The Opposite of Loneliness Essays and Stories(26)
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Jun 24, 2003 at 12:39 PM
Subject: greetings from kebab-land
Laura!
I’m eating a kebab right now and it’s raining outside. This juxtaposition is just about the best thing to happen all month. CPA turned the palace ballroom into a chow hall, so I’m writing to you from quite the elegant milieu. My romanticism pees itself in places like this—you know how I get around high ceilings. I picture Saddam and his sons roaming the naves at some dance. Perhaps stopping at this very spot to smooth out a beard or straighten a robe. We joke that the ghosts of Husseins haunt the hallways at night, creeping out once they lock the marble doors at nine.
I’m in a great mood, Laura. Perhaps the best since I arrived. I was worried when you didn’t reply last week that you weren’t going to, so when I saw your name in my inbox this morning, I was ecstatic. I know you said not to talk about it, but I’m glad we’re staying in contact like this. I miss you, and having someone on the outside is more important than you can imagine.
There’s other good news: they assigned me my translator last week and I finally feel like I’ll be able to get some work done. Relocating Iraqi families is hard enough without memorized Arabic phrases and awkward insertions of ana asif, ana asif, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Her name’s Haaya and she’s amazing. Her dad was an official of the Iraqi Ba’ath party in the 80’s, but her mom’s “a soviet.” When she was twelve, government men killed her father and brothers while she watched from upstairs—punishment for siding with Kuwait. After that she lived in Russia—but two months out of Moscow University and she’s back in the desert—whispering English into turban-less ears.
She doesn’t wear a hijab or burka or even long sleeves. She just glides through the palms like she grew them, moves through the palace like it’s hers. I didn’t even know how much I needed her until she appeared. I can speak now. I can hear now. I can talk to the slum men and the landlords and the vendors selling pita—hear their housing concerns without consulting ten dictionaries. It’s just nice having someone to talk to outside the confines of my keyboard. Wolf and Michael are great, but they know more about post-conflict reconstruction policy than anything else (except maybe combat video games).
Haaya studied art history, so we indulge in humanities stuff together. She explained about the buildings and statues and I explained about the designs. Did you know that before the Ottomans, mosques had no ceilings? I like that. It seems more natural to pray in the open air. Haaya prays five times a day despite her bare arms. She has this little mat in her backpack and just excuses herself from meetings. Last night we went to the orange trees and watched the Helipad landings. (She knows the guard who minds the orchard.) I told her about you while we peeled citrus rinds. You’d like each other, I think.
Arghgfljshdfg, Laura! There are so many places I still want to go, so many things I still want to do! Leaving the world of corporations and nine-to-fives has inspired this sort of na?ve expeditionism in me. (My computer’s telling me that’s not a word, but I swear it is.) Have you ever been to Asia? I think we should go to Asia. Asia or Africa. Remember when we used to talk about going on a trip? It was a while ago, but still. I know we agreed not to talk about the future, but they’re going to let us out of here eventually. Maybe the US will invade India and we can eat kebabs in their castles. :)
In a strange way, I feel guilty being cheerful. Look at me, eating fruit as I watch the soldiers land and walk single file from their high school hallways to concrete labyrinths and exploding highways. (I know we didn’t look that young at 19.) There’s a rumor around here that GIs have been leaving their trackers in trashcans while they sleep away their duty parked in fields. The army’s a mess and the government knows it. The CPA’s trying to do as much as we can via remote control—peering over the Green Zone walls. Haaya was the one who got me thinking. Realizing that our impact could double if they’d actually let us see Iraq.
Oh God, the CPA leadership must have mastered telepathy—Paul Bremer is walking over with his lunch. (You’ve probably read about it in the news, but he’s been top dog around here since May.) Time to pretend I’m analyzing zoning plans! Take care! I miss you! Tell me more about your job, Laura, your last message was so short!
Thinking of you,
Will
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To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: July 5, 2003 at 1:12 AM
Subject:
Laura!!
Happy Fourth of July! I’m juts home now from the green zone party! It was so American but I loved it so much because it love this country so much, I really do. They had it at the swimming poot to raise morale or something and Haaya taght me to Muslim dance, but I cant remember the name of it! It’s so hot again, everyone young was swimming all day and they shipped in barbeuqe which made me think of home. I have to tell you Laura I love our country I do. I know we mess up invading and every thing but we are just a bunch of guys trying to share democracy around the world is all it comes down to. You don’t see americns blowing up planes do yoU?!? Look, I love you so much Laura I know I’m not suppost to say that but I thought about you and don’t worry really I’m ok here, very safe etc. You should have heard the air force singing the national anthem . . . that’s how it should be sung, I know it. This one man—he started crying when he heard it, this one old man who had all the badges from Vietnam he started crying when he heard that cong.