by Tara Mills
Jim spun toward their interpreter in frustration. “Well, what do you suggest?” he asked.
Ali gave it some thought. “It might not be the interview you wanted, but my grandmother and aunts are willing to speak with you. I could take you safely there. My car wouldn’t raise suspicions in front of our family home. You would have to keep out of sight and enter through the back and under cover, but it’s an option.”
Dylan considered the alternative carefully. “I have a deadline, but I don’t want to do anything if it endangers your family.”
Ali nodded gravely. “They are very strong women, very wise. You’ll get an interview. I think we should leave now. Just let me signal my friend, Ram.”
He brought a small radio out of his pocket. Before he pressed the button on the side, he said, “Collect your things before I call him. When he creates a distraction, we need to hurry.”
Dylan and Jim left to get their bags from the back room. They would not be coming back here tonight. There was no reason now, and it would be too dangerous.
Jim stood up, slipping the strap of his pack over his shoulder. “Ready?”
Dylan zipped his tablet and pen away and gave a quick nod.
Ali’s face was set when he met their eyes and raised the radio. He spoke a curt word into it, and within seconds, they heard a loud boom at the end of the street. Then Ali was moving, running at a crouch to the car, with Jim and Dylan on his heels.
Jim reached the back door first and yanked it open, crawling inside, Dylan right behind him. He pulled the back door closed against his feet. Ali leaped into the front seat, and a second later, the engine roared to life. The kid threw the car into gear, spun the wheel, and made a tight U-turn. They headed off, away from the blast at a normal speed to avoid attention.
As they bounced along the rough roads without encountering trouble, Dylan’s tension slowly eased a little. He was finally able to grin at Jim’s bony butt.
“Think you can turn that out of my face now?”
Chapter 14
Keeping Max under control when he was determined to run free was a struggle. He strained against the leash so hard Ariela’s shoulder hurt and the hard knot in her right calf threatened to drop her to the ground at any minute. She tugged the dog over to an empty bench and tied him there so she could take a break and stretch her leg before the cramp hit.
It amazed her to see how many people needed reassurance Max wasn’t going to hurt them when they walked by. How could they be so blind to his ecstatic tail wagging and his happy-go-lucky grin, and with that lolling tongue hanging out? What were they afraid of, that he might lick them to death? Yes, he frisked and yipped, but it was in an eager-greeting kind of way, not a roll-up-your-pant-leg-because-that-leg-is-mine style. Max simply loved people, and other dogs—even the obnoxious little nippers. Honestly, she’d never met a dog with more obvious intentions. Still, the poor thing wasn’t making many friends.
Feeling for him, she leaned down to untie his leash and pat his head. “Your dad should take you to obedience school.” He turned and kissed her, a big, wet, sloppy kiss. She laughed and shoved him away. “Save those for your master. You know I’m immune.”
Max looked at her as if he didn’t buy it. Ariela wondered if maybe the dog had a point. She was collapsing under the weight of his charm.
They returned to the car, and she opened the back door so he could leap inside. His entire body wriggled with eagerness to get going. She shook her head, perplexed at how excited he was around the car—let me in, let me out, let me in, let me out! Bizarre.
Back at Dylan’s place, Ariela let Max run loose in the yard while she went in to phone Jean. A little human interaction was exactly what she needed. Well, barring what she actually had in mind, her best friend would have to do in a pinch. Heck, she’d even extend the invite to Ron.
“Not tonight,” was Jean’s response. “Ron’s coming over for dinner. You know, the dinner.”
“No kidding?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
“Of course you are. Don’t chicken out.”
“What would you say to a woman who told you she wanted to marry you?”
“I’d say, I don’t think it’s legal in this state yet.”
“Ha. This time pretend you’re Ron.”
“Sorry, not the time for levity, I guess. Jean, this is the next, natural step. One of you has to make it. Why can’t it be you?”
