Sand Queen Part 5

aLooks like youare doing better today, though.a aYeah. I know exactly who everybody is now.a The father and mother look at each other again.

aKatie, are they treating you right in here?a the dad says next, trying to soften his voice. aDo they know what theyare doing? Are they giving you too many of those drugs? Maybe youad be better off at home, huh?a aNo.a aNo what?a aIam not going home.a aDonat be ridiculous. Of course you are. You need to be with your family.a aNo, thatas not what I need. But you canat understand that, can you? aCause for all your tough sheriff s.h.i.t, youave never seen anything. What do you deal with all day up there in small-town land? Drunk drivers? aDomestic incidents?a Teenage pranks? So donat try and tell a soldier what she f.u.c.king needs, okay?a The father closes his eyes. aMaybe you should stay here a little longer. But Katea a He opens his eyes again and gives his daughter the severest sheriff glare he can muster. aThe Lord helps those who help themselves. Youave got to want to be better, youave got to try. Otherwise n.o.body can help you at all.a Not only are her hands shaking, now her whole body is. aJust go!a the soldier shouts. aGet the f.u.c.k away from me!a Sheriff Daniel Brady rises to his feet. aI know itas been hard, I know youave been through a lot, but you need to stop behaving like this.a aLeave!a And the soldier picks up the fatheras Bible and throws it as hard as she can at the vase, sending yellow petals and shards of gla.s.s flying all over the room.

[ KATE ].

A FEW DAYS after the j.e.r.k.-.o.f.f. threw his s.h.i.t at me, Yvette tells me sheas been relieved from night convoys for a while, so is back on the same schedule as me. Iam real glad to hear this, not only because I miss her when sheas away but cause Iam still not getting on so good with Third Eye. We talk when we have to because you canat not talk to someone who sleeps two feet away from you. But ever since that Sand Queen graffiti, sheas been either ignoring me or letting fly with a mean remark. Third Eye, Iave decided, is turning into one of those Army females whoad rather stab you in the back than watch it. Either that, or sheas swallowed Kormickas c.r.a.p about me being a s.k.a.n.k.

aWhatas the story with you two?a Yvette asks me one morning during our usual run to the berm and back. aYou and Third Eye are skulking around each other like a couple of she-cats fighting over a tom. And I know that ainat the problem.a She gives me a wink.

I concentrate on running a moment. Running is getting pretty difficult these days, what with the Bucca bug draining my guts, the lousy food and the heat killing my appet.i.te. It annoys me. I want to be growing stronger, not weaker.

aIt started over that f.u.c.king graffiti,a I say reluctantly.

We both hold our breath a second while we run through a particularly fragrant cloud of burning latrine fuel.

aWhy, what happened?a aShe acted like I deserved it and sheas been treating me like s.h.i.t ever since.a Yvette looks over at me. aWell, f.u.c.k her! Whatas her problem? I mean itas one thing being a d.y.k.e, I can live with that, long as she donat hit on me. But whyas she have to be twice as bad as the boys all the time, huh?a I shrug. Iam out of breath and my legs are aching already. aSheas even worse now that sheas started working with my old team. She hasnat said anything to you about them, has she?a aNah, she just said they suck. Howare your new guys?a aNot too bad. Mosquitoas pretty funny. Creeleyas a kid. But theyare all right.a aWhat about Teach?a Yvette grins at me, bouncing along the sand road with no effort at all.

aWhat about him?a aI hear he visits you up in your princess tower every single day.a I donat answer that, just concentrate on breathing through the burning sewage and getting my aching legs along that road and back again without collapsing. To my relief, she doesnat push it.

A couple nights later, Iam reading on my rack when Third Eye comes in looking even more p.i.s.sed than usual. She throws her big body down on her cot and stares up at the roof a long time, her red face clenched so tight sheas turning white around the mouth. I try to ignore her and keep reading, but she looks so miserable that I figure I better do the Christian thing and see if I can help, even if she is a harda.s.sed b.i.t.c.h. Mom would be proud.

aSomething wrong?a I ask.

No answer. She just lies there on her back, mouth clenched.

aSmoke?a I offer her my pack. She shakes her head.

aHow about water?a I hold out an open bottle.

She nods at that and props herself up on an elbow to drink. And to my shock I see that her narrow black eyes are filled with tears. Third Eyea"that tough d.y.k.ea"crying?

I pin up my poncho curtain in case Macktruck comes back, sit down and lean toward her. aWanna talk?a I whisper. aDid you get some bad news or something?a aLeave me the f.u.c.k alone!a She rolls over to face away from me.

