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To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Aug 23, 2003 at 1:25 AM
Subject: delete when done
Laura! I don’t want to jinx it but (miraculously) things seem to have worked. We verified the names and the Makins are moving in Monday. Haaya and I are meeting in an hour to decide how to present the list to Bremer and the In-Zone GI unit. Keep your eyes peeled on the papers. This could break soon.
Will
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To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Aug 27, 2003 at 2:14 PM
Subject: the attack
I’m fine. Turn off the coverage—I don’t want you panicking. The Green Zone’s been mortared and the Rashid Hotel might collapse under the weight. The first car bomb is linked to the new housing unit and they’re calling me in for questioning. Wolf’s dead.
I’m freaking out, Laura. If this traces back to our guy it could be bad. I’m just hoping to God that car belonged to some other fucker in the complex. I don’t know how I’d live with myself.
Might not be able to write for a while. Delete this.
Will
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To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Aug 31, 2003 at 2:56 AM
Subject: the attack
Laura,
Haaya wants to leave right now but I told her I needed to do this. I owe you that much. I know it’s tactless to do it like this, but there isn’t much time so I’m just going to explain everything. They linked the attack to Abdul Aziz and his brother, traced back his authorization papers and found the holes. We explained about the names but it didn’t matter—he had the goddamn President on conference. The attack was bad. I’m sure you read about it. Three projectiles to the hotel high-rise and five strategic car bombs in forty-five minutes. The city riots didn’t start until the Chinook helicopter got shot down and we lost the Black Hawk. This war is fucked. It’s like the country is unraveling from the inside. A bomb aimed at the helipad fell 100m short—falling on the orange groves behind the palace. Unlike the palms, the trees ignited, burning our orchard to the ground and sending citrus smoke through the city.
They’re kicking us out. Bremer’s giving us two days and our flights leave tomorrow. They didn’t explain much but it might be conspiring, if we’re lucky just negligence. Either way, we’re looking at twenty years minimum. At least they’re respecting our dignity with the two days—that and not trailing us with guards until then.
Laura, there’s a lot I need to tell you. Haaya and I have made our decision. We’re going to leave. An explosion left a hole in the blast wall on the southwest bank that she doesn’t think the CPA’s noticed yet. If we can get through that, and across the Tigris, she thinks we’ll be able to make it to Syria and into the East where she has family. Either way, the walls are closing, and I’d rather be in the desert than a metal box.
The whole Zone’s heard it’s the “housing guy’s fault.” I ran into Michael on the boulevard and he just shook his head. He muttered some bullshit about my Arab girlfriend. He said he thought I was against the war glory stuff. Thought I was better than wanting 50 Mahdis to my name. I didn’t even know what to say. It’s like something disgusting is rotting in my stomach and I can’t get it out. These people are dead because of me. WOLF is dead because of me. I can’t stop thinking about the last time I saw him—reading a comic book in the mess hall and offering me the rest of his cantaloupe. I buried the book he lent me by the date plum trees; it’s not much, but at least it’s something. He was a fucking kid. 23 years old for God’s sake.
Haaya tried to take full blame for it—but Bremer was having none of it. He’s right. I agreed. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I don’t know why it matters so much to me, but I want you to know that our intentions were always in the right place. If anything happens to us, at least know that.
Laura, I don’t know why you haven’t written in a while. I don’t even remember when your messages stopped. After the 4th of July? The first attack? I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I know you’re listening, at least, and there’s something in that. I need for you to forgive me. Forgive me for what I did and for what I’m going to do. I can’t explain why it matters so much to me, but it does. You were my tether outside these walls, Laura. Always know that.
Haaya and I are going to try to start over. She wants me to pray more—maybe even five times a day. She says the land in the East is barely patrolled, barely settled. And in a few years, I’m sure they’ll forget about a CPA fuckup and his translator anyway. Haaya has a headscarf now and she told me to put on dishdasha robes. We’ll live with her family for a time. They’re farming people, pulling whatever they can from the desert dust.
I’m going to see the world, Laura. I’m finally getting out of this damn garden.
Take care of yourself,
Will