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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: larry.txt (MM, nc, v, intr, military)
Authors name: Ricardo Cabeza (heap@aracnet.net)
Story title : Larry of Arabia
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Larry of Arabia (MM, nc, v, intr, military)
by Ricardo Cabeza (heap@aracnet.net)
© 1995 - 2003
***
For Farraj
April 11, 1918
Introduction
I started writing this on February 10, 1995. The idea for
a story about the gulf war came from a news story I heard
that day on National Public Radio. The story was about a
group of Japanese soldiers who had written a book in
which they documented their involvement in torturing
prisoners of war during World War II. I immediately began
to think that we might one day read similar confessions
from the servicemen who participated in Desert Storm.
As I lay on my bed thinking about the fact that the
Japanese soldiers were now going to profit from their
outrages, I found a story taking form in my mind, and I
resolved to tell it, not because it is true, but because
it seemed to be telling itself to me. Indeed, I had the
bare bones of it in my head before the end of the
newscast.
As with most of my stories, the characters contribute
their lives with all their quirks and foibles. These
naturally affect the tale. It has undergone many changes
since February 10th, but I now have, I think, a story
that remains true to the original idea and has given me
another group of friends to spend time with.
I hope that you will enjoy spending time with them too.
Ricardo
Chapter One
Kuwait
Ali
You've seen him on television. It was during the Desert
war and just after things blew up. He was the guy covered
in oil from head to toe walking down the shoulder of the
highway. I was the guy behind him with the gun. We were
both pretty tired by the time the crew with the camera
got to us, and by then Ali was pretty much under control.
We had an understanding and he knew I wasn't going to
kill him... at least I think he believed what I was
trying to tell him. He was wearing a pair of my shorts
too... well that was all he had on by then.
We didn't stop for the camera crew. They stopped for us.
I wanted to get Ali down to the medics as quick as
possible. I had just fished him out of the Gulf, mostly
against his will, I think, and tried to scrape off as
much of the gunk as I could with the back of my knife,
but as you will recall, if you saw us on television, he
was still dripping pretty bad in the footage they shot of
us walking past the spot where they were interviewing
Juarez.
If we didn't look too happy in the pictures you saw, it
wasn't because we didn't like each other or anything like
that. It was just that Juarez had a jeep and he was
making us walk. It was because Ali and I were covered
with oil, of course, but I knew from experience and Ali
had already picked up from the one dealing he'd had with
Juarez, that Juarez was an asshole.
I was a reservist and Juarez was regulation G.I. Joe. He
didn't have too much good to say about us part-time
commandos as he called us. You've already got my read on
him.
We did manage to break up his interview with that bunch
from Spanish television, though. They cut him off in mid-
sentence when they saw us coming. Let's face it,
Lieutenant, we were more colorful... well Ali was anyway.
You didn't get a good look at him on T.V. All you saw was
a lot of Kuwaiti oil trudging down the road in a pair of
black jockey shorts that used to be white.
I'd seen him without the oil. He was a good-looking
kid... looked sort of Spanish-like... you know, olive
skin with a deep desert tan, dark brown eyes that
could've been black if the sun wasn't shining, wavy black
hair with an unco-operative part that had to be
manipulated against its will. I'd seen a lot of guys like
Ali hanging out on street corners in New York... so had
Juarez. Juarez had probably been one of them. But Ali
sure as hell hadn't.
When Juarez first spotted Ali he had been standing on the
docks where the tankers used to pull in to take on oil,
only now the oil was pouring into the Gulf a mile a
minute, and Ali was threatening to flick his bic.
There was enough gas around us to turn that place into
hell in a hurry and Juarez was trying to talk him out of
his plans for self-immolation when we arrived and saw
what was going on. Juarez was talking in English and
Spanish, the only two languages he had at his disposal.
Ali was screaming back at him in Arabic. If it hadn't
been such a tense situation, it might have been comical,
but we didn't have any time to think about that.
Ali hadn't seen us arrive. We'd walked in... naturally...
and we'd come down the docks behind him when we saw what
was going on. We knew it was a standoff right away and
Rawlings lifts his rifle up like he's gonna off the kid
right there and then. I grabbed his gun and tried to tell
him about the gas by pointing to his nose and wrinkling
mine up like a rabbit, but I found out later that
Rawlings doesn't have very good olfactory senses and
doesn't know to this day what shit smells like... even
though he's been in it most of his life.
Anyhow, I was in charge of a bunch of guys who were right
out of boot camp, and I couldn't really trust them to
have a feel for this situation anymore than Rawlings did.
I knew it was up to me because I had no way of
communicating with them without alerting the kid standing
on the other side of the oil pipe. I held up my hand and
then motioned to my squad to hunker down where they were.
Then I slowly crept up on the kid trying to keep the pipe
between us so he wouldn't be able to see me coming.
Juarez kept him talking... well, screaming would be a
better word, I guess, and by the time I get to the other
side of the pipe the kid is pretty agitated. He's already
convinced himself to die and take the rest of us with
him. That's when he spots me and two things happen at the
same time. I see his thumb work the lighter and he steps
back to avoid me and is swept off the dock by the oil
he's trying to ignite.
I reached for him and I think he reached for me. I felt
his fingers slip through mine and I knew that I had to
save him. It was just that much contact that turned my
enemy back into a fellow human being.
I felt the spray of oil hit me as I hurled myself at the
edge of the wharf to see where he'd landed. There was no
sign of him, but I did find a pike and I noticed some
steel rungs that formed a ladder down to the Gulf. I
grabbed the pike and headed for the ladder, half black
with the stuff that had got us into the war in the first
place.
The oil was thick on the Gulf water and above me it
continued to shoot out over my head. It sprayed at me and
made seeing difficult. I could imagine how the kid was
feeling about then... and the thought sickened me. It was
hard to hold onto the ladder rungs, which were also
covered with oil spray, but I somehow managed and when I
saw the kid, or what appeared to be a lump on the surface
of the water that might have contained the kid, I was
afraid that I was too late. Already Juarez was standing
above the ladder and ordering me to climb back up. I
pretended not to hear him. It wasn't hard. There was an
awful racket.
I flailed the pike out and managed to hook the lump. The
lump protested, but I had a piece of it and managed to
drag it to the ladder. I had no idea how I was going to
drag the kid up the ladder, but at least I had him out of
the oil.
My squad had joined Juarez and his men and they put their
heads together and found a life preserver. They lowered
it to me and by this time I had wiped off enough of the
oil to find the kid's head and shoulders. I slipped him
into the ring and he slid right back out. I ordered more
of the rope to be lowered and set to work fashioning a
sling around the parts of the kid's body that I could
find sticking out of the goop. Then they pulled the rope
up and I climbed the ladder beneath him to make sure that
the sling held him. That's when the rest of me got
covered with the oil.
I looked at myself, then I looked at the kid. Well, I was
thinking of him as a kid, but I supposed he was in his
early twenties. As it turned out I was bang on with that
guess... but he still looked like a kid. He was lying
where they'd dropped him and gagging on the oil, but
unable to wipe any of it away. I knelt beside him and
pulled off my jacket and shirt.
The shirt wasn't too bad, so I used it to clean his face
as best I could. Then I poured some water from my canteen
into his mouth and he spit it back out along with an oil
slick. We did that until he stopped gagging. I was real
happy I didn't have to do any mouth to mouth. I got his
eyes and nose pretty clean too, but he was still blinking
the sting away when I pulled out my knife and wiped it on
my jacket.
The kid's face tensed and he got a look on it that scared
me when I saw it. He was bracing himself to die... again.
He thought I was going to kill him. His eyes followed the
blade as I wielded it over him and sliced at his sling
and then his clothing until he lay on the dock completely
naked, except for the thick coating of oil.
I don't know if he thought that I was trying to humiliate
him before executing him, but he did not move and his
expression didn't change until I pulled him to his feet
and turned the dull edge of the knife into what I can
only describe as a snow scraper, except I figured the kid
had never seen snow in his life.
He did however start to appear interested in what was
happening to him, and I assured him as much with my tone
of voice as I could with the English I was stuck with,
that I was not going to let anything happen to him after
pulling him out of the Gulf. I told him that he was just
as good as any seabird that would be rescued, that as a
prisoner of war he had nothing more to fear, and I think
I also told him that he didn't have to go back to Iraq if
he didn't want to.
That was when Juarez told me to shut the fuck up and
march the kid down to Kuwait City.
When I complained that we should ride if we were going to
have to travel all that way, Juarez sneered
contemptuously.
"Not in my jeep, you're not."
"Fucking asshole," I answered. But Juarez was already
gone... looking for camera crews, no doubt... they were
all over the place. This was my first war. I had expected
it to be a lot different. I hadn't expected to have to be
on my best behavior every minute because some anchor from
the Chicken Noodle Network might disapprove of my
conduct, or I might offend America's sensibilities
because my motives for wanting to lay waste to a foreign
land might not agree with the politically correct
reasoning that led me to be here laying waste to a
foreign land.
"Ah, fuck!" I said and I guess I sighed. The kid sighed
too and sort of watched the jeep disappear. He had a sort
of annoyed look on his face until he looked back at me.
Then he looked kind of expectant, like he was waiting for
orders. I took it as a sign that we were both on the same
wavelength and went back to scraping him. Then I fished a
new uniform out of my knapsack and put it on.
I'd pretty much done a hatchet job on his clothes cutting
them off him the way I had. I knew he didn't have
anything else to wear, so I tossed a pair of jockey's at
him and he pulled them on. I didn't have any problems
with him after that. I let him fish what was left of his
belongings out of his pants pockets and I put them in my
knapsack for him. He had a couple of pieces of i.d. that
were in pretty bad shape.
We washed them off and pinned them to my knapsack to dry.
Everything else we left lying there... well there wasn't
any sense of taking it, it was ruined. I picked up my
gun, pointed the kid south, and we set out to find a
medic while my squad joined the others and cont inued
north. But I had no intention of marching him all the way
to Kuwait City like Juarez had said.
Fuck Juarez!
When you saw us on the news we had already covered a fair
chunk of distance. As we walked I kept trying to
communicate with the guy, but he didn't respond... except
once when I used his name I thought he reacted. I knew
his name because I had learned enough about the way they
write to be able to identify the simple words when I saw
them on a menu.
Every other place over there is owned by somebody named
Ali. If you didn't know better you'd figure the whole
damned place was one big franchise operation, and come to
think of it... well, it is... at least as far as the oil
is concerned. I could see his papers flapping on my
knapsack and one of his names was Ali, although I
couldn't be sure which one, but I decided to call him
that since it was all I had.
Any way I kept talking to him because I figured that he
would be able to tell that I didn't want to kill him if I
spoke to him in a non-threatening way... sort of like you
might talk to a dog when you didn't want him to bite.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying he was a dog, but
I figured that with him not speaking English and me not
speaking Arabic, about the only way we could communicate
would be through gestures and inflections. So I kept
talking to him, using his name as much as possible, and
telling him things that I probably wouldn't have told him
if I thought that he could understand.
I told him about my town, my friends, the bar I normally
hung out in and where I worked when I wasn't busy
protecting a bunch of Kuwaiti sheiks from villains like
the kid walking in front of me. Ali didn't seem to care.
So I started talking about him and the view from where I
stood. I told him that as a prisoner of war he would be
provided for under the terms of the Geneva Convention. I
told him that he would probably be better off in our
stockades than he had been during the war in whatever
foxhole Saddam had made him dig. He didn't seem to be
able to understand any of this.
So I told him he had a nice ass.
He seemed to hitch when I said that, but I figured he had
just stepped on something sharp. The fact that it had
happened when I was telling him that he had nice buns was
probably just a coincidence. But I decided not to mention
any more about his anatomy... just in case.
I couldn't help thinking about it though as we hobbled
along in silence. He was a nice looking kid, or had been
before his dive into the Gulf. He'd been dressed in
civies too, a white shirt and black slacks, probably
stolen from some clothesline in Kuwait City, or maybe one
of the stores that had been looted by the Iraqis before
they left.
He had a beautiful set of teeth. I could tell that much
when I was helping him to wash his mouth back at the
docks. I would find out later that he had a nice smile,
but the only expression I got out of him that first day
other than a worried look, was a sort of bashful closed
mouth grin whenever something happened that we both found
amusing... like when Juarez tripped getting out of his
jeep and the Spanish television crew caught it on tape.
Unfortunately Juarez saw the kid smirk, and made a mental
note to deal with him later.
There was nothing emaciated about Ali. His legs were
muscular and formed a nice set of ass cheeks that were
rock hard. I knew this because I had scraped them for
him. He had a nice chest too, rounded and high with
nipples that jutted out handsomely beneath a skin tight
T-shirt... I would find out later. His belly stuck out
and rounded down to his crotch. The Iraqi doctor who had
delivered him had given him an outie navel that sort of
drew your attention until you happened to remember there
was something to look at even further south.
Of course, up until this time I had only seen his
reproductive equipment covered with a thick slime of oil,
but what I'd seen, until a couple of the guys in Juarez's
squad had snickered at him and he'd modestly grabbed my
shirt and covered himself, had looked decent. It had also
looked unusual, but I couldn't quite pin down why and
didn't until much later, but he would make a decent
basket in the crotch of a worn pair of blue jeans.
A couple of miles after we saw the television crew we
scored a lift from a supply truck that was headed back to
Kuwait City empty. I cupped my hands together and hoisted
Ali up onto the high platform. As I grabbed hold of the
side of the box to pull myself up, I was surprised to
feel the kid grab me and help me onto the vehicle.
I nodded my thanks to him and he nodded back. I guessed
that he felt safer the farther he went with me. Either
that, or the Iraqi's had done a seminar on the Stockholm
Syndrome and he was practising what they had preached...
but I doubted they'd had that much training.
Anyway, we sat on opposite sides of the truck and sort of
looked at each other as the miles flew past. At one point
he felt something in his eye and raised a dirty little
finger to pick delicately at the foreign object. The
incongruity of this struck me as funny and I began to
laugh. He looked puzzled for a moment until he looked at
his oil-stained body and caught on, then he smirked again
and tried not to laugh.
I guess he was going through some pretty rough times. He
knew that he should have been dead at least three times
that day. I'm not saying that my arrival saved his life,
but it certainly added some major complications to it.
His country was defeated and so was he. He could have
martyred himself on the docks or the battlefield, but
instead he was enjoying a moment of levity with a man he
should have killed earlier in the day.
Of course, I was just as happy that he hadn't and I was
going over in my own mind a slow-motion replay of the
events and wondering what might have happened if any of
the plays had gone another way.
He pulled his legs up almost under his chin and the
crotch of my oversized jockeys fell to one side revealing
his penis and half of his scrotum. I looked... well sure
I did. I told you already that he was a good-looking kid.
But then I remembered how he had reacted earlier on the
docks like he had been humiliated when I'd cut off his
clothes, so I said, "Ali, your pecker is hanging out," to
get his attention and then I motioned towards his
privates.
Well he looked at me kind of funny for a couple of
seconds then he covered himself, but he didn't do it in a
hurry, if you know what I mean, and all the while he
didn't stop looking at me and he could see I was watching
him too. I felt at the time that he had probably
rationalized his predicament and was having trouble
dealing with the facts of his new situation. He probably
had more questions than I would have had answers for.
I know I would have if the situation had been reversed.
Yesterday he had been one of the conquerors of Kuwait. He
had been in control. He had been in power. His government
had held off the combined forces of the world's armies
who seemed to be throwing everything in their arsenals at
them, and still they were dug in and defending what they
had taken.
Today, he was my prisoner. Nothing was the same. His life
was in my hands. Compared to these changes, the fact that
some guy from New York had managed to glaum his jewels
was evidently not particularly important.
Of course there could have been another reason he didn't
hurry to cover himself. He might have detected my
interest in him and been using his body to tempt me into
a dalliance. I dwelt on that possibility as I watched him
sitting there and managed to spend the rest of the trip
into Kuwait City fantasizing about it.
He had his head buried in his arms and his arms wrapped
around his knees, but from time to time he would look up
and glance around him. Invariably our eyes would meet and
I would feel him trying to figure me out. But I didn't
have a hard time out-staring him and he would lower his
head back onto his arms whenever he couldn't deal with it
anymore.
Getting that ride in the back of the truck was probably
where I stopped thinking of Ali as my prisoner and
started to consider him as a companion... and one who was
having a pretty lousy day.
The truck driver flagged down a jeep with a red crescent
on it. I hopped down and lifted Ali to the pavement,
thanking the driver for the lift and then dropping an arm
over Ali's shoulder and guiding him to the medics.
The best advice the medics had was for us to both get a
bath and use a mild detergent to scrub ourselves. They
didn't have time to hang around and show us how... they
were due up north... but they did direct us to a part of
the city where there was a good chance that the water was
still on and we trudged away to find it.
On the way I did a little looting of my own at a men's
wear shop and a grocery store. But I left a note in each
place with my name on it and a list of the things I had
borrowed. The government eventually paid for the things I
took that day, but they didn't get a discount. They're
still trying to sue me to get the money back.
We found a house where the water still seemed to be
working and both of us stripped and I did a laundry. Then
we found the bathroom and I showed Ali what the medics
had told me to do by setting to work on his chest and
shoulders. Then I washed his hair and face a couple of
times. I turned him into the stream of water flowing from
the shower head and was surprised when I felt his oily
seven inch erection slap against my leg.
Well, needless to say this started me growing a bit and
by the time I had finished washing his back we were both
hanging heavy. I told him I thought it was a good idea to
get a stiffy since we still had to scrub them and we
didn't want to leave any oil in the folds of skin. I
started on my own and he watched throwing cupped handsful
of water onto me as I cleaned off my pecker.
I finished myself and handed him the sponge, but he
didn't seem to want to take it. He was still pretty oily
down there and I didn't understand his reticence to clean
it off. His cock was standing straight out from his body,
and when I say straight I mean absolutely straight. I
could see that his nuts had tightened to the point that
they had almost been sucked back up inside him.
I figured the problem was still that embarrassment thing,
so I make a move to get out of the tub, only this just
seems to bother him and he grabs my arm. I still can't
figure out what's wrong, so he takes my hand and moves it
to his cock. He puts the sponge in my other hand and it's
pretty obvious that he wants me to wash the thing for
him.
Well, I'm game, of course, and I sort of squat down there
in front of him and set to work with the sponge while he
pours water on it from time to time. Well, I'm stroking
it pretty good for him as I clean it and it's not long
before he stops watering the thing. I feel it pulsing a
bit in my hand and before I've got a chance to stand up
straight and get out of the way, I'm wearing about nine
hundred million sperm cells that ain't never going to
fertilize nothing.
Well Ali has two looks on his face about the same time
then. There's that stupid look we all get when we come
off, of course, but then there's also a look of panic
when he realizes that he has just creamed all over me,
his captor. I figure there's just one thing for me to do,
so I catch a little bit of the stuff on the tip of my
finger and lick it off. I roll it around on my tongue a
little before I swallow it and announce in my best
impersonation of a wine connoisseur, "A little oily, but
it has a nice full body."