I gaze at her broad back a minute. Yvette would be much better at this acause she and Third Eye still get along fine. But Yvetteas out on a convoy, so Iam the only option.

aLook, donat bite my head off,a I whisper, hoping the guys around us arenat listening. aIs it Kormick? Did he do something to you?a But even as I say that I think, come on, Kate, be reala" this chickas built like a wall. Even that f.u.c.khead couldnat pull anything on her.

But then, ever so slightly, she nods.

aHe did? Whataa aShut up.a She rolls onto her back again and wipes her eyes with her wrist. aI f.u.c.king hate men.a aShh!a I look around quickly. This is not a conversation that should be overheard. Luckily, far as I can tell, most of the guys are tuned out over their DVD players and earphones. Maybe oneas actually reading a book. Still, you never know whoas eavesdropping.

aIf I tell you, you wonat say anything about it, right?a Third Eye whispers then. aNothing to n.o.body, ever? You swear?a aI swear.a aIf you do, Iall kill you. I mean it.a aI know you do.a I lean closer. aDid he hurt you? Are you all right?a Third Eye swallows and looks away from me. Then she says in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, aHe raped me. Him and b.o.n.e.r together. Of course Iam not aall right.aa aOh G.o.d! They tried to do that to me, too!a Third Eye stares at me angrily. aIam not talking about your f.u.c.king problems, Sand Queen. Iam talking about mine.a [ NAEMA ].

GRANNY MARYAMaS NEIGHBORS, old Abu Mustafa and his wife and sister, have invited us over again to watch television. We have only one or two hours of electricity a day now, if any at all, but Abu Mustafa says that as soon as it does deign to visit us, we are welcome. We have taken to talking about the electricity like this, as if it were a malicious trickster. After all, it switches us from modern to primitive life and back again at will. Some people try to outwit it by buying a private generator, but we cannot afford such a luxury because the few dinars we managed to bring with us from Baghdad have so lost their value that they buy almost nothing. So we are left with no more control over our light and communications, or whether we bake or freeze, than we have over the glow of the moon.

Mama goes to watch the neighboras television whenever she can, eager to hear news of the war and our poor battered Baghdad, and Granny goes with her on the increasingly rare days she is well enough, but I hardly ever go at all. There is too much to do while the electricity lasts to waste time on television and its lies: heat the water for washing; clean the stubborn dust from our clothes; cook some rice to last us through the next few days of blackouts; soak myself from the pump and stand by the fan to cool off, the dayas only respite from the suffocating desert heat. And most urgently of all, recharge my cellular telephone in the hope of reaching Khalil and the other friends from whom I am so cruelly cut off. That telephone is my lifeline here in Grannyas remote little house, for we have no computers or Internet, no landline and we receive no letters. This war has isolated us as effectively as if it had sent us to Mars.

Many of my friends fled Baghdad at the first whiff of the invasion, having had more foresight than my family did, and where they are now I do not know. But those with less money or no contacts stayed behind and it is from them I particularly hope to hear, even though I know they will bear terrible tales. But the person I most long to talk to, of course, is Khalil. He and I have managed to speak only once in the nearly three weeks since my family left, during a rare moment while my telephone was working, and it was then that he told me he had decided to stay in Baghdad, no matter what. aIam going to wait for you, my love,a he said. aI want you to have somebody to come home to.a aKhalil, you mustnat! Itas too dangerous!a I was replying when the telephone cut off, and ever since we have missed each other again and again, foiled by power outages, bombs and the wanton destruction of war. Now I no longer know where Khalil is, or whether he is even alive.

So the minute my phone has charged enough to work (and it only works at all down here because we are so near Kuwait; the Iraqi power lines have been bombed), I try to reach him, as I have tried so often already, punching in his number while my pulse thrums in my ears. All the other times Iave called him, I have met only silence. But this time, a ring! My heart jumps so violently I can hardly breathe.

But then the ringing stops.

I try again. One ringa twoa then nothing. Again I diala"the same thing. Over and over I try, but the telephone either rings and cuts off, or will not ring at all. What does this mean? Is Khalilas phone simply not working, or has something terrible happened to him? I keep punching in the numbers, faster and harder, my hand flying in a frenzy. But already I know it is futile. The telephone has become nothing but an inert object, no more communicative than a stone.

I pocket the useless thing and drag myself through the rest of my ch.o.r.es, my limbs weighted with disappointment. Then I walk over to Abu Mustafaas house to join Mama and Granny. They are inside with his wife Huda, and his sister Thoraya, who are good friends to Granny, drinking tea in front of a fan and sitting around a little television set, watching it in grim silence. I settle down to watch with them, too discouraged even to speak. But the minute I sit, the trickster blinks and kills the electricity once again, instantly smothering us in blackness and heat.

