Blood and Sand

Brian woke up with a curious sense of uncertainty. He had earned bragging rights among his peers for being the most stable and secure, never overwhelmed, never underwhelmed. Not on this morning though. The morning he was looking forward to on all mornings except this. Playtime was over, a brutal and bloody street fight showcased as a war between nations had commenced. The United States must be defended. Brian’s hands were shaking as he grasped the glass of water near his bed. Steady now soldier. Tighten your stomach and the butterflies that are betraying your reputed sense of calm will be destroyed by noxious volumes of bile. As his heart slowly eased back into a gentle state, Brian walked over to the room he shared with Beth. They had been engaged for a few years now, though you wouldn’t know it from the missing ring on Beth’s long, frail finger. Beth was understandably enraged when she heard Brian was to commence his tour of duty in Iraq the next day. Brian barely made a living packing grocery bags full of organic, overpriced vegetables, health food, and fortified water for the affluent, snobby yuppies that lived along the Main Line. And he would now have to leave Beth to fend for herself and for their three month old son, Vincent.

It was nearing 10 A.M. now and Brian hoped to share a single, solitary, and loving moment of togetherness with Beth before he left. Brian wanted to tell Beth she would manage just fine, the army recruitment center had told him that she would be sent a monthly stipend and that she would be given an adequate amount of food stamps and government assistance. She was still fast asleep though, Vincent cradled in her arm, and she looked so peaceful. Brian walked over to Beth and slowly eased his head forward to kiss her forehead. Beth woke up, startled, and to Brian’s pleasant surprise, she hugged him furiously and began to weep. Brian kissed her and told her he would be back soon - the war would be over in a few months. He promised Beth he would marry her as soon he returned. In a touching display of acceptance, Beth reached for the silver engagement ring lying on the floor, humble in its appearance and yet so deeply extravagant in its message. She placed it back on the finger where it best fit, and Brian knelt on one of his knees, kissed her hand, and asked her to support him and to wait for his return. Beth nodded silently as he smiled and wept - words were unnecessary in an intimate moment that Brian hoped to cherish forever. He lifted Vincent out of his bed and placed his necklace, a crucifix on a single silver strand, over Vincent’s tiny shoulders. He then bid goodbye and walked down the winding pathway filled with trailer homes just like his, looking only at his fragile shadow as whispers of sand deserted his ragged boots.

*-----*

October 13, 2008. Brian was now a grand eight months and four days into his tour of duty. Her face had kept him awake all night. Those deep, brown, frightened eyes had pierced his soul as he frantically waved his hands in desperation. “It’s okay, it’s really OK! I am not going to hurt you”, Brian bellowed. She had turned ghastly white and only managed to clasp the frail boy closer to her chest. It was only when Brian had dropped his M4 carbine did the fiery look in her eyes give in. Brian was given orders to perform a routine search mission for insurgents in the Marj district and as Freddie and him had barged into the hut, a woman draped only in a glowing blue nightgown had shrieked and rushed to protect her son. Freddie and him swiftly began searching this very humble home and found no one worthy of the insurgent title. The woman, obviously petrified but too afraid to scream again, watched intently as Freddie and Brian concluded their search. Brian knelt down, reached into his pocket, and offered the boy a Snickers bar. Brian turned his rigid finger back onto his own chest and proclaimed – “Brian”. It was then that she spoke. A beautiful earthy voice engulfed the dark room. As the flickers of a lonely candle betrayed her face and probed it out of the blackness, Brian stood transfixed. “Aida, is my name. I’m a widow and this is my son, Abdul. My husband, Amir, an English professor at Baghdad College was killed in a Shi’ite mosque attack three months ago, this very day. He was not your enemy but after the invasion had destroyed us financially, spiritually, and mentally, he was also not your friend. If you need any other information, you will have to come by tomorrow when I am dressed. If you need nothing else from us, please leave us in peace and walk out sans the contempt and arrogance with which you barged in.” She said this in an icy vein and her eyes had grasped his with an unyielding will never to let go. Gone was her listless fright, swiftly replaced with brilliant confidence and a piercing glare. Brian staggered out with Freddie following close at his heels. He whimpered an apology and slowly shut Aida’s door, but not before he glanced once more at her ethereal beauty.

