The American Granddaughter by Inaam Kachachi Read Free Book Online Page A

to choose between my laptop and the bulletproof vest, I’d take the laptop without blinking an eye. On the white, luminous pages of this little machine, on the screen framed by sky-blue, I would record, night after night, my days in this country that seemed to grip me round the throat. For it was there that I launched my own jihad and let my soul go off-road, into the dangerous wilderness of wanton abandon.
    Was this, my darling, what they call love?

XII
    How much curiosity and hunger does the human eye possess? My eyes were two coals blazing from the dust, my eyelids squinted against the inferno of the sun whose power I hazarded at a trillion watts. But instead of hurrying into the shade, I was still intent on surveying my surroundings. We were on a grassy hill, and the dates on the palm trees were dry and shrunken to the size of small grapes. That was where the two trucks had let us off. Twenty-nine new army recruits standing in the grounds of Saddam’s palace in Tikrit, our belongings piled up in front of us. A corporal came over with a piece of paper and started calling our names. Whoever heard their name had to take their things and stand aside and wait for the Humvee that would take them to their post. Nobody liked their assignments, and protest filled the air. ‘But why did you bring us from Baghdad to Tikrit if you’re going to send us to Nasiriya or Kut?’ Even those assigned to Hilla or Ramadi or Baquba grumbled to themselves as they headed towards the vehicles. Had they been expecting a trip to Hawaii?
    A gentle-looking guy called Dawood looked like he was about to be sick. He was being separated from the rest of the group and didn’t know where they were taking him. As for the tough guy from Karbala, he stood to one side smoking in silence and throwing mocking looks at the rest of us, poking fun at our petty fears. I later learned the secret behind his bravery. Before emigrating and settling in Philadelphia, he’d served in the Iraqi army. He’d been through both the Iran and Kuwait wars, and the fear in his heart died after having seen more corpses than the rest of us put together. I hadn’t heard the adjective ‘ jeonky’ in what felt like a lifetime, but that was what came to mind as I watched that man.
    We all hoped for a safe assignment. We all hoped for a sip of cold water and a clean bathroom. We hadn’t showered in days, and the heat was adding to our grime and stickiness. Was there no end to this journey? And why did we, the five women in our group, have to show more patience and endurance than the men? One of the women with us was about seventy years old. The company hadn’t put any age limit on applications. Regardless of your age or religion or background or ethnicity or educational level, you qualified for the job as long as you spoke Arabic and English, even if you could barely read them. The corporal told our elder colleague that she would be positioned in Beji. She cried out in panic, ‘Where is that?’ and he answered politely, ‘Ma’am, they will take you.’
    Hanaa, who was born in Akra, wanted her work to be there, close to her people. But the list in the corporal’s hand took her to Al-Imara. And when Rula was told she would work in Hilla, she said rashly, ‘I won’t go to Hilla. If I’m not placed in the Baghdad Hotel or the Green Zone I’m going back to the States,’ to which the corporal replied without hesitation, ‘Ma’am, we will put you on the first convoy returning to Baghdad and you can take the plane from there.’ Later on I heard that our Lebanese colleague went back and didn’t complete her contract. The Egyptian followed soon after.
    All the names had been called and mine still hadn’t come up on the list. I was still standing after all my travel companions had dispersed.
    The corporal approached me and asked, ‘Are you Zeina ?’
    ‘Yes sir.’
    ‘You’re staying in Tikrit. That’s why I didn’t call your name.’ So Tikrit was to be my destiny.