I should be used to its capriciousness by now, but at this particular moment I cannot bear it. I sit in the sudden darkness, unable to stop my eyes from filling with tears. Everything about this war conspires to make us helpless. Why was I so nave as to believe that girl Kate when she said she would look for Papa and Zaki? It is much more likely that she has forgotten us, no more interested in our fate than the electricity trickster is in our needs.

Khalil, I think as I wipe my eyes and rise to light a lamp, I will marry you after all. My dreams of traveling the world seem absurd now. They seem to come from a time and place as remote and innocent as when I was an infant. Yes, I will marry you, and yes, we can be doctors together, if that is what you still wish.

Just be alive, habib, be safe. That is the only dream that matters now.

[ KATE ].

THE MORNING AFTER Third Eye tells me what happened to her, I have a little talk with Marvin. aHow you doing today?a I ask him from the top of my tower. n.o.body can see me talking to a tree up here, except maybe a few of the prisoners, but since theyare crazy as me by now it doesnat matter. aAs for me, Iam not so good.a When Jimmy comes by in the afternoon, I ask if he knows anybody who works at the boysa compound. aYeah, Ortiz. Why?a Heas chewing on a mouthful of potato chips, his helmet tilted back like a cowboy hat and his high-planed cheeks sunburned and sweaty. All of us sweat so much out here we crave salt all the time.

aBecause I promised that Iraqi girl Iad look for her kid brother. But then I forgot all about it.a aSo why do it now?a aJust something Third Eye said. Could you arrange for me to talk to Ortiz?a aSure.a Jimmy squints at me from behind his shades. Heas sitting on my tower floor, as usual, his long legs dangling over the edge, his rangy body managing to look relaxed even in his bulky battle-rattle vest and jacket. Iam on the chair, scanning the prisoners, dodging s.h.i.t and snakesa" doing my job.

aSpeaking of Third Eye, howas she managing out there with those f.u.c.kers?a he asks then.

I glance at him. aWhy?a I say cautiously. aYou heard something?a He pauses. aaFraid so.a aWhat?a He stares down at his scuffed-up desert boots. aYou donat want to know.a aI know I donat. But tell me.a He sighs. aWell, that a.s.swipe b.o.n.e.r was bragging in the tent last night that shead blown him and Kormick. A cozy little threesome, he said.a aAnd people believe that? Third Eye?a aPeopleall believe anything in the Army.a af.u.c.k.a I donat know which is worse, the guys thinking she did that voluntarily, in which case sheall get hara.s.sed to death. Or them knowing she was raped, which will get her treated like a leper. Either way theyall say sheas a tramp, just like they say about me.

aI shouldave reported them, like you said. They wouldnat be spreading c.r.a.p like that about her then. Iam such a friggina coward, Jimmy.a aDonat say that! Itas not your fault. Nothing you could do would stop those guys from being the s.h.i.theads they are, donat go blaming yourself. But is this anything to do with you wanting to find that boy?a aYeah. I just want to do something right for a change. Iam such a f.u.c.kup.a Jimmy moves over to crouch beside my chair and takes off his shades. aLook at me. Come on, take your eyes off of those pretty prisoners a second and look at me.a I do. His bright blue eyes are staring right into mine. For-get-me-not eyes.

aNow listen,a he says. aYouave got to stop thinking that way. Youare only coping, like all of us. You havenat done anything wrong.a I shake my head, too sick to speak. I canat even begin to tell him how angry I am at myself right now. Didnat I promise to alay my life down for others,a and alift the downtrodden and cast the wicked to the ground,a like Father Slattery said? But along comes my first test, the chance to turn in Kormick and protect Third Eye. And I flunk.

The rest of the week stinks. I canat talk to Yvette because sheas back on her night convoys, so either doesnat get in till Iam at work or doesnat get in at all acause sheas sleeping at some other base. And Third Eyeas gone into shutdown and wonat speak to me or anybody else if she can help it. Once I try to get through to her by saying, aListen, if you ever need me, Iam here.a But all I get in reply is, aCut the c.r.a.p, preachy-a.s.s.a Itas like sheas wiped her memory clean, the way a computer does when it crashes.

But seeing her like that makes me realize something. She still has to work with those f.u.c.kers every single daya"what if theyare still attacking her? What if theyare raping her over and over again? And even if they arenat, how can she stand being with them all day after what they did to her?

When that thought dawns on me, I canat sit still any longer. If she isnat going to do anything about it, I have to. I wonat tell anyone what happened to hera"I donat have the right. But I can get off my a.s.s after all and tell someone about what Kormick and b.o.n.e.r did to me. Yes, itall risk Kormickas anger and make me mighty unpopular with the command and most everybody else, too. But if it gets the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds transferred so they canat hurt Third Eye anymore, or anybody else, either, itas worth it. Anyway, itas the righteous thing to do and the only way I can live with myself.