That's when he wrapped his arms around me and started to
cry. I held him and stroked his head and hair, knowing it
was wrong, and yet feeling that nothing in my life up to
now had ever been so right.
After a while I finished scrubbing him. Then we filled
the tub with water and I threw in some of the skin
softeners and bath beads I had liberated from the grocery
store. As Ali floated in the lukewarm water he held my
hand. I realized that it was the same hand that had
slipped through my finger tips as he was swept into the
Gulf.
I felt the long fingers relax in mine and casually wander
around my palm, and I know that I don't want those
fingers to ever slip away from me again. I don't know if
he felt any of this, but his face looks relaxed and happy
for the first time that day, and I know that it's okay
for him now... his war is over. He has transferred the
responsibility for his future to someone else... someone
he trusts with his life... and then I realize that that
someone is me.
The electricity was not working in that part of the city
and when it began to get dark I lit some candles I'd
scored from the grocery store.
As Ali is getting out of the tub I see a small oil slick
has formed and it's pretty obvious that we've missed a
very important orifice. I'm not sure how much oil the kid
has up his ass, but I know for sure that it won't come
out without a little help. That's why I grabbed an enema
bag from the pharmaceutical section of the grocery store.
The medics had told me that I might need one. I had hoped
that they were wrong, but I guess that stuff got in
everywhere.
Well, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, so I sit
Ali on the toilet and leave the room. A couple of minutes
later I hear the flush and go back in. The kid has a
worried look on his face. I show him the enema bag and
try to demonstrate how it works, but he has already read
the instructions that came with the thing and knows
what's going to happen. Resignedly he gets into the tub
as I fill the bag with the solution and jury-rig it to
the shower curtain rod.
Ali offered me his ass with the same trust he showed when
he offered me his genitals. I tried not to hurt him as I
inserted the tip up inside him, but he was very tight. I
wondered how the oil had managed to get in when I could
not. I took the tip of the tube away and tried to loosen
him up a little with my finger. Well, that did the trick
and before I knew what had happened he had a pretty
decent hold on my left middle digit. I had lost it up to
the second joint. I almost wished that it was my cock
inside him, until I remembered what else was up there.
I fucked him with my finger awhile to loosen him and then
I pulled the switch. The little bugger was almost too
fast for me, but I got the tip of the thing started and,
when he relaxed for a split second, I drove it home.
I let him get used to the feel of the thing inside him
for a few minutes while I reached around front and held
him reassuringly. Then, as the sun set outside our
bathroom window, I released the clamp from the tube a
little and the water began to trickle into him.
He looked at me with a funny mixture of concern and
pleasure as he felt his abdomen swell and I removed the
clamp. The solution began to fill him. His stomach was
starting to distend and he moaned, but not quite in
agony. My hand was still around front and I felt his
tummy tighten and swell and a freaky sort of pleasure
shot through me and into my groin as I realized that he
actually liked what I was doing to him and it was giving
me quite a charge too. We were both stiff again and I
reached up and squeezed the bag until it emptied.
Ali was making a lot of noise by now, but none of it was
intelligible. I quickly removed the tube and replaced it
with my finger once more. His poor little belly was
bloated and tight. His outie looked like it might blow
off with the pressure, but I didn't let him dump. I
massaged him all around and felt the curve of his belly
right down to his pubic hair. His cock was rigid now and
threatening another eruption, but I didn't care. I
reached up and pinched his nipples both of which were
sticking out and hard as though little pieces of gravel
had found their way inside.
When I thought that he could take no more I lifted him by
the finger I had up his ass and guided him to the toilet.
As he settled onto it the pressure blew my finger out of
his hole and I washed up as he relieved himself. Then I
left him alone again until I heard the toilet flush.
I opened the door and found the one thing I really hadn't
expected to find. Ali was mixing up another bag of
douche. I was a little concerned that he might have plans
to use it on me, but he hopped back into the tub and
offered me the tube and his ass. He was still rock hard
and to tell you the truth, so was I.
By now it was dark outside and the only illumination we
had came from the candles. They lent a romantic feeling
to our second bout with the enema bag. When I had Ali
refilled and my finger once more up his butt we did a
sort of a slow dance there in the tub while I massaged
him again to make sure that we worked the oil free from
his intestines.
I felt his hand grasp mine and direct it down through his
pubic hair to his stiff young cock. I wrapped my fingers
around it and he started me stroking it while he stood
there with all that water still inside him and my finger
up his ass holding it in.
Then I feel fingers wrapping around my own John Thomas
and this surprises me a little... but not all that much,
I guess. He's massaging me and he's all set to blow in
both directions, but I don't want that to happen. I have
other plans for him... now that I know what he likes.
Well, he'd already blown his load once that night and I'd
been walking behind him most of the day watching that
beautiful ass swinging in front of me, and now I have his
cock in my hand and he's got mine in his and, well... you
can imagine what I felt like... and the candle light
wasn't helping me any, either.
I pulled him over to the toilet again and let him get rid
of the douche water, but this time I didn't leave the
room. I didn't want him touching that cock of his and
coming off without me.
While he cleaned himself up I washed the tub out and set
the bathroom right. I've never been one of those pigs
that leaves their mess for somebody else to look after. I
packed the enema bag into the knapsack. Ali looked a
little disappointed, but I smiled at him reassuringly and
handed him a candle.
"C'mon, kid," I said. "Let's find us a bedroom. Then
we'll look for a kitchen."
Ali led the way to the bedroom and I found myself
wondering if he'd understood my words or my intentions.
He still hadn't said a word to me in English. The only
thing I'd heard from him that day, other than his
diatribe against the U.S., in Arabic, had been a few
moans of pleasure in the bath tub. I had done all of the
talking since the time I'd fished him out of the Gulf.
He stopped outside the bedroom door and turned to face
me. In the light of the two candles we carried his eyes
had become two black pools... okay, so they looked like
pools of oil, and I'd definitely seen enough oil to last
me for a while... but I looked into them and felt myself
surrendering to him.
That seemed only fair since he had surrendered to me
already, so I leaned down and kissed him. That's what he
had wanted. I could tell by the way he responded,
pressing himself hard up against me and almost bayoneting
me with that seven inch pecker of his. It was still
waiting to come off and so was mine, but we shared a
moment of affection there in the hallway before I lifted
him into my arms and carried him to the bed that somebody
had left in a hurry last August the second.
I ate him up with my eyes as he waited for me to take
him. His dark young body was one of the most perfect I
had ever seen and I wanted him more than I have ever
wanted anyone. I knew it was wrong... well sure I did. I
knew that it would probably end tragically... there was
no other way for it to end. But there and then, it didn't
matter. We had something to share and I lifted one of his
feet to my lips and I kissed it. He had walked all those
miles that day barefoot and had not complained. I could
understand why as I kissed him. The soles of his feet
were thick. There wasn't much callus, just thick pads
that softened his footfalls.
I sucked his big toe for a couple of seconds, just so he
would know that I would do it. Then I worked my way up
past his ankle to his calf, kissing and lightly biting at
the muscle until I got to the knee, then along the inner
thigh until his testicles brushed my cheek.
I kissed them and opened his legs further to reveal his
ass again. I shoved my tongue into it and felt him resist
a moment before allowing me to enter him. He moaned as I
fucked him with it and he writhed on the bed pushing
against me to admit more. He had grabbed his cock again
and was beginning to work it once more, so I pulled his
hand away from it and brought my head away from his ass.
I swallowed all seven inches and felt an almost immediate
explosion as he shot a couple of ounces of semen down my
throat.
The score was now two field goals to nothing for him.
I lifted off his throbbing cock and prepared to go for a
touchdown. It was then that I realized that I hadn't
thought to pick up any lubricant when I'd gone shopping.
There was no way I would be able to enter him without it
either. Ali had himself a tight little ass.
I looked around the bedroom then I went back to the
bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet. There was
nothing I could use. I headed for the kitchen and found
some salad oil on a shelf. I figured I should taste it to
make sure it didn't have vinegar in it. I had removed
most of Ali's natural protection with the enemas. I
didn't want to burn his asshole off with acid. The salad
oil was okay.
It was then that I remembered that I had left my gun
outside the bathroom door. It was loaded too. I kicked
myself for having been so careless. Ali was still, after
all, my prisoner and here I was standing naked in the
middle of some Kuwaiti family's kitchen while my prisoner
was half a house away and probably already had my gun. I
hurried back to the rear of the house and breathed a sigh
of relief when I saw the gun sitting right where I left
it.
By the time I returned to him Ali had begun to wonder if
I was going to come back and finish what we had started.
Already he was hard again... or maybe he'd never come
down after he'd come off... anyhow, I was in serious
peril of falling behind by yet three more points when I
finally worked my way back into his arms and up into his
ass.
It's a fact that man is the only animal who makes love
face to face as equals. I thought of that as I slid into
Ali and paused to let him get used to the biggest thing
he'd had in him so far. Then when he nodded to me, and
began breathing regularly again, I started moving in and
out of him while he pinched his left tit with his left
hand and matched my rhythm within him with his right hand
as he worked himself to climax again.
We both shot together, me within him, him all over his
chest and the fingers that still pinched his lovely young
nipple.
I was exhausted and laid there like a beached whale
beside him as he kissed me. I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke a little while later. Ali was still in bed beside
me, but he was sitting up and talking very excitedly to
the Iraqi soldier who was holding my own gun a few inches
away from my right temple.
Here, let me freshen up our drinks and I'll be right
back...
Chapter Two
The Big Onion and Other Stuff
Where was I? Oh, yah, I'm in bed with the best looking
little commando I've ever had the good fortune to
capture... well, let's face it, he was the only one I'd
ever captured... but that doesn't make him any less good-
looking... and all of a sudden I'm looking down the
barrel of my own gun. Right about then I figured the
Kuwaiti family, whose house we were in, is going to have
to order more sheets for their bed, cause I feel like I'm
gonna dump, but Ali is talking a mile a minute in Arabic
and the guy is listening to him.
Now I can see Ali and I can see the gun, but I can't see
the face of the guy who's holding it because there's a
couple of flashlights shining from behind him. That leads
me to the correct conclusion that he has a couple of
buddies with him. This is the reason I haven't grabbed
the gun from the guy. I am definitely out-numbered and I
have to assume that they all have their own weapons as
well as having mine.
I've already told you that I can only read a few words of
Arabic, but as far as speaking it... well, I couldn't to
save my life... which at that point is about what I
figured I would have to do in order to get out of there.
As for understanding Arabic... naw, I couldn't catch a
word of the conversation between Ali and the guy with my
gun.
I had a feeling, though, that Ali was doing for me what I
couldn't do for myself, so I decided to lie there like a
good boy and let him. Well, what other option did I have?
I mean, the fact that I was still alive told me that
there was some disagreement about killing me. I kept
watching Ali. He was talking a mile a minute sitting
there beside me in the bed as bare balls naked as the day
he was born, but somehow demanding respect and haranguing
the guy with the gun. I felt little flecks of his spittle
land on my bare stomach and mingle with the sweat I was
pumping out.
The guy with the gun was contemptuous of Ali and I. It
was obvious to him and the others with him, that Ali and
I had been caught... collaborating, to coin a phrase.
Although that sort of thing was common in Arab countries,
where a woman can't be touched until her wedding night,
it was never advertised or promoted as a way of life,
like we do in the States, and anybody who was caught
doing it was in for a rough time.
I supposed that was what they had been discussing just
before the gunman pulled the gun away from my head and
aimed it at Ali. I caught my breath and so did Ali, but
then he got all serene like and quiet and looked right at
the guy and gave him one last shot. He said something to
him that started out real quiet... then he spits out the
last word and sticks out his chest to sort of give the
guy a better target to shoot at.
Of course I'm thinking I should do something, but there's
not a whole lot more that I can do than I've already
done. You've got to remember those other two guys behind
our friend with my gun. I don't know what weapons they're
sporting. So while Ali's preparing himself to take my
bullet, I'm sort of laying there and admiring the guy who
has faced death so many times and has not once pleaded
for mercy.
From the looks of it he almost seems to have been looking
for it. I could understand him not begging me for mercy,
him not speaking English and all, but from what I've seen
of the conversation, or should I say argument he's just
had with one of his own allies, there has been no
pleading involved.
I think then, that I'm beginning to understand the deal.
I know now why Ali was out on the docks that morning. He
wasn't just there for the ocean breezes. And he wasn't
there because he had decided to finish what the saboteurs
who had done the initial damage couldn't bring themselves
to do. He had been ordered to go out there and blow the
oil. He was not expected back, nor was he expecting to be
back in the city.
Usually a suicide mission is a voluntary thing. Sometimes
the volunteer is a super patriot who will do anything for
his country, but most often the guy who goes is somebody
who would probably do it anyway.
I've already mentioned that reaming each other's butts is
a common thing for the boys to do over there while
they're waiting for their wife. But some of them get to
liking it, and for them, becoming a man isn't quite so
easy. If word gets out it means disgrace. With disgrace
comes low self esteem and a whole lot of suicides that
somehow look like accidents.
But I've got my doubts about something. Ali isn't like
that and I'm beginning to realize why when the
unthinkable happens.
The guy pulled the trigger.
I decided I'd waited long enough. I'd already disabled my
gun now I used the butt end of it to disable the guy who
held it. Ali didn't see any of this. His eyes were
closed. He felt the bed rock a bit and opened them again.
The room was dark. I was still beside him. His murderer
was on the floor in a heap and two flashlight beams were
racing down the hall and out into the desert night.
Obviously they were unarmed or just plain scared after
what they'd seen.
I grinned at Ali. He didn't seem to know what to do. But
I knew that what he had done already was enough to thank
me for having saved his life. We were on an equal footing
now, and I knew that equal, in this case, was probably an
understatement. I re-lit the candles and regarded our
sleeping enemy.
"Do you suppose this guy's into bondage?" I asked. Ali
returned my smile as he saw the gleam in my eye. It
wasn't just a reflection from the candle either.
We dragged him to the kitchen where Ali took the largest
knife he could find and cut away the guy's clothing,
while I reassembled the firing mechanism of my gun. I
couldn't help thinking that I had disabled my gun to keep
Ali from killing me, but, in doing so, I'd managed to
save him. I wondered if I would be able to keep on doing
that for a kid who seemed to want to die.
Anyway we found some nice soft rope in the garage and by
the time Mohammed woke up we had him tied up pretty good.
I don't like to brag, but I'd seen some graphics files on
my computer that I'd downloaded from a board in Boston,
and they showed some guys who'd been done up in bondage.
At the time, I'd just figured they were kinky and I got
my rocks off a couple of times looking at them. I never
figured I would actually get a chance to practise what
I'd seen.
Mohammed was a little larger than Ali and a whole lot
hairier. He looked like he could use a shave... so we
gave him one. But I don't think he appreciated where we
shaved him, especially when we nicked him a bit. I found
some after shave and Ali slapped it on him, but I don't
think it really helped all that much. He did, however,
smell a little better.
That's when he started cursing us... in English. Well, a
lot of the words were English, but most of them weren't
fit for polite company, so we washed his mouth out with
soap and I told him that if he didn't watch his language
we would rinse it with piss. I stood above him fingering
my pecker and sort of aiming it. Ali joined me and let a
stream go, all over the bar of soap.
I imagine some of it made it's way in though. I tried to
stop him, but of course I only ended up redirecting him.
He couldn't stop once he got started... well, who can?
His stream of piss hit the guy's nose and eyes and
streaked through his hair before I managed to point Ali
away. I tried not to be too harsh with him. After all I
had said what might happen to the guy in English. Ali
obviously misunderstood my intention when I stood over
him and he figured I was just having a hard time getting
started.
I can't say I blame the kid for going ahead and pissing
on the guy like that. After all, the guy had, for all
intents and purposes, just shot Ali dead through the
heart.
Mohammed managed to spit the bar of soap across the room.
He gagged and spit for a while and then got down to a
serious harangue of Ali in Arabic. Ali had pinched off
his pecker's flow and was listening to the guy with a
furrowed brow. He seemed to be hurt by what the guy said,
or maybe he was just anxious about having started to piss
and not being able to finish. I couldn't tell, but when
Mohammed wouldn't stop and began yelling again, Ali
looked at me with a pained look on his face. I rested my
hand on his naked shoulder and guided him to the right
side of Mohammed's head. I took the other side and we
both drowned the bastard.
How's your drink, by the way? A little warm? Oh, all
right, where was I?
Mohammed was an unreliable urinal. We got some down his
throat, but most of it he managed to spit out or avoid
altogether. Well that meant that we had to mop the floor.
I resisted the urge to do it with Mohammed's hair. For
one thing, his hair was almost as oily as Ali's had been
the day before when I'd fished him out of the Gulf.
But Mohammed was lying there in the piss and soap suds
and sort of getting in our way, so we dragged him a
little ways across the room and he starts screaming
again. Well, we hadn't thought that a short little trip
like that would have burned him the way that it did and
we apologized to him, but he didn't seem to think that we
meant it and got a little abusive again. So I found the
soap and shoved it up his ass.
He hadn't been expecting it and was pretty loose back
there, a little too loose I thought as the soap
disappeared up inside him. I recalled how he had seemed
to accuse Ali of being a slut and an infidel for being
found in bed with me and I tapped Ali's arm and
demonstrated to him that his buddy see med to be
excavated a little too large to be a virgin. Ali smiled
at me for the first time as he too marvelled at how
easily the soap had disappeared. It didn't stay gone
long, though. Mohammed fired it back out, only it wasn't
the same color it had been.
Well, this got us thinking that Mohammed could probably
use an enema. We both came up with the idea at about the
same time and I handed Ali the candle that was closest to
us and pointed him to the hall that led to our bedroom.
He was back in a flash with my knapsack.
Well, by then I was thinking some more about the pictures
I had seen from that Boston Board. I knew that Mohammed
was unhappy on the floor, but I had no idea how to make a
sling. I had never seen one up close... so we improvised.
The Kuwaiti whose house we were using had a pretty good
workshop in his garage. He had a little bit of everything
including eye-bolts and chain and a damned good portable
drill that hadn't completely lost its charge. It had
enough juice for me to attach four of those oversized
eye-bolts to the ceiling beams that ran through the
house.
We decided that the living room in the front of the house
would probably be the best spot to string him up, so we
worked quickly and half an hour later we showed Mohammed
what we had done for him. He was not impressed. He
started telling us what he thought of it, the war, us and
our ancestors and we decided that we'd heard enough. I
fashioned a tea towel into a gag and things quieted a
little.
I could tell, though, that his reaction had disappointed
Ali, so after we had secured our prisoner in the sling, I
led Ali to the refrigerator and let him decide what we
should use to clean out Mohammed. It was hard to contain
my mirth as we filled the bag with the warm fizzy cola,
but as I saw it, Mohammed was going to have an even more
difficult time containing himself and if we were going to
do a good job the cola would have to stay inside him. We
needed a dam.
