In a strange way, before her brother’s accident, Tasneen had felt separated from it all, as if she was not really involved and it was happening to everyone else but her. That was until the morning she opened the door to find Abdul lying on the floor and clasping his bloody stump against himself. She would never forget that sight for as long as she lived. In one awful, bloody second she became as much a part of this gross conflict as everyone else and from that moment all thoughts of escaping it had disappeared from her mind. Her little brother needed her and she could not desert him even if someone handed her an air ticket, money and a passport with visas for anywhere in the world.
If Tasneen was to be brutally honest with herself, that loss of the hope of eventual freedom was the true root of her depression. A deeper analysis of her feelings would have revealed a certain resentment towards Abdul, as if he was to blame for holding her back. It was not a new feeling. She had hoped that by this stage in Abdul’s life he would have found a wife. That would have released her from her self-imposed obligation towards him, one she had adopted even before their parents had died. But the dream that he would one day become self-sufficient and allow her to finally stretch her wings and fly away had withered in the past couple of weeks. It was as if she too had become an invalid, her wings clipped before they had even been used.
Mallory exhaled deeply as he stretched out his legs and rested his head back against the wall. He tried not to look at Tasneen, having decided to leave her alone, and glanced up at the TV that was now showing a large black US Army sergeant making clay pottery. He wondered if the programmers actually believed that legions of US soldiers were crowded around TV sets all over Iraq, watching this act of creativity in stunned silence. The desire to feast his eyes on the girl once more was too great and he turned his head slightly to have another look.
She was staring at the wall, looking lost and unhappy. Sitting in this room in a building filled with foreigners inside an American fortress town called the Green Zone she was a foreigner in her own country. Mallory wondered why she was in the hospital or who she was waiting for. As a US military establishment it was not usually available to locals.Technically, it wasn’t even available to Stanza and was only intended for coalition military personnel and civilians involved in the reconstruction programme. Perhaps the girl was married to an American or maybe she was American herself - although that would have surprised him if it turned out to be so. Her clothes were western but something about her told him she was Iraqi.
Mallory felt sadness oozing from her and had a sudden urge to help. He chose to make one last attempt to communicate with her. As he studied her, trying to decide how he was going to start the conversation, he was struck once again by her beauty. ‘You’re . . . ’ he began, just about to tell her how pretty she was before crushing that rebel voice inside his head. She looked at him, her expression blank. ‘You have someone in the hospital?’ he asked.
She looked back down at her hands. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice a little croaky.‘Yes,’ she repeated after clearing her throat.
Mallory nodded. ‘Family?’ he ventured.
Tasneen was about to tell him that she did not want to talk, even at the risk of offending him, but there was something about him that made her change her mind. He did not look pushy or insincere - quite the opposite, in fact. He had a calm about him, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, which was obviously a façade - or a mistaken perception on her part - since it was impossible to be in Iraq and remain worry-free. His manner did not offend her and his eyes did not display the lasciviousness so common in the looks she usually got from western men. She had never approved of the way Arab men kept their women down but had nonetheless taken the general respect they expressed in their routine etiquette for granted - until westerners came in significant numbers to Iraq. Working among them - mostly Americans - had been a stark lesson in the cultural differences between Iraq and the West. She had quickly learned not to trust their motives and she found their forwardness offensive. It was difficult to know for sure but most of them seemed to be generally insincere and duplicitous.
It was strange how in some ways westerners had more respect for women than Arab men did but in other ways were worse.Tasneen’s boss was a nice man whose desk was covered in family photographs and gifts from his children but many of the other men in the office were vulgar and she did not feel comfortable in their presence. She had never been abused in any way nor had anyone been directly rude to her or even propositioned her. But the open eyeing up and down of her body without even an attempt to hide the lust behind the looks often angered her.Then she rationalised that the kind of men who joined the military or came to work in war zones were not typical of all westerners, certainly not of the characters who most attracted her in western books and on television.
This man seemed different, though. He looked about her age, maybe a few years older, appealing because of his apologetic demeanour - and his looks were not unattractive. He appeared to be making an effort to be respectful and unobtrusive, which she appreciated. She decided that feeling down was no excuse for being rude.
‘My brother,’ Tasneen said.
Mallory looked up at her in surprise. She had replied when he had given up the hope that she would. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘He has lost his hand,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mallory replied. ‘Was it an accident?’ he asked.
Tasneen did not want to discuss the incident itself but she did not feel uncomfortable talking about her brother. ‘He’s a policeman,’ she said. Or he was, she almost added.
‘It happened while he was working?’ Mallory asked.
‘Yes.’ Tasneen nodded.
‘Today?’
‘No . . . a couple of weeks ago. But he has to keep coming back for surgery.’
Mallory nodded, looking down at his own hands and thinking how horrible it would be to lose one of them. ‘A bomb, was it?’
She looked away. ‘A horrible thing to happen,’ she said, avoiding the question.‘Especially to a young man.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Not very old . . . He’s my younger brother.’