“You’re right. Why can’t it be me?”
“There you go.”
“Wish me luck.”
“I wish you love.”
Ariela hung up the phone and filled Max’s dish, then went to call him in.
“It’s just you and me tonight, kiddo. There’s a good movie on cable. What do you say?”
Max snorted into his bowl, but at least his tail wagged a few times. Ariela decided to take that as a yes.
She made a bowl of popcorn then settled on the couch with the dog. They snacked together while the television flashed light and color into the otherwise dark room. She might even have stroked the dog’s fur from time to time, though it was unconsciously done.
***
Dylan’s cheek rested against the edge of the backseat, his body curled awkwardly on the floor. For safety’s sake, there was no conversation in the car. When the vehicle came to a stop, he looked at Jim. They both visibly tensed, unsure if they’d run into a checkpoint or some other hazard. Ali cut the engine.
“We’re here,” he whispered. “Stay where you are until I come back for you.”
He climbed out of the car, leaving the two men to shift uncomfortably in the small, unforgiving depressions of the floor. In a matter of minutes, he was back, this time with a woman. Ali went and opened the trunk to further block them as she beckoned with a gesture to Jim and Dylan. They hustled after her at a crouching run as she led them down a narrow corridor between the house and a tall, concrete wall.
Leaving their shoes in the kitchen, they were shown into a curtained sitting room. Ali came in through the front door, locking it behind him. Two women were already waiting. Dylan was surprised they’d left their heads uncovered in front of him. Perhaps they were Christian or, more risky still, nothing at all. Their escort from the car removed her black hijab and, with a graceful wave, invited them to sit.
Jim walked over to one of the chairs, straightening his tall frame as he went. They all heard the audible cracking of his bones. Dylan was delighted to see he wasn’t the only one fighting back a smile at the unexpected concert.
Ali’s grandmother was a tiny woman, but she had presence, an undeniable strength. She didn’t appear uncomfortable until Jim took out his camera. She and Ali exchanged a rapid flow of words while the other two women gravely watched Jim. He froze, silent, waiting for a verdict from their hostess.
Ali nodded, agreeing with something his grandmother said and held up his hand in appeasement. Then he turned to Jim. “I apologize, but we must insist you not take their pictures. It would be extremely dangerous if their images were published, even in an American article. The world is small since the Web. They continue here at the sufferance of others, as it is.”
Dylan and Jim looked at each other.
Taken aback, Dylan asked, “What do you mean?”
Ali explained. “My grandfather was an educated man, like my father. He studied in England when he was young, then went on to travel the west before eventually coming home to settle and teach. Because of that, he was both accepted and distrusted by many. In order to keep his position at the university, he had to refrain from introducing radical ideas to his students. Still, he circulated articles challenging many of our customs and assumptions—under a pseudonym, of course. He was careful, but suspected nonetheless. World politics and history were his fields of study, so it was difficult, if not impossible, for him to remain completely silent.” Ali smiled at his grandmother, sitting serenely at his side. “My family is less trusted by association.”
&nb
sp; Dylan raised his eyebrows at Jim and saw his resignation. Jim capped his lens.
The woman seated on the other side of the old woman spoke to her mother. Ali looked over at her and they exchanged a few words too. He nodded and turned back to Jim.
“If you’d care to follow my aunt, she would like to show you something. You’ll be permitted to bring your camera, but you cannot include her in any pictures you take.”
Jim revived before their eyes. Standing up, he towered over the woman as she led him from the room. Dylan retrieved his notebook and recorder and flipped the pad open to check his questions, scanning down the list for something relevant to ask during this impromptu interview. The questions he’d prepared for Hanna no longer applied. He didn’t know what they were going to discuss or where this would go.
Ali spoke with the old woman, nodding to her. “My grandmother would like me to offer you refreshments.”
Dylan smiled at her. “I’d be grateful.”