We used an onion. It was a smallish Spanish onion, but
large by cooking onion standards. It required some effort
to get it inserted especially since our captive was not
really anxious to have it up there. I think the head of
the enema tube probably pinched when we squeezed it past
the onion, but neither Ali nor I felt a thing. I gave Ali
the honor of releasing the clamp. Then we watched
Mohammed fill up for a while.
He went through a variety of expressions, none of which
could be described as happiness as the carbonation did
its carbonating and the onion brought tears to his
eyes... but not in the usual way.
We didn't wait around to watch what happened to the
Kuwaiti family's living room. We had already dallied
there too long. There had been at least two others with
Mohammed and they had fled. But they knew where their
sergeant was and we had no doubt that they had not left
for Iraq without him.
We grabbed a few tins of food from the kitchen shelves
and pulled on fresh clothes. The desert air did not take
long to dry the washing I had done a laundry in the
Kuwaiti family's laundry room. I tried to throw out the
stained jockeys I had loaned Ali, but he retrieved them
and slipped them back on.
I tossed him the bag I had brought from the men's store.
It contained a few flowing white robes one of which he
pulled on quickly... I had picked out a few because when
we stole them Ali was coated with oil and couldn't try
any on, consequently the rest of them were too large for
him. These we stuffed into my knapsack with the food. I
figured if nothing else, they might prove useful as blank
ets.
In his new white robes Ali could have passed for a
Kuwaiti. I was tempted to turn him loose and let him take
his chances, but to tell you the truth, I didn't
particularly care for his chances. There were still Iraqi
soldiers around trying to find their way out of the city,
and there was also the possibility that he might have
offended some Kuwaitis who might remember him when they
returned. I found out later that I would not have been
able to get rid of him even if I had wanted to. Ali was
determined to stick to me like glue and it wasn't just
for self-preservation either.
The Iraqi sergeant was distended and in agony when we
looked in on him before we left. But there wasn't much we
could do for him. He would have to work things out for
himself. It was a toss up whether or not our torture
would kill him before he managed to blow the onion out
but he should have thought of the consequences before
he'd aimed my gun at my buddy, Ali... and pulled the
trigger.
I didn't see hate in Ali's eyes when he looked at the man
who'd killed him... twice, I would find out later. Sure
the kid had pissed on him when he was down, but, hey, the
guy had brought it on himself. The war was over. It had
been over when he'd sent Ali to do the job that morning.
Everybody else was already on their way back to Iraq.
Shit, on our way back into town the day before we had
passed countless cars that had broken down in the desert.
They had been filled with stuff that the Iraqi army was
taking home with them before the desert and their lack of
driving skills had forced them to abandon the idea.
There was only one reason for the guy to still be in
Kuwait. He was looking for the big score. And he'd kept a
bunch of expendable kids around to go and create a
diversion for him while he sat in his rat hole waiting
for the chance to open up the First National Bank of
Kuwait. No, I didn't see hate in Ali's eyes, only a
realization. But I saw hate in the eyes of the man in the
sling who had ordered Ali to go to the docks and ignite
the oil after his first volunteer failed to and fucked
off.
I put my hand on Ali's shoulder and led him away from the
room, his sergeant, the war and Iraq and I hoped it would
be forever.
He stepped in front of me as we left the house, assuming
his P.O.W. position. I called his name and he turned and
waited. I caught him up and from that point on we walked
together, side by side. Well, after all we had each saved
the other's life, he had not shown any desire to escape,
and besides, with those long flowing robes he was
wearing, I couldn't see his ass anymore.
It was still dark. We hadn't slept more than an hour at
the most. I was tired and I knew Ali was too. We plodded
along through streets that were too quiet, even for this
hour of the day. All we were looking for was another
place to sleep, but in the darkness it was harder to tell
which houses were occupied. I was having a hard enough
time deciding where to spend the rest of the night. What
I didn't need to find was another bunch of Iraqis and
actually, I didn't find them. They found us.
It was Ali who first became aware of their presence. He
heard something behind us and reached over to put a
cautionary left hand on my stomach. But there was this
difference in heights and I thought he was going for my
crotch. I was about to tell him, "Not now... not here..."
when I heard them too.
We were walking past a walled property at the time. When
we came to the gate that opened into a small front yard I
tried it and found it open. So we walked in there like we
owned the place and found a planter big enough to hide
behind. We waited. In the still desert night we could
hear them whispering to each other on the other side of
the wall. We wat ched the gate.
After what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes I saw
something slide under the gate. It was quickly followed
by something else. Both things rattled on the patio
stones that covered the small courtyard. Then a much
larger something slid under the gate. It was definitely a
rifle.
We watched the gate open far enough to admit a hand and
the forearm it was attached to. The hand held a piece of
white cloth. Whoever these guys were, they were
surrendering to me. I ordered them to step inside and
remain in the middle of the compound. I was surprised to
hear Ali bark a command in Arabic.
The gate opened slowly and one by one they stepped
through it. There were three of them. They all had their
hands on top of their heads like they were holding their
hats on, except they didn't have hats. I hadn't told them
to put their hands up. Evidently Ali had added that. One
of them was trying to speak English. "Please, Joe, us go
with you?" Well, it was sort of English.
"Are there any others from your squad that didn't turn
themselves in?" I asked.
"Please, Joe, us go with you?"
I looked at Ali whose face was not visible in the
moonlight, but his teeth were. He switched on a
flashlight and directed the beam at the group of young
soldiers. They were still teenagers, for Chrissakes. Ali
barked again and smiled at me as the three young men
pulled their hands reluctantly from their heads and
started removing their uniforms. They got down to their
boxers and stopped. Ali barked again and the boxers
dropped too.
The flashlight played on their bodies. The boys were all
holding their hands in front of themselves. Ali sang out
again and the three boy soldiers snapped to attention
their hands at their sides. Ali's flashlight examined
each of them for me. Then he called out another order and
they spun around to face the other direction. Again the
flashlight revealed them one by one.
Ali turned to me and grinned again. He said something
quietly to me in Arabic that I suspected at the time and
later found out was "See anything you like?" He said it
more for their benefit than for mine. He focused on each
bum in the line-up for a few seconds then handed me the
flashlight and went over to examine the clothing and pick
up the guns.
I found myself shining the flashlight on Ali's posterior
and he noticed this. He grinned at me and wiggled his bum
a little before ordering the three soldiers to about face
once more. They had gone back to holding their genitals
and he growled an order at them.
Their hands found their pant seams again, or at least the
spot where their pant seams would have been if they'd
been wearing any pants. Then he examined each of them a
little more closely and told them to get dressed. He
trotted back to me with the guns and a wrinkled up nose
that made it more than obvious as he shook his head that
they hadn't smelled any better close up than they had
looked like they might from a distance and I should stick
with him.
So, now I had three prisoners to worry about too. It was
impossible for me to think of Ali as my prisoner. I now
looked on him more as an aide... who am I trying to kid?
He was my lover by then. We had been through so much
together that it was almost impossible to believe that I
hadn't known him twenty-four hours before.
I slumped down into the lounge chair that was one of many
scattered around the patio. When the sun woke me at six
o'clock I found Ali curled up beside me with his head on
my chest in the chair and our five prisoners snoring on
the opposite side of the compound. I blinked, rubbed my
eyes, blinked again and counted them once more. One, two,
three, four, five...
I realized then that I was probably the worst man for the
job I was supposed to be doing. I could barely stay awake
in the desert air and as far as my powers of observation
were concerned, well... I had somehow managed to capture
two more Iraqis without realizing it.
I eased myself out of the chair and managed not to waken
Ali. I crept across the compound and looked at them. I
recognized the three that had come in and done the
striptease the night before. They were huddled together.
A little ways from them an older corporal with a mustache
lay on his side with drool staining the shirt sleeve of
the arm he was using for a pillow. Another young private
slept a few feet from him and twitched fitfully through a
nightmare. I went to the gate to get my bearings. It was
barred from the inside.
I couldn't remember having done that. I lifted the bar
and swung the gate open. It squeaked a little and I
noticed some movement along the wall to my right. There
were three more Iraqis camped outside waiting to come
in... I imagined they were as hungry as I was. I could
imagine how hungry Ali was. He hadn't eaten at all the
day before, at least after I'd met up with him, and I'd
given him two enemas.
He joined me sleepily at the gate and collected the
Iraqis' weapons. I figured that I had found my second in
command and he appeared to know what he was doing. I
decided to let him do it. He ordered them up against the
wall and we frisked them. By now we were both getting a
little sick of looking at shitty Iraqi assholes. And
besides, we were about to go to breakfast.
By the time we'd marched them downtown four more had
fallen in. None of the restaurants had reopened, so we
found one and reopened it. The gas wasn't on but the
water was, there was a grill that we could convert to a
barbecue and the grocery store I had stopped at the day
before was just across the street. Ali and I went
shopping after sternly warning our platoon to clean the
place up, not to try to escape... and not to let anybody
else join them until we got back. Somehow I felt more
like the captive than the captor, by now.
Ali and I took shopping carts and went off in different
directions. I went for the canned goods. He headed for
the pharmaceuticals.
Our P.O.W.'s found a whole cupboard full of white
uniforms in the back of the restaurant. By the time we
got back the restaurant was ship-shape, there wasn't an
Iraqi uniform in sight, there was water boiling on the
grill and a couple of G.I.'s had parked their jeep
outside and were strolling in for breakfast. Ali shrugged
and went and took their orders while I counted my
fourteen prisoners and wondered what they were burning to
heat the water. It turned out to be Iraqi military
uniforms. We threw the charcoal on top and hoped no one
would notice the smell.
Word spread quickly that there was a restaurant open in
the middle of town and the army fought their way in for a
decent meal. We kept the shopping carts going back and
forth across the street all morning. We had to feed
ourselves on the fly, but we raked in over five hundred
dollars half of which we divided between the grocery
store and the restaurant cash registers. The rest we kept
in my knapsack.
We were getting ready to leave when the lunch crowd
started to arrive. Ali looked at me rather plaintively
and I nodded. By now there was nothing I could refuse
him. But I was bushed. I left the restaurant in his
capable hands and went out back to lie down.
Along about four o'clock he joined me and brought me a
hamburger he had prepared for me. He fed it to me and
smiled when I seemed to enjoy it. Between bites he wiped
my face for me and when I had finished he kissed me for
dessert.
We were in a little office in the back of the restaurant
behind what would have been the freezer if the
electricity had still been on. It had a leather couch
that I had turned into a bed. Ali locked the door and
turned me into his bed. He slipped quickly out of his
robes and my shorts and was once again buck-naked. With
only a little more trouble he had my pants and shorts
down around my knees. He unbuttoned my shirt as he
lowered himself onto me.
I detected the odor of shortening and felt its cool
soothing lubrication where his hot asshole surrounded my
cock. I pulled him down and kissed him again. Then I
groaned with ecstasy as he began raising and lowering
himself o n my shaft. It wasn't long before we both got a
stupid look on our faces and his cock blew all over my
face and chest while mine released within him. He cleaned
me off with table napkins and hurried to the washroom in
the corner of the office to clean himself.
While he was gone there was a knock on the door and one
of the Iraqis who could speak a little English called in
to me.
"We make dinner now?"
"Yes, of course," I answered. Then Ali was back with me
and sleeping on top of me until it was time to start
waiting tables for the soldiers who would come back for
dinner when the hot desert sun went down.
He dressed me in a set of the long flowing white robes
when we got up and I have to admit that I felt a little
like Lawrence of Arabia standing there while he made the
precise adjustments that were needed to satisfy him. When
I made my appearance in the restaurant all twenty waiters
oohed and aahed and spontaneous applause broke out.
My platoon was turning into a battalion. When they
started planning the breakfast menu I knew I definitely
had to put my foot down. If we stayed there until morning
there probably wouldn't be any room for the customers. I
picked out the highest ranking officer in the restaurant
and sat down at his table.
"Excuse me, Colonel," I began. "I've got a little
problem..."
The Colonel was a reservist like me. He was an engineer
by training, and as it turned out, a hell of a nice guy.
I introduced myself and told him that I had been
accumulating a group of Iraqi prisoners all day, but I
had been unable to find anywhere to drop them. Ali
hovered at my shoulder looking concerned.
"To tell you the truth, soldiers," the Colonel answered
nodding to Ali as well, "I can't help you much on that
score. Most of the P.O.W.'s are being rounded up and
moved back to the Saudi side. We didn't find many though.
I think at last count we had half a dozen. How many have
you got?"
I looked around me. "Twenty... last count..."
"Twenty-one," Ali corrected.
I looked at my aide. It hadn't struck me yet that he was
speaking English, only that he was disagreing with me. I
took it to mean that he was turning himself in as well.
"You mean that first guy?" I asked hoping he would catch
my drift and realize I had no intentions of turning him
in. "He got away last night, don't you remember?"
"No, I don't mean him," Ali answered relieving my feeling
of foreboding. "There's another one at the back door."
That was when it struck me that Ali and I were
communicating in English. I didn't have long to accustom
myself to the idea though. A jeep was pulling up to the
front door of the restaurant. Ali pointed it out to me.
The driver was Juarez. He looked hungry.
"I'll go get the new guy taken care of, Joe," Ali said.
"Maybe you should come and talk to him though."
Juarez was walking past the window when Ali disappeared.
I excused myself and stood up. But the Colonel stopped
me.
"Twenty-one?" he asked. "Where did you leave them?"
"They're all around you, Colonel. They're running the
restaurant. C'mon out back when you finish and I'll fill
you in."
I ducked out just as Juarez came in.
Look, I have to duck out to the kitchen and check on
tonight's dinner. You are going to stay for dinner aren't
you? You have to... oh, down the hall... first door on
the right...
Chapter Three
Ali's Revenge
or
Never Mess With a Smart-Ass Iraqi
You're in luck. It's Cous-cous tonight. I first had that
back in Kuwait... as a matter of fact it was what the
boys were pushing that night when Juarez found our place
and came in. I guess that's where I left the story.
Ali was standing right by the door and I nearly bowled
him over when I came through it. His eyes were real big
and he looked at me kind of funny and a whole lot of pent
up air blew out from between his lips when he saw that I
had made it out of there before Juarez saw me. I guess
he'd been holding his breath. He waited for me to pass so
that he could go back to peeking out at Juarez and
watching what he'd do, but I grabbed him by the shoulder
and pulled him into the freezer. It was still a little
cool in there, but it rapidly became even colder.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you could speak
English?"
He looked frightened. He also got very quiet.
"What's the matter?" I demanded. "Cat got your tongue?"
He looked at me and his eyes accused me of betraying him.
I was doing the interrogating, but I felt it was myself
who should be answering the questions. Like, why was I so
angry with him? What had changed the relationship I had
up until now had with the sweetest kid I had ever met on
the face of the earth? Was it finding out that he could
have communicated with me all this time? But we had been
communicating beautifully up until I found out that he
could speak English. What, I wondered, was it that had
changed?
It was a shock when I realized the answer. It was me.
I felt like an asshole. I wanted to hold him and tell him
I was sorry, but he looked so scared I knew he wouldn't
let me. When I realized this I also knew that I had lost
something I would probably never deserve to get back from
him again, his trust. This was probably hardest to
accept. I sank onto a pile of boxes and buried my face in
my hands.
"At first I didn't tell you because I was scared." Ali's
voice was quiet... almost apologetic. "I figured that I
wouldn't have to answer a lot of questions if you didn't
think you could talk to me. Then things changed and I
didn't tell you because I didn't have to. I mean, we
seemed to know the important stuff without saying
anything...I thought it might be better if you didn't
know. I mean, where I come from they give you a pretty
hard time if you fall in love with another soldier. I
just thought it might be better if we didn't say anything
about it... ever."
"Oh, Ali, I'm sorry."
"That's okay, Joe."
"Larry."
"What?"
"Larry. My name is Larry." I guess Ali wasn't the only
one who hadn't been communicating.
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, why?"
"Oh... nothing. It's just that you look more like a Joe
than a...
Larry. Can I call you Joe?"
"Why don't you just call me a jerk?"
"Because you're not a jerk. You're a good guy... Larry.
You're my... friend." None of this made me feel any
better because I knew it shouldn't be true. "You have a
nice ass."
I had to laugh a little when he said that. When I looked
at him he didn't look frightened anymore. And I knew the
real reason why he hadn't told me that he could speak
English. Languages only complicate communication. They
demanded answers that are too specific... too precise.
They got in the way of the real truth, the truth I had
felt when I'd felt Ali's fingers slipping through mine
just before he'd plunged into the Gulf. If I'd waited for
the specifics of the situation to be defined by some
English scholar, Ali would now be sleeping with the
fishes... belly-up, oily fishes.
How many potential lovers had I run into in bars back in
the States who had destroyed the illusion so carefully
presented by their appearance when they opened their
mouths to reveal the depth of their intellects? There
were some things we are better off not knowing. I
supposed that Ali had a life full of these answers and
wanted to avoid the questions that would undoubtedly
trigger them.
"You can tell me anything you want me to know," I said
finally. "But you don't have to tell me anything at all
if you don't want to. It won't change our relationship a
bit either way. I'm sorry I made that crack about your
ass."
"You mean I don't have a nice ass?"
"Sure you do. I just shouldn't have said it. I probably
shouldn't have said a lot of things..."
"I can't think of any..."
"I can..."
"I'd rather not talk about it... Joe."
"Yah, I've noticed. Tell me something, Ali... if that is
your name..."
"Yah, it is. What do you want to know, Joe?"
"Who's ass did we stick that onion up last night?"
Ali exploded with laughter and I joined him. I guess that
the tension had been pretty great because we couldn't
stop laughing. The relief was just too sweet for either
of us to give it up.
"Don't worry, Joe," he said when he could speak once
more. "He wasn't anybody important. He had it coming to
him, too. He really was an asshole."
Well, that set us off again. The freezer door opened and
a young Iraqi with tired expression on his face asked us,
in English, if we could keep it down. He had been trying
to sleep.
We took him to the office out back and dressed him in a
robe like we wore and gave him instructions for waiting
on Juarez. It was a sure thing that Ali couldn't go out
there again while he was in the restaurant, and neither
could I.
"So, why did you wait until I was talking to the Colonel
to start talking English?" I asked as we watched our new
waiter stumble over to Juarez's table.
"When you told him you only had twenty prisoners I
figured that meant that you weren't going to turn me in,"
he answered. "I also saw Juarez making a U-turn out front
and I figured I might have to say something real quick. I
wanted you to get used to the idea before he parked his
jeep. When things surprise you, you have a habit of
standing there with your mouth open."
I looked at him. He smiled at me.
"I do not," I said finally, realizing that my mouth had
been open.
"See what I mean?" he answered.
"So, is there a number twenty-one?" I asked, looking
behind us at the storeroom full of sleeping Iraqis.
