T he last thing Sameh expected was what happened next.
The young American talked as he worked his way through the array of appetizers Miriam and Leyla set upon the coffee table. He continued as they moved to the dining table. He spoke through the main course of lamb and pilaf rice and Miriam’s famous coriander salad. Marc ate like a starving man, which endeared him to the ladies. Several times Marc apologized for discussing such matters over the splendid meal. Leyla explained how, in this family, there was a code of not merely honesty but openness. And that Bisan had been included in this openness since before she was old enough to talk.
Marc described events in the direct manner of an American, with a professional’s ability to recount the important issues without an overlay of personal reactions. He started with the call that came while he was working with the families lining Sameh’s stairwell. He then described the unexpected appearance of the man he called the leopard in the square, the conversation in the cafe, the phone call to Duboe, the Rhino, the embassy, Boswell, the meeting with the ambassador.
When he had finished recounting the most important piece of information, there was a unified silence. Leyla spoke first. “Green cards.”
Sameh was increasingly concerned with how events were overtaking him. It was not just what had happened to Marc. It was the entire day. He was an expert at drawing together seemingly disconnected strands and weaving a tapestry that could be presented to a jury. But this present situation confounded him.
Miriam asked, “How many green cards is the ambassador offering us?”
“Four.”
“All of us would receive a green card? You are sure?” From Leyla.
“He mentioned each of you specifically. Sameh, his wife, his niece, her daughter. He had all the pertinent facts.”
Bisan, the child who had been made an adult far too early, asked, “Can we trust this man?”
Marc wisely responded to her as he would another adult. “I do not know for sure. But if you want my opinion, I would say yes. He made this offer in the presence of Barry Duboe. Sameh has worked with Duboe. This suggests the ambassador was using Barry Duboe to confirm his offer was real.”
Leyla said, “My daughter meant no offense.”
“None taken, I assure you. If I were in your position, I would be asking the same thing.”
Leyla said, “And we must give our response by tomorrow afternoon.”
“By five.” Marc glanced at Sameh. “Unless we can perform the impossible before then.”
When he had recounted his request for additional time and the ambassador’s response, Miriam asked, “Why is he doing this?”
“If you will please excuse me, that is not the question you need to be asking.”
Sameh huffed a humorless chuckle. Despite the fact that the American was still in his first week in Iraq, he had given the proper Arab answer. “Marc speaks the truth.”
Marc went on, “What you first need to decide is, do you want the green cards?”
Those two words were never translated. They needed no explanation, not even in the smallest village in the most backward portion of this battered land. Everyone knew they represented a permanent residency in the United States. A first step toward U.S. citizenship. The liberty to come and go without restriction or fear. The freedom to take any job, go anywhere, live a life without bombs and terror and nights concealing deadly shadows.
“Of course we want them,” Sameh heard himself say. Though the words squeezed his heart until he could not take a breath.
Miriam responded in English, “You would do this thing? Leave Iraq?”
“For Leyla? For Bisan? For you? How could I not?”
It was Bisan, his jewel and joy, who said, “Can you live with this, Uncle?”
“No,” Leyla said. “He could not.”
Miriam went on, “Abandon your work for justice? Give up on finding these four missing people? Sacrifice their chance of survival? It would kill you, my husband.”
The silence was a fabric of love and sorrow that knit them together. Sameh breathed deeply, taking it in. These women held him in such esteem, they would give up a hope so intense none had ever spoken the words. Because of him.
Marc said, “We’re not sacrificing anyone.”
All eyes turned his way.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You said it yourself,” Miriam said. “They will attack you just as they would Sameh.”
“This threat is real,” Leyla said. “I feel it in my bones.”
Marc took his time responding. He ran his hands along the damask tablecloth, smoothing the crease between his plate and the table’s edge. “Maybe this is why God hasn’t spoken to me when I’ve asked him what I should be doing with my life.”
“No,” Leyla said, shaking her head. “No.”
“I know I’m not the same man I was before my wife died. Some days, it pretty much feels like I’m just treading water. Counting out hours that don’t mean anything.” He stroked the tablecloth with a steady cadence. “You four should go to America. Start your new lives. I will continue here-”
“No,” Sameh echoed.
“Major Lahm hasn’t been threatened. He could be my connection-”
“No,” Miriam added her own response. “How could we do this thing and live with ourselves?”
Marc looked at her. Even from this angle, Sameh knew the young man’s gaze carried an ancient’s grief. “Think of Bisan. Give her a future. Go. Let me…”
Bisan slipped from her chair and walked around the table. When she stood beside Marc, she was tall enough to look him in the eye. She spoke scarcely above a whisper, “No.”
Sameh thought of all Bisan had endured, of the father who went out and never returned. Of the friends she had lost. The families destroyed or banished to a multitude of lands. He saw all this in the young one’s face, and found his throat had become so tight he could not speak.
Miriam asked, “What if God has not spoken to you because he does not need to?”
Marc stared from one woman to the next.
Leyla nodded slowly in agreement. “What if you are already doing his will? Here, in this room, with us?”
Marc breathed in, but said nothing. Sameh understood all too well. These women held a force strong enough to silence him.
Miriam went on, “God does not want you to sacrifice yourself. God wants you to live.”
Sameh forced himself to ask the question for them all, his voice hoarse with emotion. “What of the missing four?”
Leyla said, “They are in God’s hands.”
Miriam nodded slowly, her eyes on Marc. “Just like us.”