Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

“You’ve what?”

“I think at the bottom you are a very good girl. But you must wipe off this makeup and dress modestly. And I forbid you to talk to these soldiers. They’re immoral, particularly the black ones. They’re no better than monkeys.”

It was pretty much the freakiest speech anyone had made to her since the president of the math club had written her a poem for Valentine’s Day and tried to recite it in class. She didn’t wait to hear any more, just turned and ran back to the women’s dorm, where she knew the imam wouldn’t follow her. She hadn’t felt so angry since the soldiers came and took Baba. Who did this man think he was? How dare he tell her what to do? Beneath all his pious words was this strange, slimy tone. I will look after you, I will help you with your education.… She knew what he had on his mind, and it was disgusting.

After that, she made a point of spending as much time with Ty as she could. He brought her a disco record he’d found somewhere, a band called Rufus and Chaka Khan. They listened to it loud, sitting on the roof of the clinic container, blasting the music out into the desert as the sun set over the mountains.

“I’ll be honest with you,” said Ty. “I know I can be kind of an asshole. But I find it hard being around Hajis.”

“What?”

“Sorry. I know that’s a bad word to you people. It’s not like I’m racist or anything. It’s just — well, when you’re out there you got to watch your back the whole time. You got to treat everyone as a threat. It kind of eats into you.”

“So you think we’re all terrorists?”

“Not you. Well, maybe that imam dude. He’d like to put the hurt on me.”

“You know he’s a hairdresser?”

“Get the fuck out of here. For real?”

“Ty, why don’t you like us? What have we done to you?”

“It’s not logical. I mean, we’re on a damn Marine base. Safest place in the world. I’m not going to have to go back there, just train other idiots to do it. But I can’t relax. I just want to switch off, you know? Just get a good night’s sleep.”

“Did something happen to you?”

“When?”

“In Iraq.”

“Yes. You could say that.”

“Something bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

“Are you over it?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

She thought of telling him about Baba. He’d probably have understood. Instead she played him the Ashtar Galactic Command record. He told her it was the worst music he’d ever heard, “worse than Arab music, even,” and though she probably should have been offended, she laughed. He told her they were going to do a big ambush that night, and asked if she wanted to watch. She did, so he took her to the bunkhouse and produced a helmet covered in frayed desert camouflage. Clipped to the front was what looked like a pair of binoculars, a black metal device with twin eyepieces feeding into a single lens. Some of the other insurgents watched as he placed the heavy helmet on her head and adjusted some straps so it didn’t slip down over her eyes.

“You ain’t going to let her borrow that, are you, Ty?”

“Why not?”

“What if she loses it?”

“She ain’t gonna, are you, Laila? Kill the lights, Danny.”

Someone flicked a switch and the room went dark. Ty flipped the binoculars so they came down in front of her eyes, then pressed a button on the side. Suddenly she was in a glowing green world. She could see everything clearly: the guys lying on their cots, the jumble of kit bags and drying laundry, even the pornographic posters on the walls.

“There ya go. Night vision, baby!”

“That’s incredible! It’s like a computer game!”

“Thermal too.”

“Yeah,” chortled someone. “You can see Ty’s got his dick out.”

“Shut your mouth, Kyle.”

At midnight, following Ty’s instructions, she sneaked out of the women’s dormitory and climbed a low hill at the edge of town, which gave her a view over the road. BLUEFOR were due to do a round of punitive house-to-house searches, a favorite tactic of the flattopped major now that he’d more or less given up on Wadi al-Hamam’s hearts and minds. The sky was clear, dusted with stars. Laila flipped down the goggles and watched the insurgents taking up positions, green figures sprawling flat on the ground, assembling a rocket launcher behind a building. They’d buried an IED in the road, primed to explode when the rear truck ran over it, trapping the convoy in what Ty called “the kill zone.” He’d warned her to be very careful where she sat, explaining that if she didn’t go exactly where he said, she could get caught in crossfire. Though the insurgents weren’t firing live ammo and the bombs were just whizbangs, it was still dangerous. She had to stay far up on the ridge, away from the fighting. Luckily the goggles were fitted with a zoom, like a digital camera. She zipped up her hoodie against the chill and played with it, expanding bits of the scene, raking the empty desert with her high-tech gaze.

The darkness was alive with motion. So this was how Iraq looked to them; this was how her house looked when they flew overhead in their helicopters. She lay on her back for a while, then stood up and turned a slow three-sixty rotation, ruling the world, dominating it. Out in the emptiness, away from the town, was a single glowing shape. She couldn’t tell what it was, even with the zoom doubling its size. Elsewhere she could see a conga of bright lights, the BLUEFOR convoy driving down the main road toward the village. She watched it come, getting steadily closer as the insurgents settled into their positions, ready to do whatever violent thing they had planned. Suddenly all of it felt very distant, just a boy’s game. Cowboys and Indians. Kick the can.

She turned back to the glow. What was it? An animal? She couldn’t tell how far away it was. How many “clicks”? This was how she looked to the soldiers, a little point of thermal light, a grid reference to be targeted with a bomb or a drone or a shot from a sniper rifle. Press a button, squeeze the trigger. Snuff her out like a candle. Suddenly the strange glow seemed more important than watching the ambush. Taking a last look at the approaching convoy, she scrambled down the hill and started walking toward it.

She walked for ten minutes. Behind her she heard a loud boom, then the sound of gunfire. Turning around, she saw flashes, intense bursts of energy. She turned away again and carried on walking. In front of her was the shape. It was definitely alive. It seemed too small to be a human being.

She put her hand up to her mouth when she saw what it was. He was just standing there, as if he’d dropped from space. A child. A little glowing boy.

He knew how they must look. The very picture of hick cops, him and the sheriff standing on the porch with their bellies stuck out and their mouths open, watching the show.

The convoy came down Main Street like there was a fire: a truck full of soldiers and an olive-drab Plymouth staff car, which coasted to a halt at the foot of the steps. The man who got out wore civilian clothes: a gray fedora, wingtip spectators and a fancy suit with wide peaked lapels. To Deputy Prince he looked more like a pimp or a fag movie actor than a guardian of the nation’s security. He certainly wasn’t a Fed, that was for sure. When he got up close to shake hands, the stink of cologne could have knocked an elephant on its ass.

“Office?” said the man. Too busy for pleasantries.

“You expecting Tojo or something?” Sheriff Grice gestured at the troops in the truck.

“Excuse me?”

“Seems like you come equipped to fight a war. Ain’t no Japanese Army out here.”

“There’s such a thing as the home front. I thought the news might have reached you.”