Ali conferred with his other aunt and she departed. While they waited for her return, Dylan looked around. One wall was full of shelves, oddly empty shelves. He wondered what the story was there.
Ali’s aunt came back with a tray of finger foods and cups of tea. Once everyone was comfortable, she returned to her chair and spoke to Ali. He seemed to reassure her.
“My aunt apologizes for the modest offering, but that’s my fault. I didn’t give them time to prepare.”
“This is very nice. Please thank them for their hospitality.” Dylan appreciated their kindness, especially when everything was expensive and scarce. He took a sip of tea and smiled again, sincerely, at the two women, hoping they understood. Their smiles in response reassured him. Helping himself to a few marinated olives, he tried again. “Very good.” His cheeks felt tight already from all the smiling.
However, they seemed gratified. Ali and his relatives patiently watched Dylan while he scanned his notes and chose a question. He reached forward and turned on the recorder.
Looking back and forth between his translator and the old woman, he said, “I was going to begin asking about the difficulties of being a woman at this time and place, but I think I’ll start by asking your grandmother if she feels optimistic about a democratic Iraq.”
Ali looked at her and spoke rapidly. Her eyebrows pinched together as she listened. She asked her grandson a question afterwards while Dylan looked on, curious.
Looking intrigued and proud, Ali turned to Dylan. “She asks, why do you think democracy is coming?”
Her question, and his translator’s reaction to it, confused and concerned him. Was her knowledge too limited to make this a worthwhile interview? He couldn’t say.
Shifting in his seat, Dylan said, “Controversial political arguments aside, it’s the reason our government gives for keeping our military here. We’re supposed to be helping you get a new government in place, giving you time to form a democratic order for yourselves.”
Ali relayed his response to the old woman and she spoke directly to Dylan, even though he couldn’t understand. Her grandson translated. “She says democracy is a force of the people, for the people, and by the people. It can’t be implanted from the outside. Holding elections before safety and order are restored is useless. How long do you think people will be satisfied with a government that can’t protect them, or provide uninterrupted services?”
Dylan blinked. “Establishing a government to address those concerns takes time, but you’re moving in the right direction.”
“Elections only give us the appearance of democracy,” Ali continued, translating his grandmother’s words back to Dylan. “I worry the West will be satisfied with that. It doesn’t change the reality of our damaged institutions, our economy, or the bands of armed men terrorizing our population.”
Dylan tried a new thought. “Without Saddam Hussein, you have a chance to reorganize.”
When the old lady heard that name, she actually chuckled, as though she knew what Dylan said before Ali could repeat it. The kid had to shift gears when she began speaking over him. He held up his hand, trying to slow her as he relayed her response while she spoke it.
“Removing Saddam Hussein doesn’t ensure democracy, nor does it address all of our problems, because it doesn’t change the underlying structure of our culture. The conditions necessary for democracy to flourish are not present at this time. For this reason, she says we are not yet ready for democracy.”
Dylan was blown away. This was proving to be a more interesting interview than he’d expected. “Could she explain what she means?”
Ali asked her to continue and she resumed. “Sunni and Shia fight each other, and the international presence. We are not one people, with one purpose. Our country is fractured by violence.”
Dylan watched the old woman while she spoke to Ali directly. The young man nodded and faced Dylan again, his voice stilted as he translated what she was saying bit by bit.
“She says democracy grows from something else, a system that no longer satisfies or serves the people. It doesn’t form out of chaos but, rather, from order.”
She took a breath before going on. “Many would choose to have a stronger Islamic influence in government, but the emphasis on submission in Islam is at odds with your ideals of liberty. Without granting so many of the rights you’d consider essential in a democracy, would it be a true democracy? You forget, we are comfortable on our knees, facing east. Now you want us to stand up and face west instead.”
Holy shit. Dylan reached for his tea. He needed it.