Ali smirked. "You sent him out to wait on Juarez," he
answered. Then he snorted, "Don't worry, boss. All us
Arabs look alike."
"Do not," I answered.
"Do too," he said.
"I think I liked you better when you didn't speak
English," I observed.
"That sounds like something a Larry would say."
"Does not."
"Does too."
"Am I ever gonna get the last word, now?"
"I doubt it."
"Shut up. Here comes the Colonel."
"Larry..." he mumbled as he returned to the freezer for a
quick nap. It sounded like an accusation. It also sounded
like the last word.
Colonel Roger Hadford was an unassuming man. He stood
about five foot, six inches tall and looked more
intelligent than physical. He looked around our dormitory
and followed me to the little office at the back of the
freezer. We talked there and he told me that they were
unprepared for a large number of prisoners. He agreed
with my assessment that it would probably be a good idea
to move them out of Kuwait as quickly as possible. He
told me that this war seemed to be on some sort of
timetable.
After months of softening up the citizens of Baghdad, the
viewing public were getting sick and tired of the air war
with its smart bombs that took the viewer to whatever
private hell they created when they hit their target, but
didn't take them in. These sanitized views of the
destruction of private property were just what television
networks were after. The continuous replay of buildings
being destroyed over and over again should have, they
figured, appealed to the video game mentality of the
viewer.
What they failed to realize was that the average video
game was getting nastier than even the pictures coming
out of the Middle East. In order to compete with the
programmers, the war would have to start showing what
happened in those buildings when one of the bombs
actually went off. Since these pictures were impossible
to get, the pressure was on to start a land war and the
quicker the better.
That had happened two days before. There was some
resistance of course, but for the most part the Iraqi's
fled back to Baghdad. A few, like Onion Ass, stuck around
to line their pockets with whatever they could find. But
the majority of my prisoners were looking for one
thing... out of Iraq.
The trouble with the land war was that the pictures
weren't that good either. Technology had taken all of the
blood and guts out of the war. The worst thing the
cameras could find to record besides the oil spill and
the burning oil wells, were the hundreds of barbecued
Iraqi martyrs who had already met Allah. I couldn't find
it in my heart to hate them for having been there. I
couldn't glory in their destruction. Theirs had been a
private hell.
Not even their killers had been there. You see, it was a
long distance war... reach out and crush someone. You
really didn't have to be there unless you wanted
pictures. In order to get a good shot of the destructi
on, the photographer had to be there when the bomb, the
missile or the shell arrived. The trouble with that idea
was... well, you could get killed.
The television cameras were looking for something new
now. They wanted the triumphant return of the citizens of
Kuwait, even though we all knew it was way too early yet.
There was never any really quick way of finding where the
mines had been buried... unless you didn't mind losing
the odd limb, or citizen.
That was Hadford's job, sweeping the mines and disarming
the booby traps. After talking to the man for a few
minutes I was glad that he was the one responsible. He
projected an aura of calm, and hadn't let a small thing
like being surrounded by a virtual platoon of Iraqi
soldiers in disguise, throw him.
In fact, he commended me for keeping the lid on what
might have been a pretty volatile situation by giving the
men something to do. He advised me that he was placing me
in command of the prisoners officially and would have
orders drawn up when he returned to his headquarters. I
didn't tell him that I had let my second in command look
after most of the details and by the way, he too was an
Iraqi.
He inquired if I could provide him with a translator to
help him find out what my P.O.W.'s knew about the mine
fields in the area. I told him I had just the man for the
job.
When I asked him where I should take the prisoners he
glanced out the office door and allowed that they seemed
pretty happy right where they were and if we could see
our way clear to providing breakfast, lunch, and dinner
for one or two more days, he would try to round me up a
truck to transport them, just as soon as we found out
what they knew and received orders telling us where they
should be taken.
I excused myself and went to find Ali to tell him that he
would be seconded to Colonel Hadford for a while. I found
him in the freezer with Twenty-one. They both had their
robes up clutched in their teeth and their shorts down
around their knees. They were both masturbating
frantically. Between them on a pile of boxes sat a small
dish of peaches.
"Lemme guess," I started. "Juarez ordered peaches and
cream..." Ali nodded without missing a stroke. "...and
we're all out of cream." Ali smiled as well as he could
through his mouthful of robe and nodded again. "Very
resourceful, men," I commended them. "Carry on... and see
me in my office when you're done there, Ali." Twenty-one
was starting to get a stupid look on his face. I saluted
and closed the door. It had reconfirmed in my own mind
that Ali and I really did a whole lot better without
language.
Eventually Juarez left with a belly full of food, a
little jism and a funny taste in his mouth. Colonel
Hadford left too after counting the prisoners, all
twenty-four of them, and asking Ali if he would screen
them to find out if any of them knew anything about the
Iraqi mine fields. He asked me if I needed a squad of
soldiers to back me up, and for a moment there was a
worried look on Ali's face. I got the message. The fewer,
the better...
I thanked Colonel Hadford but told him that we hadn't had
any problems so far and it might be a better idea to keep
things the way they were. He agreed with me and added
that there seemed to be enough G.I.'s hanging around
eating anyway. I cou ld probably get a squad together
just by offering to pick up their tabs for them. I took
the hint and picked up the Colonel's tab. Hey, it never
hurts to polish the brass!
The night shift was just coming on, so after the Colonel
left we put Twenty-one in charge and hiked back over to
the house where we'd left Mohammed. Things were pretty
quiet there. We inched our way in through the rear
entrance and worked our way through to the front of the
house. The sling was empty. There was shit and cola
everywhere, but surprisingly it didn't smell all that
bad.
"Try to find the onion," I urged.
Ali looked at me and his face registered distaste in the
beam of my flashlight. "Why?" he grimaced.
"I want to know if he worked it out himself or whether he
had help."
Ali mumbled something about it not making the least bit
of difference to him, but proceeded on his quest while I
mopped up the shit. He found the onion in one piece on
the front lawn after he noticed that the living room
window had been broken. This probably accounted for the
lack of smell.
We deduced that Mohammed had blown the onion out. Whether
it had broken the window when it was launched or when it
was subsequently picked up and thrown by the sergeant
after someone had untied him we could not tell. We did
believe that we had tied him securely enough to make
unassisted escape impossible and a check of the ropes we
had used confirmed that they had been cut and dropped
where they had been removed.
Ali picked the onion up with a plastic bag wrapped around
his hand. He didn't throw it into the garbage though. He
told me that he was going to keep it as a souvenir.
It was important to determine whether Mohammed had
escaped or not. If I was going to be placed in charge of
a company of P.O.W.'s, I wanted to be sure that Mohammed
was not among them... especially if Ali was going to be
my second in command. I was mulling this over as I looked
for clues and it suddenly struck me that Ali did not have
a uniform to change back into. In fact I had never seen
him in any uniform.
I supposed that could probably account for my initial
attraction to him. He didn't look like a soldier. Right
now, he looked like a Kuwaiti... a Kuwaiti who could
speak English and Arabic... a Kuwaiti translator. As
such, he would not have to have a uniform, and I would be
able to put him on my payroll. I informed him of this and
we held a little mustering out ceremony shortly before I
interviewed him for the post of translator. His
credentials were impressive. I discovered that he could
also speak French and a little Italian.
He got the job.
We straightened up the place as best we could and I
dictated a note to Ali apologizing for the mess and the
holes in the beams. We left it in the mail box along with
a couple of hundred dollars from the restaurant receipts
to pay for the damage to the house.
I was all set to head back to the restaurant when all of
a sudden Ali stopped talking again. He led me through to
the back of the house and found some of the candles that
we had left. He lit them and carried one to the bathroom.
I picked one up too and followed him. He was right, of
course, the restaurant had washrooms but nothing for
bathing.
After the day we'd had a shower was a good idea and we
had twenty minutes we could spare. We kissed in the
romantic light of the candles... well, maybe half an
hour... and he turned the shower on. I watched as he
reached up under his robe and withdrew an enema bag.
Evidently he had other things in mind. I took my watch
off. I had a few things in mind too by then.
We stripped and climbed into the tub. We washed each
other's bodies and his touch brought me an erection. It
always did. Before I knew what was happening I was
kissing him and wishing my tongue was longer. I wanted to
drink him. There was nothing about him that I didn't
love.
Even his peculiarities were endearing. Traits that I
would have found annoying in anyone else, in Ali were
charming. He had this nervous tic that twitched his left
cheek from time to time. It made him appear to be winking
when it happened. He was embarrassed by it. I pretended
not to notice it, but secretly waited for it so I could
know that there was an imperfect ion, and know as well
that it didn't matter.
His cheek was twitching when he broke off the kiss and
ordered me to about face. I figured I was going to get a
tonguing. I got the tip of the enema tube instead. I
tried to protest, but he had a large handful of my nuts.
I couldn't move without losing something, so I opted for
my virginity.
The experience was... unique. It wasn't at all painful,
like I had thought it might be. In fact, it was kind of
nice, because it was Ali who was doing it to me and not
some three hundred pound nurse with three more to do
before her coffee break. I relaxed and let him fill me,
marvelling at my capacity as the bag emptied. Then his
finger was inside me and we were dancing in the bathtub
again, only this time he was leading.
He guided me to the toilet and pulled the stopper,
grinning from ear to ear as I filled the bowl. Then we
were back in the tub again and he was filling me once
more, only this time, I was on my hands and knees and
when he replaced the tube, he didn't use his finger.
I've already told you that there was a difference in our
heights. I guess I've already told you that Ali had seven
inches. That was the night I measured them, when they
were all inside me. He left a little of himself in there
too, hopelessly swimming upstream, and I was loath to let
it go. But finally, we were finished and I was at the
point where I would not be able to contain myself much
longer.
Unfortunately we were on our hands and knees in the
bathtub joined to each other like a couple of Siamese
twins and it was then that I realized that neither one of
us had thought far enough in advance to figure out how we
were going to get me to the toilet. I mentioned this to
Ali, who, as it turn ed out, had just been considering
the same thing. He, however, had one additional problem.
He was right in the line of fire. I felt the pressure
building and reached through my legs to feel his
testicles. They were hanging loosely in the sack.
"For Chrissakes, Ali, don't lose your erection."
I'd forgotten that I was in a Muslim country. I should
have said, "For Muhammed's sake..." Ali lost his erection
and I blew him to the other end of the tub. Neither of us
was seriously injured, but there was a lot of noise, a
good deal of embarrassment, and some humiliation. Somehow
our friendship survived its second test of the day.
"What's going to happen to me?" Ali asked as we walked
back to the restaurant.
I wished I knew. All the reports we had heard from the
G.I.'s who had been dining with us all day had been
almost too good to be true. But Colonel Hadford had
assured me the night before that they were correct.
Essentially throughout the whole theater of war, the same
thing was happening that had happened to me. The Iraqi
army was going in two directions.
The big joke of the day had been that the palace guard
were back at the palace. The true believers were on their
way back to Baghdad. The skeptics were giving up in
droves. No decision would be made about their fate for
months, possibly years.
I had promised Ali that he would not have to go back to
Iraq. When I'd promised him, I hadn't been aware that he
spoke English and I also hadn't been sure if that was
true. I had been speaking to him as you would to an
injured animal, trying to sooth his fears with my voice
not my words. I knew nothing about him. I didn't know his
last name for Chrissakes.
There were a lot of blanks to be filled in. But all that
didn't matter. That was just stuff for the pencil
pushers. Those guys have all the answers and they can
tell you forty different reasons why you can't do
something. What Ali wanted to know was what was going to
happen. That was a whole lot different from knowing what
was not going to happen. He wanted to know my plan... and
I didn't have one. I didn't tell him that, though.
"You're going to be coming back to New York to live with
me," I told him.
"Really?"
"Really," I confirmed. Now all I had to do was figure out
how. But you know, after I made the promise to him I knew
in my heart that it was all I'd ever wanted since I'd met
the kid and I knew I had to find a way.
"What's your last name, Ali?"
"Do you really want to know, Joe?"
"Yes, I do."
"It's Hussein."
"You mean like..."
"No relation. I was thinking of changing it, anyway."
"Oh? To what?"
"Anything else, actually. What's yours?"
"St. Laurent," I supplied. "My father's family came from
Montreal." He hadn't said anything so I figured he was
probably having trouble with his geography. "That's in
Canada..."
"You're kidding... right?"
"No, why?"
"Larry Saint Larry?" he quizzed. Evidently he knew where
Montreal was.
"Yah... so?" I think I was probably a little on the
defensive by then.
"I've gotta meet your parents."
"Don't worry, you will." I felt his arm go around my
waist. It was unusual for this display of affection to
happen in public in an Arab country. But, what the hell!
The lights were still out and it was dark. I dropped my
arm over his shoulders. We both stopped talking.
The next day Colonel Hadford showed up for breakfast and
gruffly ordered me to get my uniform back on. After he
had eaten he stood up and held a little ceremony right
there in the restaurant to give me a field promotion. It
was actually quite touching being surrounded as I was by
my twenty-seven captives/employees and more importantly
my best friend/lover, too. And it was totally unexpected.
Hadford had done his homework after he'd left the
restaurant the previous evening. Evidently there had been
a few promotions after the invasion and this opened up a
little room for advancement. He secretly admitted to me
in the office of the restaurant after breakfast that the
pressure had been on for the military to produce a few
heroes for the media. Some of the promotions had been
done in a press conference earlier that morning that was
synchronized to coincide with a talk show in Washington.
It was Colonel Hadford's belief that some of the stripes
and scrambled eggs passed out then had really not been
deserved and it would have been kinder to the legitimate
recipients to let them get their sleep, so, in my case,
that was precisely what he'd done. Besides, he told me,
my outfit was kind of unique and although he personally
approved of my initiative and what I had done, he doubted
that legal affairs back at the pentagon would support me.
That had been the real reason my mug hadn't been
plastered all over the known universe with the rest of
the bozos who had stumbled into headquarters at two
o'clock in the morning to be on television. I don't think
anybody was watching anyh ow... at least not in New York.
It was a big hockey night on television and both teams
were playing.
Anyway, I got a new hat, and Ali and I had been able to
get some sleep. After the workout he'd given me back at
our house, as we were now calling it, we needed all the
rest we could get.
Ali did not get much rest though. After breakfast he took
the Colonel out to show him the spots where the mines had
been planted. I could not remember him having talked to
any of the others about the location of mines, but he
seemed to have his information straight. As I waited for
him to come back I got to thinking about this. He
probably had been involved in planting them. How else
could he explain how he knew where they all were?
It certainly seemed like the sort of work Ali would do.
It might even explain that nervous tic of his. Several
times he had displayed what could only be described as
suicidal tendencies. I still hadn't asked him about that.
I supposed I should. They say you're supposed to confront
that sort of behavior and bring it out into the open. I
was lost in these thoughts when Juarez's jeep pulled up
just outside the window where I was sitting. The
breakfast rush was over and the boys were trying to find
something to throw together for lunch. I was writing out
a shopping list.
Juarez climbed out of his jeep and stood not three feet
from where I sat. He was looking right at the window. I
was on the other side. He pulled out a comb and used the
window as a mirror to tidy up his hair. Then he pulled
his hat back on and looked around as another jeep pulled
up. He strolled to the door of the restaurant, but I
could not move. I was transfixed by what I saw happening
on the street. Colonel Hadford was getting out of his
jeep.
Ali hopped down beside him. They both strolled towards
the restaurant door. I was amazed that Ali didn't display
any recognition of Juarez. He walked behind Colonel
Hadford, though and when he passed in front of the window
he looked up at me. His left eye winked... well it
twitched.
I could tell that he was aware of the situation. Juarez
was smiling and holding the door for the Colonel. Colonel
Hadford acknowledged him with a nod and stood aside to
let Ali go in first. I headed for the back room. Ali
followed me quickly and had just about made it when
Juarez called out, "Hey, you in the bathrobe..."
Ali froze not two feet away from me on the other side of
the door.
"Yes, sir..." he answered.
"Bring me a hamburger, will ya? And step on it..."
Ali looked at me. He was twitching like crazy now, but he
swallowed and grinned a bit. "I can do that," he advised
me, "although I don't know why he would want me to step
on it..." Then in a louder voice he asked, "Do you want
any onion on that?"
"Yah, everything on it," Juarez answered.
Ali stepped through into the back with me. I grabbed him
by the shoulders.
"You wouldn't, would you?" I asked him.
"That's the guy I brought it back for," he answered.
I tried to convince myself that Ali was just pulling my
leg. But I hadn't had to know Ali very long to fear that
he wasn't. I was happy that he and I had managed to end
up on the same side... somehow. Ali could be either a
very loyal friend, as I was already aware, or a very bad
enemy, as Juarez was in the process of finding out.
Unfortunately, Juarez was exactly the same as Ali when it
came to his abilities as an enemy... I don't know about
how he was with his friends. I never knew him to have any
friends.
I made Ali promise to throw the knife away after he used
it on the onion... if he used it.
Chapter Four
Bugging Out
or
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
We got the word from Colonel Hadford that we'd have to
leave for Saudi Arabia the next day. I hadn't really had
time to think much about the imminent change of fortune
that my group were facing. Some of them I hardly knew.
Others I had developed a rapport with that made it hard
to think of them as my prisoners. I didn't know any of
their names, except Ali of course, although by then there
was no longer any thought in my mind that he was anything
but my hired translator.
Colonel Hadford had signed the paperwork without batting
an eye and issued a temporary i.d. in Ali's name when I
vouched for him having lost everything to the Iraqis who
had been holding him prisoner. I did not elaborate too
much about my actions liberating him from the house where
they were threatening to kill him, but I believe the
colonel could read enough between the lines to know that
it was implausible at best and impossible at worst.
You'll notice that a lot of my story was based in
reality. Of course, I had to fudge a few of the details
here and there, but I figured I'd been through enough
with Ali to know where his loyalties lay.
The way I had it figured, Ali had faced an Iraqi firing
squad. That Ali was dead. Nothing could bring him back.
And since it had been my gun that had killed him, if he
had been killed, I was sort of responsible for his body,
which, through a technicality, was still alive.
The rest of the guys were a different story. Like I said,
I didn't know them by name. Early on we'd assigned them
identities based upon their order of surrender. Their
numbers became their names in my mind as well as theirs.
The kids who had surrendered to Ali and I and done the
striptease that first night were the youngest we had.
Three was hardly more than sixteen. One was a little
older than Three, but not by much. Two was the old man of
the group and might have been eighteen, but not for many
months. They were all students, of course, and looked out
of place in a war. But they proved themselves to be
willing workers in our restaurant and were only worried
about one thing, the threat of being sent back to their
homeland. That's why they surrendered to Ali and I.
They had seen us enter the city and followed us to the
house where we'd washed off the oil. When we'd gone in
Ali had been my prisoner. That had been obvious to them.
They had remained concealed outside keeping an eye on the
house from a distance until darkness fell and they had
felt that they could approach without being seen. I
learned later that they had been watching Ali and I in
the bedroom and knew what we had done.