The question now is who to tell. I could go to the EOO, the Equal Opportunity Officer, but thatall risk making my story public and turning the whole f.u.c.king platoon against me as a snitch. Or I could tell our platoon leader, SFC Hen-ley, in confidence. Not that Henley is Mother Teresa or anything, but perhaps he can figure out a way of dealing with Kormick and b.o.n.e.r more quietly. Platoon leaders have to figure out s.h.i.t like that all the time.

So, soon I get back from my shift at the end of the day, I walk down the narrow alleyway between our tents and over to the NCO quarters, only a few rows away from mine. Itas a spooky walk at this time of the evening, all shadowy and gray, the tents snapping in the wind, the dust blurring in the twilight till you canat tell whether the figures youare seeing are soldiers, hajjis or hallucinations. I clutch my rifle, the only battle buddy Iave got right now, my hands trembling more than ever. Kormick will probably be at the NCO tent, since he sleeps there, and the last f.u.c.king thing in the world I want to do right now is face him. But I have to risk ita"for Third Eye, and for myself.

Sure enough, I see him right away. Lounging outside, smoking and shooting the s.h.i.t with an officer, a lieutenant with red eyebrows and rabbit teeth who everybody calls Pat-the-Bunny behind his back. Itas the first time Iave seen Kormick since he attacked me and the sight of him makes me sick and cold and weak. But if I run now, Iall never forgive myself.

aWell, look whoas here,a he says as I walk up. aYou come all alone, Specialist t.i.ts?a aYes, Sergeant.a I can barely get the words out.

aYou like breaking the rules, donat you? Arenat you going to salute the lieutenant?a I salute, hoping he wonat notice my quivering hand. Patthe-Bunny runs his eyes over me, bored.

aGood girl,a Kormick says. aNow, what do you want?a aRequest to see Sergeant First Cla.s.s Henley, please.a Kormick stares at me a moment, his perfect face set hard. aWhat the f.u.c.k for?a he says quietly.

I hold myself stiff, looking ahead in true soldier fashion, trying not to show how frightened I am. aSarant, if I canat see Sergeant Henley, Iam going to JAG.a JAG, which stands for Judge Advocate General, is the last resort for a soldier with a problem and we all have the right to go there, no matter how low we are on the totem pole. Saying what I just said is pretty much like invoking the right to pray.

Kormick eyes me uneasily, then jerks his head. aIn you go then. Just donat let me see your f.u.c.kina ugly mug for a while.a aThank you, Sarant.a Shaking worse than ever, I step inside the tent, which is set up like an office, with plywood floors and a couple of knocked-together tables that serve as desks. SFC Henley is sitting behind one of these, staring at a computer.

I stand in front of his desk, adrenaline pumping, waiting for him to notice me. Henley is tall and upright, with a sundried face and thin white lipsa"he always reminds me of the first President Bush, the daddy of the monkeyface who got me into this war. Henley talks like he went to Harvard, although I donat think heas ever been near the place in his life.

aWhat can I do for you, Specialist?a He flicks his eyes up from the screen.

aRequest a private conversation, Sergeant.a He yawns. aAll right, sit.a I take the chair facing his desk. aWhat is it now, more trouble with your roommates?a aRequest to speak frankly, Sergeant,a I reply.

aGo ahead.a I swallow. aI want to file a complaint.a aWhat kind of complaint? Someone filched your nail polish?a I flush. aNo, Sergeant. Um, itas, umaa aI donat have all day, soldier.a aNo. Sorry.a I look down at the floor. aItas a.s.sault,a I mumble.

Henley shifts in his chair. aWhat? Speak up, for Christas sake.a I lift my head, my mouth dry. Speaking up in that place is like screaming your secrets through a megaphone. We arenat even alone in the tent.

aThis is confidential, Sergeant,a I remind him, my voice low. aBut PFC Bonaparte punched me. And, and, Staff Sergeant Kormick. Um. a.s.saulted me.a Henley looks at me steadily. aWhat kind of a.s.sault, Specialist? Make yourself clear.a I flush again. aHe tried toaa I stop. Come on, idiot, say it. aHe tried to strangle and rape me.a Those are the hardest words Iave ever had to say in my life.

Henley holds up his hand. aWait a moment. I need to take this down.a He rifles in a box and pulls out a form and a pen. aDate?a aDate? You mean todayas?a He gives me an exasperated look. aNo, Brady. The date of the incident.a aOh.a I think back. When was it? This month? Last month? All the days have blended into one long sand-colored smear. aIam not sure. May, I think. Um, May 28th. Or 29th.a He puts down the pen. aSpecialist, weare not going to get to step one here if you canat even remember the date. You are talking about a noncommissioned officer, remember, an officer with a fine reputation and a solid career. These are serious allegations. You better know what youare saying, you better get your story straight and you better d.a.m.n well be telling the truth.a aI am, Sergeant.a aWell, then?a My hands are trembling so much now that I have to pin them between my knees so he wonat notice. Sweatas running into my eyes and down my neck. Why is this so hard?

aMay 29th,a I say randomly.

aAll right. So what happened?a Slowly, I tell him. Every word feels like Iam pulling my guts out through my mouth with a fishhook.

