by Isaac Stormm
“I pulled out three bullets.” He showed three fingers. “You have lost much blood. You must stay in here for a while.”
He needed to know about them. “The others….what of them? I must see.” He lifted his shoulders up only to have the man press them back down.
“You try to get up, you will pass out. Any exertion could be fatal.” He looked out the door. “You’re not ready for that yet.”
He squirmed a little then tried to raise his shoulders again. The girl eased him back down, a smile failing to console him.
“Grandfather, we must tell him.”
The old man nodded with a grunt. “We have to get you out of the village by tomorrow. Whether you live or die before or during the journey, you must go.” He kneeled down. “The troops who attacked you, they are led by a man named Zarin. Very dangerous and brutal. He thinks nothing of butchering Kurds. If he’s as good as they say, he will search this village within one or two days. Any sign of your presence will mean instant death for everyone. We must try and find a safe spot to leave you.”
“Another village?” He inhaled, a sound like gravel being trudged on told of blood in the lungs. It was louder as he let out the breath to set up for his next words. “I see.” He coughed a weak string of gasps, feeling his tongue and mouth becoming wetter. “The wilderness.”
“No. A cave,” the girl said. “Isn’t that right, Grandfather?” She inserted the cloth into his mouth, letting him bite down. It began to redden. She pulled it out, revealing a bright tongue and mouth. She washed it and let him bite down again.
He tugged at her hand. She removed the cloth once more. “I am not a fool,” he said. “I can taste my blood. Allah has changed his mind. I am to join him shortly. You will be rewarded in heaven for your efforts. Mercy be upon you.”
“You may still have life left, my friend.” The grandfather lay his hand on his forehead, as if to impart a blessing. “It may still be saved. If Allah wills it, he will take you. You are a warrior fighting for us. Until you draw your last breath, we will take care of you. You will never be alone.”
He swallowed, feeling the dryness return. The urge to cough remained and he held it back. How much time left? He guessed a few hours at most. He hoped they moved him out soon. He grasped the arms of both. Thoughts of their goodness spoke through his eyes, welling up in thanks. He opened his mouth, letting out a feeble wisp of sound.
“No need to speak, my friend.” The grandfather took his arm, patted it and laid it down.
“I must know your names.”
“I am Majheed. My granddaughter is Lela.”
“Wasir.” Everything became blurry again. A shutter of darkness came down over his eyes. “Cyrus… Cyrus.” He exhaled and heard Majheed’s voice trail off with the words “Go…Must hurry.” He lost all feeling through his body. Throbbing turned numb. He saw himself back on the cliff next to Cyrus. He kept speaking to him except he wouldn’t answer. He crawled up to him, and reached to turn his face. His hand slipped from the man’s cheek, as Cyrus’s head moved in slow motion. Their eyes met. Only Cyrus had no eyes. Just vacant sockets of blackened mush that started dripping down his cheeks. As it did, his face became whiter then started collapsing into itself, the blackness spreading. He looked down at his hand and saw it shriveling. It began to race up his body and he felt his spirit draining. He screamed, which echoed nonstop in the walls of his mind. A scream that never ended.
His body quivered under the power. His arms flailed as if to fight off the force wrecking him. His eyes shot open, looking at his chest pulsing. He tasted the wet again.
Outside, the sun was just starting to leave shadows over the landscape, growing longer every minute, lighting Majheed and Lela’s faces in a gold tinge. “Are you sure he was killed?” Majheed asked one of the men trying to look into the house.
“No doubt. It was Cyrus. The ambush area is filled with bodies. We’re the closest village. A warning for us.”
“Our guest called his name. Cyrus came here two days ago. He must have been among them. I didn’t pay attention to what his fighters looked like. That must be the rest of them out there with him.”
“Shall we go and bury them?”
