The Music Trilogy

by Kahn, Denise

  Honey saw a sign. “This is Firous Square,” he announced. “You know it means Paradise in Persian.”

  “HONEY!” They all shouted.

  “Okay, okay.”

  They watched as an Iraqi man, one of the biggest men they had ever seen, of any nationality, swing an impressively huge sledge hammer at the base below an enormous statue of Saddam Hussein. He was as if in a trance, focused on the destruction of not only the physical construction, but the psychological one as well. The big man continued until he almost collapsed. Other men took over. They wanted to be in on this historical moment, to show the world what the dictator meant to them, what he had inflicted on his people. They took turns until their hands bled.

  “A little C4 would do the trick very nicely,” Jock said.

  “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? One boom and it’s gone. This way’s much more satisfying.”

  “Not to mention the ego boost.”

  The Iraqis did get help, in the form of an M-88 Hercules tank-tower and U.S. Marines who helped pull down the statue. It finally crumbled. It had taken three hours, but it was the sign of the end of an oppressive era and the beginning of a new one—one of freedom, one that the Americans presented them. The crowd screamed in delight, understanding for the first time the true meaning of liberty and hope. Max and his buddies smiled, comprehending that the duty they were performing had meaning, and that they were truly helping the people of a nation who had been under tyrannical rule for so long.

  Another sight that the young men would find reprehensible was the looting. Everything was being stolen, nothing was sacred. The people had been oppressed and hopeless for so long that now they found the opportunity to take anything they wanted. It had started as survival but it quickly turned into a free for all. The military, as difficult as it was, was doing its best to keep things under control and the pillaging to a minimum. But the impact of what was happening to the country would be burned in their minds at the site of Saddam Hussein’s horse. The magnificent white stallion was running wild, scared out of its mind, his eyes bulging with incomprehension and fear, as men and boys chased him down the main avenues of Baghdad. They were trying to catch him, to do what with him was anybody’s guess, and Max firmly believed this was the most depressing sight he had ever seen.

  At sunset they returned toward their camp. In the distance the orange sun slowly melted into the shimmering, infinite desert. Somewhere in the distance a Muezzin was calling the faithful to prayer.

  “The guy’s got a nice voice,” Max said.

  “What guy?” Colin asked.

  “The one up there in the minaret.”

  “Yeah, I heard him earlier, same tune, although it’s kind of nice waking up to music in the mornings.”

  “At five o’clock, when the sun comes up?” Max asked.

  “You have a point. Wouldn’t it be cool if he sang something different, maybe some modern hits? That could be a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah, and imagine if everyone could join in, it would be like a concert five times a day. They could maybe pray first, then sing.”

  “You know what would be even better?” Colin asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “A woman.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If a woman sang the verses for a change, or even a duet with the Muezzin.”

  “That would be exquisite, however, I’m sure the macho men would really go for that,” Max said sarcastically.

  “Well, it was just a thought, but I’d still really love to hear a woman up in that minaret.”

  “Hey, Haf, are we being blasphemous?” Max asked.

  “Naw, we’re just being human. What the world needs is more music, and in this part of the world more female voices.”

  “Sounds right.”

  ♫

  NEW ORLEANS 2003

  CHAPTER 20

  “Hey Sam, what are you doing for Christmas?”

  “Not much, just going to hang out here and relax from all the classes. Robert isn’t around so I’ll just take it easy.”

  “That’s no fun. Why don’t you come to New Orleans and spend it with me and my family?”

  “Oh, that is so nice of you, but...”

  “Now, come on, you can’t be alone at Christmas. I know Robert can’t be here but my little brother, Tyrone, has a few days leave and will be in New Orleans. So, that’s final. You’re spending it with us. And I found cheap tickets.”

  “Well, I guess it could be fun.”

  “Of course, it will, and my Auntie is the best cook in Louisiana. Just wait ‘til you taste her Christmas Reveillon dinner.”

  “Oh, well then I’d be delighted. I never could pass up good food, and a home cooked meal will undoubtedly be heaven on earth.”

  “And it very well could be the last good meal we have for a while.”

  As soon as Sam, Chantal and Tyrone arrived at the house on the outskirts of New Orleans, Aunt Clotilde, a heavy woman wearing a muumuu and an enormous smile, screamed in delight.

  “You’re here! Praise Jesus! My babies are home!”

  “Hi Aunt Clo, how’ve you been?” Chantal asked.

  “Come here and give your auntie a hug, Sweet Pea,” the older woman said engulfing her niece to her bosom. Chantal all but disappeared in the embrace.

  “Princesse Clotilde,” Tyrone said in a French accent, and bowed deeply in front of his aunt, as elegantly as a musketeer. “How is the most beautiful lady in the land?”

  “Come here you snake charmer! Sayin’ lies about your auntie again!”

  “It’s true! You are the most beautiful!”

  “Ah, alright, keep the old lady happy,” she laughed as she in turn engulfed Tyrone.

  “But, Auntie, its true.”

  “Alright, alright, now introduce me to your friend.”