Henley writes it all down without looking at me once. aDid you report this at the time? Is there any physical evidence?a he says when Iam done.

aNo, Sergeant.a aWhat about witnesses?a aUh, none.a I canat bring Jimmy or DJ into this, whatever they say. Itad kill their careers. And I havenat let anyone see the bruises around my neck, which have faded to faint yellow splotches by now anyway, invisible under the dust and grime that stick to me like a second skin.

aNo witnesses.a Henley writes that down, too. aAnd you want to press charges against these two gentlemen, even though you have no evidence, no witnesses and you canat be sure of the date. Is that what this is about?a aNo, Sergeant. I was just hoping you could transfer these men somewhere else where they canat a.s.sault any other females.a aAnd have you reason to believe they have a.s.saulted other females?a I hesitate. aIam not at liberty to say.a aI see.a He puts his pen down carefully on top of the report, now covered in his scrawl. aFirst we have to hear the gentlemenas side of it, of course. Staff Sergeant Kormick is right outside, I believe. Go call him in.a I stare. aYou mean youare going to interview him about this now? With me here?a aOf course. He has a right to hear the accusations against him and to defend himself.a aBut not with me here, Sergeant! Ia I canat! Isnat there some procedure so I donat have to go through that?a Henley leans over his desk, looking at me hard. aSoldier, in case you forgot, weare at war. The cohesion of our unit is of paramount importance, and my job as platoon sergeant is to preserve that cohesion. We have a common enemy, and that is the hajji. We canat waste our time or diffuse our energies on internal strife, and especially not on whiny snivelers like you. Now, either you pull together with your comrades like a real soldier, or you at least have the grace to give them a fair shot. I donat know what your problem is, but Iave heard enough about you already. Now call Staff Sergeant Kormick in or shut the f.u.c.k up and go away.a I pull myself upright on the chair and stare right back at Henleyas prune of a face. His words make me so angry they drive away my fear and fill me with outrage instead. The same outrage that made me lift up my rifle and point it at Kormickas b.a.l.l.s.

aSergeant, not one of those things you hear about me is true. Kormick and Bonaparte are sick maniacs, as everyone knows, and if you wonat do anything about it, Iam going to the EOO and JAG and Iam not going to shut up till somebody listens.a Henley sits back and runs his eyes over me slowly, just like the prisoners do all day long. aI see. Well, Iam happy to file a report to the proper authorities for you, Brady, if thatas what you want. But I have another report here, from Staff Sergeant Kormick himself, as a matter of fact, that you should know about. He reported to me, on May 30th, not the 29th, actually, that while you were on checkpoint duty, you followed him into the shack, threw your rifle in the sand and behaved, shall we say, in an indecent manner.a Henley folds his hands on the desk, his face as blank as the desert, while I stare at him in shock. He goes on.

aSergeant Kormick, who, I might add, is a fine and dedicated soldier, kindly declined to press any charges in the hope you would not repeat this unacceptable behavior. But he did enter it on the record in case there should be a reoccurrence. He also mentioned that you committed other infractions that could come up if necessary, including insubordination. Therefore, as happy as I am to accommodate your wishes, you should know that any further action on your part will be met, at the very least, with charges of destruction of government propertya"you donat treat your weapon like that, Specialista"and indecent behavior, all of which will lead to trial by court-martial. This information will, of course, be given to JAG and the EOO. Now, do you still wish to fetch Staff Sergeant Kormick and bring him in here for an interview?a I canat speak.

aNeed time to think about it, Specialist?a aYes, Sergeant,a I whisper.

aThen get your a.s.s out of my face.a Dear Katie, h.e.l.lo, sweets, I hope you get this before the end of June. Iave been thinking of you so much I had to write again. I had this amazing dream I need to tell you about. You better read this alone, now! No h.o.r.n.y soldiers peeking over your shoulder, OK?

Well, weare skinny-dipping in the lake at midnight, n.o.body around. Our limbs are glowing white from the moon, the water looks black. We swim a ways out, moon shining a silver path across the waves. An owl hoots. Weare not cold at all cause we just drank a bunch of tequila. And then I swim up and pull you close to me and soon weare making lovea"remember? Cause when I woke up I knew it wasnat a dream at all, it was a memory.

