Acts of War

SIXTY-TWO

Ibrahim al-Rashid opened his eyes and peered through the dirty window of the prison hospital ward. His nostrils filled with the smell of disinfectant.

Ibrahim knew that he was in Damascus in the custody of Syrian security forces. He also knew that he was seriously injured, though he didn't know how seriously. He knew these things because when he drifted out of sleep he heard the male nurses and guards talking about him. He heard them distant and muffled through the bandages which covered his ears.

During the short periods when he was awake, Ibrahim was dimly aware of other things. He was aware of being talked to by a man in a uniform but being unable to answer. His mouth seemed frozen, incapable of being moved. He was aware of being carried to a bath where parts of his body were stripped and scrubbed. His skin seemed to come off in pieces, like hardened candle wax. Then he was bandaged and brought back here again.

When he slept, the young Kurd had much clearer visions. He had memories of being with Commander Siriner at Base Deir. Ibrahim could still hear the leader shouting, "They will not fire a shot in these headquarters!" He remembered standing shoulder to shoulder with the commander and shooting at the enemy to keep them from entering. He remembered shouting defiance, waiting for the attack and then — there was the fire. A lake of it pouring down on them. He remembered fighting the flames with his arms, helping Field Commander Arkin beat a path with their own bodies so that Commander Siriner could get through. He remembered being pulled up, covered with dirt, carried somewhere, seeing the sky, and then hearing a gunshot.

A tear formed in his eye. "Commander—?"

Ibrahim tried to turn and look for his comrades. But he couldn't. The bandages, he realized. Not that it mattered. He sensed that he was alone in this place. And the revolution? If it had succeeded, he would not be here with the enemy.

So many people counting on us and we failed, he thought.

Yet did they fail? Is it failure if you plant a seed which others nurture? Is it failure to have begun a thing which had daunted the best and the bravest for decades? Is it failure to have called the attention of all humanity to the plight of his people?

Ibrahim closed his eyes. He saw Commander Siriner and Walid, Hasan and the others. And he saw his brother Mahmoud. They were alive and watching him and they seemed to be content.

Is it failure if you are united in Paradise with your brothers-in-arms?

With a quiet moan, Ibrahim joined them.