  “This is Sam, my roommate and wonderful friend,” Chantal said.

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Sam said, extending her hand to Clotilde.

  “Come here, child, and give me a hug. That’s how we do it down here. We’re all one big happy family.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. And Tyrone is right. I now see where Chantal gets her beautiful looks.”

  “You know, children, I like this girl already.”

  Sam had traveled around the world with her parents, and tasted foods from many famous restaurants and chefs, but she never expected Aunt Clo’s amazing Reveillon dinner. It eclipsed everything she had ever tried.

  The first course she called ‘Christmas lettuce’. It consisted of a red lettuce in a large platter that looked like the head of an enormous red rose which she kept whole. Interspersed between the leaves Aunt Clo had inserted arugula and cherry tomatoes, as well as chestnuts she had boiled and then marinated in warm bourbon.

  “Oh, Aunt Clo, this is a work of art!” Sam exclaimed.

  “One eats with the eyes first.”

  The next course was a cauliflower covered with a Dijon mustard vinaigrette. At the bottom shrimp were lined up like little soldiers guarding the base of the cruciferous vegetable. She poured hot oil over the top, making a golden crust. Aunt Clotilde continued the feast with herb crusted pork chops decorated with potato, avocado and zucchini all mashed together and shaped into round, fried croquettes. A bouquet of cilantro made the mouthwatering dish charming. Her dessert did not disappoint either. Chocolate hazelnut filled beignets covered with powdered sugar; accompanied by home-made vanilla ice cream and covered with flambéed Cognac.

  “Your Reveillon dinner, Aunt Clo, was absolutely exquisite and better than anything I’ve eaten anywhere.”

  “I gather you enjoyed it then.”

  “No question about it. You should open a restaurant, you would put everybody out of business!”

  “I don’t want to put anybody out of business, besides, here in New Orleans there’s always room for more restaurants. This is an eatin’ city. I have thought about it, and it’s been a dream of mine for many years, but circumstances like Kat
rina and lack of funds haven’t always made things easy.

  “Like taking us in,” Chantal said.

  “Being together made it all worthwhile.”

  “Well, you know I’m going to be a doctor, and everybody knows that they make money, so at the first opportunity I’m going to buy you a restaurant.”

  “Now don’t you worry you’re pretty little head, you just concentrate on your school.”

  “Anything you say, Auntie Clo, but just you wait, and someday I might surprise you.”

  Aunt Clotilde took off and went to her favorite room—the kitchen. She was already concocting the next meal for the family. The three younger people stayed in the living room.

  “Tyrone, when are you headed back to your base?” Chantal asked.

  “In two days.”

  Tyrone’s wish after the harrowing helicopter ride from the rooftop after hurricane Katrina had manifested. He had enlisted in the Air Force and gotten his wish. He became a pilot with a helicopter squadron.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Chantal said.

  “Oh, oh, this could be dangerous,” Tyrone said jokingly.

  “Naw, seriously.”

  “Okay, I’ll rephrase that: What’s that brilliant mind up to now?”

  “Much better, Ty. Well, here it is. Sam and I have decided to join the fight.”

  “What does that mean?” Tyrone asked.

  “As combat nurses.”

  “No way!” Tyrone exclaimed. “Absolutely no way. I won’t let you,” Tyrone said, puffing his chest out like a lion ready to pounce.

  “Because you think it’s too dangerous?”

  “Exactly. Besides, you need some sort of degree.”

  “Both Sam and I do. We’ve got our associates nursing degree plus a couple more years of med school so the Army accepted us, and the university supports us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means that they will let us join and we can go back to school whenever we finish our military service.”

  “They’ll do that?”

  “Yup, extenuating circumstances.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Come on, Ty, you’re helping, why can’t we?”

  “It’s different.”

  “You mean girls shouldn’t fight?”

  “No. I mean… well, yeah. And I don’t want to see you hurt… or worse.”

  “Well, we’re not really going to fight, Tyrone,” Sam chirped in. “We’re going to do our part to save lives.”

  “Yeah, and not to mention the incredible medical knowledge we’ll acquire.”

  “That may be, Sis, but it’s still dangerous as hell.”

  “We’ll be at a hospital base, away from the fighting.”

  “Says who?”

  “Where else would they put us?”

  “Oh, Chantal, really! I just can’t let you do it.”

  “And you’re going to stop me?” Chantal asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Now, you listen to me lil’ brother. I’m going to do exactly what I think is best, and if you try to stop me I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.”

  “Chantal, for Heaven’s sake, I may be your little brother but I’m twice as big as you are.”

  Sam, you hadn’t said more than a few words and was listening to the brother and sister, started giggling.

  “What’s so funny, Sam?” Chantal asked.

  “He’s right, you know, he’s a big boy. Actually he’s quite a man.”

  “See?” Tyrone said.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. But in all seriousness, Sam and I have talked it over and we’re going to do it. They need us, Tyrone. You can understand that. Besides, we’ll be at a hospital.”

  “Yeah, a military hospital, in a war zone!”

  “We could be on a hospital ship,” Sam said.

