Redeployment(29)

I looked back at the convoy of soldiers. I’d risked all their lives bringing them here.

“Professor,” I said, “we need to get Kazemi on the phone. Now.”

While he called, I daydreamed about beekeeping. Images floated through my head of Iraqi Widow Honey in U.S. supermarkets, of Donald Rumsfeld helping out by doing TV ads: “Try the sweet taste of Iraqi freedom.” After about thirty phone calls, the Professor assured me Kazemi was en route.

The Iraqis arrived from the south in a small convoy of pickup trucks. Chief Engineer Kazemi, a thin little Iraqi with a bushy mustache, waved and spoke in Arabic for about ten minutes. The Professor nodded and nodded and didn’t translate a word until the end.

“He greets you, and wants to take you to his office,” he said.

I agreed, and we followed Kazemi through the dark hallways of the plant. This entailed a lot of backtracking.

“He would like you to believe,” the Professor said after our ninth or tenth wrong turn, “that he normally comes in through another door and that is why he is not knowing where to go.”

When we got to the office, one of the police officers with Kazemi made tea that he served in a dusty cup with a sludge of sugar congealed at the bottom. I tried, while drinking it, to come to the point in my best American manner.

“What do we need to get this plant operating?” I said.

The Professor reiterated the question, and Kazemi smiled and started fumbling under the desk. He mumbled something, and the Professor looked concerned and asked what sounded like a few sharp questions.

“What are you telling him?” I said.

The Professor ignored me. After a minute or so, Kazemi pulled something from under the desk, dislodging papers and spilling office supplies all over the floor.

“I do not think this man is very intelligent,” said the Professor.

Kazemi held a large box in his hands. He placed it on top of the desk, opened it, and carefully pulled out a scale model of the water treatment plant, constructed of cardboard and toothpicks. At the four corners of the plant, though, were thin cardboard towers. Kazemi pointed to one of these.

“Mah-sheen gaans,” he said.

Then he smiled and cradled his hands as though holding a weapon.

“Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat,” he said, shooting the imaginary gun. Then came another stream of Arabic.

“Your military,” the Professor said after a pause, “failed to approve funds for the construction of machine-gun towers. They are not standard on U.S. water plants.”

Kazemi said something else.

“Also, your military built the wrong pipes,” said the Professor.

“What does he mean, the wrong pipes?” I said.

This time the discussion went on for some time, the Professor getting increasingly curt. He seemed to be berating Kazemi.

“Your military built pipes for the wrong water pressure,” said the Professor, “and they built them across the highway.”

“Is there a way to deal with the water pressure—”

“The water pressure is not the problem,” said the Professor. “The ministry is Jaish al-Mahdi.”

I looked at him blankly. “But water would be good for—”

“They will not turn on water for Sunnis.” His accusing stare suggested that, somehow, this was my fault. Of course, given that the United States had split Iraqi ministries between political parties at the outset of the war, allowing the various factions to expel the old Baathist technocrats in favor of party hacks who carved the country up between them, it sort of was.

Kazemi spoke again.

“I am sure of it,” said the Professor. “This man is not intelligent.”

“What does he say?”

“He would like to pump water,” said the Professor. “He has had this job for many years without pumping any water and he wants to see what it is like.”

“If some of the water is going to Sunnis,” I said, “he will need machine guns?”

“He will need them anyway,” said the Professor.

“Okay,” I said.

“He will get himself killed,” said the Professor.

“Ask him what it will take to get the plant working,” I said, “aside from machine guns.”

They spoke in Arabic. I stared at the wall. When they were finished, the Professor turned to me and said, “He will have to assess. He has not been here in many weeks.”