Year of the Tiger (19 page)

I nodded.

One of the soldiers – one of the guys – unlocked the door to a cell. Because that’s what this was, down this hall: it was a row of cells; and this one, I could smell the stink before he even opened the door. We went inside, into this tiny room, lit from above by a stark, bare bulb, and I swear to God, to my buddy Jesus, there was this naked guy lying on the floor, his wrists and ankles cuffed in front of him, chained to this big bolt drilled into the cement floor.

‘What the fuck is this?’

‘He’s non-compliant,’ Kyle explained.

This guy was filthy and moaning, and he smelled like shit and he was lying in a puddle of piss.

I just stood there, my mouth hanging open, because even though none of this should have been a surprise to me, I still didn’t know how to make it make sense.

‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked.

‘Well, you know, check him out.’ Kyle shifted back and forth, shuffling his feet like he’d been caught cheating on a spelling test or something. ‘’Cause he’s just lying there, he won’t talk to us, so we were thinking maybe he’s sick.’

It was one of those times when I didn’t know what to say. When the obvious words out of my mouth should have been something like ‘Well, what the fuck do you expect, dickwad? He’s naked, and he’s chained to a bolt on a cement floor, and he’s lying in his own – I hope – piss!’

But I was a good girl, and I didn’t say stuff like that back then.

What I said was: ‘Okay. Get me your med bag. I’ll check him out.’

Sneezy was young, in his twenties, maybe even his teens, kind of skinny, with tangled hair and a beard even scruffier than most of the local terrorists. I checked him over, and I didn’t think he was that sick, but he was pretty out of it, banged up some, a little hypothermic and dehydrated.

‘When did he eat last?’ I asked Kyle.

‘I dunno, a couple of days. He won’t eat.’

‘He drinking anything?’

‘Not much. Doesn’t wanna drink either.’

‘Nice,’ I muttered.

‘I think he’s mental,’ Kyle explained. ‘We brought him in; after a day he started acting crazy, throwing shit and spitting at everybody. His own shit, I mean. So we restrained him.’

It was weird; the whole little drill from EMT class was going through my head: ‘Is the patient oriented times three? Does he know who he is? Does he know what day it is? Does he know who the president is?’ And I almost laughed, thinking: yeah, who’s the president, you poor pathetic motherfucker?

‘Okay.’ I stood up. ‘We should get some fluids in him. And you need to get him warmed up. Get him off the floor and in some blankets.’

Kyle got this irritated look on his face and checked his watch. ‘He good for another couple of hours like this?’

I stared down at the PUC, who lay there, shivering and making little nonsense sounds, somewhere between moans and a kid’s nursery rhyme. ‘Lah, lah, lah …’

‘Like this?’

‘Yeah.’ Kyle nodded vigorously. ‘’Cause obviously we don’t want to restrain him like this if he’s in serious distress. But the protocols are, we can do him another couple of hours if it’s not really gonna hurt him.’

The light in there was so bright, it hurt my eyes.

‘I don’t understand,’ I finally said. ‘I mean, if he’s got psychiatric problems, what’s the point?’

Kyle leaned toward me, rested his hand on my shoulder like he was about to share a big secret. ‘He could be faking it. He had explosives residue on his hands. So we’re pretty sure he’s a bad guy.’

‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ I said, stammering. ‘I mean, I don’t think he’ll die or anything, but … but I don’t think this is a good idea.’

‘Okay, Doc,’ Kyle said, patting my shoulder again. ‘I appreciate your feedback. So, can you give him fluids like this? Or would it be easier if we put him in a different position?’

I thought about it.

A woman’s voice drifted down the hall. Speaking Arabic. Sounding pissed.

Kyle rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, man. Sounds like the show’s starting. Listen, I gotta go ride herd. Andretti’s just outside the door if you need anything.’

I nodded. And he left.

I walked around the PUC a couple of times, assessing the situation and mapping out where I might want to stick him. I was thinking cephalic vein or maybe accessory cephalic vein, if the cuffs made the cephalic too problematic.

I knelt down by the guy, checked out the veins, and scrubbed both sites with Betadine while he lay there, babbling and trying to spit, except his mouth was too dry to work up a good loogie.

