Paris Metro by Wendell Steavenson

Author:Wendell Steavenson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2018-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

FOUR

Not long after we returned to Paris, Ahmed told me he was moving to Baghdad. He said he had been offered a promotion, and the new job would give him a roving responsibility seconded to the Iraqi Foreign Ministry to coordinate with the American Embassy. Ahmed said things were different in Baghdad now that Obama had announced the U.S. military would pull out by the end of the year. Oil prices were high, potential foreign investors had begun to sniff. There was work to be done, he said, to guide and shape Iraq’s future and its place in the world.

“Business, financial infrastructure, international standards, legal codes, import-export guarantees, capacity building. It’s a challenge, Kit,” said Ahmed.

“You once said ‘a challenge’ was just an administrative euphemism for a problem.”

Ahmed made a wry face.

“Back to Baghdad?” I was surprised, I was concerned.

“It’s a career-defining opportunity,” he said. He sounded like he was trying to convince me with bullet points from a corporate brochure.

“Are you trying to continue your father’s work? Is this some kind of expiation?” Ahmed frowned. This had not occurred to him. Which didn’t mean it was not a subliminal explanation, but at the same time, it was unlike Ahmed to feel guilt. I watched his face sift through several possible responses. Should he change course, sail into the wind, luff? He finally chose the one that had always been the most effective with me, faux honesty, a popcorn puff with just enough kernel of truth to be plausible.

“Paris was never my place, never my city. I know you wanted it to be. The French are so constantly, constamment full of disdain. I don’t even think it’s racist, because they have it for everyone, even for each other. There are things I miss about Iraq that I never expected to. How people talk to each other—not what they say, but the tone, as if they are making a great joke of preparing to stab you in the back—is one of them. It’s my culture, after all. I am simply not in Paris enough to make it worth it to stay in the lesser job. The money will be better, I can increase my maintenance payments. I’ll still be back and forth between Paris; probably you won’t even notice any difference.”

He gave me so many reasons that I didn’t believe any of them.

“But Little Ahmed.”

Ahmed only said, “We’ll tell him together.”

_____

We took Little Ahmed to his favorite Lebanese restaurant, and over labneh and fries his father told him he was going to live in Iraq. He had thought about it, he said, and he wanted Little Ahmed to stay here with me, where he had a good school and a good life.

“Pourquoi?” his son asked him.

“I have business to do in Baghdad. And your grandmother Beeby is sick and I should take care of her because all her sisters are in Dubai now.”

“Quelles affaires?”

“Important.”

“Des affaires that are more important than me.”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s—” and then Ahmed continued to explain in Arabic.

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