A Brighter Fear (7 page)

Whatever happened to Sacha? Part II

B
AGHDAD.
A
WOMEN’S PRISON.
N
OVEMBER 1999

Sacha sat on the end of the mattress, her body squashed between two others, her legs drawn in. She still wore the suit from her last day at work a month ago. But the pink blouse no longer smelt of the perfume she had sprayed, and the grey trousers no longer held the crease down the front, and the jacket no longer made her feel smart and important.

Because now the armpits were circled with sweat, her blouse and trousers stained with her own blood and vomit, and covered in dust and dirt. The stench of the cell clung to the fibres. The smell of fear and pain, disbelief and misery. The smell of disappearing hope.

She tucked a strand of greasy hair behind her ear and glanced at the women around her, some dressed in abayas, one in a night-gown, all in the clothes they had been taken in.

Her eyes peered through the gloom of the cell at the fifteen women crammed into a space meant for six. She had counted them when she had arrived, not one had been released since. No visitors, no exercise, no phone calls, no lawyers, no rights. She knew none of the relatives of the prisoners would know where they were, would have been told even if they had asked.

“What have I done?” she questioned over and over in her head. “What was my crime? To refuse to work for them? Was that it?” But she knew it was, and knew that was all it took; knew, as she looked at all the other women in there with her, that it could take even less.

She waited every day, in hope and in fear, for the door to be opened. “Maybe I’ll be released. Allowed a phone call. Speak to Joe, to Lina.” But the door was opened only for food – rice, stale bread, water – or to shout a name.

That day she didn’t hear the footsteps, or the key in a lock, or see the door open, and didn’t have time to think whether to lift her eyes to the guard in hope of food, or hide away in fear of the unknown. She just heard her name, issued from the large, uniformed man in the doorway, a glint in his eye, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Sacha.”

Her legs lifted, her body moved. Unwilling, yet accepting. She prayed for the time to pass quickly. She prayed for mercy. Fifteen pairs of eyes watched her go, pity filling the room with a guilty appreciation that it wasn’t them.

Dread enveloped her as she was led into another room. Her eyes scanned over the blood stains on the walls, the whip in the corner, the hook hanging from the ceiling, the machine in the middle, the wires and clips, the chair with straps and buckles.

She was asked nothing. For no names, no excuses, no reasons, no apologies. A clip was attached to her toe, another indenting the flesh of her ear.

And there was no warning.

She screamed.

Pain coursed through her, up her body in waves, her muscles tightened, her body stretching, her head thrown back.

It stopped. And she breathed.

And it came again.

Tearing and growing and clawing through her body. The pain like an animal stretching inside her.

She shouted. She screamed.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. She thought of her life and she remembered her past, visions of it returning to her in waking dream, in hallucination – walking the streets of London with Joe, swimming in the river with her beautiful daughter.

She drifted back. Her eyes lifted open, but the room and the people in front of her were blurred, doubled, her vision incoherent. She watched a darkened shape move towards her. She didn’t see the fist raise, or see it come down. She felt the chair slip sideways underneath her and felt her head hit the concrete floor.

She had no strength left. She felt unconsciousness chasing her, grappling up, darkening and diminishing what vision she had. On the floor she could make out a puddle of deep red; sticky, drying and hardening. A boot stood in it, the toes lifting up and down.

She slipped away.

A baby in her arms. A flurry of dark hair. Pinkened cheeks and a frown. Warmth and happiness in her chest. A man at her side. His smile drunk with exhilaration. A kiss from him. And a kiss on the baby’s forehead.

“Lina?” he asks.
“After your grandmother?” She nods, smiling. She looks to the baby.

“Lina,” she replies. He pulls a box from a pocket. Offers it to her. A necklace, green stone, filigreed gold. She feels it around her neck.

She peeled her eyes open and saw faces peering down at her, concern and tears filling their eyes. She felt the women lift her, felt them place her on to the mattress in the cell, felt them tend to her as they dabbed her head, and cooled her body.

Is it a sin to wish for death?
she thought.
Could I do that to my family? Leave them? Abandon them?

What have I done?