Then they had seen Mohammed and his two boy soldiers
arrive. They withdrew to a safe distance but kept the
house under observation and were moderately surprised to
see the two Iraqi soldiers high tailing it a short time
later.
A little while later they observed Ali and I leave
together rather than as captor and captive. I guess they
had waited for us to clear out before they crept into the
house to find Mohammed bare ass to the breeze in the
sling with an onion up his ass, not a single pubic hair
to his name and his uniform in pieces on the kitchen
floor. Despite his muffled protestations, they left him
there and set out after us.
Evidently they liked my style and didn't want to lose Ali
and I, but they'd agreed amongst themselves that it would
not be in their best interests to surprise us. So they
tailed us at a distance while Two worked on his little
English speech.
When Ali told them to take their clothes off, they almost
believed they were in for the same treatment Mohammed had
received. But when he told them to get dressed again they
realized that he had only been searching for hidden
weapons... and to satisfy his own curiosity. When I fell
asleep shortly after their arrival, Ali evidently filled
them in on his day and explained the pecking order to
them.
Four arrived a short time later as Ali was getting ready
to join me in the chaise lounge. Ali knew Four. He had
seen him around and Four outranked him, but that didn't
stop Ali from taking his rifle from him and adding it to
the pile. Four and Ali were the same age, twenty-two, but
Four was a more mature twenty-two and already had a full
mustache that made him look older. Ali had something that
Four didn't have, though. He had a command of the English
language, and he had my trust.
Five arrived while Ali and Four were working out their
relative stations. Five told Ali that he didn't have a
gun. Ali believed him, but ordered the two of them to
strip anyway. He had ulterior motives. In the case of
Four, he wanted to see if he could make him do it without
me to back him up. As far as Five was concerned... well,
he just wanted to see him naked. Five was kind of hot-
looking and humpy. Everybody watched when he took his
clothes off, and everybody enjoyed it... well, everybody
but Five... and me. I missed that show.
Ali barricaded the gate and watched his captives for a
while before crawling into the crook of my arm in the
chaise lounge and covering us both with one of the
surplus robes from my knapsack. Six, Seven and Eight
arrived together as he was trying to get to sleep. They
had noticed Five going in and had waited to see what
would happen to him. They shook the gate a little and Ali
had to get up and tell them that we were no longer
admitting anyone, but they could re-apply in the morning.
Evidently they remained on guard outside the gate for the
rest of the night.
Six was the last teenager we got. He was nineteen and
spoke a little English, as did Five, but communicating
with my prisoners was no longer a problem and by now I
had pretty much grown accustomed to relying on Ali to
read my mind. I should have realized that he was
listening to me mumble and taking his cues from the
things I said to myself, but at the time it just seemed
like we were on the same wavelength.
As my P.O.W.'s numbers approached double digits, it
became increasingly difficult for me to remember who they
were. Their faces blurred together too, mostly because by
the time we hit thirteen... or should I say, Thirteen hit
us... we were at the restaurant, and I had left the
responsibility of looking after roll call to Ali. The
only one of my double digits that I really got to know
early on was Twenty-one.
Twenty-one was a long gangly kid with a permanently
furrowed brow. He looked like he was always worried about
something. He had huge hands and feet attached to long
limbs that he sometimes didn't seem to have any control
over. He was a studious young man and spoke English just
as well as Ali. The two of them read everything they
could get their hands on and spoke English when they
discussed what they had read. Quite often they agreed
about what they were discussing. Sometimes they didn't,
though, and whenever they couldn't they would ask me to
referee. Some of the stuff they asked me to decide about
was right out of my league.
I found myself becoming very fond of Twenty-one. Ali
noticed us whenever Twenty-one would hang around outside
the office door talking to me a little bit too long. But
he never said anything to me about it. I think I found
out why the night before we were to bug out for Saudi
Arabia. I was having trouble sleeping. Perhaps it was
because Ali's body was too warm next to mine. During the
night I felt him get up and I sort of figured he was
headed to the bathroom for a leak. But he didn't go to
the bathroom. Instead I heard the office door open and
close quietly.
It seemed like a nice night to take a little walk, even
though we were both naked, so I got up too and followed
him out. He wasn't in the restaurant. Neither was Twenty-
one. I did hear quiet English-speaking voices coming from
the back door, though.
I peeked out in time to see a naked Ali disappear beneath
Twenty-one's robes. A little while later he became
visible again when Twenty-one pulled the robes over his
head and let them fall at their feet. Ali was standing on
tiptoe with his hot young shaft plowed all the way up
into Twenty-one's ass. Twenty-one's own ample member was
stiffening rapidly... as was mine as I watched in the
moonlight.
I watched them without them knowing and I felt like a
voyeur. Behind me in the restaurant the noises of men
sleeping made me aware that I too was probably being
observed. In fact, it wasn't long before Five stepped out
of the shadows not six feet away from me and pulled me
back from the door.
He led me to the office and inside it as if it was the
most natural thing for him to do. He closed the door
behind us and leaned against it as if telling me that
what was going on in the alley was between the two young
men who were making love. But I thought that I was
getting another message from Five as well. I lit a candle
to be sure, and when the light filled the room I found a
frightened teenager with worried eyes biting his lower
lip and looking expectantly at me.
"Do you want to stay here with me a little while?" I
asked, sinking to the sofa. Five looked perplexed.
"Ali is with you," he told me.
"Not right now he isn't," I contradicted. "He seems to be
with Twenty-one."
Five let a small grunt of a laugh escape him, but he did
not lose the frightened expectant look. If anything it
got worse. But he did stop leaning against the door. He
stood momentarily just in front of it and I couldn't tell
whether he was about to flee through it, but he stepped
away instead and drew closer to me.
I sat up on the sofa and he hesitated a little before
stepping directly in front of me. I noticed that he
swallowed hard. I noticed also that he was showing hard
beneath the apron he wore. I lifted the apron. His pecker
was sticking out of his fly. Evidently he'd been watching
Ali and Twenty-one too.
I untied the apron strings and unhitched his pants. He
did nothing to encourage me, but neither did he
discourage me as I pulled the white pants down to his
ankles and swallowed him.
He really was an attractive young man. He had worked out
with weights. That was evident. But his body was also
soft, as though he had only tried to add bulk. His cock
was not as long as Ali's. He lacked a couple of inches.
But it was about the same diameter and easy to swallow.
His nuts were drawn up, wrinkling their sack. I licked
them a few times and tasted the salty funky flavor of his
perspiration.
I turned him and admired the fleshy young ass cheeks and
their two dimples where they attached themselves to
Five's back. I parted them and found his shit hole. The
smell was, as always, mildly repulsive and completely
addictive. I tasted him and knew what flies found
compelling about the area. I drove my tongue into him and
heard him gasp and felt him shudder. He was beating
himself rapidly now and I reached around front to slow
him to a more relaxed pace as I prepared him for bigger
things to come.
I turned him again and pulled him to the couch beside me.
I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it from him massaging
his beautiful round chest and rubbing my hands along his
belly to his crotch. He did the same to me afterwards.
Then he was kissing me and crying. I tasted the salty
tears that I managed to lick from his face before I
pulled him away from me asked him what was wrong.
"Ali said he doesn't have to go back. He said you
promised him, Joe. What's going to happen to the rest of
us? What's going to happen to me, Joe?"
"My name is Larry, Five. What's yours?"
"Abdul..."
"Abdul, I'm going to do my best for you... for all of
you. When we get to Saudi Arabia tomorrow I have to look
up a buddy of mine in legal affairs. He'll be able to
tell us where we stand. But what I told Ali is the truth.
I'm not going to let them send you guys back to Iraq...
unless you really want to go. Do you want to go back?"
"No," he answered quietly. "I can't go back."
"Why can't you go back, Abdul?"
"Because I come from a family who would kill me if they
knew I was sitting here naked with you."
"You won't have to worry about that," I answered. "I
won't tell anybody. Besides, nothing happened. You didn't
do anything. You don't have to do anything. Why don't you
put your clothes on before..."
"Larry, you don't understand. I want this to happen. I
just don't want you to think I'm doing it just so I won't
have to go back to Iraq. I'm doing this because I can't
do anything else." He held my eyes with his own and I
couldn't help falling under his spell. "I'm doing this
because I like it. But if I go home I will have to marry
a woman... and I do not like women. Do you understand,
Larry?"
I had to admit that I did. "But why are you crying?"
"Because I can... now. I am here with you. You are an
American... and you are going to make it all right."
I swallowed hard. I hoped my buddy from New York, Jerry
Weintraub, would have the answers I was looking for.
Jerry worked back in Riyadh, at headquarters which was so
far behind the front lines that grunts like me in Kuwait
referred to it as hindquarters. Jerry was a very
successful lawyer and had done a lot of immigration work
in New York. If anybody had the answers, it would be
Jerry. I relaxed a little and thumbed a tear from
Five's... make that Abdul's face.
"I'm going to do my best," I told him. "And now that
Colonel Hadford has put me in charge of you guys, you can
be sure that I'm not going to abandon you."
Well that was all Abdul had to hear. He was all over me
like a bad rash, kissing me and poking me with that
pecker of his and before I knew what had happened I had
my cock up his ass and he's bouncing in my lap with his
arms behind my neck and I'm doing my best to beat him off
as he fucks my cock with his ass.
Well, he gets this really stupid look on his face, which
is a sort of compensation that the really good-looking
guys have to pay, I figure, and stops bopping around on
my lap, but he does it with me jammed into him up to the
hilt and the next thing I see is a long arching string of
jism shooting up between us and I don't know whose it is
except that I know it can't be mine unless I've done some
real damage to the guy, but it turned out to be his and
it's headed straight up between us and I see it going
past my nose.
Well I'm unloading into him pretty heavy too, but when I
notice his cream sort of hanging there in mid-air I push
my face into it and I manage to catch a little of it on
my tongue, but the majority of it I'm wearing all over my
face and I can't open my eyes without blinking in the
jism that I know is right there. I can't wipe it off
either because both of my hands are sort of pinned under
Abdul.
Well, I'm exhausted by this time and so is Abdul. He sort
of collapses onto the couch beside me and I slide out of
him as he does. I'm there laying back and trying to
recover and I can feel Abdul beside me and I'm about to
wipe my eyes, when all of a sudden a tongue starts
licking the stuff away from my eyes and off my face and
another one starts licking my cock just before the mouth
that it's in swallows me pretty good.
Of course I'm lying there with my eyes closed and
enjoying this and thinking that Abdul sure knows how to
make a guy feel good, when it suddenly dawns on me that
he can't be in both places at once. So I reach over and
feel him still lying there beside me and he's pointed in
the wrong direction to be doing what I can feel being
done to me.
Half of me says I'd better open my eyes and see what's
going on. The other half says that might not be a good
idea and what I don't know won't hurt me. So I
compromised. I only opened one eye... at first. What I
saw was the inside of Ali's nose. He was licking Abdul's
semen from my face. I decided to open the other eye. It
revealed Ali's ear. When he saw that my eyes were open he
drew back a little ways smiling and we both glanced down
at my lap. Twenty-one was sucking me, while his own prick
was in Abdul's mouth receiving the same attention.
"You guys are pretty quiet," I told Ali. I hadn't heard
them come in.
"No we're not," he answered. "But you two are awfully
noisy. You woke up half the guys out there." He kissed me
then and I knew that I was forgiven. "How was he?" Ali
asked.
I winked at him.
"I thought you'd like him," Ali answered.
"Did you set this up?" I asked feigning anger that he saw
through immediately.
"Hell, no!" he replied. "But it was bound to happen
sooner or later." He kissed me again. "He's a nice kid.
Am I still sleeping with you, Joe?"
I pulled him to me.
"Of course you are. I love you," I said. "And my name is
Larry."
"I promise not to hold that against you. Do you mind if
my friends stay the night?" he asked. "I thought we might
have a pyjama party."
"But, Ali, we don't have any pyjamas," I grinned.
"That makes it even better, doesn't it?"
I had to agree with him.
I awoke the next morning with Ali beside me in his usual
spot curled up with his head on my chest. On my other
side lay Abdul only faced in the opposite direction so
that his groin is just about where my face is. I remember
having made use of its proximity at one point during the
night. Then Ali had demanded equal time, of course.
It is light enough for me to see Abdul now and although
the warm glow of the candle no longer lends its gold to
the color of his skin, I can tell that there is enough
warm bronze there to cause his skin to glow all by
itself. He really was incredibly beautiful lying there.
There's something else different about him from the first
time I saw him sleeping on the patio. He isn't twitching
from a nightmare. He has an from behind my kneecap.
I realize then that he too has off-loaded the
responsibility for his future onto someone else's
shoulders, and it doesn't take me long to remember what I
told him the night before.
It also doesn't take me long to remember what day this is
and to realize that in a couple of hours we're going to
be in Saudi Arabia, and so far I have no idea of what I'm
going to be able to do for these guys. This fact is sort
of driven home to me when Twenty-one walks in with his
robes on and tells me that Colonel Hadford is waiting for
me out front with a very big truck.
Well, I pulled my uniform on as quick as I could and
hustled my ass through to the front of the place and the
first guy I run into out there is Juarez. He's looking
real mad and not too well. Normally Juarez has a pretty
good tan, but today he's sort of greenish gray.
When he sees me I figure the jig is up, but instead he
sort of nods at me and goes right on haranguing the boys
on the morning shift. None of them speak English,
fortunately, so Juarez turns to me and tells me that if
I'm smart I'll avoid this restaurant cause something he
got there the day before has kept him up all night and
turned the sand outside his tent into a latrine.
Then all of a sudden he remembers that he hasn't seen me
for a few days and he looks at me and sees that my rank
has gone up too.
"Where'd you get the extra stripe?" he asks.
Well without going into too much detail I explain that I
got it from rounding up a bunch of Iraqis single-handed.
Then I tell him I'm in charge of moving them out to Saudi
Arabia. He looks like he's almost listening to me, when
all of a sudden he makes a dash for the bathroom.
There's a bunch of G.I.'s having breakfast and Colonel
Hadford is waiting for me out front. He's seen me too, so
I can't go back and tell Ali to keep his face out of the
restaurant. Since none of the P.O.W.'s currently out
front can speak English either I scribble a note on a
scrap of paper and give it to Ten, who looks fairly
smart. I say Ali's name and point to the back of the
restaurant.
Ten smiles at me and nods and stands right where he is.
So I take the note back and do my best to write Ali's
name on it in Arabic. I give it back to Ten and he
admires it and smiles at me again, all the while he's
nodding his head. I'm sort of getting exasperated by this
when all of a sudden Twenty-nine, who's working beside
ten looks at the note and grabs it from him. Twenty-nine
disappears out back. I have to go through to the front
where the colonel is waiting for me.
"How many have you got now?" Colonel Hadford asked me as
I joined him on the sidewalk.
I had to confess that I didn't know. I left all of that
to Ali to keep track of. Colonel Hadford allowed that I
had a good man there and I had certainly been lucky to
come across him... regardless of where I got him.
I agreed with the colonel and listened to his description
of how Ali had led him to every mine field they had
managed to find and how this had led to a more rapid
repatriation for the citizens of Kuwait. Then he glanced
at his watch and realized that the repatriation was about
to begin and it might not be a bad idea if I got my men
loaded onto the truck and the hell out of Kuwait.
We agreed that it might be a better idea to move the
truck around back, since there were still soldiers having
breakfast, and what they didn't know about who had been
feeding them for the past few days wouldn't hurt them. I
climbed up beside the driver and showed him where to go.
As the men climbed into the truck I counted them out of
curiosity. They misunderstood and thought that I was
getting their numbers confused. They, of course,
corrected me and threw my count off. I had to keep
starting over. Ten and Twenty-nine were the last to join
us. They had been holding down the fort in the restaurant
and wanted to make sure that their last few customers
were satisfied before they sidled out and climbed up on
the truck.
Ali did a quick head check and announced that he had
counted thirty-nine. I had given up at twenty-seven. I
pushed him up between the driver and myself and a moment
later we were off. At the end of the alley a very
frightened-looking Iraqi soldier surfaced from the
dumpster where he had been concealed and chased after our
truck. With the helping hands of the men at the back of
the truck he was soon hoisted up.
Ali and I watched through the rear window of the cab as
the young man was thrown into the middle of the truck and
unceremoniously stripped of his uniform. It disappeared
in small rags along the side of the road. Ali grinned at
me.
"Forty," he said.
We headed down the highway past the "Devil's birthday
cake" and choked our way through the greasy smoke of the
hundreds of burning wells. We knew that we had almost
overstayed our welcome when we began running into traffic
coming from the other direction. It was a flotilla of
automobiles with Kuwaiti flags and American flags and
people hanging out of every window and flapping in the
breeze. They were all sounding their horns and singing
patriotic songs at the tops of their voices.
It was unsettling for our vehicle to be caught in the
midst of all of this celebrating. Unsuppressed
nationalism can be a dangerous thing. I figured I had
better get my gang celebrating too, or they might look a
little conspicuous, especially since we were bucking the
traffic, so I opened the door and climbed into the back.
Ali followed me, ostensibly to translate, but more than
likely because he was scared stiff and looked it.
I taught them how to sing "Mairsey Doats and Doesey
Doats," which was the least offensive and most
meaningless song I could come up with on the spur of the
moment. By the time we reached the Saudi border they had
it down pretty good and had even picked up the first
verse. We had also managed to make it through the
celebrating Kuwaitis. As the truck picked up a little
speed I helped Ali back into the cab. As he climbed down
a gust of wind took his robes and lifted them like
Marilyn Monroe's skirts. He was wearing my underwear
again. I grinned and swung in beside him.
"There's been a slight change in plans," I told the
driver. "We've got to make a stop in Riyadh."
He looked at me kind of funny and inquired if I was aware
of how far out of the way that would take us. I replied
that it didn't matter and the driver accepted the change
with only one more protest.
"We'll have to gas up somewhere," he mentioned. "Do you
know where we can get some?"
"Sure," I said. "Poke a stick in the sand..."
Chapter Five
Saudi Arabia
The Best Laid Plans
The rest of the trip into Riyadh was uneventful. We
tanked up at a service station on the way and Ali paid
the attendant with some of the money we had made running
the restaurant. When he pulled the wad of bills out of my
knapsack, which he now wore, I was surprised that we had
as much as we did. There was easily a couple of thousand
dollars, so I had him buy a round of soft drinks for the
boys who lined up to use the rest room and work the drink
machine.
As we sipped our pop another army vehicle, a bus, pulled
into the service station. When I say it was another army
vehicle I mean to say it was a vehicle from another army.
It was a Saudi bus, undoubtedly full of Saudi soldiers. I
rounded up my men and loaded them back onto the truck
just as the bus rattled, hemorrhaged and died. We were
pulling out as the Saudi servicemen disembarked. It was a
good thing we left when we did. They were all dressed in
white too. It could have been confusing.