It was Brian’s innocence and sincerity that won her over. His rugged, handsome face surely helped but Aida would not admit it, never in a million years. He had brought her an enormous basket of fruits, fruits from home and some that were devilishly exotic. Cantaloupes and oranges, bananas and figs, strawberries and blackberries, apples and prunes. He even brought her Alphonso mangoes from India. Amir had told her that as a student in Varanasi, on the banks of the river Ganges, Alphonso mangoes were a prized lot. Amir would save up enough to buy a few during the peak of the mango season and experience himself pulled closer to God. The Alphonso’s nectar, Amir had told Aida, tasted sweeter than honey and its aroma was renowned to engulf you in utter ecstasy. Amir had always told Aida he regretted she never had the opportunity to try one. Now, as Aida plucked the golden fruit from Brian’s coarse hands, she was completing Amir’s wish albeit leaving him shrinking smaller and lonelier in his sandy grave. Abdul was delighted with his family’s new bounty and Brian laughed boyishly as Abdul held his palms out and said “Please”. While Aida was putting Abdul to bed after the incident on the previous night, Abdul, a mature six year old, had told her not to worry and pronounced that he trusted the white man. Somehow, as she restlessly tossed over multiple times in her bed that night, Abdul’s words reconstructed her mangled mind and became unnervingly reassuring to Aida. Now, only the next morning, Aida could see why. After Brian neatly stacked the fruits on the stone ledges precariously balanced on Aida’s makeshift kitchen wall, he got down on his knees and clasped Aida’s hands in his. Normally, Aida would be taken aback – she was not used to a stranger touching her, especially a man in a world of men dedicated to scorn her as used goods. However, Aida let Brian weave his fingers between hers and immediately, she felt a vivid bolt of light, power, and energy shift passionately from the inner recesses of her brain, through her heart, and down through her feet. He apologized to her, over and over again, as he told her for as long as he was on duty in this town, he would take care of her and Abdul. Even though Aida did not need Brian’s help, his reassurance was strangely calming and zealously quixotic.

A few weeks in, they were hopelessly in love. Brian would hold Aida’s hands in the same strong, yet comforting, grasp as they walked through the markets every Saturday morning. They would act completely oblivious to the death glares from passersby even though inside their hearts, they knew an imminent danger always loomed low. An Arab woman walking hand in hand with one of these infidel liberators? An Arab woman who had only recently lost her husband to a raucous, shattering, inferno? An Arab woman with a son to develop into a servant of Allah one day? Such callousness! It was a pitiful disgrace and one that would not go unpunished by Him even during the superlative rhythm of several thousand suns. Brian arduously endured the sight of Aida walking with him dressed in hijab, Abdul skipping around always a few feet ahead of them. They would send Abdul away to play soccer with his friends near the U.S. military complex and five minutes after he bounded away, Brian worked feverishly with his hands to get Aida off her cumbersome clothing. There, in the stillness of the desert heat and the cacophony of the neighboring markets, they would transform into one. Rivulets of sweat curiously cleansed their bodies in a pristine, composed fashion and abolished the vile depravity of the outside world. Suicide bombers, honor killers, religious fanatics, merciless invaders, foreign presidents, prudish families, and ghostly husbands all disappeared as Aida capitulated herself into Brian’s world and him into hers.

*-----*

Brian was nearing the end of his tour of duty. Obviously, Aida grew more nervous as the days passed. Brian wanted to take her back to his country but he was having problems processing her paperwork. They spent the nights holding each other tight, assuring each other that everything would be alright. However, Brian had not told Beth about Aida yet. He did not know how to, and he had not told Aida either that he was engaged to another woman and had a child of his own. He loved Abdul as much as he loved Vincent and he was resigned to spending the rest of his life with Aida. She gave him strength and energy like none other and Beth would just have to understand. She just had to.

Abdul grew more irritable as well; he hesitated going out to play with his friends because he wanted to spend more time with Brian. Sensing that, and against his squadron leader’s advice, Brian would take them both to see the faces of modern Baghdad – the newest supermarket on the west end of the town, the circus that had opened up a mile across from where Aida lived, and even the latest movie theater on occasion. They would argue though, Brian and Aida. About where they would all live, if the weather would suit Abdul and if he would make friends, if Aida would be accepted by Brian’s parents, and if he would love her as much as he did now. Their arguments only brought them closer and Brian knew he held in his arms someone special, someone who’s faultless skin he could caress for hours at end, someone with an immaculate face God couldn’t even perfect, someone with flowing black hair that could make the rivers weep, someone who’s perfumed flesh engulfed him with sweet intoxication, and someone who’s absence would drive him insane and permanently blinded.

