Yasmina Khadra - The Sirens of Baghdad

Sayed tries to grab my wrist; I avoid his touch.

“You look surprised,” the professor tells me.

“I am. But that’s all.”

“Is there a problem?” Sayed inquires.

“There’s no problem,” I say curtly.

The virologist tries to follow up. “We have—”

“Professor, I’m telling you there’s no problem. Virus or bomb, what’s the difference? You don’t need to explain the why; just tell me the when and the where. I’m neither more nor less brave than the Iraqis who are dying every day in my country. When I agreed to follow Sayed, I divorced myself from life. I’m a dead man waiting for a decent burial.”

“I never doubted your determination for a second,” Sayed tells me, his voice shaking a little.

“In that case, why not move directly to concrete matters? When will I have the…the honor of serving my Cause?”

“In five days,” the professor replies.

“Why not today?”

“We’re adhering to a strict schedule.”

“Very well. I won’t leave my hotel. You can come and fetch me whenever you want — the sooner the better. I can’t wait to recover my soul.”

Sayed dismisses Shakir and invites me to get into his car. We drive across half the city without saying a word. I sense that he’s searching for words but not finding any. Once, unable to stand the silence, he reaches for the radio and then draws his hand back. It’s raining very hard again. The buildings seem to submit to the deluge with resignation. Their gloominess puts me in mind of the tramp I watched not long ago from the window of my hotel room.

We pass through a neighborhood with ravaged buildings. The marks of war take a long time to erase. Work sites devour large sections of the city, bristling with cranes, their bulldozers attacking the ruins like pit bulls. At an intersection, two drivers are screaming at each other; their cars have just collided. Shards of glass lie scattered on the asphalt. Sayed runs a red light and nearly crashes into a car that suddenly appears out of a side street. Drivers on all sides angrily blow their horns at us. Sayed doesn’t hear them. He’s lost in whatever’s on his mind.

We take the coastal road. The sea is stormy, as though tormented by an immense anger. Some vessels lie in the roadstead; in the general grayness, they look like phantom ships.

We drive about forty kilometers before Sayed emerges from his fog. He discovers that he’s missed his turn, twists his head around to get his bearings, abruptly veers onto the shoulder of the road, brings the car to a stop, and waits until he can put his thoughts into some order. Then he says, “It’s a very important mission. Very, very important. I didn’t tell you anything about the virus because no one must know. And I really believed, after all those visits to the clinic, that you would start figuring it out yourself…. Do you understand what I’m saying? It may look to you as though I kept quiet because I wanted to confront you with a fait accompli, but that’s not the case. As of right now, nothing’s set in stone. Please don’t think there’s any pressure on you; please don’t imagine there’s been any breach of trust. If you don’t consider yourself ready, or if this mission doesn’t suit you, you can back out and no one will hold it against you. I just want to assure you that the next candidate won’t be treated any differently. He won’t know anything until the last moment, either. For our security and for the success of the mission, we have to operate this way.”

“Are you afraid I’m not up to it?”

“No!” he cried out before he could stop himself. His finger joints whitened as he clutched the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m just confused, that’s all. If you felt cheated or trapped, I wouldn’t forgive myself. I warned you in Baghdad that this would be a mission unlike any other. I couldn’t tell you anything more than that. Do you understand?”

“Now I do.”

He takes out his handkerchief and wipes the corners of his mouth and under his ears. “Are you angry at me?”

“Not even slightly, Sayed. I was surprised to learn that the mission involves a virus, but that has no effect on my commitment. A Bedouin doesn’t lose his nerve. His word is like a rifle shot — it can’t be taken back. I’ll carry this virus. In the name of my family and in the name of my country.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep since I put you in the professor’s hands. It’s got nothing to do with you — I know you’ll go all the way. But this operation’s so…crucial. You have no idea how important it is. We’re down to our last shot, the last cartridge in the chamber. Afterward, a new era will be born, and the West will never look at us the same way again. I’m not afraid of dying, but our deaths have to mean something. They have to change our situation. Otherwise, our martyrs aren’t much use. For me, life’s nothing but an insane gamble; it’s the way you die that determines whether you win the bet. I don’t want our children to suffer. If our parents had taken things in hand in their day, we wouldn’t be so miserable. But, alas, they waited for the miracle instead of going out and finding it, and so we’re compelled to change our fate ourselves.”

He turns toward me. His face is deathly pale, and his eyes shimmer with furious tears. “If you could see Baghdad — if you could see what it’s become: ruined sanctuaries, mosques at war with one another, fratricidal slaughter. We’re overwhelmed. We call for calm, and no one listens. It’s true that we were hostages back when Saddam was in power. But, good God! Now we’re zombies. Our cemeteries are full, and our prayers get blown to pieces along with our minarets. How did we come to this? If I can’t sleep, it’s because we expect everything, absolutely everything, from you. You’re our only recourse, our last-ditch stand. If you succeed, you’ll put things back in their proper order, and a new day will dawn for us. The professor hasn’t explained to you the nature of the virus, has he?”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Yes, there is. It’s imperative that you know what your sacrifice will mean to your people and to all the oppressed peoples of the earth. You represent the end of the imperialist hegemony, the turning wheel of fortune, the redemption of the just—”

This time, I’m the one who grabs his wrist. “Please, Sayed, have faith in me. It would kill me if you didn’t.”

“I have complete faith in you.”

“Then don’t say anything. Let things take their course. I don’t need to be accompanied. I’ll know how to find my way all by myself.”

“I’m just trying to tell you how much your sacrifice—”

“There’s no point in telling me that. You know how people are in Kafr Karam. We never talk about a project if we really intend to accomplish it one day. If you don’t keep your dearest wishes silent, they won’t bear fruit. So let’s just shut up. I want to go all the way, without flinching. In full confidence. Do you understand me?”

Sayed nods. “You’re surely right. The man who has faith in himself doesn’t need it from others.”

“Exactly, Sayed. Exactly.”

He puts the car in reverse and backs up to a gravel trail. We turn onto it and head back to Beirut.

I’ve spent a good part of the night on the hotel terrace, leaning on the balustrade, looking down at the avenue, and hoping that Dr. Jalal would turn up. I feel all alone. I try to get a hold of myself. I need Jalal’s anger to fill my blank spots. But Jalal is nowhere to be found. I went and knocked on his door — twice. He wasn’t in his room, nor was he in the bar. From my lookout post on the terrace, I peer down at the cars that stop at the curb, watching for his rickety silhouette. People enter and leave the hotel; their voices reach me in amplified fragments before dissolving into the other sounds of the night. A crescent moon, as sharp and white as a sickle, adorns the sky. Higher up, strings of stars sparkle in the background. It’s cold; my sighs are visible. I pull my jacket tight around me and puff into my numbed fists until my eyes bulge. My mind feels empty. Ever since the word virus penetrated my consciousness, a toxin has been prowling around in there, waiting to be released at any moment. I don’t want to give it the chance to poison my heart. That toxin’s the devil. It’s the trap lying in my path; it’s my weakness and my ruin. And I have vowed before my saints and my ancestors never to yield. So I look away; I look at the late-night crowd in the street, the passing cars, the festive neon lights, and the thronged shops. The sights solicit my eyes, and I let them take over from my brain. This city excels in solicitation!