The old woman spoke to her grandson for a moment before looking at Dylan again. “If democracy is given to us prematurely, it will flow through our fingers like sand, and we will eventually find ourselves controlled by another dictator or bowed under Islamic rule. Anything resembling a young democracy will be fleeting.”
Dylan kept his face impassive but he wanted to whoop out loud. “Please ask her how she came to these conclusions.” He waited while Ali did just that.
With a smile Ali said, “She says she wasn’t born yesterday.”
Both men chuckled as she smiled serenely back at them. Ali explained, “My grandfather shared his work—his enthusiasm and rants alike—with all of us. Naturally, my grandmother absorbed the most.”
“What does she recommend to improve the chances of democracy?” Dylan wanted to know.
Ali relayed the question. Jim and Ali’s other aunt rejoined them as the old woman shared her thoughts, her hopes, and her love for her country with Dylan.
Jim set down his teacup and caught Dylan’s eye from across the room. He nodded slowly. It seemed Dylan wasn’t the only one surprised and impressed by this little woman.
“Ask your grandmother,” he spoke to Ali again, “how soon she hopes to reach Canada?”
Something in Ali’s expression disturbed him, but Ali repeated the question.
After she smiled gently, he explained. “She has no intention of leaving her home. It’s all she knows, all she has. She expects to die here, and she isn’t sorry about that.” Ali reached out to hold her hand.
Dylan objected. “But your family is already relocating. Wouldn’t it be best to go with them? This is just a building.”
Ali went on, while his grandmother’s smile of acceptance never wavered. “She bore all of her children here. My grandfather brought her here after they were married. They made a home. She wants to be buried where he is. If she leaves, that will be unlikely. She also refuses to leave because she has a family legacy in her care. She keeps it safe until it can go to my father, then to me and my children.”
Dylan wasn’t following something, so Jim spoke up. “The shelves. I’ll explain later.”
Ali translated Jim’s comment to his grandmother, and she nodded at him. “We must pass on more than blood to the future.”
Jim nodded, apparently understanding perfectly.
Dylan was sorry to hear of her decision, but it was hers to make.
The old woma
n was obviously tired now, and they’d spent more time than was probably wise in their home, so Ali concluded the interview.
Dylan shut off his recorder. “Please tell her, thank you. Please thank them all. We appreciate their hospitality.”
Ali did so, and then everyone stood. Dylan tucked his things back into his bag and humbly nodded to each lady in turn.
Looking at the visitors, Ali said, “I’ll take you back to the Hamra Hotel now. That will be safest.”
“Thank you.” Dylan slung his pack over his shoulder.
The aunt who’d led them inside silently gestured them out the back again. Dylan and Jim took off, moving stealthily along the house. They stopped at the corner of the building and scanned the area before darting out of cover to dive into the backseat once more. Jim crawled in first and turned to face the middle. He drew the dark blanket over them both as Dylan quietly pulled the door closed.
Jim tapped him and whispered, “Ali’s aunt showed me a ton of books hidden behind a false wall. It was pretty narrow, but you wouldn’t have believed it. I saw Arabic, English, French—titles covering a wide range of topics. Obviously, it’s too dangerous to display them openly, and there’s no way they can move them. It must have taken the old man a lifetime to build his library. I want to ask Ali about all this. That’s the legacy the old lady is protecting for her family.”
“We’ll see what blanks he can fill in for us later. I’d love to talk with his grandmother again. My mind is already racing with thoughts I didn’t get a chance to raise today. I’d like to come back tomorrow, if he can arrange it.”
They overheard Ali say his goodbyes then leave through the front door. To any casual observer, his actions would seem perfectly natural. Gravel crunched under his shoes as he walked to the car. A second later, he slid into his seat and turned the key. The car moved off down the road.
They were only a few houses away when a small bomb detonated beneath the driver’s seat. The impact blew the glass out of the windows and filled the interior with a metallic mist of blood.
The two passengers in the back were knocked out, their heads colliding in the concussion of the blast.