With Kuwait behind us I no longer had any excuse to put
off thoughts about how I was going to look after my men.
Well, for the most part, they were looking after me. Ali
and I had forty batmen picking up after us and
anticipating our every need. They knew what I liked and
when I liked it. Even a major movement from one country
to another didn't stop them from keeping track of my
needs and doing it on schedule too.
Exactly at noon a hand reached through the open window of
the truck with sandwiches for Ali and I. This did not
surprise me as it did the driver who was also receiving
manna from the back of the truck through his open window.
What did surprise me was the cup of coffee that showed up
ten minutes later, piping hot and perfectly satisfying. I
didn't ask how they had managed that. Sometimes you don't
want to know.
Until now we had been dealing with an unreal situation in
an unreal setting. Soon we would be back to the reality
of Riyadh, but for my men the only reality was that the
war was over and they were going to America. All I had to
do was work out the details.
We parked out in front of Jerry's office which was in one
of those low flat buildings you find all around army
bases everywhere in the world. My men milled about and
took in the sights completely inconspicuous in their
restaurant whites. The only thing that even vaguely made
them look like prisoners was the number Ali had marked in
indelible ink on every piece of clothing, to avoid
arguments and to make it easier for me to identify them.
The only man without a number was Forty. But then he
didn't have anything but his underwear and boots. Forty
stayed in the truck.
If the outside of the building was unassuming, the inside
was not. Inside, the building was a mass of corridors
leading past tiny cubicles in a labyrinth that seems to
be common to most army structures. It's sort of like life
in the service, all twists and turns with an appropriate
number of dead ends built in to discourage the faint of
heart. I've never liked the army. That's why I'm a
reservist. I can only deal with it in small doses.
I didn't find Jerry in his office. He was at a meeting in
the restricted area down the hall. It was some sort of
press conference for a visiting dignitary from the
States, a congressman or a senator or a minister or
something. I never did find out who it was... not that I
care... I figure we were lucky to get off without being
charged or shot... or both... but I'm getting ahead of
myself.
Jerry eventually showed up, and he was kind of glad to
see me, but he didn't really have time for me. He was
busy keeping track of what people were saying to this guy
from the States. He had just come back to his office to
get his jacket and was on his way to the reception that
was being given after the press conference on the lawn on
the other side of the building. He told me to come along
with him and he would try to find a few minutes for me
between the gaffs in protocol that were certain to
happen.
I tried to broach the subject of my P.O.W.s, but Jerry
was not listening to me. He was talking on his radio and
informing the security at the reception that it would be
getting started in about ten minutes. Then he said
something that I should have caught, but I was too busy
trying to get his attention that it slipped right past.
He asked whoever he was talking to if those damned
caterers had arrived yet. There was an answer that I
couldn't quite hear, but Jerry seemed satisfied and we
were off down the hall double time.
I stayed on the periphery of the gathering. I don't like
lawn parties with politicians. When you throw in army
brass they become doubly dangerous. You can ruin two
careers in one fell swoop. I tried to remain
inconspicuous, which was hard, since I was the only one
there not in dress uniform. Even the waiters looked
better than I did. I found a nice little bricked patio
that had been set into the ground away from the lawn and
pulled up a chaise lounge behind some shrubs. I could
keep an eye on the party from there, but I didn't think
anyone would see me. I was wrong.
"Would you like some punch, sir?" The voice had a
familiar ring to it, but I was busy watching Jerry
through the shrub. I waved my hand to dismiss the waiter
and was surprised when he answered, "Aw, c'mon, Joe. I'll
fix it just the way you like it."
I turned in time to see Ali pissing in an empty glass.
When he finished he handed it to me. I was too dumb-
founded not to take it. My mouth was hanging open too.
Ali reached over and lifted my jaw shut with his finger.
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, finally finding
my tongue.
"Taking a leak," he said as he dropped his pecker back
into his pants.
"What are you doing here?" I clarified.
"We were drafted," he answered. "Did you want ice for
that?"
"What?" I put the glass down on the table beside me.
"What do you mean you were drafted?"
"I mean just that. We were just standing around out front
and this colonel came out and asked us if we were the
group from food services."
"What did you tell him?"
"We told him that we had a little restaurant experience."
"But you aren't supposed to be looking after this."
"No, but the guys who are aren't here. So we said we
would help him out."
"Does he know who you are?"
"He never asked."
"Ali, do you have any idea of who is here today?"
"No, who?"
"I dunno... but there's a lot of brass. What if one of
them finds out who you are?"
"They probably think we're Saudi's."
"But you're not..."
"We look like Saudi's..."
"I look like a Brit... but I'm not."
"So what's your point, Larry?"
"The point is, you're not Saudis."
"We weren't Kuwaitis either. But everybody thought we
were when we were in Kuwait. If we were in Spain, they'd
probably think we were Spanish. Larry, we've been doing
this for days now. Don't worry, nothing will happen.
Besides, the food is good here, and we get to eat out
back. Have you had anything yet?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm trying to remain inconspicuous."
"The best way to do that is to mix in. I've been working
this gig now for over an hour and all the people are
talking about is that queer duck hiding behind the
hedge."
"You mean me."
"Sorry about the 'queer' thing."
"You think I should mix a little?"
"That's the only way you'll ever get to talk to that
lawyer friend of yours. Try the pŸt,..."
"What have you done to the pŸt,?"
"Nothing. Juarez isn't here. I already told you we're
eating this stuff too... Oh don't let me forget to take a
doggy bag to Forty. And could you see about getting him
some clothes, Larry? Our bag is out back with my clothes.
There's plenty of money and I think there's a store
across the street. There's something over there. He's a
size thirty-six regular. Look, I've got to go and get
another tray of drinks..."
"Ali," I called after him.
"What, Larry?"
"You'd better do up your fly."
He looked down and pulled it carefully up. "I guess I've
been wearing the robes too long," he blushed.
I followed him up to the lawn. He disappeared out behind
the tent that had been set up at the far end of the lawn.
Moments later a tall gangly young man with a furrowed
brow and large hands and feet handed me a plate of food.
There was a large dollop of pŸt, in the middle of it.
"Thanks, Twenty-one," I said.
"Don't mention it, boss. Nice party, huh?"
"It would be if I knew any of these people..."
"Yah, I know what you mean. Be careful with the pŸt,. It
tastes a little funny."
"Thanks, but I'm not a pŸt, person. What happened to the
truck driver?"
"He's across the street at the Officers' Club. He got
tired of waiting for you and said we should send somebody
for him when we're ready to leave. He left Ali in
charge."
"So Forty is all alone in the truck?"
"I hope so."
"Does he speak English?"
"He doesn't even speak Arabic right now. He's scared
shitless. I think he's hiding under a tarpaulin. I don't
know how long he's been hiding out in the dumpster, but
we heard noises last night." Twenty-one sighed and I
followed his gaze. Five was coming out of the tent with a
tray of drinks. His waiter uniform hugged him in all the
right places... places we longed to hug him. We both fell
silent as we followed his progress through the crowd.
The Senator or Congressman or whoever he was took a drink
and Five passed along the line. One of the Senator's or
Congressman's aides got the last drink on Five's tray. We
saw Five smile and turn to walk ba ck to the tent. But
the aide said something to him. Five stopped and smiled a
nervous smile at the man, who was probably in his
twenties. We saw him say something and the aide
brightened as Five once more turned away.
"You'd better get over there, Boss," I heard Twenty-one
suggest, but I was already moving. I needed to get within
earshot in a hurry.
"Abdul," Five said, and there was relief on his face when
he saw me approaching.
"Well, Abdul, I was wondering what it is that you do when
you're not working affairs like this one."
"I... work... in a restaurant."
"Oh? I thought that this was being catered by the army.
You aren't in the army?"
"No."
"Not in this army anyhow, eh, Abdul?" I asked.
"That's right," Abdul agreed. "Not this army."
I introduced myself to the aide.
"The Saudi army then?" the aide speculated.
"Actually, Abdul just came down to Riyadh after a tour of
duty in Kuwait. He's headed back north after the
reception. He'll be working at a P.O.W. camp with me."
"Lucky P.O.W.'s..." the aide observed. "Where do I
surrender?" There was no mistaking the signals that were
being sent.
Five smiled nervously, but did not take the opportunity
to move. It was pretty obvious that he was enjoying the
attention. The aide was a handsome man with blonde hair
and gray piercing eyes. The eyes were piercing parts of
Five's body that would normally never be pierced. Five's
shy quiet eyes were returning the favor, a little more
discreetly.
"Do you have any more punch?" I inquired when the moment
had gone on too long and showed no signs of abating.
"Sorry, sir," Five answered and departed, remembering
where he was and, hopefully, who he was.
"So, Lieutenant," the aide remarked, "how do you like
running a P.O.W. camp?"
"I don't know for sure," I answered. "I haven't started
yet. I'll be going there after the reception."
"Where did you say the camp is?"
"I'm not really sure. That's why I'm here actually. I
have to talk to a friend of mine from New York. He'll
probably be able to tell me. If not the truck driver will
know. Truck drivers always seem to know."
"Oh, do they? That is a useful piece of advice... er,
information."
The aide wandered off in the direction of the tent. I
could not follow without appearing too obvious. I didn't
have to worry though. Twenty-one was tailing him by now.
I had been right about our abilities to communicate
without language. We were all on the same wave length.
I took my leave and crossed the street to the PX to do
some shopping. When I got back to the truck I didn't see
anyone in it. There was a tarpaulin in the corner though
and I jumped up inside and pulled it off. Forty was there
all right. I could smell him before I could see him. He
must have been living in that dumpster for awhile. I did
my best to smile at him through the fumes, but something
had to be done especially in the desert heat, or one or
both of us was going to be sick.
I looked into the cab of the truck and was relieved to
see the keys in the ignition. I'd been watching the
driver all the way from Kuwait City and was pretty sure I
could handle one of these things. I'd driven a school bus
in upstate New York and the truck didn't look that much
different. I held my hands out in front of me in what I
hoped was the international sign to tell the guy to stay
put. Then I crawled over the side and into the cab.
The motel was called the Desert something or other. With
all the news and extra army personnel around I had to
drive halfway back to Kuwait before I found a place. They
had rooms and I rented one. I backed the truck to the
door of the unit and parked it. Then I went to the back
of the truck again and motioned to Forty to come with me.
I led him to the bathroom and turned the shower on for
him. Then I left him alone.
I switched on the television and found a channel with a
news program on it. The announcer was speaking Arabic,
but there were plenty of maps and charts. I could tell
who was where and from the looks of it our side was
winning... fast.
I had been there about twenty minutes when the water
stopped running and Forty appeared at the door of the
bathroom as naked as the day he had been born. He hadn't
stopped to take a towel. He stood dripping in the middle
of the floor with his eyes glued to the set in disbelief.
I figured this was probably the first time he'd had any
news of the war in days. The television reception is
pretty bad in dumpsters.
I smiled at him and patted the bed beside me. He sat down
and I got up to fetch him a towel. He took it absently
and began to dry his hair with it, taking no thought of
his nudity. That was okay with me.
"Looks like you picked the right side," I offered. He
looked at me. Well, it hadn't been a question.
Then the television started to run some stock footage
that had been taken earlier of prisoners being herded out
of the desert and into P.O.W. camps. There was a seven
second shot of me escorting Ali down the highway. Forty
looked at me.
"You," he said. Well, at least he spoke English.
"Yes," I answered, "and Ali..." I couldn't take my eyes
off the screen.
I had expected my first dose of reality to come in
Riyadh... but I hadn't expected to get it from
television.
I got my second dose from Jerry, and it hit me like a
cold shower. All of my promises were worthless. My men
would be repatriated just like the rest, once the war was
over. And at the rate the allied forces were advancing on
Baghdad, that might be any hour now.
Jerry told me in effect not to get attached to my
prisoners. I thanked him for his advice. I only wished
that he had given it to me about four days before. I
stumbled from his office and found my way back to the
truck. I forced myself to smile at my group, but I think
they saw through me. They mounted the truck again though
and Ali slid up into the cab beside me.
"What's wrong, Larry?" he asked.
I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth.
"Lawyers..." I said and left it at that. "I'm tired Ali.
How much money do we have left?"
He counted it and I realized we had enough for ten rooms
at the motel. I had left Forty there to relax a little
while I returned to Riyadh to take care of business. I
figured my men could use one night of relative luxury. I
started the truck.
There was a pounding on the roof of the cab and Twenty-
one leaned over and informed us that we were missing one
man. I told him I was aware of that, and that Forty was
at the motel waiting for us, but he said he knew about
Forty and that the missing man was Five. I shut the truck
off.
"Okay," I said, "where's Five?"
"He went away with Winston," Ali confessed. "He was
supposed to be back by now."
"You mean that guy at the reception?"
"That's the one, Boss," Twenty-one said through the
window beside me.
"Do you guys realize the situation that puts us in?"
"It'll be all right, Larry," Ali tried to soothe me. But
I would not be soothed.
"Why did you let him go?" I demanded. "What were you
thinking of?"
"We couldn't stop him," Ali snapped back.
"Sure you could have. Five respects you, Ali..."
"I was talking about Winston. We couldn't stop him. If
they hadn't gone away together, they would have been
having sex under the table. We figured it would be better
to get them away from there. Winston promised to bring
him back. They should have been here by now."
It was getting late. We couldn't wait much longer. But no
one wanted to leave Five behind. At long last though, we
had no choice and I started the truck again. I was
turning it around when the jeep pulled up and blockaded
me. Five jumped out of the jeep and onto the truck's
front bumper. He climbed across the hood, hopped onto the
roof and down into the box behind us. The jeep left
quickly, but not before I noticed that it was one of the
V.I.P. vehicles and the man driving it had not been
wearing a uniform. His hair had been blond.
When it became obvious that I was not going to wait for
the driver, Twenty-one climbed down and into the cab
alongside Ali.
"What's up?" he asked.
"It looks like we're going to have to go back to
Iraq,"Ali said quietly. I looked at him. He reached up
and pushed my jaw shut.
"Where'd you get an idea like that?" I asked.
"From you, Larry."
I couldn't look at him. I glued my eyes to the road. We
really did communicate better without words.
"It's true then, isn't it?" he asked.
"Not yet it isn't," I vowed, but I couldn't say it to his
face. I said it to the windshield. "And it won't be if I
have anything to say about it," I added, but at that
point none of us believed it.
I found the motel again with only a little difficulty. We
got a break on the rooms. That night my men had real beds
for the first time in days, but more importantly, they
had real showers, some of them, for the first time in a
week.
Ali, Twenty-one and I joined Forty in the room I had
rented earlier. I let Twenty-one and Ali shower first.
Forty was still stuck to the television. He filled me in
on the progress of the war and then I asked him why he
had lived in the dumpster. He grinned an embarrassed grin
and shook his head.
"I was scared," he confessed.
"Of me?" I asked.
"No... no... yes," he admitted.
"Then why did you chase the truck?"
"I was more afraid of the others."
"What others?"
"You know... the Kuwaitis..."
"It seems to me like you should have gone back to Iraq,
if you were afraid of us and the Kuwaitis..."
"Oh, no, I couldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I deserted four days ago. I've been hiding out
ever since."
"What? In the dumpster?"
"Sometimes..."
"Why did you desert?"
"Because they made me do things..."
"What things?"
"Bad things..."
"Did they force you to have sex?"
"I'd rather not talk about that."
I took it as an affirmative.
"Is that why you were afraid of me?"
"No, I..." Forty sighed. "Yes. Sometimes I looked in the
window of the restaurant. I saw you and them." He jerked
his head in the direction of the bathroom, indicating Ali
and Twenty-one."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It wasn't the same, though. They looked happy with you."
"I hope so, Forty." He looked at me with a peculiar
expression on his face and I realized that he was
probably not familiar with the numbering system. "What's
your name, anyway?"
"Djamal. You are Larry, yes?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I heard them talking about you in the truck. They say
you are going to make everything all right. Is it true,
Larry?"
"I wish you hadn't asked me that, Djamal. You'll be all
right for a while, anyway. We're going to a P.O.W. camp
tomorrow. After the war is over, it's hard to say..."
"Larry, the war is over. Your army has stopped. My army
has disappeared."
"Not all of it," I cautioned. "Ali and I ran into a squad
the other night in Kuwait."
"Yes, I know. That's one of the reasons I was in the
dumpster."
"You know?" I was suddenly apprehensive. "How do you
know?"
"I was in the bedroom with you. The man you attacked was
my squad leader. That was the night I deserted him. I
figured that if he would have killed Ali, I would
probably be next." I must have looked pretty surprised.
"Are you angry with me, Larry?"
"Why?"
"Because I did nothing to help you..."
"You didn't have to, Djamal. I had disabled my gun. I
knew that it wouldn't work."
"Ah, that was it. I thought he just didn't know how to
use it. But still, I should have done something before he
pulled the trigger. Can you forgive me?"
"I'm not the one to ask, Djamal. You should talk with Ali
about that."
"Yes, of course you are right."
"Come to think of it, I should talk to him too," I
thought. There were still questions in my mind. They had
not been crowded out by the disappointment, only forced
to the rear. When Ali reappeared naked from his shower, I
handed him his robes and asked him to come for a walk in
the desert with me.
"What is it, Larry?" he asked as we walked across the
parking lot and out into the sand. It was still hot under
our naked feet even though the sun had gone down. "What
did you find out today?"
"I found out that I don't know what's going on," I
answered. "I found out that my side isn't really the good
guys after all."
"Larry, there are no good guys in a war. War brings out
the badness in us all and we are told that it is all
right to do things we have been told all our lives were
wrong."
"You are a philosopher, Ali."
"I like to think for myself. I like to think that I
control my own destiny by being the person I want to be.
But now that doesn't work anymore. My destiny is to be a
wog in Iraq, it seems. It was nice to have a little hope
for a while. You gave that to me, Larry. Don't be too sad
that things didn't turn out the way you thought they
would. You did save my life, you know. I owe it to you.
And it is yours..."
"You saved mine too," I interjected. "We're even on that
score. And as far as going back to Iraq is concerned,
don't pack your things just yet..."
"What things? I have nothing, Larry. I gave everything I
had away before I went out to blow up the gas and oil. I
didn't think I was coming back."
I stopped and looked at him. He turned to face me. "What
are you looking at me like that for, Larry?"
"I'm trying to figure out how to ask you why you would
have done that. I know you had your orders..."
"I didn't need orders, Larry. When he told me what he had
in mind I volunteered. You have no idea what things were
like for me before I met you. Believe me, it was almost a
relief to get the chance to kill myself. It was the next
step. My life was over anyway."
"Tell me," I said. "I want to know everything about you."
"No you don't," he answered. "It isn't a very nice
story."
"It's your story," I argued. "I want to hear it."
"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you. I'm a
bastard, Larry."
This took me a little by surprise. I'd never met one
before... except for the kind who are bastards and don't
realize it... like Juarez...
