“The offensive was our first victory in years. Then the Iranians struck back with incredible ferocity, we lost tens of thousands of men. I was fortunate, my position was not gassed. But I knew men who were. The Iranians of course said we were the ones who used gas-and who knows, maybe they were right. I would not put it past Saddam to gas his own troops. But we managed to hold out, regroup, and within the week we went on the attack again, recaptured the Majnoon oil fields, then Halabja. Soon the war was over, Iran agreed to peace. I came home a hero. People were so proud we’d actually, at long last, pushed back, regained some of the country’s pride.”
“But that didn’t satisfy the Mukhabarat,” Bergen guessed.
“I was back in school maybe two months when they came around again. There were incredible purges going on in the country, people disappearing right and left, not just Shia and Kurds. I was taken to the ministry again, a different room, this one on the second floor, but the same captain came in, sat down.
My file was much larger at this point. They must have been watching me in the army. Just like before, he asked me how my classes were going. Honey would have melted on his tongue. I was more scared in that room than I had been at the front.
“Finally I asked, ‘What do I have to do to convince you I am no enemy of the regime?’ He seemed offended but that lasted only an instant. He said I had to know someone in the Palestinian community who had spoken out against the war, against Saddam. And there it was. My way out. All I had to do was give them a name. I had joined the army for nothing. They wanted to terrorize the whole Palestinian community, remind us that our safety under Saddam was a gift, not a right.
“So I went home, thought about who I would betray. Given what I saw in the war, I was no longer quite so squeamish about doing what I had to do to survive-do you understand? There was a man named Salah Hassan, he had a little business repairing radios and televisions and vacuum sweepers. I knew, when the war was going badly, he had demanded that some of his customers pay him in Saudi riyals-better yet, pounds or dollars if they had them. This was considered a crime in Saddam’s Iraq, a kind of money laundering. Worse, subversion. So I told my friend the captain about it. A few nights later, while I lay awake in my bed, I heard the cars pull up outside the repairman’s house, I heard them pound on his door. I heard him speak very respectfully, very cordially to the men who took him away. And after that night, my problems with the Mukhabarat ended.”
Lupe, head still lolling on her arms, uttered a drowsy, uncomprehending sigh. Samir fussed absently with his hands. Bergen said, “I don’t mean to be contrary, but from what I know of intelligence agencies, they don’t tend to let go. They keep coming back-”
“You misunderstand.” Samir seemed strangely uncoiled, even relaxed. “The Palestinian community in Baghdad had caused no problems during the war. The Mukhabarat just wanted to make a point. We were not beyond their reach.”
“You’d told them you had ambitions to work in the foreign ministry.”
“I can only assume the captain saw through that. Regardless, I wanted nothing to do with working for the regime. I got my degree and found work with Al-Zawra, the country’s main newspaper, translating wire-service pieces for publication.”
“Al-Zawra was owned by Uday, Saddam’s son.”
“Yes, but I had nothing to do with any of that. Let me tell you something, in Iraq you could not work for the media in any form and not have contact with someone who knew someone-you understand? But I was a very small fish. I kept to myself, bothering no one. And no one bothered me. That is the truth. Choose to believe it or not. But if you are worried I am some kind of jihadi, let me tell you something. I worked for the coalition as an interpreter, it’s how I got to know this one’s cousin.” A bob of his chin toward Roque. “I did what I could to help America. All I want is to get across the border, make my case for asylum and try as best I can to rebuild my life and help my family. If you do not want to help me, I will find some other way. But I will not be denied. On my honor as a husband and father, I will see this through.”
Bergen sat there a moment then pushed up from the table. “Excuse me a sec.” He collected the empty chapulín basket and ambled off toward the kitchen. Samir dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbed. Lupe stirred and stretched, rising from her nap.
Roque said:-You okay?
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled.-What’s everybody been blabbering about?
– True confessions. He shrugged apologetically for Samir’s sake.-I’ll tell you later.
– Okay. The smile lingered.
Samir looked back and forth between them.-What’s this?
– What business is it of yours? She nailed him with a stare.
– You know what business of mine it is.
– He’s lost his uncle. Have some pity.
– I’m neither blind nor stupid. Pity?
– Listen, I’ll do what I please, feel what I please. What are you going to do-kill me?
Bergen returned, bearing Dolor’s tin pitcher and four glasses. “Figured all this time, flapping our jaws, somebody might be thirsty.” He filled each of the four glasses with water and passed them around. “Don’t worry,” he added. “It’s bottled.”
Resuming his seat, he regarded Lupe now.-What’s this about our Arab friend here killing you? His Spanish was clumsily accented, the same Rocky Mountain twang as his English.
Roque explained the situation to him, the expected connection with El Recio in Agua Prieta, Samir’s crossing in exchange for Lupe. Bergen’s gaze traveled the table.
– And that’s acceptable to all concerned?
– Acceptable? Roque acted insulted.-My uncle hated the idea. I’ll do anything to see it doesn’t happen.
Samir drained his glass. “You should hear yourself. Fine. I’m tired of arguing with you. If you think you know some way back home with no money, no connections, just that noble heart of yours, be my guest. Leave me here. I’ll fend for myself. But I wonder what it will be like for you, when you come face-to-face with your cousin Happy again and he learns not only that his father is dead but that you froze like a little boy when it came time to defend him. You needed me to snap you out of it, get you to act like a man, but by then it was too late. And then you left me behind. Will you be noble enough to tell him the truth?”
He reached out for the pitcher, poured himself more water. Lupe turned to Roque.-What is happening?
Before Roque could answer, Bergen stepped in.-Seems to me you folks have a thing or two to work out. There’s no way I’m taking you anywhere with this going on. I don’t need the hassle. You find common cause or I leave now and that’s that. And Father Luis can’t put you up forever. People are going to come looking for you. Then what?
Samir, finally surrendering, switched to Spanish, letting Lupe in.-I said it before, all we have from you so far is promises, same as we’ve had from every thief and deadbeat along the way. Why should we trust you? What’s the special trick you know that will make our problems vanish?
Bergen considered the question, taking a leisurely sip of water, then lowered his glass and offered that jolting smile.-You’re right, I know a trick. Pretty simple trick, actually. When I drive up to a checkpoint, I flash this happy white face. I show them my Utah license, the Beehive State. Plain old vanilla, that’s me. Maybe this trip I’m a teacher on sabbatical indulging my wanderlust. Maybe I’m a Mormon, hoping to save your souls. Regardless, far more likely as not-I know this from long experience, my friend-they’re going to wave me right on through.