I love you so much, Katie. I want you back so bad. I pray every day that you keep safe. With all my heart, Tyler P.S. Did you have a chance to listen to my CD yet?

I fold the letter up tight and shove it to the bottom of my duffle bag, along with his untouched CD. His words make me feel exposed and humiliated and sick. They make me want to puke.

Dear Tyler, Thanks for your letter. I donat have time to write much now, but could you not write stuff like that anymore? You never know who reads our letters before we get them, thereas no privacy here. If anybody saw what you wrote, Iad never hear the end of it.

Thanks, Kate Now I canat sleep. My head keeps screaming all the things I wish Iad said to Henley but didnat. Burning, furious sentences shouting inside my brain. I should have known that head close ranks with Kormick and buy all his lies to protect his own kind and his own f.u.c.king career. But why am I letting him intimidate me like this? Why donat I report Kormick anyway, no matter what he says about me? I picture myself at a court-martial, giving n.o.ble speeches about how all I want is to protect the good soldiers by rooting out the bad. See myself as a martyr being marched off to prison with my head held high because Iave followed my heart and my faith. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousnessa sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. When you get up tomorrow, I tell myself, you better get your head out of your cowardly a.s.s and fix this mess.

The tent is hotter than ever tonight, which doesnat help, and noisy as a frat house, too. A bunch of guys are playing dice down one end, gambling away their paychecks, and they arenat exactly being quiet about it. And the prisoners are hollering and chanting their spooky Arab songs. I lie on my cot, staring at the droopy ceiling, sweat crawling over me like bugs, my head banging and clanging with the racket inside it and out. It feels like somebody strapped me down on an electric stove and is screaming in my ears and cooking me alive all at once.

When dawn releases me at last, I make Third Eye come with me to the latrines. The Sand Queen graffiti is gone, thank G.o.da"somebodyas sc.r.a.ped it off, most likely Jimmy. But almost every day something obscene is up there about females, words or a crude p.o.r.nographic drawing. I will never understand how guys can act like your brother one minute, then hit on you or write s.h.i.t like that the next. What makes them do it?

My plan is to get Third Eye alone so I can ask her to join forces with me against Henley and Kormick. Even if she doesnat want to tell them about the rape, maybe she can at least report hara.s.sment. But as we struggle through the thick sand and our sleepiness, I look over at her screwed-up face, tight and wary, and I see how hard sheas working at shutting out the pain. And all my courage drains away.

Back at the tent, everybodyas buzzing with news because a huge escape tunnel has just been found under one of the prison tents. Seems the detainees have been digging it for weeks. DJ tells us it stretches from the tent all the way to the wire, underneath the berm and out into the desert, its exit camouflaged with cardboard and burlap. Pretty d.a.m.n smart, we have to admit. Not only that, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds smoothed the inside walls with the milk rations we give them, and put little flashlights in there and air holes so they donat suffocate while theyare escaping. It was only discovered because some satellite photos happened to show changes in the color of the sand.

aI canat understand it,a Jimmy says to me when we talk about it later on my tower. aOur guys go in there all the time to do inspections. They throw the detainees out of their tents every morning so they can rummage through their s.h.i.t. And they find plenty. Homemade knives, drugs. But they never found that tunnel. Why?a aI guess you can hide anything in the sand,a I say listlessly. Iam still so sick over my interview with Henley and my umpteenth f.u.c.kup with Third Eye that I can hardly speak.

Jimmy glances at me. aYou okay?a aJust tired.a aHere, want some chips? Barbecue, isnat that your favorite?a aNo thanks.a We fall quiet then, gazing out at the prisoners drooping around in the sand.

aSee that man?a I say at last, pointing to the jerk-off. Heas lurking near the wire under my tower, as usual, waiting for Jimmy to leave so he can whip out his d.i.c.k again. aThatas the one who threw his s.h.i.t at me. He jerks off in front of me almost every day. Wish I could get my hands on those ragheads sometime, instead of sitting up here like a doll on a shelf.a aYou could.a I look over at Jimmy, whoas glaring at the man himself now. aWhat do you mean?a aI could get you inside the compound if you want.a aOh, I donat know. Whatas the point? I see their ugly mugs enough as it is.a But then I think, you know, it would be satisfying to punish that guy. Just once. Show him that Iam not the pathetic piece of female flesh he clearly thinks I am. Show him whoas boss. aWell, okay,a I add. aWhy the h.e.l.l not?a What I donat tell Jimmy is that more than one manas jerking off at me now, and throwing their s.h.i.t, too. I donat tell him because he canat do anything about it. Anyhow, heas heard enough of my stupid d.a.m.n problems.