"Good," I answered, "for a minute there I thought you
were going to tell me you were a lawyer."
"It's not funny," he said. "In my country it is a
disgrace."
"But it's no reason to kill yourself..."
"That wasn't the reason..."
"What was it then?"
"I told you, my life was over. I had no hope. And after I
had spent my whole life studying to be able to get away
to another place where I could use what I learned without
people pointing at me and calling me bad names, my
country goes to war and all of a sudden I am a pariah in
the eyes of the world as well as in my homeland. You must
understand, Larry, until I met you I had no hope. I
wanted to die. Now I have something to live for...
someone to love... someone who loves me... I hope."
"Of course I love you, Ali. I love the person you are,
not what you came from. You were sent to me by God, I
think."
"I'm sorry, Larry, but I don't believe in God. He would
have to be a very hard god to let the things that have
happened here happen."
"To tell you the truth, Ali, I'm with you on that score.
I've found that religions are mostly political, otherwise
there wouldn't be so many of them. We have enough
disagreements without fanning the flames of fanaticism.
But I have to believe that something brought us
together... other than Juarez."
Ali sneered at the mention of his name.
"You found me, Larry, exactly when I needed you. For this
I owe you my life."
"I found you exactly when I needed you," I countered.
"Things hadn't been too good for me up until then,
either." I looked into his eyes. They were reflecting the
light from the motel sign, which would soon have to be
extinguished, just in case there were any Iraqi planes
left that could fly. "And I have no intention of losing
you. I'll just have to get Jerry to change a few minds."
"We'll be okay for a while, Larry. The camp won't be bad.
At least we'll be together."
"You're right, Ali. And when the war's over, you'll come
to the States with me just like we planned. After all,
you have Kuwaiti citizenship now. Colonel Hadford looked
after that already, remember?"
"Do you think they'll accept that?"
"They have to. You work for the U.S. Army, Mr. Hussein."
"Please don't call me that."
"What would you prefer, Ali Baba?"
"I told you already. Anything but that..."
"Then Ali Baba it is. Come on. Let's get back and see
what the forty P.O.W.'s are up to."
"Okay, Larry, but first, kiss me."
"If I kiss you, I won't be able to stop."
"That was the plan." Ali shrugged his robes off his one
shoulder and they slid into an elegant pile on the sand.
"Are you sure you want to do it out here in the desert?
The damned sand gets in everywhere, you know."
"I'm willing to chance it if you are. I don't feel like
performing for those two in our room."
"We could get another room..."
"No, I want you now. Kiss me, Lieutenant Larry."
"Yessir, Mr. Baba..." My robes joined his on the desert
floor.
Chapter Six
Your Reality Check Is In The Mail
There was no sleep for me that night. Ali cuddled in the
crook of my arm as was his wont. I breathed in the scent
of his hair and felt the warmth of his body and tried to
commit to memory the things he had told me about himself
after we made love in the desert.
He knew his mother. His father was unknown to him. He had
never heard his mother speak of him, in fact. His
childhood had been a lonely time, a time that people had
shunned him, before he was old enough to know why. It was
not uncommon for him to spend a whole day with no other
playmates, and so he learned to draw from inner
resources. He learned early how to read and sometimes the
things he read would give him clues about himself and
sometimes they told him about other places in the world
where he would rather be.
The tourists and business people who came to Baghdad
brought with them treasures from other lands, magazines
and cassette tapes were his favorite finds. He found them
outside of hotels where the foreign people stayed. And
one day he found a job there, shining shoes. It paid
poorly, but it paid in coins from all around the world,
coins with pictures of men and women who ruled other
lands, other lands where they spoke another language and
printed their words with letters from a strange alphabet.
He learned the alphabet easily and he learned to say it
in English and in French. That helped him to sound the
words he saw in the magazines and when he could sound
them he could understand some of the words he heard on
the tapes. Before long he was able to buy a dictionary
that promised to tell him what all of the words meant and
even showed him how to say them properly. He set himself
the task at nine years of age to learn one hundred words
a day. He started by learning the words the tourists
would use.
Soon he was guiding the tourists who needed to know where
to go and didn't mind being directed there by a bastard.
This was one of the first words he learned. He learned it
because he now knew that he was one. He now knew what it
was about him that other people did not like. And he knew
there was nothing he could do about it. When you're a
bastard, you're a bastard for life.
He also learned that he was desirable and, although
marriage for him was out of the question (who in their
right mind would marry a bastard?) there were plenty of
young men about who were willing to be had by him, and
many more older men who longed to have him. He had gone
with the younger men. He had treated them to his seven
inches. And he had saved his ass for someone special.
Evidently that someone had been me. That made me feel
kind of special. Well, I felt kind of special whenever he
was with me. I guess I had made him feel special too when
he'd found that I was a virgin as well. Ali had been my
first real lover... no... make that my only lover...
period. He showed me what love was. The others who came
before Ali and with Ali could not compare... were not in
the same league as him. His love made me who I am today.
Oh, God, I'd better stop talking like this.
Twenty-one and Forty were in the other bed. I pretended
sleep but kept one eye open to see what would happen. For
all of his forlorn looks, Twenty-one was a sexual animal
and Djamal, for all his protestations was a willing
participant... no, participant is too tame a word to
describe Djamal. He was a manipulator and he manipulated
Twenty-one that night right in front of our eyes. They
whispered in Arabic to each other and plotted how to
determine if Ali and I were really asleep... well, Djamal
plotted and then he sent poor, forlorn Twenty-one to do
the actual reconnoitering.
Twenty-one ventured over to our bed and lowered his face
to within inches of first Ali's, then my face. He
remained there quietly holding his breath and listening
for irregularities in our breathing. When he was
satisfied that we were both in deep sleep I heard him
move away and whisper to Forty in Arabic. Forty answered
him. I heard a sudden breathy exclamation from Twenty-one
and felt Ali's body become rigid against mine. Evidently
he too was awake. Forty responded quietly to Twenty-one's
question. That was when I decided that I should learn
more Arabic. Twenty-one then switched to English for some
reason.
"Are you sure, man? What am I gonna use for ropes?"
I knew now why Ali had tightened up. I felt myself tense.
I think Ali felt it too.
Forty replied in Arabic, but Twenty-one was obviously
stuck in an English loop.
"Well, all right, man, I'll have a look."
He disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments
later, empty-handed. He shrugged and slipped out into the
night in his shorts. We watched Forty prepare himself in
the next bed. He removed his boxers and pulled them over
his head and around his neck. Then he shook the folds out
of his stiffening penis and laid back to await Twenty-
one's return. He didn't have to wait long.
Twenty-one returned moments later carrying the first aid
kit from the truck. He checked Ali and I once more before
returning to Forty's side and opening the kit. I took
advantage of his back being to us to reach around Ali and
grasp his genitals. I had been right. He was awake and
just as interested as I in what was taking place in the
next bed. Already he was half hard. I brought him the
rest of the way, and my own member was already at full
staff and straining to part his ass cheeks by the time
Twenty-one began to tie Forty to the bed with the gauze
bandages from the first aid kit.
We watched in fascination as Forty tested each bond and
Twenty-one's boxers bulged as he considered his coming
conquest. When Forty was satisfied he ordered Twenty-one
to lose the boxers. The desert moon lit the scene as
Twenty-one's shorts slipped down and that wonderful
arching erection of his finally popped into view. I
glanced at Forty's face to see if he might be
reconsidering his folly, but there was nothing in his
countenance to suggest surprise or terror or any other
emotion, for that matter, other then anticipation.
Twenty-one finished removing his underwear and I felt an
involuntary shudder shake Ali's body. I'm pretty sure he
was laughing, but he was doing it quietly and keeping it
to himself. I, too, found the situation hopelessly
humorous, but I wanted to see what would happen. I
squeezed Ali's dick to warn him to stop and he quieted.
But Forty had noticed something and jerked his head
towards us with a sharp whispered command in Arabic. I
closed my eyes and felt the heat from Twenty-one's face
as he once again leaned over us to check our breathing. I
tightened my grip on Ali's pecker to warn him not to
move, lest he lose a very important part of his anatomy.
Twenty-one's inspection took longer this time and he even
lifted the covers to try to see where my hand was. I
loosened my grip on Ali's member as I felt the sheets
rising and what Twenty-one saw was my hand lying along
the curve of Ali's belly just under the elegantly
sculptured navel that always drew attention. I guessed at
the time that Ali was really getting into it. His body
was very warm, almost hot to the touch.
I heard an involuntary little gasp and wondered who had
made it. But I did not wonder enough to fall for the
ploy, if it was one, to make me open my eyes. It had to
have been Twenty-one. He lowered the sheets and returned
to his bed. I opened my shado wed eye again and made sure
that he had indeed finished his inspection. Then I
cautiously reattached my hand to Ali's manhood and opened
my other eye far enough to see clearly.
Twenty-one was sucking Forty. He did not concentrate on
one thing in particular, but went wherever his fancy and
Forty's whispered commands took him, from nipple to toes,
from navel to nuts, things he couldn't suck he licked,
like the soles of Forty's feet, or his knees. The only
thing he didn't suck was the one thing most people head
for right off the bat.
The love-making was being orchestrated, of course, by
Forty, who writhed on the bed and strained at his bonds
as his attacker devoured him. His rock hard erection
stood straight up from his body and seemed to glow silver
in the moonlight, but that was just the way the light
struck it. Forty did not have a silver cock, nor did he
have a condom.
Twenty-one's answering erection slapped at his belly, but
if he tried to touch it there would be a harshly
whispered command from Forty and Twenty-one's hand would
let go causing the thing to spring back against him with
a solid slap that probably would have wakened Ali and me
if we hadn't already been awake and watching.
The more Twenty-one licked and sucked the less the two of
them seemed to care about the noise they were making.
They seemed to have forgotten that we were there, so lost
were they in the passion of the moment.
They weren't the only two who were affected. Ali's penis
was also at full alert and I had to block it with my
thumb to keep it away from his belly. Mine was similarly
disposed, but firmly planted between Ali's ass cheeks.
The harder I got the further Ali was pushed up in the
bed. I know it sounds impossible, but that's what
happened, and I was having difficulty seeing past the
crown of his head, which had not been in my line of sight
when Twenty-one and Forty had started.
Forty said something to Twenty-one and the long lanky
Iraqi climbed onto the bed and sat on Forty's face. Well,
you know what I mean... He was kneeling with his legs on
either side of Forty's chest and he sort of settled his
ass onto Forty's face. We could hear Forty slurping
around back there and making it all wet and slippery. In
the moonlight I saw Twenty-one get some strange looks on
his face and he's rubbing Forty's stomach and down
through his abdomen to the good stuff, but he still
hasn't touched it that I know about.
They kept that up for about five minutes, or maybe it was
ten. Time acts strangely when you're watching a couple of
guys doing what they were doing. All of a sudden, though,
Forty tells Twenty-one something and Twenty-one turns
around and sits on the other end. He settles down on
Forty like a hen on eggs, slow and easy, and I'm amazed
that there isn't more noise, but then Twenty-one starts
rocking up and down and before too long the noise starts.
Forty is moaning and so is Twenty-one, but now Twenty-one
is in total control of everything but his vocal chords.
It doesn't take long before we see how stupid Forty can
look. He's obviously blowing up a storm inside Twenty-one
and Twenty-one is bopping up and down like crazy doing
him the best he can until Forty gives him the word and he
settles down and pulls off him.
Well, he has to go into the bathroom to take care of
dumping his juice, and Twenty-one glances over our way to
make sure we still haven't been disturbed, then he
toddles off with his finger over his asshole leaving
Forty tied up and kind of messy. We can see Forty moving
his arms and legs and kind of testing the bonds, waiting
for Twenty-one to get back. He doesn't have to wait long.
When Twenty-one gets back his cock is sticking out as
stiff as ever and the first thing he does is untie
Forty's feet. Forty says something to him, but Twenty-one
is not taking orders any more. He climbs up from the foot
of the bed and lifts Forty's legs up as he comes. Forty
complains a little about this, but Twenty-one tells him
to shut up, in English and spits on Forty's ass. He rubs
it in with the head of his dick, and then he's fucking
him deep and hard.
That's when Ali gets up and staggers to the bathroom.
This sort of surprises me, not to mention Twenty-one who
looks at me and realizes that I am awake too. He
recovered quickly though and barely missed a stroke. He's
still fucking Forty when he says, "You'd better go take
care of him, Boss. It's the pŸt,. He ate a lot of it."
I found Ali on the toilet. He was green in the gills and
sweating profusely. I knelt beside his poor shrivelled
form as he doubled over with cramps and his anxious eyes
swam, trying to focus on me.
"I'll get a doctor..."
"Don't... don't leave," he pleaded. "I... Ayee..." There
was a twist of pain knotting his face and I heard him let
go. The poor kid was shitting through the eye of a
needle. "Larry, I'm dying..."
"No, you're not, Ali. You just had some bad food." But I
didn't believe what I was saying. I knew enough about
food poisoning to know that people did sometimes die from
it. "Twenty-one!"
"Yah, Boss..." He was standing in the door seconds after
I called him.
"Get a doctor, man!" I ordered. "I don't care where, or
how much it costs." But I was talking to an empty
doorway. I heard the door of the motel room close almost
before I'd finished. I remember hoping that Twenty-one
had remembered to pull on his boxers.
"Larry..." Forty called.
"What is it, Forty?"
"Can you come here a minute?"
"Sorry man, I can't leave Ali. Why don't you come in
here." As soon as I said it I knew the answer, of course.
Forty was still tied to the bed by the wrists. He
probably still had his boxer shorts around his neck. But
there was nothing I could do for him, except hope that
Twenty-one got back quickly.
"Larry," Ali moaned.
"What is it, baby?"
"Don't let them bury me here in the sand. Take me home
with you."
"You aren't going to die, Ali. And nobody is ever going
to separate us."
The motel door opened and I heard Twenty-one come in. The
light flicked on in the big room and I heard a strange
voice exclaim and begin to speak in Arabic. Twenty-one
answered it in English, "No, man, the patient is in the
bathroom. This guy is... my date."
I don't know what I expected, but I know for sure that it
was not what I saw. A familiar dumpy form filled the
bathroom door. It was dressed in restaurant whites with
the number thirty-seven scribbled on the shirt in marker
ink. But he carried a small black bag.
"Thirty-seven!" I exclaimed, "You're a doctor?"
"I'm a doctor, but my number is Thirty-three... oh shit I
grabbed the wrong shirt! He ate the pŸt,, huh?"
"Pigged out on it," Twenty-one commented wryly from the
other room as he cut the bonds that held Forty.
"Well, let me have a look at him."
I got up and let Doctor Thirty-three take my place in the
crowded lavatory. I sidled over to Twenty-one who was now
anxiously staring through the doorway.
"I told him to lay off that stuff," he told me. "Now he's
getting ready to meet Allah."
"He doesn't believe in God," I answered absently.
"Maybe he didn't used to," Twenty-one informed me, "but
he does now. That's who he's talking to."
"He's praying?"
"He has a right to," the doctor interjected. "He's in
pretty bad shape. He should be in a hospital, but I don't
think he would travel too well. Let's put him back into
bed and see what happens. He's young and strong. We'll
get some ice and try to cool him off. Who wants to take
the first shift?"
I lifted him from the toilet and cleaned him as best I
could. Then I carried him to our bed as Twenty-one went
for the ice. I applied cold towels to him for the rest of
the night and the doctor made the rounds of the other
rooms looking after the other pŸt, lovers in our group.
None of them had had as much as Ali, evidently.
Ali drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the
rest of the night and the next day. I stayed there with
him and held his hand for all that time, except a half an
hour when things got a little exciting outside and I had
to let Twenty-one take over while I straightened things
out with the M.P.'s who arrived with the truck driver we
had abandoned in Riyadh the day before. We got to keep
the truck and the M.P.'s took the driver back to
headquarters to explain why he had left the vehicle
parked with the key in the ignition and forty prisoners
of war in the back.
It was as the jeep was driving away that I noticed
another jeep in the parking lot. It had not been there
that morning. I walked over to it and examined it. It was
one of the V.I.P. vehicles from Riyadh and it was still
cooling off. Evidently Winston had taken my advice about
truck drivers knowing where everything is. I hoped that
Five was not a pŸt, lover. Then I remembered that Five
would not have had a chance to eat much at the reception.
He had been busy being devoured by Winston.
The next morning Ali's fever broke and I awoke beside him
under sheets soaked with his perspiration to find him
looking at me. He was very weak, naturally, but he
managed a shy smile and an apology for the trouble he had
caused me.
"You weren't the only one who was sick, Ali."
He looked disappointed.
"But you were the only one we thought we might lose," I
hastened to add and this seemed to satisfy him.
"How about you, Larry?"
"I don't like pŸt..."
"I don't either... anymore. What time is it?"
I looked at my watch. "Four thirty."
"Good," he answered, "at least I haven't held everybody
up. Are we still going to the camp today?"
"That was supposed to have been yesterday, baby," I
soothed. "You've been asleep for a while."
"How long?"
"A day and a half," Thirty-three answered from the next
bed. "Larry has been with you all that time."
"You've got a good friend there, Ali," Twenty-one added
lifting himself up on one elbow to peer over the
substantial frame of the doctor.
"Yes, I know," Ali answered. "He saved my life again."
"That was the doctor," I interjected.
"No," Thirty-three objected, "that was the will of
Allah."
"I don't believe in Allah..."
"Sheesh!" Twenty-one hissed and fell back into bed. "I
don't believe this guy!"
"Ali," Thirty-three pressed, "It is very ungrateful for
you to say that. What you believe is not important. But
it is obvious that Allah has a plan for you. Your life is
important only when you see how it affects other people.
Do you think that we gave ourselves up to a man with a
gun? Do you believe that?"
"Why not? It's true," Ali countered.
"It is half true," Thirty-three corrected. "We gave
ourselves up to a man with a gun and an Iraqi boy who
used to be his prisoner, but then became his friend. I am
sorry, Larry, but it is true. You were just another
soldier until you showed us how you treated Ali. Ali gave
you legitimacy in our eyes. You became a man we knew we
could trust."
"I'll buy that," I said. Then I turned to Ali. "You'd
better give up, kid. They heard you praying in the
bathroom."
That was the first time I got the last word. Ali drifted
off to sleep again before he could come up with anything.
I went for an early morning walk around six o'clock to
dry off in the desert air. At that time of the day the
desert is nice. What I saw in the parking lot disturbed
me a little, though. Winston's jeep was still there, but
it had been moved to another spot outside a unit that we
hadn't rented. Neither Ali nor I had done a head check in
the past day and a half, but I was pretty sure I would
come up one short if I was to pull a surprise bed
check... so I didn't.
I got out past the first dune, where Ali and I had made
love, and was surprised to find the indentation where his
body had been. Usually the desert takes care of things
like that in a relatively short time. The poet in me
tried to interpret the desert's hesitancy to cover our
tracks as a sign that our love would last, then I caught
sight of Five watching me from the top of the next dune.