Majheed couldn’t allow it. Islam states the dead need to be buried within 24 hours. Zarin knew that too. He pictured the man and his killers coming back to butcher the ones doing the task, accusing them of sympathizing. Then, detaining them, torturing them, and depositing their bodies within sight of the village, knowing the watchers could do nothing but accept it. He’d first heard about the tactic from Cyrus less than 48 hours before. A cruel coincidence it was that he’d be the next example.
He knew Allah saw it all and would take note of the time and place for Zarin and his killers’ punishment. Oh, how he hoped he could watch.
Lela tugged his arm. “I checked him again. He’s still alive and calm.”
He knew he could not wait any longer. He had to be moved now, even though he might die the moment they tried to pick him up. He reckoned it was better to die in the arms of friends than from an assassin’s barrel, so he motioned for two two men. They entered the room and saw Wasir’s eyes barely open and looking at them.
“He wants moved. He is wounded in his left shoulder and stomach. No sudden jerks. Be as gentle as possible,” Majheed said.
Majheed showed the men where to place their hands under the shoulders. Wasir gasped as if he were drawing air in after a long run when they lifted him up. The two slowly took him out the door with Majheed following. Lela touched Wasir’s chest with her hand and put it to her heart as a gesture of peace and good wishes. He didn’t respond and just looked up at the sky and how clear it was now. He felt the sun’s warmth, weak as it was, cloak him as they started through a knee-high batch of scraggly weeds and up the hill that served as a trail.
Majheed returned when they disappeared and looked out at the sun halfway down through the trees. In a few more minutes, it disappeared. The shadows of trees stretched like daggers from all directions to meet the roofs of the huts. He put his arm around Lela.
“Will he be all right, Grandfather?”
Majheed stepped toward his door. He stopped and looked back at the forest. “Allah will decide, child.” As he closed the door, he walked into the room were Wasir once lay. Dried blood left a dark and freakish silhouette on the floor. Lela took the cloth out of the bucket and began scrubbing it hard over the planks. Majheed joined her with a towel, the crimson proving stubborn to remove and breaking off in small flakes. His mind became so focused on the task, on removing every particle, he didn’t acknowledge the sound of the rotors in the distance. Not passing by but hovering. Fading into silence.
“Grandfather.”
“Hurry.” He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. “He’s coming.” His heart pounded and he dipped the towel in the bucket. He didn’t want to leave her to finish the job, but the survival of the village was at stake. “Here.” He handed her the towel. “I’ll be back.”
A smell of venison greeted his nose when he walked out into the darkness. He saw one of the caretakers of the village poking at the carcass with a prod. He grabbed him by the shoulder and whirled him around, grasping both shoulders. “They come, now.”
“Yes. Do not worry.”
Majheed bowed his head. “I’m sorry, my friend. I should trust you more.”
“The helicopter.”
“I know. He’s coming.”
“The men. What if he knows the number that live here? What are we to say?”
“They have gone to another village.” That was all he could offer. If Zarin did know the exact number of people here, especially the men, their lives would be measured in hours, maybe less. The Iranians never attempted a census of these small villages, for they were often abandoned after a few years or even a few months. Their lack of information on this sometimes played against them when men went off and joined the guerrillas. Majheed’s people had never done such a thing. The men stayed with t
heir families and gave comfort to the guerrillas whenever they came, which due to the isolation and ruggedness of the terrain, was not often. Proof was in Cyrus’s visit which was only his second in nearly a year. Previously, there’d been a spate of groups that passed through and operated nearby. After Zarin’s arrival, most were killed and the survivors either fled or went back to their villages, where some were betrayed by informants. So far, no such traitors existed here. Never let it be said though, that when the Iranians checked in, hearts didn’t flutter over the thought that someone in their midst might declare them enemies of the state before their visitors and point to the sympathizers. What kind of Kurds were these that they betrayed their families and village? He knew that when Zarin came, no better opportunity would ever exist for such ones to pronounce themselves.
