by Jan Coffey
He never remembered a time that he’d felt more useless than at this moment. He wanted to gather her into his arms, comfort her, but he knew she needed this. After a moment, though, he couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and gently touched her arm.
“Tell me about it,” he said, hoping that the more she talked, the easier it would be later.
She struggled to bring her emotions under control. Austyn waited, finding the patience that he’d been missing all his life. He sat next to her, realizing he could sit here with this woman for a very long time, perhaps for the rest of his life.
“It was a winter day,” she started raggedly, “when the Iraqi soldiers swept through some of the neighborhoods in Halabja. We’d heard about the arrests, but our corner of the world in Halabja had never been a target for anything…until that day. Rahaf and I were away with our parents, visiting a cousin. One of the houses the soldiers raided was ours. Their instructions were to collect all men between the ages of fifteen and fifty for questioning. But there was no rigorous check of identity documents. A neighbor, who was taken away with my three brothers, later escaped. He told us when they shoved Arsalan in with everyone else in the back of the truck, our two older brothers spoke out, saying he was only a child of twelve. Arsalan denied their words. He told the soldiers he was old enough to carry a gun for Kurdistan and insisted on being taken away with his brothers.”
She tugged at the scarf at her neck, and wiped her face with it.
“We never saw them again.”
“Did you know they were dead?” he asked.
“The same neighbor told us that all of them were taken to a detention center where trucks rolled into a central courtyard. He called it the parade ground. Other trucks would come in with women and children. The process was brutal. The men would be divided by age. Small children would be kept with their mothers. The elderly and infirm were sent off to their own corners.”
She wiped at a new wave of tears.
“Men and teenage boys considered to be old enough to use a weapon were herded together.”
Austyn watched her take a deep breath. She was having a hard time talking without becoming overcome with grief. So much of what happened during the Saddam’s Anfal campaign had been just a blip on the news radar for the people of the West. At the time, in 1988, he doubted that more than a few people in the U.S. realized the extent of this genocide, which included ground offensives, aerial bombing, the systematic destruction of settlements, mass deportation, concentration camps, firing squads, and chemical warfare. All of it created to kill innocent people, simply because of their ethnic background.
“Our neighbor told us that the male detainees were hustled into an overcrowded hall, where they were exposed to constant beating and torture for several days. And then, without an exception, the men were trucked off to be killed in mass executions.” She broke down again.
Not able to stop himself, Austyn gathered her into his arms. She was shivering violently but forced herself to keep speaking.
“Our neighbor saw my brothers taken away in the truck ahead of him. He told us he heard the sound of the gunshots, people screaming. The truck he was in carried him to another site. There was a long trench there filled with dead bodies, like sardines. He was made to stand up with the others, shoulder to shoulder, next to the trench, before Iraqi soldiers fired their guns at them. The bullets wounded him badly, but he didn’t die. He was one of two men who crawled out of the mass grave after being buried alive. It took him a long time to be well enough to return to Halabja. By then, we were all gone.”
He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt. He rested his chin on her head, gathering her against him with all of his strength. She’d been suffering with the pain of this loss for too many years. And even here, at this sacred site, he knew this ground was only a symbol of all the other places where people had lost their lives.
Austyn knew why there were no names on that plaque or on so many others like it. Many people remained unaccounted for.
Still, people needed closure. Fahimah needed it, as well.
Thirty-Four
The research vessel Harmony
The Atlantic
A tarp was pulled over Philip’s body. Weights were used to hold the corners down. No one wanted to get too close to where the program director lay. Even pulling that plastic over him with the wind whipping around had seemed like madness.
Josh crouched on the deck, his knees to his chest, his back resting against one of the storage places that held the life jackets on the boat. A helicopter continued to circle overhead. From down here, he could see the TV station’s markings on the side. He wondered if his mom was watching them on the news right now. She’d be worried, and he felt sad about that. But he didn’t want to stand up and wave or do anything stupid that would send him downstairs with everyone else.
One of the mothers had been really bossy and had gathered all the kids like a herd of sheep. Everyone who had not touched Philip had gone downstairs—the parents, too. But Dan and Josh had refused to go. Their fathers were on deck, and no one could force them. They’d promised to keep their distance from the people left on deck. Josh wouldn’t let his dad out of his sight. From here, he could tell there was nothing wrong with him yet. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with any of the five people who’d been close to Philip.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Philip dead. He’d never seen anyone dead before. He’d never even had a pet that had died.
The way people treated him after he was diagnosed with cancer, Josh knew they thought he’d die. He didn’t like pain. He hated feeling sick to his stomach, the way he did after some of the treatments. He hadn’t been too crazy about losing his hair. The missing school part wasn’t too bad, and he’d actually liked the attention he got from everyone the few days that he was allowed to go to class. But beyond that, he hadn’t really thought too much about dying.
