Dear Blue Sky (9 page)

CHAPTER 19

NO WHERE IS SAFE

ON THANKSGIVING NIGHT
I looked for an email from Sef and found a new blog from Blue Sky.

 

Blue Sky's Blog

 

November 23, 2006

A lot days past. Sorry. The electricity is very bad, on and off, most off. Two days the American soldiers broke into the shops in front of our house on the excuse to find guns. They ruined the shop where the men in our neighborhood used to sit at night to watch TV and drinking tea.

To all Americans read this: If you ever have a raid by American soldiers on your house you no nowhere is safe, not even your home. They empty drawers, turn the house upside down looking for something, put black bags on our heads. You will think again. We can do nothing. I used to feel sorry for your soldiers but not now.

Your soldiers killed my friend's brother for throwing rocks. He walked out on to the roof because it is hot. It was night and he threw rocks down so they shot him. They think he another terrorist. A nine year old terrorist! His family lose their future. I do not blame if you read this, but I tell you so you know.

I have question. Why do American think they are more than Iraqis? Our prophet Mohammed say to his soldiers not to kill any woman, child, and man, not to destroy the land. We believe this and live the way before the war.

No where is safe—not school, not street, not neighborhood, not home. Things are worse everyday. I remember how shock I was the first time I saw the majestic palm tree in our neighborhood broke in half. Three days ago I saw a dead body under that tree. It make me sick. What if I found my uncle there? I feel more sick.

I am angry, yes, and much sad this week because of my uncle. He is kidnap we think. Disappear. Taken away somewhere. No news and things become worse and worse everyday. My father is convinced he is at a torture prison. A long time to find out and not definite information or anything but we will try everything. Mom cry and cry. My little brother stares at her and she holds him. He does not do talking. Because of explosion two weeks. He said words. Water, bird, ball, Mama, Dada, my name. Now nothing. He just stares at us.

Our house explode and glass shatter. I scream and thought we all dead. E. had blood on his head and I was sure he dead like our neighbor who bleed all over his own floor. He still holds on to his head. All was twisted crazy mess but our house is made of iron and brick and cement and it stand fine. We thank Allah and give 2 goats to the poor. We are happy to stay alive. I have to believe and be happy Allah protect us. I am happy to breathe.

If we have no belief we have nothing.

I receive some emails and I reply soon.

Bye for now. Pray for peace.

Blue Sky

 

To: Blue Sky

From: Cassie

Subject: hi again from USA

 

Dear Blue Sky,

I just read your new blog post. Your life is very hard. I'm sorry about your house and your uncle and your brother and the dead body. That makes me sick too. I've never seen a dead body before. Is there any news about your uncle? I am most sad for your friend's family. No one should die at nine years old. Jack is almost nine.

I want everything to be like it was before this war too. My mother's convinced that Sef is going to die in Iraq. I can't believe that. The thing is, Sef is the one I am closest to in my family. Now he's not here, and everything's messed up, and I'm mad about everything. I know I shouldn't say this to you, but I feel like I can tell you things. I know you're mad about things too.

Sef wouldn't hurt anyone except in self-defense. He was always the one protecting us. He always wanted to make things right, that's what he's like. He doesn't think he is better than Iraqi people or anyone.

Please tell me more about your life, your friends, school, and family. I hope everything gets better soon and you are safe.

Bye,

Cassie

It turned out two hundred and fifteen people had been killed and more hurt in Sadr City, but Sef wasn't one of them. We received an email from him the next day. He wasn't even in Baghdad at the time of the attack.

 

To: Mom

From: Sef

Subject: Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Hi everyone,

Hope you had a Happy Thanksgiving! Sorry I didn't write sooner. We didn't have access to a computer because we were on a mission in the desert. They thought all these weapons and ammo were hidden there and the terrorists were bringing them into the city. We did a sweep and found some stuff. I don't want to say too much because I don't know who reads these emails, but don't worry. I'm fine. Except for the sand, which gets everywhere—my eyes, ears, mouth, nose—and it stings. Can you send a couple of sweatshirts, like the Pats one? Thank you for the package! It made my day. The cookies were gone in seconds. The guys loved them, esp. Hurricane. He ate at least half.

You probably heard about the bombing yesterday. I'm sure you were worried, Mom. You probably heard about it before we did. Believe it or not, I heard it on the news. Don't worry, I'm OK!! The guys watch a lot of TV. We saw reruns of the 1986 Sox! Everyone had a good laugh. Go, Buck! Hurricane played
The Champ
for us. I'm not kidding, he CRIED. He's about the size of a house, and he cried.