She thought of Lina, of Joe, and how selfish she had been. She should have taken the job, done whatever the authorities wanted.

What if they go after my family?
she thought.
What if they torture them? What if they kill them?
Her head swam with a thousand should haves and if onlys. She wanted her family. She wanted to tell them to leave the country. Leave and head for safety.

She prayed and wished with every inch and every breath and every heartbeat. She pictured her husband’s face in front of her and told him over and over and over to leave, to take Lina, to escape. Her imagination shouted and begged and pleaded.

Classes at university began again and I felt the warmth it gave me, the lightness it brought to my step, and the smile that almost dared to creep on to my face. It gave me optimism and hope, it was something to wake me in the mornings, to lift my eyelids, to make my lungs breathe in and remember to exhale.

But my hope of it bringing some normality was naive. It was the end of the second day back, and I shoved my books into my bag, and left the room. It was only a short walk to where Aziz picked me up, and as I strolled across the campus, my thoughts were still in my lecture and mulling over my homework.

Did I walk past any of the men with guns? Would I have noticed them? Instinct made me duck as the first shot echoed out. I threw myself to the floor. I could tell it came from behind me, not far away. I glanced back, but couldn’t make sense of the scene behind me, people running, or on the floor, screaming and shouting and crying.

I thought I could make out Aziz’s car and I stood up and ran. I didn’t stop to find out if anyone was injured. I didn’t stop to help. I just ran. And my lungs burned, and my legs trembled, but fear and adrenalin forced me on to the car as gunfire sounded around me.

And I was alive.

And this was normality in this city, I realised, as I sat in the car, shaking, sucking in breath, so scared, so relieved. Gunfire and car bombs, IEDs and death threats. It was not expecting to be home for dinner, it was knowing you may not make it to lunch. Death wasn’t a word reserved for the old or the ill, it was a reality everybody faced every minute of every day.

The next morning I stood in the bathroom, staring into the mirror while I brushed my teeth, summoning up the courage to keep going, convincing myself that it wouldn’t happen again.

Hana opened the door. “You’re not going to university any more,” she announced. “You can stay at home and help me.”

I stared at her with a toothbrush hanging from my mouth, confused, hoping I had heard her wrong.

“Where did an education get your Mama? And your Papa? Didn’t do them any good, did it? Nearly got you killed yesterday too.”

I had no reply for her. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I waited for Aziz to comment, to tell her she was wrong, that having an education didn’t cause the death of Mama and Papa.

But his eyes stayed low, and no reply came from him.

There was no discussion, just her decision. I found my voice and stuttered an argument; I couldn’t just stop, I’d be thrown off the course, I wouldn’t graduate, I wouldn’t become an architect, I wouldn’t be able to support myself.

“You should be thinking of finding yourself a suitor,” she said. “Someone to take care of you now your father’s gone. He should never have filled your head with nonsense about studying and careers. Your place is at home, looking after your family, your husband and your children. As your Mama should’ve.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief as she turned to me, a look in her eye I couldn’t quite fathom. Was it anger or hatred or despair even?

“And I told your Mama that,” she continued. “I told her she was a fool, that her family would suffer because of the decisions she’d made, but she didn’t listen, and look at where it got her. Got her killed, didn’t it?”

“You don’t know that,” I managed to mutter. “You don’t know she’s not alive.”

She scoffed at me. “Don’t be a fool, Lina. Don’t be like your father. All this rubbish about
when
she comes back. She hasn’t come back in all this time, Lina, because she’s dead. I knew it, have known it for years, as you should’ve. As your Papa should’ve. And all this rubbish about the necklace. Do you really believe that? That because it hasn’t miraculously made its way home, or he hasn’t found it in some second-hand shop, that it must still be with her? That she must be alive somewhere? It’s rubbish, Lina, and it was wrong for your Papa to make you believe it. He was living in a dream world, and it’s about time
you
woke up.” She paused, and I stood, shell-shocked. My chest burning with anger, but I could find nothing to say.

“While you’re living with me, you’ll do as I say. I say you will no longer attend university, you will tell them that you’re not going back. Instead you can help around the house. You can earn your keep.”