He looked at Philip again. He wondered if Philip had parents, or a wife, or kids. They’d be really sad. Josh knew that, more than dying himself, he’d hate to lose anyone in his family. Definitely, he’d hate that more than dying. Philip didn’t seem to be in any kind of pain.
Josh saw Dan come up on deck. He’d sneaked down there a couple of minutes ago to get something. Josh wondered if his friend had been afraid and wanted to get as far away as he could from the dead body.
“They’re all gathered in the girl’s bunk room,” Dan said, sitting down next to Josh.
“What are they doing?”
The other boy shrugged. “I don’t know…holding hands and praying, I guess. I didn’t go in there. The door was closed.”
Josh looked at his dad again. He was sitting against the railing, talking to Dan’s father. Josh’s mom made them do some praying as a family and that wasn’t too bad. Especially at first, when he’d been told he had cancer. Josh thought it always made her feel better, and that was what was important. When she was happy, Josh was happy.
Dan took something out of his pocket.
“What did you get?” Josh asked.
“Our digital camera,” the other boy said excitedly.
“What are you gonna take pictures of?”
“Everything. Everyone. Philip’s body. Your dad and my dad. The divers. The helicopter up there. When the Coast Guard shows up, I’m taking pictures of them, too. I think I’ll be able to sell these pictures later for a ton of money. You know…to magazines and stuff.”
“Maybe I should take pictures, too,” Josh said.
“Why not? I think there’ll be lots of money to go around. If you want, we can sell them together and split the money.”
Josh paused for a minute, wondering if he should feel guilty about taking pictures. But it wasn’t like he could do something other than just sitting there. He looked at his dad. He was still fine, and he was still talking. His mom always said it’s the salesman in him. He was never short on conversation.
“Okay, I’m sneaking down to get
my camera, too.”
“Hurry back.”
Josh tried to not bring any attention to himself as he slipped through the door and went downstairs. Dan was right. The door to the bunk room where the girls stayed was closed. He tried to be especially quiet going by that door. No way did he want to get dragged in there. Once in the men’s cabin, he had no trouble finding their digital camera.
He stuffed the camera into his sweatshirt pocket and his fingers brushed against something else. He pulled out the Strep-Tester that his dad had been trying to get him to use before. Josh had forgotten all about it. He must have stuffed it in his pocket on the way upstairs. He looked at the thing. The pink circle part of it had burst. It was covered with lint from his pocket now.
“Guess you’re a goner.” He crumpled up the tester.
Funny, he thought, with everything that was going on upstairs, he’d totally forgotten about his cold. He convinced himself that his throat was better, too. It didn’t matter; the Coast Guard would probably be picking them up soon, anyway.
He threw the tester into the trash bin. As he did, though, his gaze caught on something else at the bottom of the bin. It was another strep-tester. He crouched down next to the garbage can. He didn’t want to touch it. His mom had drilled into him forever about germs, and he’d seen how nervous everyone was about touching Philip. He went and got a pencil from his father’s bag and used it to move a couple pieces of tissue from around it. The Strep-Tester flipped over. It had turned blue.
“Philip did have strep.”
Thirty-Five
Halabja, Kurdistan
“I’m sorry,” Fahimah told him again. “This is not what you bargained for when you decided to accompany me.”
“Yes, I did,” Austyn said. “Stop apologizing.”
They had just passed a memorial, welcoming visitors to the city. The memorial included the shells of bombs that had been used in the chemical attacks. Black ribbons hung from a sign where name after name of the victims had been listed. Going by it had brought on more tears.
“This is a poor town, he says.” She continued to relay what the driver was telling her. “Only twenty percent of the people who lived here in 1988 still live here. Those who stayed were too poor to find a place elsewhere in Kurdistan.”
She looked out the windows. The road needed repair. She’d been told that there was a shortage of clean water and electricity.
“There is a great deal of animosity between the people remaining here and the city government,” she told him. “The driver says that back in 2006, there was a massive demonstration in Halabja on the anniversary of the bombing. He says the demonstrators burned the memorial that was dedicated to the victims of the attacks in the city. This is the second memorial they have erected.”
“That’s sad. I would think that memorial must mean so much to people.”
She nodded. “They were young people without jobs, he says. They were restless and angry. This city hasn’t seen any of the rebuilding that has been going on in the rest of Kurdistan.”
Fahimah looked at the neighborhoods they were passing. Young children playing in the remains of what were once buildings stood and stared at her as she went by.
“Why do you think this area has suffered so much more?” he asked.
“Probably the major reason this area has suffered is its location near the Iranian border,” she told him. “But to understand why the Kurds suffered so badly, one must go back to the black shadow of American foreign policy. In 1975, the Algiers Accord, endorsed by Dr. Kissinger, determined the border between Iraq and Iran. One part of the agreement was that America and Iran would cease their support for the Peshmerga. It was an event that became a defining moment of disaster for the Kurdish independence movement. The Kurdistan Democratic Party, or KDP, collapsed immediately. Mustafa Barzani, the nationalist leader, was forced to flee the country. The socialist Patriotic Union of Kurdistan continued to fight, which is why Saddam’s regime targeted this area in the 1980s.”