aI talked to Ortiz, by the way,a Jimmy says a few minutes later. aHe can meet you after his shift if you want. He told me they had a riot over at the boysa tent last night.a aAnyone get hurt?a aNot that I know of. I think Finleya"the girl in Pat-theBunnyas squad? I think she got her head cut open or something. Nothing too serious.a aNo, I mean the prisoners. Any of them get hurt?a aOh. I donat know. Ask Ortiz.a So that evening I do. Jimmy brings him over to my tent right after our shifts, and the three of us stand outside sharing a smoke and talking for a few minutes before we have to turn in. Ortiz turns out to be this Nicaraguan guy with a strong Spanish accent, who enlisted to get his citizenship. Heas nice-looking, with a broad face and big brown eyes, but he canat be more than five feet tall, even shorter than me. Iam amazed the Army let in such a squirt. He seems all right, though, so I tell him how Naema interprets for me and show him the photo of her dad and brother. aYou ever seen this kid?a I ask.

He squints at the photo in the evening light. aHe does look familiar. But I do not know.a aIf I give this to you, could you try to find him? And tell me if he got hurt in the riot last night?a Ortiz looks puzzled, but he agrees, so I carefully tear the photo in half and give him Zakias side. Naemaas dad, with his long, sad face, I put back in my pocket. aThe kidas name is Zaki Ja.s.sima"itas written on the back. And his sisteras Naema. Okay?a Ortiz nods. He doesnat look too happy, though.

aDo you have any way of talking to the kid if you see him?a I ask then.

aYes, maybe. The interpreter for our platoon, he comes sometimes to spend time with the boys.a aGreat! Will you get him to tell the kid that his sister comes every day to ask about him and their dad?a aI do not understand,a Ortiz bursts out, squinting at me angrily. aWhy am I doing this favor for hajjis, huh? The boys in my tent, they are fighters, not innocent babies. They hate us.a aI know,a I say quickly. aBut this kid isnat like that, Iam sure. And I figured it would keep the girl translating for us if we did her a favor. You think you could get a message from the boy for her?a Ortiz shakes his head. aThis is crazy! How do you know she is not using you to send secret codes? How do you know to trust her?a aShe hasnat given me any codes.a This squirt is p.i.s.sing me off. aShe just wants to know if her little brotheras safe. No big deal.a aYeah,a Jimmy chimes in. aDonat worry. Itas part of the whole awinning hearts and mindsa thing, you know?a He smiles at Ortiz rea.s.suringly.

Ortiz hesitates a second, then shrugs. aAll right. If Teach here says it is okay, I will do it.a He still looks pretty unconvinced, though. He stuffs the photo in his pocket and walks away.

Iave got a pretty strong feeling thatas the last Iall ever hear from him.

The next day, right after my shift, I tell Third Eye what Iave done. aNaema is still showing up every morning, right?a aYeah,a Third Eye grunts in her usual get-the-f.u.c.k-outof-my-face way.

aShe still interpreting for you?a aSometimes, when we get the lists. But I hate dealing with those friggina sand jockeys. Theyare a bunch of hysterics. And they stink.a Naema doesnat stink, but I decide not to point that out. I just want to do some tiny bit of good for someone here, thatas all. Something, anything, other than hiding my head in the sand. aBut if I get any news about her brother, will you tell her for me? Please?a aAll right! Jesus effing Christ, Brady, youare such a f.u.c.kina nag.a Third Eye sits down to pull off her boots. Sheas moving unnaturally slow these days, and speaking in a low monotone, tooa"that is, if she speaks at all. Most of the time she stays by herself, lying on her rack and staring into s.p.a.ce.

She doesnat even read or listen to music. She wonat go running anymore, either, even though I keep inviting her. Iam running with Jimmy every morning now, Yvette joining us when sheas around. But anybody can see from a mile off that Third Eyeas depressed as s.h.i.t. And I know why.

aThird Eye?a I say quietly. aI need a shower before it gets dark. Come with me?a She canat refuse battle-buddy duty, so she heaves herself off her cot with an annoyed sigh and follows me out of the tent. I do want a shower, but mostly I want to try again to say what I lost the courage to say before, even if it does mean breaking open her sh.e.l.l.

aI got something to ask you,a I say when n.o.bodyas close enough to hear. aNo pressure though, I promise.a aWhatas your problem, Brady? Why canat you leave a person alone?a Her insults donat bother me. I understand them now.