I'm trying to remember all the things I wanted to tell you. The sunrise is sure beautiful in the desert. That's something I never would have guessed. I have a lot of time for thinking out here. If I think too much, I'll probably turn into one of those people who look like they're a million years old. One thing I know is it's hard to tell who the bad guys are. A few Iraqis still think Americans are good people. But to tell you the truth, I can't tell who's winning this war. Unless you're in the Green Zone. Then you think you're winning because it's so heavily guarded. They call it the Bubble too. It used to be where Hussein had his palaces. Now it's our government headquarters. They have swimming pools and bars—a little slice of heaven in all the hell. Not sure why they call it the Green Zone when it's mostly concrete and barbed wire.

I miss you guys a ton. Our whole troop prays before we go out. I wanna pray for everyone, but I don't really know what to say. It's easier with them than by myself. So far, so good with the brigade. Just Cali was sick from the water or something for a couple days, but he's better. I feel pretty safe with these guys watching my back. All in all, it's harder than anything I've done. Don't even ask about taking showers, Mom.

We have it so good at home. Don't forget that. THANKS again for the package!

I have to go because others are waiting for the computer.

Love,

Sef

CHAPTER 20

THREE-LEGGED DOG

WE READ SEF'S
email together over and over. Mom clapped her hands and kissed Dad and Jack. Dad kept shaking his head. “We need to let him know we're winning.”

“What?” Mom asked.

“Wouldn't he know if we were?” I said. “He's there.”

“He should know,” Dad said.

“Don't argue, please. He's fine, that's all that matters,” Mom said. “He sounds just like himself.”

“Who'd you think he was going to sound like?” Dad smiled.

“We're going out to eat as soon as Van gets home,” Mom said.

• • •

We went to Layla's, where they made faces on Jack's pizza with tomatoes and pepperoni. On the way there, Mom rambled, “He sounded good, didn't he? Imagine Sef in the desert. I want to meet Hurricane, don't you?”

Dad said, “Why doesn't he know who's winning?”

“Of course we're winning. We're America,” Mom said. “Bush said we were winning. He said that we're absolutely winning.”

Van sighed. “I really wanted to go to Finn's practice tonight.”

“Did you read Sef's email?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, aren't you glad he's fine?” I tried to find her eyes, but her long hair hung like a shield over her face.

“Of course he's fine.”

“Weren't you worried?”

She flung her hair back. Her dark eyes outlined in black pencil and heavy mascara were fierce. She bit her lip and said, “Nothing can happen to Sef.” Then she turned to the window and went
tap tap tap
on the glass with her fingers.

When we pulled into the parking lot, she asked, “How long is this going to take? Finn's band is practicing.”

“What's the name of his band again?” Dad asked.

“Solar Train.”

Dad nodded slowly. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Does it have to mean something?” Van asked.

“Well, what kind of music is it?”

“It's rock, but it's not hard rock. It sounds really good.”

“Finn's the main singer?”

“And songwriter.”

“And he doesn't know any Sinatra?” Dad asked.

Van rolled her eyes.

Mom smiled. “Think they're going to be rich and famous soon?”

“They have a good chance,” Van said.

Mom nudged Dad.

“I saw that,” Van said.

“He'll probably be a millionaire, and we'll still be sitting here eating pizza at Layla's,” Dad said.

“Not me,” Van said.

“I want to stay here forever and ever,” Jack said.

We ordered a sausage and eggplant pizza, and Van ordered a Caesar salad. Mom uncorked a bottle of wine from a paper bag and poured paper cups for her and Dad.

“Pow, pow, pow!” Jack played with his combat soldiers, hiding them behind the napkin holder.

“Don't shoot me,” Dad said.

“When Sef was little, he used to play with those same soldiers all the time.” Mom kept her eyes on the plastic soldiers. “When he was five, he told me he was going to be a soldier. I said, ‘No you're not!' and he said, ‘Yes I am.'”

“Guess he was right.” Dad drank his wine.

“Thanks,” Mom said.

The waitress slid our pizza and salad across the table. Van picked at the lettuce, glancing at the cell on her lap every few minutes. Mom held her folded slice in front of her. “You're not going anywhere until you have some pizza, Van. I mean it. Believe me, I know all about dieting.”

“Take it from the beauty queen,” Dad said.

“Don't ruin the night, Joe.”

Van took a small slice, slid the cheese off, and took a bite. The rest of us stuffed our faces like we were trying to fill ourselves as fast as we could. Trying to fill the hole inside of us.

The waitress asked if everything was all right. Mom smiled and nodded. “Perfect.”

I wanted to wipe that phony smile off her face. I wanted her to know there were things about Sef that I knew and she didn't. I asked, “Do you remember when Sef first started going to the gun club?” I looked at Jack's green plastic soldiers.

“What about it?” Mom frowned.

“Do you remember when he shot that three-legged dog?”