That’s even worse, Mallory thought, being so young. She looked about twenty-five, though it was hard to tell. Her face was youthful but at the same time she had a mature air about her. ‘How long will he be in here?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. No one ever seems to know anything, or they don’t want to tell me. I don’t know which.’
‘There’s nothing unusual about that,’ Mallory said, thinking how nice she seemed and wondering what her own story was. ‘I would bet it’s because they don’t know. Then, out of the blue, someone will make a decision.’
Tasneen nodded. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked.
Mallory was surprised that she had actually asked him a question. ‘We were attacked on Route Irish, the road to the airport.’
‘I know Route Irish,’ she said. ‘Nothing very bad, I hope?’ she said looking genuinely concerned.
‘No. One of my people got a bad graze, or at least I hope that’s all he got . . . You work here, in the Green Zone?’ he asked.
‘Yes. The Adnan Palace,’ Tasneen said.
Mallory had suspected that she worked for the Americans, which would explain why her brother was here - that, and him being a policeman. Her English was also very good and she was at ease talking to foreigners. The Adnan Palace was where much of the American and Iraqi bureaucracy was based.
‘What kind of treatment is he getting?’ he asked.
‘What?’ she responded.
The way she looked at him, her face so open and beautiful, Mallory wanted to reach out and touch it as one would a piece of fine art. But he looked away in case she could see his feelings in his eyes. ‘Your brother. How are they treating his wound?’
‘They’re doing the skin - er . . . ’ Tasneen paused to find the word.
‘Skin graft,’ Mallory offered.
&nbs
p; ‘That’s right,’ she said.‘Sorry. My English is not very good.’
‘You’re joking,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s better than how a lot of English people I know speak.’
Tasneen grinned back at him.
They sat in silence for a moment but Mallory was determined to keep the conversation going. ‘Is he staying in the hospital long?’ he asked.
‘I hope not,’ she said.‘They don’t like keeping people in if they can help it.’
‘Have you been waiting long?’ he asked. ‘I mean, did you arrive just now, when you came in here?’
‘No. I got here early this morning. I had to go back to the office for a bit.’
Mallory nodded, suddenly thought of something and checked his watch. It was gone four p.m. ‘Have you eaten since you got here?’ he asked.
‘No, but I’m not hungry,’ Tasneen said.
‘What about a drink?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Have you had a drink of anything since you got here?’
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted.
‘You don’t have to be so polite.’
‘I’m not being polite.’
‘Let me get you something,’ Mallory urged, getting to his feet.
‘I’m OK,’ she said again.
‘I’m getting something for myself anyway. I don’t even know you but I feel it is my duty to at least make sure you have a drink.’
Tasneen was about to refuse once again but Mallory held up his hand like a policeman stopping traffic. ‘Please. What can I get you? Water? A Coke? Coffee? What would you like?’
She relented, sitting back in her chair.‘OK,’ she said, giving in. ‘I’ll have a Coke. I don’t think they know how to make coffee here.’
‘Being American they don’t know how to make a cup of tea either, which was why I didn’t ask.’
‘I thought you were English,’ Tasneen said, giving a cheery smile that she forced off her face almost as soon as it had appeared. By now she felt very relaxed with this man.
‘You don’t have a problem with that, do you?’ he asked, immediately wondering why he’d asked such a boneheaded question.
‘Of course not.’
She said it with complete sincerity. ‘One Coke coming up,’ Mallory said as he walked out the door.
As soon as he was gone Tasneen felt guilty about her brief flight of frivolity at a time when she should have been dour and miserable. But it was exactly the kind of distraction she would have advised a friend to seek in a similar situation. Nevertheless, the guilt remained.
She stood up, walked out of the room and headed along the corridor in the opposite direction to that taken by Mallory.
Tasneen arrived in the reception area and stood in the centre of the hall, looking around for anyone who looked as if they might be able to tell her about Abdul. The receptionist was behind her desk as always but Tasneen knew by now that the woman was hopeless and always offered the same suggestion: to stay in the waiting room until someone came to see her. All Tasneen wanted to know was if her brother was to be kept in for the night. If so she would see him after his operation, then go home and return the following morning.
A man who looked as if he was employed by the hospital walked hurriedly out of a door but before Tasneen could intercept him he disappeared through another. Tasneen’s frustration was rising despite her experience of endless waiting in the hospital but she brought it under control and decided to stay in the reception hall until someone in authority appeared.
Mallory arrived, saw her standing with her back to him and was about to walk up to her when he stopped. It was suddenly obvious to him that she wanted to be alone, otherwise she would not have left the waiting room. As he stepped back to walk away she turned and saw him. He made a pathetic effort to wave, self-conscious that she had seen him.
‘Hello,’ Tasneen said, suddenly flushed with embarrassment. She wished that she had continued on out of the building, avoiding him altogether. Now that he had seen her she felt foolish. ‘I came to see if anyone knew anything about my brother,’ she said as she approached him.