aLook, I know itas hard, but I want to report Kormick and b.o.n.e.r, and I wondered if youad do it with me. You donat have to say anything you donat want to, but I just canat stand the idea of you having to work with those f.u.c.kers every day. Maybe with the two of us reporting them, theyall take us seriously and get rid of them, you know?a Third Eye doesnat answer. She just thumps along, her big feet stirring up the moondust. But then she stops and swivels to face me, her eyes black and narrow in her big, round face. aI donat know what the f.u.c.k youare talking about. Thereas nothing wrong with those guys. I donat need you mixing up more s.h.i.t for me, okay? Now drop it, and keep your sick little fantasies to yourself.a THE SOLDIER IS back in the therapy circle, refusing again to talk. This is her new strategy, her way of protesting. If theyare going to force her to listen to all these other losers, she, at least, isnat going to join in. Itas none of their G.o.dd.a.m.n business anyhow, what sheas been through. Why sheas here.

aKate,a Dr. Pokera.s.s says then, turning to her with a smile like an anacondaas. aWe heard about the problems you had with your parents when they visited last week. I wondered if you would like to share your feelings about what happened?a The soldier canat believe her f.u.c.king ears. This is just like being back in her platoon, everybody knowing everyone elseas friggina business.

aIt would be more productive if you would join in once in a while, Kate,a Pokera.s.s goes on. aWe only want to help. Perhaps you have feelings of anger toward your parents because they supported your decision to enlist? It might help you to talk about it.a Dr. Pokera.s.s has the soldieras whole sorry history right there in a file on her lap. So, since sheas got the answers already, why bother to talk?

aMy parents were the opposite,a Corporal Betty Boop chimes in, although n.o.body asked her squeaky opinion. aMy mom said shead let me sign up over her dead body. So I waited till I was eighteen and she couldnat do anything about it.a aMine, too,a says the Vietnam nurse whose hubby knocks her around. aThey didnat want me to join at all. Said it was only for boys. They were d.a.m.n right, too.a Thatas when the soldier gets her idea. Sheas going to escape. They canat keep her here, torturing her like this. Itas not a prison. She can leave whenever she wants.

The thought cheers her up so much she decides to talk after all.

aYouare an a.s.shole,a she says to Betty Boop, and stands up. aYouare all a.s.sholes.a And she walks out.

[ NAEMA ].

AT LAST, GOOD news! I am so excited that I burst into the house shouting, aMama, come quickly!a She runs in from the back, where she has been scrubbing our clothes in a barrel of muddy water from the village well, which is all we have to wash with now. aWhat is it? Whatas happened?a aThat girl soldier kept her promise at last! I thought she was lying to me, but noa"sheas found Zaki!a aPraise be to Allah!a Mama cries. She grasps my hands and shakes them up and down. aTell me!a aThe other girl, the big rude one, you know?a Mama nods eagerly. aShe gave me his messagea"she read it from a piece of paper in English. He says heas fine, only bored. Heas made friends in his tent, two boys from Basra. They have rice to eat, chicken too. He says he misses his guitar.a aAnd us? He doesnat miss us?a I laugh, I am so light-headed with relief. aOf course, Iam teasing you. He says he misses us terriblya and his guitar.a aDo you have the paper, may I see it?a I shake my head. aNo, Mama. The soldier said she was not allowed to give it me.a Mama wipes her chafed hands on the torn sheet she has tied about her waist for an ap.r.o.n. aAnd he said nothing about them being cruel to him? They donat beat him?a aNo, he said nothing like that. It was a cheerful message, Mama.a She wraps her arms around me then, her cheeks wet with tears. aBlessed is Allah! Thank you, thank you, my love!a I hold her close, stroking her hair. Mama was always so reserved before this war, so dignified. She never used to call to Allah all the time, or walk about so disheveled. How she has changed.

At last she pulls away, blotting her tears with her rag of an ap.r.o.n. Then she looks at me, a new fear in her eyes, and begins to knead her hands frantically, pulling at her fingers and rubbing her knuckles, as she has been doing more and more often of late. aBut what about your father? Has Zaki seen him?a aNo, Iam afraid not. No news of Papa.a Her face falls again, deepening the lines across her brow. She looks so much older than when we arrived here and has grown terribly thin. Her body, once so graceful, has become gaunt, the sinews in her arms and legs shadowed and protruding. Her cheeks have sunken, making her black eyes too large for her face, and the lines around her mouth are carved deep and harsh. She is only forty, yet she looks more like Granny every day.

I, also, have grown too thin. There is almost nothing to eat. The local farmers can no longer irrigate their fields because there is no electricity to drive the water pumps. The truck drivers who bring us food from the north are being kidnapped or killed, their trucks looted. And all the beautiful date groves near here have been ploughed under or bombed by the Americans for who knows what reason; to punish us, I suppose, for not loving them. So we are lucky when I can find a little salty cheese or yogurt at the market to buy, or if a local peasant woman sells me a cuc.u.mber or watermelon she has managed to coax from the dry, dying earth.

aI wish we could hear from your father. Why donat they let the prisoners write to us?a Mama says then, wringing her hands again.