The American Granddaughter by Inaam Kachachi

Author:Inaam Kachachi [Kachachi, Inaam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Bloomsbury UK
Published: 2011-02-27T23:00:00+00:00

XXI

We were told that he was an evil son of a bitch.

He was a security official in the former regime. It was people like him that we were supposed to be holding to account for their crimes against humanity. There was no pity for someone like him. As long as he, and others like him, were free, Iraq could not rise up and give its rendition of the hymn of democracy. It was midnight when we headed in three vehicles to the house of that contemptible man. Twenty soldiers got out and surrounded the house. They were armed to the teeth, but to me they looked like panthers moving in the dark. I waited in the Humvee with two soldiers guarding me. I wasn’t scared but I was nervous. It was my first real raid.

Four of the soldiers broke the iron garden gate, went into the yard, kicked the wooden door and were inside. Inside, a family was sleeping; a woman woke up and started screaming. Then a man appeared in his white dishdasha, holding out his open hands towards the soldiers and saying, ‘Yes . . . Yes.’ They shouted and gestured at him to lie face down on the floor, and he immediately understood. He dropped down quickly as if he’d been trained for situations like this. They ordered him to extend his arms to the sides and he did so. A soldier stepped forward and tied the man’s hands behind his back with a nylon wire. Then they called me over from the vehicle to do the interpreting.

I looked at the ‘target’ and the M16 aimed at his head, and I noted his good looks: green eyes and a tall figure whose dignity was emphasised by the white dishdasha. Not everyone could continue to look dignified while lying face down on the floor.

The unit’s sergeant brought out a piece of paper from his pocket and told me to ask the man his name.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Mohammad Khalil.’

‘Your full name.’

‘Mohammad Khalil Mohammad Ayash Al-Abeedy.’

He sounded as if he was choking on his pride. From an inner room we heard children crying. The name that the ‘target’ had just given didn’t match the one written down on the sergeant’s piece of paper. From the open door a woman appeared with uncovered hair and a light-coloured dishdasha. She addressed me directly, her voice full of panic, ‘Sister. Wallah, my husband’s done nothing. He’s done nothing, wallah.’

My lips trembled and I struggled to keep my composure. On my own initiative, and without double-checking with the sergeant, I reached out and gently pushed aside the weapon that was aimed at her husband’s head. I said, ‘It’s nothing to be scared of. Just a simple investigation.’

The sergeant was asking me, ‘It this the man we want?’

‘Not according to his name.’

He told me to ask him for ID.

‘Where’s your ID?’

He’d barely lifted his head towards his wife when the sergeant shouted and aimed the weapon back towards the man’s skull. ‘Face down on the ground!’

The ‘target’ did not need my interpretation to understand what was required of him.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.