Then I learned why they called him ‘Sneezy’: his face wrinkled up and he practically convulsed, making this ‘chuh, chuh, chuh’ noise and bobbing his head like some long-necked choking bird. I’m thinking, should I use a saline lock? Is there any point? Or should I just hang fluids and leave it at that? And where am I going to hang the bag, anyway, in this barren little cell? On the window bars, maybe?

Then I noticed, above my head, screwed into a ceiling beam, what looked like a rusting meat hook made of thick, pitted iron.

That could work.

Whatever was going on down the hall kept getting louder, the woman’s voice punctuated now and again by male laughter.

‘Lah, lah, lah,’ said Sneezy.

I stared at the meat hook, thinking I’d need a chair to climb up there.

And that was when it occurred to me that this was completely, irredeemably fucked up. I mean, what was I thinking? Here was this stinking, crazy naked guy caked with shit and lying in piss, chained to the fucking floor, and I was just going to give him IV fluids and leave? What the fuck was wrong with me?

‘Okay, Sneezy,’ I said. ‘Okay. You need some fluids, but you really need to be in a bed. This is bullshit. I’m gonna take care of this, okay?’ I searched through the med bag and found an emergency thermal blanket, one of those things that looks like folded tinfoil and fits inside a baggie. Better than nothing.

I covered him with it. ‘I’m sorry, Sneezy, I’m really sorry,’ I said. Tears were running down my face, and I didn’t know why, considering that this guy was some hajji who wanted to kill me and I really didn’t care what happened to him. ‘Just hang in there, okay? I’m gonna figure this out.’

Sneezy chuffed a couple of times and stared at the floor. Then his head rolled up, and he stared at me.

‘Cunt,’ he said. ‘Cunt whore.’

I had to laugh.

‘Wow. You
do
know English.’ I patted him on the shoulder. ‘Be right back.’

Outside the cell, Andretti leaned against the wall, playing on his Game Boy.

‘Problem?’ he asked.

‘I need to talk to Kyle.’

He jerked a thumb down the hall. ‘That way.’

I could have just followed the sounds, the woman’s angry Arabic, the occasional barked laughter, coming from the cell at the end of the hall. Nobody really stood guard; there were a couple of guys clustered by the door, but why would they be worried about somebody like me?

‘Hey,’ I said to the soldiers by way of greeting. And I stepped inside.

First thing I noticed was Kyle, sitting on a folding chair near the door, tilted back against the wall like he was watching a movie and working on a giant tub of popcorn. A couple other guys stood next to him, guys I didn’t recognize, other OGAs maybe, no names on their fatigues.

Second thing I noticed was two more naked PUCs. One of them had his hands cuffed behind him, the cuffs threaded through one of the window bars so that he was half-kneeling. I learned later that this position is called a ‘Palestinian hanging’ and that it can put enough pressure on the lungs and diaphragm to cause respiratory compromise. An Iraqi general died at Abu Ghraib after being put into this position with broken ribs.

But I didn’t know that then.

The second naked hajji was kneeling in front of the first. His hands were cuffed behind his back.

There was this woman, a small woman with brown hair and delicate features, stalking around them like some kind of predatory cat.

My roomie, Greif.

She yelled something, and one of the OGAs grabbed the second naked guy by his hair and jerked his head back.

Greif got in his face. Screamed at him.

Second naked guy turned toward first naked guy. His mouth and tongue sought out first naked guy’s dick.

Kyle tilted back his chair, snorting with laughter.

It wasn’t enough for Greif. She lifted up her T-shirt, grabbed her left tit, freed it from her bra, and thrust it in the second hajji’s face, pointed with her free hand at the other guy and screamed at them both.

I just stood there with my mouth open like the fucking clueless idiot I’d been all along.

‘Hey,’ Kyle said. ‘Hey, McEnroe. What’s up?’

‘I, uh.’ My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. ‘I, uh.’

Kyle giggled. ‘Yeah, ain’t this the shit?’ He rocked forward and stood up, propelled out of his chair like he’d been sitting on a cartoon spring.

