Читать книгу A Brighter Fear - Kerry Drewery, Kerry Drewery - Страница 15

I don’t remember the soldier leaving. I just remember the empty space where he had been, the cup of coffee untouched on the table, and my hope that I had imagined the whole thing.

That hot July night was the last I spent in my house, my home, Aziz asleep on the floor instead of my papa in his bed.

I laid in my room with no sleep coming, thinking of all the what-ifs and if-onlys. The conversations I’d had with Papa about leaving Iraq, how the answer was always the same. How I would see clouds skip across his eyes, and see them bring the mist in.

“We cannot leave yet,” he would reply, “we must wait for Mama to return.”

I had watched my papa miss my mama for nearly four years. Only since the war began did I see him as a man missing his wife.

Who had shot him? Where had the bullet come from? A window? A roof? Had it been an Iraqi? A soldier? Why had Papa worked for these people? And I thought again about the American soldier. Surprised by him and his humanity.

Had it been worth it? Raiding that house? For so many deaths? I’d heard what people did to get to someone, to cause trouble, it happened all the time. Now, instead of reporting you to the Mukharabat, all they had to do was to mention the word ‘terrorism’ within American earshot and nod in someone’s direction. That was enough to get your house ransacked, your belongings trashed and your family arrested and kept without charge.