“What are you talking about?” she said.

Dad let out a deep breath.

“At the gun club when he was twelve or something.”

“Is that true? He shot a dog, and you didn't tell me?” Mom asked.

Dad kept chewing.

“I thought he was practicing on targets,” Mom insisted.

Dad put down his pizza and fired a look at me. “The dog tried to bite someone. They had to put him down. He probably had rabies.”

“
Sef
had to shoot him?” she said. “You know how I feel about guns.”

“It was six years ago. Don't make a big deal about this now.” He wiped his mouth and took a long drink.

“Sef would never kill anything on purpose.” Van put down her fork. Her face was white. “Is it true, Dad? I think I'm going to be sick.” She ran into the bathroom.

“How did you know?” Mom asked me.

“Sef told me,” I said.

“What else don't I know? What else haven't you told me?” She drew sharp breaths, in and out, in and out.

Jack stuffed another slice into his mouth.

“Cass, why are you bringing this up now?” Dad asked.

I thought of Sef watching the sunrise in the desert. I saw his face, but it wasn't laughing. It was older and gray. I turned to Dad. “Because it's the truth,” I said.

CHAPTER 21

PURPLE HEART

“JACK?” I CALLED.
A rectangle of light fell through the window on the rug where Jack should have been. He wasn't in the kitchen or the dining room either, and I was supposed to be watching him. I ran back upstairs, even though I knew I would have heard him if he'd gone upstairs. All the rooms were empty. I checked the closets and under the beds, calling his name over and over.

“Come out if you're hiding, Jack. Please come out.”

Except for my breath going in and out too fast, it was quiet. Something was wrong. I headed outside to the chestnut tree, running.

I started around the loop of our street, but there was no sign of Jack. He couldn't have gotten that far.

I sprinted back up toward our house. Just as I was about to cut through the Adamses' backyard, I saw him slumped over on the curb across the street with his head between his legs. He was shaking, but he wasn't crying. He wasn't making a sound.

“Jack!” I called.

Blood was dripping from his nose, and the front of his camouflage shirt was stained dark red. The side of his face was grayish blue where a bruise was slowly forming.

“What happened, Jack? Are you okay?” I sat down on the curb and put my arms around him. “It was Ben, wasn't it?”

He shook his head, pushed me away, and buried his face in his lap.

“You can tell me, Jack.”

He lifted his head and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Come on, let's go.” I helped him up, my arm around his shoulders as we walked. “Who hurt you?”

He rolled his head in a circle.

I looked up at the big gray sky. “Was it stupid Ben?”

His eyes darted toward the Adamses' house. He frowned and shook his head again.

“You can tell me. He's not going to hurt you again. You shouldn't have gone out without me. You should have told me.”

We went inside our house, and Jack sat on the couch. I told him, “Stay there, Jack. I'm going to clean you up.”

First I wet some kitchen cloths and then I got the bacitracin and Band-Aids. If Ben did this, I was going to beat him to a pulp. I started wiping gently around Jack's swollen nose and beaten cheek. I could tell it was hurting him, but Jack didn't make a sound. His chest was going in and out as he breathed through his nose and pinched his mouth tight.

“You're so brave, Jack. You deserve a Purple Heart. Do you know what that is?”

He shook his head.

“It's a heart on a ribbon for our military wounded in battle. You're going to get a Purple Heart. Tell me where it hurts.”

He pointed to his eye and nose.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?”

He spread his hand over the center of his chest.

“That hurts? Let me see.” I lifted his shirt. There wasn't any mark. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

He shook his head.

“Did you stop talking or something?”

He nodded.

“Really?”

He nodded again.

“Oh, great. Wait until Mom gets home.”

• • •

Through the window I saw Mrs. Henderson walking her pug, Sid. I ran out and scratched him behind the ears. I asked her if she'd noticed anything unusual in the last hour. She hadn't. When I told her that Jack had been beaten up, she gasped and said, “It must have been someone outside the neighborhood.”

I knocked on a few doors on our street to see if anyone knew anything. But no one did. They shook their heads and said they were sorry. I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for us. I wanted Jack to talk again, and I was going to make sure he did.

Of course Mom cried and cried when she saw Jack and held him on the couch, rocking him for a long time. She said she was going to call the police.

“What are they going to do?” Dad asked. “Start an investigation because a kid got a bloody nose? I don't want them here.”

“Besides, he's not talking,” I said.

“What do you mean he's not talking?” Mom said.

“Jack stopped talking.”

“Say something,” Mom said. “Please, baby, say something. Tell me who did this.”

“He can talk,” Dad said. “Go ahead, Jack, say something.”

Jack just stared at the ceiling.

“Go ahead, you can do it,” Mom told him.

He shook his head slightly.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Dad said.