Fahimah stopped short, realizing what she was doing.
“I’m sorry, I’m lecturing.”
“I asked. I’m learning,” he said cheerfully. “So am I correct to assume Kissinger’s name is a curse word in Kurdistan?”
Fahimah nodded. “Yes, for those who know the history. And you would be amazed how many people in this region do know their history. The Algiers Accord is the one topic that can cause a Kurd to become quite anti-American. But when Westerners consider the highlights or lowlights of Kissinger's career—and the lowlights include places like Cambodia, Chile, and East Timor—Kurdistan does not draw much attention.”
“Until you’ll consider the massacres that followed.”
Fahimah bit her lip to calm the satisfaction that she felt in having him understand. He was an American government agent, but he listened to her. He didn’t try to think of everything in life simply as a matter of absolutes, in categories of black and white, right or wrong. People made mistakes. Leaders had faults. One had to travel though life with one’s eyes open. This was what she had always preached to her students.
It was getting late in the day. They had made one stop just outside of Halabja to have some food. Their driver thought it was better to eat outside of the city.
“Things look worse than they did when I last passed through here.”
“When was the last time you were here?” he asked.
“About six years ago.”
“Do you know where we’re staying tonight?” he asked.
Fahimah saw a machine gun mounted in the wagon of a white Toyota pickup. Peshmerga soldiers were standing next to the truck. The two vehicles making up their caravan beeped their horns at the fighters as they went by.
There used to be a couple of small hotels in Halabja, but she was no longer sure if they still were in operation. She’d told herself she didn’t want to get any of her friends involved. That was the reason for the secrecy in leaving Erbil. Now, though, she felt different about introducing Austyn to people she knew. Odd as it was, she trusted him.
“My friend in Erbil told me that a second cousin of mine is living in Halabja only for this summer. She was going to contact her, in case if we decided to stay with her.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
She was happy that he left the decision to her. “I think it would be okay. She teaches biology at Salahaddin University. But for the summer she is working with an American doctor who’s doing some studies in Halabja.”
“Do you know what the study is about?” Austyn asked.
She nodded. “They’re collecting clinical data about the population. I suppose the study is trying to confirm the links between exposure to chemical weapons and the rates of disease.”
“After that lecture you gave me in Erbil, are you telling me that nothing has been done on this before?”
“Of course. This is one of many studies.” Fahimah leaned toward the driver and gave him the address that Banoo had given her for the cousin.
“By the way, I don’t want to build your hopes up, but I had an idea,” she said to Austyn.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“I told you about the family Rahaf and I stayed with at Paveh,” she told him. “Now, I don’t know if they are still living there or if I can get hold of them, but I was thinking of calling them when we get to my cousin’s house.”
He brightened. “Do you think they might have a more exact address for Rahaf?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but perhaps. We always tried to stay in touch with them. And I cannot imagine Rahaf working on that side of the border and having no contact with them.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” he said, putting his hand on top of hers.
Fahimah had to fight a sudden flutter in her stomach, and she felt embarrassed about her own reaction.
He squeezed her hand and released it. “So what’s your cousin’s name?”
“Ashraf,” she said. “Dr. Ashraf Banaz.”
&nb
sp; “Another PhD?”
Fahimah nodded.
“Does every woman in your family have a doctorate?”
She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. I lost contact with all of them when I was put away. But I do believe we may have a couple of engineers mixed in there.”
“Every family has a few black sheep.”
“Exactly.”
Thirty-Six
The research vessel Harmony
The Atlantic
A Coast Guard cutter, a smaller boat, three boats marked Department of the Interior, and two Coast Guard choppers…in addition to the news helicopter. They were all around them, talking through megaphones, giving instructions, dropping them suits that they had to change into. But no one had yet boarded their vessel.
David was relieved that none of them had, as yet, shown any sign of what Philip had died from.
“So, do you think the worst is behind us?” Craig asked as he zipped up what it looked like a plastic space suit.
“I don’t know. I don’t feel any different, so maybe we’re in the clear.”
The only one who continued to show signs of distress was Rene, but that was emotional. She was the diver who had gone down to help Kirk bring Philip to the surface. There hadn’t been time to put a wet suit on, so she said straight out that she’d had the greatest chance of exposing herself to the open wounds on Philip. As yet, she didn’t show any outward sign of the disease, but at the same time, albeit quietly, she hadn’t stopped crying.
“I wish I’d paid closer attention to everything on TV about this disease before we came on this trip,” Craig said. “I don’t remember hearing anything about incubation times when they reported finding those five bodies in Arizona. Did they all die at the same time?”