‘Hey, McEnroe,’ Kyle said, standing close enough to me that I could feel his warm breath, ‘why don’t you show them your tits? You got a way better rack than Greif. C’mon, they’ll be begging for it. Show them your tits.’

Greif whipped her head around. She saw me, and there was this moment – I’m not sure what it was. Like there was this emptiness in her face, a sort of blankness.

And then fury.

‘What’s
she
doing here?’ she snapped.

Kyle threw up his hands with exaggerated flair. ‘Hey, she’s just helping me with a PUC, that’s all.’

‘She shouldn’t be here,’ Greif said, biting off each word. ‘She’s not authorized.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I – the PUC – he’s …’

‘Shit, don’t tell me he’s dying on us,’ Kyle muttered.

‘No. No … I just …’

Then I heard footsteps echoing down the hall, coming at a fast clip. I knew who it was even before I saw him, and the relief that flooded through me at that moment was as palpable as water. He’ll fix this, I thought.

Trey pulled up in the doorway and took in the scene. He crossed to Kyle, and for a moment I thought he was going to grab him by the collar. ‘What the
fuck
, Kyle? What the fuck is this?’

‘Jesus, Cooper. You said she’s been helping you with the PUCs. I needed some help. What’s the big fucking deal?’

Trey turned to me. I couldn’t figure out his expression. Somewhere between stunned and ashamed.

‘Ellie, you shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘Go wait outside. I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘There’s a PUC,’ I began, ‘and he’s –’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

I did what he said. I went down the corridor, turned right, turned right again. Passed by Andretti playing his Game Boy, by the other soldiers hanging out around the card table, by Morris standing sentry at the entrance. I went outside, into the cool night air, shivering a little in my field jacket, stopped for a moment to light a cigarette in the shelter of the entrance. Then I just walked until I came to the berm. I gathered up some rocks, and I sat down.

It didn’t take Trey long to find me. It’s funny how we used to be so in sync. I heard him coming up behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I picked up a rock, sized it up in the palm of my hand, took my time. Then I hurled it at the shed.

I missed.

‘Ellie,’ Trey said. He sat down next to me.

I picked up another rock.

‘You shouldn’t have seen that.’

My hand tightened on the rock. I felt the edges cutting into my hand.

‘Then why’d you take me there?’

‘I didn’t think …’

He sighed. A real sigh, like he was expelling any hope that he might have once had. ‘Things get out of hand sometimes.’

I looked up at him. Took in the stubble on his cheeks. Marked his hopeless eyes.

‘I don’t understand,’ I finally said.

He lit a cigarette. ‘These people respect power and fear. You come across weak, they’ll rip your throat out the minute your back’s turned.’

‘But …’ I struggled to find the words. ‘Some of that … I mean …’

‘This is a shame-based culture,’ Trey mumbled. ‘Stuff like that, it makes them feel vulnerable.’

‘Well, no shit.’

Trey stared at me, the glint in his eyes hard, and my hand closed around the rock again.

‘You think I’m freelancing?’ he said. ‘You think this is my idea?’

‘No, I just –’

‘I’m doing what I was told to do. CO told us the gloves have come off. That we needed to step it up, get more intel.’

His hands clenched, and then he drove his fist into his thigh. ‘The whole thing’s fubar,’ he muttered.

Right then, I just wanted to take him in my arms, tell him it wasn’t his fault. That it was all going to be okay.

‘There must be somebody up the chain. Somebody we could tell.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

It was like how he spoke Arabic. Angry. Hard.

‘Don’t you get it, Ellie? Don’t you get whose operation this is? It’s not mine, it’s not the Army’s. It’s the OGAs’. They do what they want. And you do not fuck with them.’

I weighed the rock in my hand. I threw it at the shed. It hit the door with a clang that echoed like a cowbell.

‘The PUC,’ I said. ‘The guy they call Sneezy. He needs fluids. But not like that. Not on the floor.’

Trey nodded. ‘We’ll bring him to you.’

I treated him. Got him warm and hydrated, and then they took him away.

I treated PUCs. That’s what I was supposed to do. I did my job.