  “And if we’re in a war zone, it’ll be the most protected place in the country.”

  Tyrone stared at the women. “You’ve made up your minds, haven’t you?”

  They nodded, confirming his question. “Ty, we’ve enlisted.”

  Tyrone let his head fall into his hands, waited a few moments, then went to the girls who were sitting on the sofa and hugged them. “Don’t you let anything happen, or I’ll personally come and spank both of you.” He hugged them even tighter.

  ♫

  FORT SAM HOUSTON, SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

  2004

  CHAPTER 21

  Sam and Chantal finished their basic training and all the tests including the Army’s physical fitness. It included hospital processes they were knowledgeable about and their training was more focused on war injuries. In addition, they learned about weapons such as M16 rifles and 9mm pistols, and hazardous materials procedures. They also became proficient with gas masks and MOPP suits, the protective gear used during a biological or chemical strike.

  The medical staff wasn’t comfortable having to carry a firearm, but they understood the need. There was always the potential to get hurt or perhaps even killed, especially in a war zone. And that’s exactly where they were going. It was their opportunity to help wounded military personnel, as well as Iraqi people.

  The night before they had gotten word. They were shipping out in two days.

  “Well, I’m all packed, how about you Chantal?”

  “Almost there. But I’ve got a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve only got so much room, so should I take my Prada purse of my Jimmy Choo’s?”

  Sam stopped what she was doing and stared at her best friend. “Seriously?”

  Chantal laughed. “No, of course not silly, but a girl can dream, right?”

  “Absolutely. Now, since we’re packed and we have a few free hours left, what do you say we go pamper ourselves?”

  “You mean at the spa in town?”

  “Who knows how long it will be before we get another chance.”

  “We’re talking manicure, pedicure, facial… right?”

  “And sauna.”

  “Lead the way, girl, I’m right behind you.”

  The next morning the men and women boarded the white school bus with the red cross painted on its side, and headed out to the airfield. They would travel with all the equipment and supplies that were needed to set up the CSH (pronounced cash), the Combat Support Hospital. Sam and Chantal felt refreshed and relaxed from their spa treatment from the day before, but mentally they were embarking on an unknown journey. They were, of course, apprehensive and their biggest regret was knowing that the people that loved them would worry. Sam thought of Maureen Nagel who had been such a loving, caring person when young Sam no longer had anyone in the world. Sandstorm, the kitten Sam had rescued during a snowstorm stayed with the older woman. It was a match made in heaven. They adored each other. Sandstorm was pampered incessantly, and in turn the furry feline gave Ms. Nagel a love and companionship she craved and was grateful for. Chantal was thinking about Aunt Clo and her hometown. She missed them already, but she also knew that this was something she needed to do, not to mention the terrific, yet unfortunate, experiences she would be partaking in the medical field. No school or medical facility, other than a hospital in a war zone, could provide that amount of experience. Just a few months of exposure would be the equivalent of years of conventional study.

  Every person on the bus was lost in their own thoughts, thoughts about their families, and the unpredictable voyage they were about to embark on.

  “Hey, Sam,” Chantal said.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never been out of the country.”

  “Normally I would ask if you have your passport, but in this case we’re on a private plane and you won’t need it.”

  “You’ve been overseas, what’s it like?”

  “Well, I haven’t been to Iraq.”

  “I know that. But other countries.”

  “Well, each country is different. Each has its own beauty, traditions, culture, l
anguage, food and even music. And that’s my favorite part, that they’re all unique.”

  “Some countries don’t like us, though.”

  “Most countries around the world used to, especially after the First and Second World War, and many still do like us or respect us. Of course we can’t please everybody. It’s like politics. Nowhere will you find that everybody is happy with their government. At some point they might have been, but then they aren’t anymore. You’ll find that people will always crave for more, even though they have everything they always wanted. But then they want something more.”

  “Sounds like a vicious circle.”

  “It is. Hey, there’s the plane,” Sam said looking out the window.

  “It’s huge! I thought you said we’d be on a private plane.”

  “What did you think I meant? A Lear jet with leather seats?”

  “Well, no, but maybe a commercial airliner.”

  “Naw, this is going to be much more fun,” Sam said looking at the impressive Hercules 130. “She’s a beauty.”

  “She’s a beast.”

  “That too.” Sam laughed, and loved that she was on an adventure with her best friend.

  ♫

  WASHINGTON, D.C. 2004

  CHAPTER 22

  Davina was glued to the television. She had canceled all of her concerts. Her life was on hold. How could she perform? She imagined the bullets flying by her young son’s face and felt her heart miss a beat when she thought about one getting even closer. She immediately eclipsed it from her mind. NO, he would not get hurt! She insisted to herself. The talk shows all wanted interviews as they knew the famous diva’s son was somewhere in Iraq, but the military was doing a good job of not divulging any details. However, even with her connections, they wouldn’t give her any information either. With the networks covering the war every minute of the day she was hoping she might get a glimpse of her son. And that evening she did. “Alejandro!” She screamed. He came running.