—_ 56 / Contemporary Iraqi Fiction 5 d walked toward the river, savoring, small pieces of warm breaq 7 i Nie ks of my bygone childhood. The river swarmed with ships h, ig ¢ y . . ound for the gulf and big, rectangular ferries pushing against the Water towa td the city’s ports. The a bank was covered with a dark, endless stretch of Orchards, Isat on the ground in the shade of a date palm and rested my back against its sturdy trunk. Basking in the moist river breeze, I took off my shoes ang stretched ‘out my legs. I closed my eyes, surrendering to a spell of deli. cious drowsiness. The water flowing in the river carried me away from under that date palm, on its eternal course between endless stretches of palm tree orchards. Morning Exercises Our little boy was playing by himself in the front garden when the siren shook the morning’s quiet. He rolled his colorful rubber ball on the grass and ran after it, then sent it in the opposite direction. He looked happy, and his mother and I contentedly watched him through the big window. We had no Pressing matter to attend to. The ominous shriek shook our lethargy. We Sprang to our feet and ran toward him, bumping into each other. He was standing there, bewil- dered. I snatched him, and we all ran back into the house. He fidgeted under my arm and cried, “Later.” My wife drew the curtain, blocking the daylight, and turned the ra- dio off. The music had no chance against the wailing siren, anyway. “Why did you turn it off?” She sat next to me and said, when the siren goes off.” tled quietly on my lap, siren terrorized the air “Lwant my ball.” “We need to hear what goes on outside She gave our kid a tentative smile, He had set my arms around his little body, as the stubborn around us. Under my arm I felt his heart racing.Mahdi Isa al-Sagr / 57 “Don't be scared—it’s just an exercise,” I said. “An exercise?” “Yes, all this noise comes from a small thing. They’re just testing it.” Iraised my voice a little to make sure he heard me. The siren finally went off. For a few minutes we could hear only the frenzied traffic on the nearby streets. Then silence fell as the roads emptied themselves. We waited. The boy was uneasy, so I sat him beside his mother and headed toward the radio. I turned it on, and music flooded the room with soft tunes. My wife didn’t miss the incongruity. “You are crazy.” “Perhaps.” The sweet music mysteriously touched the place. An absurdity under that trying atmosphere. I had the kid in my lap again and heard my wife's trembling voice. “There's a plane up there.” “I want to see it,” the boy said. “You can’t see it,” I said. “It flies too high.” The boy sat miserably under my arms, listening to that intruding sound vibrating in the sky. It sounded distant but unique, unadulterated by other sounds. Much like the night buzzing of a lonely insect. That did not last for long. The air around us roared with the antiaircraft artillery. The little body shrank. He asked me: “And this is an exercise, too?” “Yes. They fire in the air to test the artillery.” Tevaded his questioning stares. He turned to his mother, who gavea smile too wan to assure him. I went to the radio again and turned it up. An odd mix of artillery fire and string instruments. My wife shot a hope- less look at me. A few seconds later we heard a heavy but distant explo- sion, and the collapse of a large structure, as if a torrent of boulders were suddenly let loose. “Ya satir!” my wife gasped. I gave her a cautioning stare. “Why not make us some tea?” “Now?”™ 58 / Contemporary Iragi Fiction “Will you please keep quiet then!” The boy moved to his mother’s lap, consolingly. My wife looked at me and said, “Shouldn't we sit in a more secure place?” I said, “Every place is the same at a time like this.” Outside, heavy artillery fire continued to roar. Then a deafening ey. plosion nearby. The ground under us shook, the doors and windows rat. tled. A large glass panel came crashing to the floor, barely held by the drawn curtain. The radio went dead—perhaps because of the explosion, The child’s eyes widened with fear. I saw my wife, the color of her face gone, rise with the boy and dash deeper into the house. I stood up and looked at the curtain fluttering in the wind. The artillery sounded as if they were in the next room. Glass shards pierced the curtain, and day- light sneaked in. For a moment the curtain looked laced with silver lines in all shapes and designs. The antiaircraft fire finally fell silent. An ambulance raced on the quiet streets, then a car a little later. The heavy silence afterwards lasted only a few minutes before the siren sounded again, the wail more like a sigh this time. The city came back to life. I opened the curtain; the air blew through the broken window, loaded with smoke, dust, and other smells. There was no fire in the distance in front of me. In the pristine blue sky pigeons flew over the palm trees and houses, flirting with the bright sunshine as if nothing had happened. Except there was the smell of burn- ing in the air and the broken glass. “At last it’s over,” I heard my wife say behind me. I turned and saw | the kid hanging on to her hand, his eyes still questioning. Isaid, “You can go out and play in the garden.” He was hesitant, his eyes on the ball lying where it was on the grass under the brilliant sun. He let go of his mother’s hand and went out. I said to my wife, “Let’s gather the glass before it hurts someone.” We picked up the shards off the floor and furniture. My head was down as I carefully picked up the pieces when I heard my wife say, “Look at him!” I turned my head. The kid stood still there, his hair glistening in the sun. The ball was in his hand, but his eyes were on the suspicious sky 4 if he heard distant echoes.