stevens,” I said. I felt his eyes rest on the gash on my cheek. “Everyone calls him Steve. He’s from Massachusetts.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Hey,” a second yelled, lifting his hand to me. “You got any chai today?”

“I need to speak to him,” I replied to the first.

“’Bout that?” he asked, nodding to my face.

I shook my head. “My uncle’s been abducted.”

The second one strolled over. “Y’all look the same to me, but you, with your pretty face, I remember you.” He stopped, staring at my cheek, frowning.

“Her uncle’s been abducted,” the first said with a sigh. It wasn’t big news; they had heard it all before.

I looked at them, taking in their faces, their mannerisms, their voices. I didn’t know the first. The second I remembered. I read his name tape, Manning.

“I’m looking for Steve,” I repeated. “I need to speak to him.”

Manning took a step towards me.

“I don’t know his full name. I don’t know what battalion he’s with. I think he’s a sergeant. Sergeant Stevens. Everyone calls him Sergeant Steve. He’s from Massachusetts. He’s got a sister, she goes to university…”

He nodded, his hand raised to pause me. “You mean Jerry,” he said. “Jerry Stevens. Hated his first name. Liked Steve. Bit taller than me. Blue eyes, bit of a quiet voice, blond?”

I nodded.

“And you used to come to the gas station, with chai? Chat to him and that?” I nodded again.

He took a deep breath and leaned towards me. “Wasn’t he helping you with something else?” he whispered.

I nodded. “But I can’t do it, I don’t think I can. The money… I have the money, but there’s the ransom… for my uncle… I can’t… can’t do both… I don’t know…” I stopped, blinking back the tears, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I wanted to see Steve, a friendly face, I wanted him to hold me and tell me everything would be all right, even though I knew it wouldn’t. I wanted to talk to someone, to cry to someone while they listened, and while they cared. And I had no one.

Manning shook his head, looked back at me and sighed. “He’s gone,” he said. “Yesterday. It was real sudden.”

I didn’t move. I focused on his mouth, watching the words coming out, the world spinning around us.

“What?” I breathed.

Manning shrugged. “He got a call from back home, couple of days ago. His dad was sick, real sick. There was a chopper available so they sent him home. Lucky bastard.”

Tears spilled down my face, but I didn’t know why I was crying. Relief that he wasn’t dead? Frustration that he had left? Loneliness?

“Hell, he was gonna tell you. I thought he had. Thought he’d been to see you.” He shrugged again. “Maybe didn’t get the chance,” he said.

We stood together while the engine rumbled, and the other soldiers chatted and the Iraqi man waved his arms around trying to be understood. But my ears heard nothing but the silence between Manning and myself. I thought back to the last time I saw Steve. Did he know then that he was going? Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he tell me?

“I can’t do anything about your uncle,” he said. “You should go to the police.”

“They said they’d kill him if we did that.”

“Then pay the ransom.”

“Then I can’t leave.”

He shrugged. “Nothing’s ever black and white,” he said.

“No,” I whispered.

“You meant a lot to him, to Steve. He liked you. Hell, I’m sure he still does. But, y’know, even if he was here, I don’t know if he could do anything to help.”

I glanced up to him, watching him fold a stick of chewing gum into his mouth. I gave the tiniest of nods, turned and walked away. Back to the house, to Hana, to the boys, and to the decision I had to make.

I saw Hana at the window as I approached, saw her eyes rest on mine, the worry on her face lift for just a second and I realised what I had done. For a moment I stopped walking and we stared at each other. Then I stepped into the house, knowing what was to come, and her temper hit me.

“Where have you been?” she shouted, her face close to mine, anger pouring from her, her eyes flicking over my face, my cheek, down to my clothes, to my hands. “What have you been doing?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How could I tell her the truth? How could I lie? I stood there, my mouth open, no words to say.

“Don’t you think there’s enough on my mind without having to worry about you? Don’t you care what I’m going through? What’s happening to this family? To me? To the boys? Don’t you care what’s happening to Aziz?”

“I… I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“Sorry? You’ve been gone all day, we had no idea where you were, what had happened to you. No way of finding you and that’s the only thing you can say? I should hope you are sorry. I was worried sick, Lina.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” I replied, my voice small, insignificant.

She stared at me, a strange look mixed with disbelief, anger, hatred and relief. “How could I not worry about you? Anything could’ve happened. And something did, by the look of your face. How did I know you hadn’t been abducted as well? Killed in an attack?”

“I didn’t want to tell you I was going out in case you tried to stop me.”

“And I would have. It’s not safe, Lina, and you know that. What would your papa think of me? What would he think of you?”

We stood in silence. Did I have anything to say other than the apology I had tried? She was right, of course. It was dangerous. And I knew that. It was a stupid thing I did, but I would do it again.

I lifted my eyes to see her staring at me. “What happened to your face?” she asked, her voice lower, quieter, calmer.

I took a deep breath. “I was looking for someone,” I replied. “Someone I thought might be able to help us. But I couldn’t find him.” I touched my cheek. “It was a soldier,” I whispered.

And I’m sure I saw her expression change. Sure it softened slightly, relaxed maybe, sure her shoulders lowered, and her face lightened. I waited for her to move towards me, hoped she would take me in her arms and hold me tight, tell me she wouldn’t let anyone hurt me again.

But she didn’t.

Instead she closed her eyes and sighed; turned away with her head low. “Clean yourself up,” she muttered. “And don’t do it again.”

She left the room and I didn’t know what to think or what to do, because I knew I had to do it again, I knew that tomorrow I had to get the money. Whatever my decision was to be.