‘Would you like me to have a go?’ Mallory asked, holding the door open, wanting to be of help though still feeling he was a pain to her. ‘I might have more luck than you . . . I mean, I can probably shout louder than you can.’
‘It’s not their fault,’ Tasneen said. ‘They’re busy. But I’m just worried - it’s an old habit of mine, worrying about him. I should just go back to that room and wait.’
Mallory shrugged. ‘OK . . . well. Er - I didn’t have much luck with the drink. They have a canteen but you can’t take drinks out . . . I came to let you know in case you wanted to have something to eat . . . I don’t suppose you’d like to do that - go to the canteen?’
She hesitated and he took it as confirmation that she wanted to be alone. ‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can sneak you something out.’
Mallory started to head off as a voice in Tasneen’s head urged her to go with him. At least it would kill some time and he was not exactly a horrible person. ‘Where is it?’ she asked.
‘Around the corner and halfway along the corridor on the right,’ he said, looking back at her but hardly stopping. He walked on without a glance back, hoping his message was clear that he was giving her space to do what she wanted.
She set off at his pace, several yards behind.
Mallory could hear footsteps behind him on the tiled floor but resisted the urge to look back. He passed the waiting room and turned the corner into the longer, busier corridor where hospital staff seemed to be constantly walking out of one door and in through another. He continued a little further before turning right under an arch into a narrower passageway. He could no longer hear Tasneen’s footsteps and wondered if she’d taken the opportunity to slip away.As he reached a junction he felt certain he was alone and looked back as he took a right turn. He was surprised to see her entering the short passage. He paused and stepped aside to let her pass. She stopped alongside him, wondering which way to go.
‘That way,’ he said, pointing along the passage.
She went ahead, leaving a gentle waft of perfume in the air for him to walk through. The entrance to the canteen was around the next corner and at the end of a short corridor lined with glass-fronted refrigerators packed with every kind of drink.
A narrow doorway opened into a large room and Mallory followed her inside. There were half a dozen tables and about the same number of people spread among them. Close by was a worktop jammed with plastic trays, plates, cutlery, napkins and assorted condiments in small sachets. Beyond that was a serving counter with a dozen different food items spread out on it in silver serving trays. A young Iraqi man wearing an apron and a white paper hat and armed with several serving implements stood behind it.
The food looked bleached and overcooked but Tasneen suddenly felt hungry as she realised it had been many hours since her light breakfast. She looked around at Mallory standing behind her. ‘Shall I . . . er?’
‘Take a tray and a plate,’ Mallory said, seeing her discomfort but also noticing the way she had looked at the food. ‘It’s OK. They don’t expect you to starve to death while you’re waiting.’
She picked up a tray, separated one of the plastic plates from the pile with a manicured fingernail, moved to the food counter and indicated some meat and vegetables to the server who promptly piled a generous mound onto her plate. She looked up at Mallory, surprised at the amount of food. He shrugged. It was enough to satisfy a rugby forward. Mallory gave Tasneen a set of plastic cutlery and collected some food for himself while she hung about looking lost. Then he led the way to an empty table in a corner.
‘What would you like to drink?’ Mallory asked as she sat down.
‘Oh . . . hmmm . . . That’s what I came in for,’ she said with an embarrassed grin as she looked at the mountain of food in front of her. ‘Coke, please,’ she said.
Mallory went to one of the large fridges
and returned with a couple of chilled Cokes. He sat opposite Tasneen and unwrapped his cutlery. She followed his lead, then waited for him to start eating before dipping a fork into her vegetables and tasting a piece of carrot.
‘Edible?’ Mallory asked.
‘It tastes as good as it looks,’ she said, grinning. He smiled back.
He stuck his plastic fork into a large slab of meat and began to saw at it with the knife. Before he was halfway through, the fork snapped. A piece of it went flying into the air and Tasneen broke into a giggle.
‘Excuse me,’ Mallory said, deadpan as he got to his feet. He went over to the stack of plastic cutlery, collected several packets and sat back down, placing them beside his plate.‘I think I’m going to need spares,’ he said as he undid one of the packets.‘Maybe I should double up,’ he added, opening another, placing two forks together and poking them into the meat. The experiment was a success and after sawing off a piece he put it in his mouth and pantomimed chewing it with difficulty, all much to Tasneen’s amusement. She placed her hand over her mouth to hide her broad grin.
‘You know,’ Mallory said, pausing to make an exaggerated effort to swallow, ‘they deliberately make the food bad in hospitals to take your mind off why you’re here.’
‘It works,’ she said. Her smile faded as she remembered why she was in fact there.
‘Life has to go on, though, doesn’t it?’ he said, trying to make light of the philosophy.
‘You’re right,’ she said as she tried a potato chip. ‘I don’t know your name.’
‘Sorry. Bernie,’ he said, wiping his hand on a napkin and holding it out to her.
She put her knife down, looked around at the others to see if they were looking, and shook hands.‘Tasneen,’ she said.
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