They placed Wasir far enough back from the cave entrance that unless he deliberately made a move, he could not be seen. They aided in the concealment by replacing the brush over the narrow opening barely man-width and perhaps three feet high. They covered him with a heavy wool blanket and surrounded him with a few days’ worth of rations and water. Despite this, there were no plans to leave him here. They wanted to bring him back as soon as they felt they were safe from the Iranian inquiries. Which could be a few hours or days if Majheed thought someone might be watching them. No matter what though, they would find a way to return and try to save him.
He awoke to the sound of footsteps running away. Absolutely no light, not even enough to see his hand pass over his eyes. He was confused. He remembered being carried and he knew that given the dank smell, he was back in the woods. A draft seeped through the opening, chilling him just a bit and he pulled the blanket up past his chin. Then, a feeling of danger crossed his mind. Not for him but toward his saviors. The one they called Zarin, who killed his brothers, was coming to look for him and he wondered what he would do to Majheed and Lela. If only he could rise, crawl for all that mattered back to where he could see them and watch the event unfold, he might be able to help. His body said otherwise and ached when he tried to move just the slightest. He growled out another tepid cough, looked toward where he thought heaven would be and muttered with a new sense of purpose, “Allah… Allah protect them.”
They sat huddled around the fire as the venison was portioned into their hands. Each had a cup of stream water and said little as the greased and tender meat warmed their mouths. Majheed, Lela, and her mother and father sat stoic, just looking at the flickering embers, pretending to enjoy the day’s feast. They paid no attention to the Iranians approach even when they heard their boots clopping like drums from the direction of the sunset. Only when Majheed turned to look, did the others. The glint of the fire reflected off metal silhouettes of rifles and flickered on their clothing as the Iranians surrounded them, several muzzles steadied and aiming for each head.
The group parted and Zarin walked toward Majheed. “Ah, venison. I used to have it all the time when I was a boy. May I have some?”
“Yes. Please.” Majheed cut a finger sized slice and offered it, hoping no one noticed the heavy swallow he made.
Zarin took it and ripped off a chunk with his teeth all the while looking at the old man to dare him to speak as he chewed it and gave a noticeable gulp. He rubbed his fingers back and forth on his pants and said, “Very tasty.” He looked up at the sky. “A beautiful night to sit with family and friends and talk about the day’s work. I often did the same thing. Except it was in Iraq with a guerrilla band instructing them how to make explosives. It was a great pleasure to test my skills out against the Great Satan. Would it surprise you if I said the Iraqi government placed a bounty on my head? A bounty so large that on one occasion I was betrayed by someone I considered very close. A member of al-Quds just like me. Shooting him was a bloody affair and I’m afraid that is my weakness. Too much blood.” He looked at Lela who was still looking at the fire and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned at the gesture and offered a smile. He smiled back and continued, “So I came up with something that would express my rage and also teach a lesson to any others who contemplated a similar fate for me.” He removed his hand. “I had the bastard cooked over a fire. And we all took turns taking a piece.”
Majheed’s eyes shifted to the flames, quelling his urge to respond. That’s what Zarin wanted. A debate of few words so he could trip him up and justify any punishment. He had to play it all the way. Offering words to parry his questions, not converse with him.
“You think I’m brutal, don’t you, old man?” He started walking around them like a hawk, deciding who to dive down upon. “All of you here feel that way. Well, let me just say such feelings are good. It shows you have respect for my abilities. Above all, it makes you afraid. And that’s even better. For the more you cringe, the more respect you show. However, I am no fool. Fear also causes actions contrary at times to what is desired, such as resistance. And I know that a certain man named Cyrus operated frequently in this area. And two days ago, he came here.” Zarin completed the circle, stopping at Majheed. “Didn’t he, old man?”
The blood throbbed in his veins. With Zarin just inches away from his ear he decided to well up enough strength to look at him. “No one came here, sir. With great respect, I must say we are just a tiny group struggling to survive. We know the penalties for aiding the guerillas. We would never put our lives at risk for such a lost cause.” He prayed such an unexpected admission against the resistance might help just a tiny bit.
