When I read that to Nadia, she made a poster for me of the Tintrey Team, Mr. Scalia and Mr. MacLean behind big shields made of dollar bills. Ernest and I laughed so hard, we almost made ourselves sick. Ernest scanned it for me into the computer, but if I look at it I must be careful, everybody spies on everybody else. It’s only because we’re bored or lonely. Or scared. Even in the tiny apartment I share buried deep inside the compound, we hear the bombs.
At night in bed, I try not to remember my week in Michigan with Karen. Sometimes I can’t help it—I go to her website, although I get no real glimpse of her, only the many masks she wears in public.
She is not worth my immortal soul—I must remember those words in times of temptation, Father Vicente said when he urged me to take this job. A chance to start over, he said, to leave your sinful tendencies in America and serve your country overseas. I thought, maybe he’s right, and anyway, the money is so good! Clara is the smartest of the Guaman sisters, she deserves the chance to go to a good college. And I thought, maybe I can become a normal person if I’m far away, although, how could anyone become normal in this very un-normal place?
Everybody drinks a great deal. Even I, who used to have a glass of wine only on New Year’s or my birthday, find myself drinking almost every night after work.
September 24
Mama calls twice a week. She is worried. But we are really not in danger inside our great marble compound. I didn’t tell her that yesterday, I took a walk outside the compound. I went with Amani, who is one of our translators. A very serious young woman who wears the typical black covering of an Iraqi woman so you can only see part of her face. She speaks perfect English and perfect French. I trade her a few words in Spanish for a few words of Arabic.
Mama would be frightened to think of me outside the Green Zone, and why should I add to her fears? And Amani is so reliable. She made sure I was covered head to toe in one of her abayas so that we would not be targets, American and Arab side by side.
September 28
My roommates learned of my second trip into the city with Amani and they screamed like ten-year-olds. Oh, Allie, how could you? And you put on her abaya? Weren’t you afraid of germs?
Germs! I am afraid of bombs, but not of a woman’s body. I thank you, Jesus, for sending me such silly girls to live with. They will not rouse any tendencies in me.
Father Vicente reminded me of the priests and nuns who wrestle with celibacy every day, sometimes every hour! Know you are not alone in your struggle. And find yourself a nice boy. You will meet plenty of young men in the middle of a war. Marry one of them, make a family. A family will cure you of your sinful desires.
I read on through the night. More trips into Baghdad with Amani. The two women went to art galleries or to outdoor markets, but never to see Amani’s family—she couldn’t let the neighbors know she worked for Americans or they might murder her little brothers for being related to a collaborator.
On Thanksgiving, during the boisterous celebrations inside the Green Zone, Alexandra got drunk and spent the night with someone named Jerry, one of the programmers in Tintrey’s communications division.
November 26
I’ve been sick all day. Throwing up gin, and throwing up Jerry. I don’t know which has made me sicker.
December 1
Have avoided Jerry all week. I think he told some of the other men—they look at me like a cat licking its lips over a wounded mouse. I pray I’m not pregnant.
December 9
Thanks to the Mother of God, my period arrived today. My coworkers are all treating me as if I were a leper, I thought because of Jerry. But Mr. Mossbach, the head of my unit, took me aside today. “People are talking about you. You spend too much time with that Arab gal, and that means your teammates aren’t sure they can trust you to be on Uncle Sam’s side. Trust, Allie! We’re a Team!”
So! Amani’s neighbors may attack her family if they know she works with Americans. And my neighbors attack me because I drink coffee with Amani.
She calls me A’lia, an Arabic name. It means “exalted” or “noble.” And Amani means “wishes” or “dreams,” so I call her Desideria.
How can it be a sin to find more pleasure in her society than in that of silly girls or drunken boys? Of course, I have no sinful thoughts for her, only gratitude that I have found a friend in this strange country.