Abdul was playing soccer with his best friend Fahad when the troopers surrounded them. Within a punishing few seconds, one of the soldiers had grasped Fahad by his collar and demanded to know where his father was. Fahad was kicking and screaming but being only three feet tall, he was no match for the monster threatening to choke his neck. Abdul watched in bewilderment as the soldiers he had grown to love suddenly turned into a pack of rabid wolves as they dragged Fahad through the market, away from him. Strangely, the soldiers had paid no attention to Abdul and it was perhaps by accident but almost likely on purpose. Brian was not one among the wolf pack and this pleased Abdul; Brian was his mother’s best friend after all. Slipping and sneaking, unbeknownst to the wolf pack, Abdul followed Fahad as he was being hauled through the throngs of hell, screaming vociferously for mercy. The wolf pack finally stopped at an abandoned hospital and lifted Fahad onto a crooked bed. Abdul hid behind a wispy white wall that was riddled with bullet holes; patient yet anxious about his best friend. As the soldiers continued to question Fahad about his father, supposedly a jihadist leader who had killed four Americans using a remote detonated IED, Abdul saw an image he would have selflessly immolated his eyes not to see. From the shadows of the misty darkness emerged Brian, shaken yet stirred. Abdul watched in guiltless awe as Brian took aside the leader of the wolf pack and discussed the situation animatedly. His mother, she must be warned! Brian was as evil as the wolf pack; he was probably pulling all the strings. They had captured Fahad and they would soon go after his beloved mother. His mother was the only person who held him close just as the sound of nearby bombs ripped his eardrums to shreds during an everyday afternoon. His mother was the only person who sang him some of his favorite melodies just as a blitzkrieg of shrapnel flew by his window every night. Abdul raced home only to find his mother missing; she was most probably at the market but he couldn’t be certain. In a flash of despair, he would go warn his uncle Ahmed even though Ahmed had not been nice to Aida since Amir’s death. He was Amir’s brother after all. For Ahmed to see his brother’s wife in the haunting clutch of another man, a murderous infidel at that, was too much to bear every day. Ahmed consoled Abdul and told him he had nothing to worry about – Brian would be taken care of. Seven hundred meters away, Brian stood over the decimated body of Shaun – the leader of the wolf pack. To break into a child’s heart with such atrocity was an act filled with vile cowardice and Brian would not stand for it. A kick to the stomach, an upper punch into his jaw, an elbow into his temple, and a furious twisting of his neck was all it took. Son of a jihadist or not, Fahad was a child. Brian apologized to Fahad and wiped away his tears with a damp wash cloth. A snickers bar was all Fahad needed to burst into a forgotten smile. Fahad had to run and tell Abdul quickly how good Abdul’s adoptive father, Brian, was. Brian had saved Fahad.

*-----*

They arrived in the darkness, white silhouettes piercing the night sky. Ahmed had told Salim, the leader of the local Sunni militia, about Brian’s location. Seven men came armed, assault rifles draped over their droopy shoulders and for good measure, curvaceous swords flung over their backs, flashing like diamonds on a sultry, sunny day. Two men stood over the terrace of the house nearest to Aida’s; they would gun down the infidel without mercy if he were ever gifted the rare prospect of escape. Two others would stand guard behind Aida’s hut, to prevent the foolish couple from even thinking of using their makeshift window to escape into an unforgiving, yet new, world. Ahmed and Salim would carry the torch of Allah and face down the infidel themselves; Salim’s bodyguard – the seventh crusader – would provide healthy backup. It was nearing three in the morning now, surely Brian and Aida were fast asleep. It disgusted Ahmed that Aida would even fathom such a thought of giving up her body, once reserved only for Amir’s eyes, to an infidel, an occupier, an invader. No matter, they could face their hellish wrath together for all he cared. Abdul must be saved from Aida’s liberalism; he must grow up strong and become a servant of Allah just like his real father Amir was.

It was over in a matter of seconds. For a trained soldier, it was laughable how little resistance Brian provided to their attack. The story might have been different if Brian had reached for his weapon instead of attempting, in vain, to protect Aida from their bullets. Either way, in Ahmed’s eyes, it was pleasant to think of his prey as weak – it would make his story all the more appealing to the rest of the militia. After a three count, they had stormed in through the thin wooden door of Aida’s home. Reprehensibly, there lay the white man and the golden girl, holding each other tight in a solemn embrace as they slept wishfully, dreaming of their faultless existence in a country on the other side of the world. Aida was scantily clad in a shimmering nightgown and this enraged Ahmed. It was truly an abomination for a mother to lie next to her lover while her young child slept in the next corner, no doubt ashamed of his mother’s existence. Brian and Aida would wake up startled as God’s chosen trio burst through the door and raised their weapons in unison. During the next second, in what seemed like an eternity to Ahmed, Brian swiftly swiveled his body to fall over Aida and simultaneously raised his palm upwards – a laughable attempt at protecting himself and the body beneath him. Seventy three bullets rained on the twitching, powerless bodies of Aida and Brian during the next few seconds, tearing open their sinewy muscles into fragments smaller than grated cheese and shattering their permeable bones into a million tiny pieces. Abdul would also wake up, lunging at the militia and especially at the man he trusted to protect his mother. A booming shove was all Ahmed needed to send Abdul flying across the room and into a stack of vessels, to be knocked out for five precious minutes. Abdul would be fine; Ahmed did not need him interfering in an act of God he was not mature enough to understand.

Abdul would wake up a definite five minutes later. His uncle was carrying him away from a house that did not resemble his mother’s anymore. Streams of blood crisscrossed the ceilings and the floors while the ghastly, mutilated remains of his mother and her friend lay abandoned and alone in the center of the home. Too exhausted and overwhelmed to speak, Abdul cast his eyes one last time on the only person who loved him indubitably.

Six thousand miles away, Vincent was using his tiny legs to walk for the first time. Beth looked on and wiped away a tear. Brian would surely be proud.

©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.