I was empty. I had no words. I prayed that Aziz would persuade her to change her mind, but although I heard them talking that evening, there was no retraction of her orders.

I didn’t understand Hana. I didn’t understand how she could be happy and satisfied with her life. She got up early before everyone else, she prepared meals, she cleaned, she tidied, she shopped for food, she cooked, she looked after the children. And it was the same every day. And it had been even before the war. No end in sight, no change, no working towards a goal apart from her children growing up and leaving home. How could she not be bored?

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I got up and went downstairs, stood at the window and listened to the sound of gunfire.

I wanted to hear the sounds that used to fill the skies of Baghdad; the hustle and bustle of traffic, the chatter of people, but as I closed my eyes, all I could hear was the interminable drone of generators. Like bees. One stuck in each house. The only way you could guarantee being able to cook or wash clothes, turn the fan for relief from the heat, or watch television. But only if you had fuel. I wanted it to stop. I wanted quiet. I wanted peace.

And as I stood there with my hands over my ears, I felt Aziz’s hand on my shoulder, asking me what was wrong.

“Hana hates me,” I said.

“She’s angry,” he sighed. “But not at you. She’s been angry for a long time.” We stared out across the city. “You know what happened at the shelter? At Amiriyah, during the last Gulf War?”

I nodded. How could I forget about that? How could anyone?

“She lost all her family there. All but your Mama, that is. She’s scared that more of her family will be taken. She loved your Mama desperately. But they never understood each other. Hana never understood your Mama’s ambition, or her desire for a career. She missed her terribly when she went to England. Hana’s views are simple. We married and she wanted to stay at home, even before the boys were born. She felt that was her place. That’s what she wanted from life. When that job offer came for your Mama, it was discussed quietly through the family; what it would mean to work for them, what could happen, what turning it down might bring.

“Hana’s reasoning in her head was very simple; the dilemma wouldn’t exist, the possible threat to Sacha’s life, and perhaps the family, if Sacha hadn’t studied, hadn’t gone to university, hadn’t wanted a career.

“Hana told her she should be glad to be alive and keep a low profile. But that’s not what Sacha wanted. She was headstrong, Lina. You know that. But when she went missing… imagine what that did to Hana. And then what happened to your Papa…”

“But that’s not my fault,” I replied.

He smiled at me and stood up. “Come on,” he said, and he took my hand and led me back upstairs. He picked up a framed photograph. “Who’s that?” he asked.

I stared at the faces. “Mama and Hana,” I said.

He nodded. “Do you ever look in the mirror?”

My reply was a frown.

“When Hana looks at you she sees Sacha, your Mama, her missing sister, staring back. She struggles, Lina. Think of the life she’s had. Losing so many people close to her. Scared something would take your Mama and Papa away from her as well. Then it did.”

He paused watching my face. “Try not to be too hard on her.”

I took the photo into my room, looking from it, to the mirror, and back. I could see it now, everything, the hair, the face shape, the mouth. But not the eyes; mine were brown like Papa’s. I wondered how it had been for Papa; I wondered if, when he looked at me, he saw Mama staring back.

I tried to understand Hana. But I had changed so much to fit in. I gave up my time to look after the boys, I did as much as I could around the house, and now I would be dropping out of university. I felt a burden and a let-down. Every day I missed Papa and every day I wished for Mama to return. I prayed to leave this place, to get my life back again, to live again, to breathe again.

That night, I took out a map of the world. I unfolded it and laid it across the sheets and looked at the countries and thought of where I could go, where would be safe. I could study abroad, I thought, then return to help rebuild my country. The money would help, but my education was the key to everything. I could have a profession. Then I would have options and choices, could make plans for the future.

I prayed that night, to a God whose ears seemed to be troubling him, that I would hear from Mama soon. Because although there was no longer Papa to keep hope alive that she would return, and Hana had given up on her, I would not. I prayed for her safety. And I knew it was a miracle I was asking for, but I needed something to hold on to, I needed to see her again.

Yet it was not Mama who came back into my life, soon after that.

It was someone else.

Someone I could never have expected.