“Interesting for an elder to show so little faith in the fighters. If only I could convince the rest of the Kurdish people to have similar views, our troubles would end very quickly. Unfortunately, until then I must tend to business.” He barked a command at Majheed’s ear, causing him to flinch.
About half of the Iranians broke ranks, flicked on flashlights and headed for the huts. Hollow clumps of bowls sounded on the dirt. The steel clang of farming utensils followed. Blankets were yanked and tossed into clumps in front of each entrance. Lanterns came next, breaking their glass and spilling oil. The rugs were last.
Majheed lowered his head, placing fingers to his eyes trying to stop the well of tears that yearned to run down his cheeks. A few droplets escaped and dripped onto his shirt. He shut his eyes to the sounds. Allah, most merciful, deliver us from this heathen.
Zarin’s stare never left him until hearing the word “Nothing” called from one of the scavengers walking toward him. Flashlights flicked off and the rest stood proud, looking over their work. In less than two minutes, they had completed disassembly of a village’s life. And they knew their leader would want more. Much more.
“Very clever. Your abilities to hide the obvious are getting better. But there are men of fighting age that were here yesterday, and one who settles among you ever since his family was taken from Buka. What excuse do you have for their absence?”
How did he know that? How? There were informants among his people. Had to be. At least he didn’t know about Wasir.
“Sir. I mean your honor. The man who stays with us is out hunting.” Majheed sniffled. “He goes out far. It’s an overnight journey through the hills.”
“Yes, that is what I thought you would say. You’ve put me into a bit of a dilemma. My men and I don’t want to spend the night here while I have to search for your man. On the other hand, I could believe you and leave you in peace, still having someone to wait for them right here of course, and just watch you from a distance for a length of time to be determined. You would never know I was there, but I would always be looking over your shoulder.” He crossed his arms. “What would you do if you were in my position?”
“I would believe me.”
“As much as I’d like to, I can’t. But as far as the choices go, I think I would choose the latter option. You see, I know you’re guilty of evading enemies of the state. I don’t have the proof in front of me, no. But I know your kind. You’re a fighter. You hate everything Tehran has done to you since the revolution. And when that man d
oes not show up in here tomorrow, all will be confirmed.”
Majheed turned to him, a look of pleading in eyes still churning with the cloudiness of tears. “Your honor, we have done nothing wrong. I beg of you to show mercy to us. Our men will reach their destination and you will know we are telling the truth.” He did something he had never done before. He lowered to his knees, clasping his hands together, paying tribute to a mortal man. “I implore you to believe me.” That was as far as he could take the charade.
Zarin seemed unimpressed. “Please rise.” He gingerly took Majheed’s shoulder, ushering him up. “You didn’t give me a chance to give you the best offer I have.”
Majheed resisted speaking to the courtesy of his smile, knowing there was something hidden behind it.
“All you have to do is admit to me you’re lying. That you harbored guerrillas here. Like the one you’re hiding. You see. yes, I even know about that. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider letting your life and the lives of your people go on past tomorrow. It is something I’ve never done before. But you strike me as someone that, with enough time, could be useful to us. Maybe even the rest of your little band here.”
Informant. Bastard. He wanted us to betray the resistance. What if he said yes? Would that give them reason to back off and leave them in peace? Of course not. Zarin had them in his claws and always intended to watch them from here on out. He knew there was nothing he could do but offer a few weak sentences.
“I have never lied to you. I beg of you to please leave us in peace.”
“You don’t understand how many times I’ve heard that answer, do you? Yours is not the first village to make such a statement. All the others we executed made similar remarks all the way to the end. Telling us if we can only wait, they could prove they were telling the truth. You Kurds never learn, do you?”
“My village follows the laws. We have not broken any.”