It wasn't Ali's indentation I was looking at. My private
moment was over. I was surrounded again. Winston and
Abdul joined me moments later.
"Nice robes," Winston remarked facetiously. "You must
have great pyjamas."
I smiled wanly. "I sleep in the nude. When did you get
here?" I asked.
"Yesterday," he answered. "My boss got sick suddenly, and
had to take a couple of days off to recuperate. That gave
me some free time."
"How'd you manage to end up here?"
"It's funny you should ask," Winston smiled. "I was on my
way to have a look for that camp you told me about and I
took your advice. I asked a group of drivers where the
camp was. It turned out that one of them had to go there
to pick up a vehicle, and he said he would show me, if I
would give him a ride. On the way up he spotted your
truck and said that it was the one he was looking for and
it shouldn't be at the motel. Well, we flagged down some
M.P.'s and had them check the truck out. I sort of lost
track of what was happening, but I guess he left with the
M.P.'s. You've obviously still got the truck."
"And you've obviously found Abdul."
"Hi, Larry."
"Hi, Abdul. We'll be leaving around noon."
"I'll be ready. How's Ali?"
"He's gonna live. Chances are he won't eat any more pŸt,,
though."
"Ah," Winston brightened, "you seem to have pinned down
the problem."
They wandered away into the desert and disappeared behind
a dune. I hoped that Five knew what he was doing, then I
realized that he probably did. He had attached himself to
two Americans now. If one of them couldn't keep him out
of Iraq, maybe the other one could. I hoped he liked the
guy. As far as Winston was concerned, there had never
been any doubts about his feelings for Five... er, Abdul.
That got me thinking about the demographic composition of
the whole group who had turned themselves in to me.
Obviously they were all men... well men and boys. A lot
of them spoke English or another language other than
Arabic. The ones who didn't were either very well
educated in highly specialized fields, or were still in
school when the war robbed them of their chance to learn.
Even Ali, who was an outcast, was extremely bright, and
had educated himself as his needs demanded.
A lot of my men were involved in sexual activity with
each other. Perhaps this was natural. Perhaps it was
because there were no women. Perhaps it was that old
Muslim bugaboo that kept the women segregated until
marriage. Whatever it was it brought to mind that joke,
in Arab countries, how do you seperate the men from the
boys? With a crowbar...
Ali and I had noticed the intellectual superiority of our
group early on. Twenty-one was Ali's favorite sparring
partner, a young man just out of university who had
brought books with him. Ali coveted the books and
borrowed them shamelessly. This led to debates as well as
conversations. I was amazed at the range of their
interests and their perceptions of those interests. They
really out-distanced me, but, hey, that isn't too hard.
I guess what I'm getting at is that it wasn't surprising
to find this particular group of men wanting to get out
of Iraq. They all felt either persecuted or wasted. I was
happy that the doc had explained about me not being the
one who had drawn them out of hiding. Sure it had been
Ali who's presence with me had encouraged them to join
us.
That was when it struck me that Ali was the only one who
had been captured. Did that make a difference, I
wondered? He had had plenty of opportunities to escape.
He had even had opportunities to kill me. His love seemed
genuine, though. He did not serve me subserviently
either. My ass had been reamed by him now as often as his
had been reamed by me. But what did the war have to do
with it? Were we clutching each other because we were
afraid and grasping at the first sympathetic comrade we
could find? Was it something else? Was it real?
What is reality after all? Most people perceive reality
from different starting points. Ali's reality came from
Muslim beliefs. Mine was based in Christianity. I had
left the religion behind, of course, but I could not
leave the concepts. Why, for instance, had I bristled
when I had seen our medics in a truck with a red crescent
on the side of it instead of a red cross. That sort of
thing should mean nothing to an agnostic... but it did.
I wondered if I would have prayed if I had eaten the
pŸt,. They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I
hadn't really been tested on that theory yet unless you
count the incident at the docks in Kuwait. I suppose I
could have been killed that day and Ali and I would have
found out together, but I can't recall having been afraid
for my life. Until I touched Ali, I had just been doing
my job... just trying to survive...
Ali's fear of being buried in the sand haunted me. He
even wanted to escape if he was dead. I vowed to myself
and the rising sun that he would never go back to Iraq.
Then I hurried back to the motel room. I had to be with
him. And there was no way I would ever let him out of my
sight again.
We gassed up the truck and headed out at noon... a rather
stupid idea now that I think of it, but we got away with
it and my men were used to the sun anyway. Ali lay in the
front with his head on Twenty-one's shoulder and his feet
curled up in Thirty-three's lap.
I had managed to get directions to the camp from Jerry,
who was a little ticked to hear that we still had not
made it. Jerry didn't sound too good on the phone. He
told me he'd had diarrhea for two days and was not
feeling well at all. Evidently Jerry also liked pŸt,. I
commiserated with him and told him that there had been
something going through my men as well.
Jerry immediately became suspicious and suggested that it
might be a biological warfare weapon that had been used
by the Iraqi's. I told him that the disease had probably
been delivered by the Iraqi's but I suspected that the
means of delivery was probably more conventional. I don't
know what it is, but whenever I talk t o lawyers, I get a
charge out of playing with their pumpkins.
The camp came into view shortly after one o'clock. It was
a hive of activity although we were the first group to
arrive. The engineers were still putting up the fences
and topping them with razor wire. Ali lifted himself to a
seated position to see over the dash of the truck. The
razor wire caught his eye immediately.
"Why, Larry?" he asked weakly.
"It's standard operational procedure, Ali," I answered.
"They don't want anybody sneaking in at night."
"Nice tents..." Twenty-one offered. "Are they for us?"
"That's the idea," I answered. "Big, huh?"
"A hospital!" Thirty-three grinned. "Do you suppose they
will have medicines?"
"If they don't, we'll order some. Would you mind setting
it up, Doc?"
The dumpy little man smiled and I knew that I had found
my new family doctor. I liked his bedside manner.
I pulled the truck up outside the main gate and we all
climbed down. As I did, I couldn't help noticing the jeep
that had stopped well behind us at the top of the hill we
had just descended. It looked like a V.I.P. jeep and the
driver seemed to be blond. Five saw it too and he looked
a little worried about it.
Chapter Seven
Camp Whatchamacallit
Doc gave Ali a thorough examination in his new hospital
and declared him on the mend. But just to be on the safe
side he hooked him up to an I.V. drip and left him
overnight in my care. The hospital beds were comfortable
enough and we had a good night's sleep... for once.
The engineers were still working on perimeter projects.
All of the facilities inside the wire, as they referred
to their fence, were in place. My men watched the
engineers work and longed to give them a hand, but the
soldiers doing the labor sniffed contemptuously at the
offer. That's the trouble with guys who never actually
see any action. They're always unable to understand the
dynamics of conflict and the relationships that can
develop, even between opponents. Everything for these
guys was cut and dried... and they were absolutely wrong.
They didn't understand me at all. They figured that I
should know better. I know that some of them never got
over the way I treated my men, but that's okay. They all
left the second day we were there anyway.
The major who was in charge of the construction of the
camp handed over the keys on his way out. His services
were needed elsewhere, he informed me, rather
superciliously I thought, as if implying that mine
weren't. Evidently there were rather more prisoners being
taken than had been anticipated and there were camps to
construct further north... a little closer to the action.
He left me wondering what action he was talking about.
The motel television had been full of pictures of the
fleeing Iraqi's being picked off by the long guns and
smart missiles. They were running away and our boys were
shooting them in the back. There were even one or two
instances of our own tanks being struck by friendly fire.
Now there's an oxymoron for you.
I chucked my uniform and went back to my robes.
Already I was sick of war... and I'd only really seen it
on television. But I had these prisoners... there was no
escape... for them or for me.
I don't think that any of them really wanted to escape,
mind you. The only true captive in the crowd was me. And
I had surrendered to Ali... not the other way around. I
had this thought in my mind that first afternoon when I
called Jerry back in Riyadh. It was the first of a series
of daily calls to argue the case for my men. Yah, they
were my men by now. I had managed to accustom myself to
the notion that we were a group with a common purpose,
but that purpose seemed diametrically opposed to the
stated purpose of my country and the other allied nations
who had declared war on Iraq after her invasion of
Kuwait.
Any way, that's what Jerry told me. Every day it was the
same answer, regardless of which tack I took or angle I
tried to pursue. My prisoners were going to have to go
home. They had done nothing wrong in the eyes of the
Iraqi government by being caught by me. Their lives were
not in danger.
I mentionned Forty's dilemma. He had deserted. Jerry told
me a lot of Iraqi's had run away. He said that all Forty
was guilty of was having a bad sense of direction. I
thought his answer was rather glib and I told him so.
That's when he asked me if I had any idea of how many
prisoners we were dealing with. I told him I didn't care.
I had forty men who had chosen me to go to bat for them
and I intended to give it my best shot. I'll never forget
his answer to that.
"You'd better change your name to Casey," was all he
said. That's when I hung up on him.
The day after our arrival, Doc released Ali from the
hospital and I showed him to our quarters. Then I took
him on a tour of the camp.
He'd already seen the hospital, of course. I showed him
the kitchen tent and another one right beside it that had
been set up as a recreation area. Then I walked him to
the latrine. If he was going back on solid food I wanted
him to know where the toilets were... just in case.
The barracks tents were the largest and each one could
accomodate forty men. This was rather a convenient
figure. It meant that if others arrived we would be able
to keep our men segregated. For now, though, the men
slept wherever they felt like sleeping.
I kept the padlock for the main gate locked at all times.
It sat on a chair beside my cot where I could keep an eye
on it. We hadn't needed locks up until now. The fence was
unnecessary. The razor wire was overkill. My men had the
run of the place and there was no need to tell them not
to run away. We were all in this together.
I did do a bedcheck though, just so we'd know when
Winston was in the area. I didn't give Five a hard time
for sneaking out for liaisons. I reasoned that a friendly
ear in Washington might not be a bad idea, and Winston's
boss was due to return there within days.
Finally our first full day at the camp was over and Ali
and I retired for the night... at least, I had assumed
that was what we were doing. Ali had other ideas. He was
feeling frisky. I welcomed his recovery and asked him
what he had in mind.
He looked at me strangely and bit his lower lip as he
reached into his robes and produced several packages of
gauze bandage rolls.
"You were watching those two idiots the other night," I
laughed. "I hope you aren't serious about this. There's
no way I'm letting you tie me up."
He handed me the bandages and cast his eyes down at our
feet. Evidently he had stopped speaking again. I was
getting the idea though. We were about to play a bondage
game and Ali was waiting for me to start giving him
orders.
I threw the bandages onto his cot and stepped behind him.
He didn't move as I circled him and stared at him from
every conceivable angle. His eyes remained downcast, his
manner subservient. I touched his robes and pulled them
towards me. He flinched a little but didn't retreat, so I
loosened them and let them drop around his naked feet.
His penis was flaccid and his testicles were slung low in
their sack. I had never known Ali to exhibit this kind of
control before. He seemed to be actually living the part
of a frightened young man facing his first unsolicited
experience with a man who would be his captor.
I touched the skin of his arm and felt him almost cringe
away from me. It frightened me to think that this was the
same playful boy who had taken my virginity. He played
the part so well. It really turned me on to meet this
other side of Ali. Could it be another personality? I'd
heard of that, of course. Like most people I hadn't
believed a bit of it... until now...
I grasped his shoulders, but he still refused to raise
his eyes, so I did it for him, lifting his chin with my
right hand. His eyes were closed, but his left cheek was
stained with the trail of a tear that had made its way to
his chin. As I watched another tear followed it.
Whatever he was doing, he was living the part
beautifully.
"Open your eyes," I ordered and was surprised by the hard
edge that my voice had.
He trembled and complied, but as his eyes opened, two
more tears coursed down his cheeks, and he started to
worry me. I stepped around him again and paused behind
him. If he was going to play a scared kid, I would give
him something to be scared about. I touched my index
finger to the base of his neck and traced his spine down
to his tail bone.
I paused there with my finger at the top of his ass crack
and felt him shiver. I knew that he wasn't cold. We were
both perspiring from the heat. I inched down through his
fleshy ass cheeks and felt his muscles tighten trapping
my finger... preventing its passage.
"Relax!" It was an order. I heard him draw a short breath
of air and knew that he would probably not obey me right
away. My finger remained trapped.
It was not in my nature to hurt anyone... especially Ali.
There was no way I would be able to bring myself to
physically attack him, either in reality or in whatever
this was that he had dreamed up for us. I'm sure he knew
that. But just the same, this was not Ali. This was a
creation of Ali. This was his "what if" character, his
alter ego come to life.
He was forcing me to create an opposite number, a ying to
his yang, a night to his day. I warned him again and I
think I added a time limit. It must have expired, because
I pulled my finger roughly from his ass and spun him
around to face me. I raised my hand as if to strike him
and he winced in anticipation and squeezed his eyes shut.
I'd had no intention of hitting him. I grasped his
shoulders and held them tightly as I looked down his
naked body and my eyes came to rest finally on his Arab
boy feet.
I had seen his feet everyday for the past week. I had
kissed them. I had sucked his toes. But I had never
really noticed them. They were at once ugly and elegant.
Several nails were chipped and broken. The toes were big
and clunky, not in keeping with the rest of the body
which was lithe and cat-like, but at the same time the
feet were compact and the toes were even, none of them
either too far ahead or too far behind its neighbors.
The feet themselves were thick, while the instep did not
rise far enough to fail to leave its imprint in the sand.
These were feet that had evolved for one purpose, walking
in the desert.
He must have wondered what I was doing, because he opened
his eyes and followed my gaze downward. When he saw what
I was looking at he lifted one foot and tried to cover
the other with it. I shook him until he felt his balance
go and staggered back onto two feet again, but his toes
began to curl to try to hide themselves.
I raised my eyes and found his navel. Again I used my
finger to trace its bumps and indentations, but as I did
I felt his body begin to convulse silently as he started
to cry in earnest. I wanted to hug him and hold him until
the tears were gone, but I owed him his fantasy...
I pulled him roughly to the cot that was to be his. I
forced him down onto it although he put up a struggle. I
straddled him to keep him there while I unrolled the
gauze bandages and wrapped his right wrist.
Tears were streaming from his eyes as I finished
attaching him to the cot. I know it was hard for him to
see me as I undressed, but he watched, and strained at
his bonds all the while as I revealed myself and my
intentions. I was rock-hard and he knew damned well where
I was going to put that thing. It was going into every
orifice that was large enough or could be stretched large
enough to take it.
Except, of course, that I couldn't do it.
Regardless of his true feelings for me, to take him that
way would have been rape. I hated to disappoint him, but
even though I wanted to live with Ali and share my life
and my wordly goods (what there was left) with him, even
though I wanted to give him what he wanted, I had to
remember that I would also have to live with myself.
Agnostic though I was, there were still things in the
Bible that made sense. I suppose that they are in the
Koran too. I couldn't escape the notions that had been
bred into me. You just don't do that.
I slumped to the floor of the tent at the foot of the cot
with one of those beautiful clunky feet of Ali's on
either side of my head and tried to think of a way of
explaining to him what he would undoubtedly want to know.
"It's all right, Larry," he said eventually.
"Why were you crying, then?" I asked, but I still
couldn't bring myself to look at him.
"Because you scared me."
"I thought you wanted me to scare you."
"I did... you did a good job."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I know. I guess I've always known that."
"Always is a long time, Ali. We've only known each other
for a week."
"Then I'm a week old, Larry. There was nothing before
you."
I reached up and grasped his left foot and kissed it. The
tent was quiet for a while. I kissed the right one too.
"You really should move up to this end," he advised. "I'm
not sure, but I think it tastes better."
"Your feet taste all right," I told him.
"They might taste okay, but they're ugly. Come up here
please, Larry. You're embarrassing me."
I crawled to the head of the cot and sat facing away from
him.
"Are you going to untie me?"
"No."
"What, never?"
"Well, not for a little while."
"Why not?"
"I don't want you to escape. You are still my prisoner. I
have the right to restrain you."
"I thought you said you didn't want to hurt me."
"I don't. Tell me something, Ali. Are you ticklish?"
"No." He said it too fast.
"That's good," I smiled and got up. I loomed over him and
he knew what was coming.
"Larry..."
"You won't mind if I find out for myself, then."
"Larry... don't..."
"Excuse me, Ali," I grinned maniacally, "I've always
heard that it's a good plan to start at the bottom and
work your way up." I went to the foot of the cot and
started on the soles of his feet.
He was stoic about it. He didn't kick or anything. For a
while there I thought he might have been telling the
truth... but just for a while. It didn't last. By the
time I'd made my way up to his armpits he had turned to
jelly and was shaking helplessly with laughter as he
screamed for help from anybody. I think the tent door
opened at one point. It was probably Twenty-one who came
to Ali's assistance. It usually was. If it was, he didn't
come in.
The tears were streaming down his cheeks again when I
finally let up on him. I licked the tears away and kissed
him. He responded, pushing his tongue into my mouth. Our
teeth collided. This started us laughing again.
I worked my way down his still bound body licking and
sucking everything in sight and fondling him as I went.
He exploded into my mouth almost as soon as I swallowed
his cock. This was all right. I still wasn't finished and
neither was he. Ali was always good for at least two and
sometimes three rounds in one session.
I finally made it back to his feet. I spent a while there
lavishing attention on them and washing them with my
tongue. The desert air dried them quickly. I untied them
and crawled up between them until I was once again face
to face with him. He kissed me and asked me to fuck him.
It was all right now. The bonds did not matter any more.
I left his hands tied though so that he would still feel
helpless even while his legs wrapped themselves around me
and spurred me on to more frenzied love-making.
I wanted to see if I could make him come without touching
himself. I lifted his legs over my shoulders and laid
into him, driving him further and further up in the cot
until his head was dangling over the edge. I rammed him
harder as I heard him beginning to moan and saw him
getting that stupid look on his face... well, what I
could see of his face. I glanced down in time to see him
shoot a wad of jism onto his belly. This triggered me and
I unloaded within him as he squeezed me with his legs
that were now about my neck and threatening to strangle
me.
Eventually we both relaxed and slumped onto the cot side
by side gasping. I pulled him back to a more comfortable
position, one where he could breath again, anyway, and we
laid there side by side inhaling each other's
fragrances... I guess I should say odors.
I did eventually untie his wrists, but not until I had
once again devoured every inch of him and licked him
clean.
We slept together in my cot that night. His was soaking
wet, of course.
"Larry?" Ali said sometime in the night.
"Hmmm?"
"What did they name this place?"
"They didn't. They just built it and left. They were a
mindless bunch of jerks. Names weren't important to
them."
"Shouldn't it have a name?"
"I suppose it should. We'll have to have something to put
on the postcards. How about Camp Ali?"
"Get serious."
"I was."
"Forget that. It should be named after somebody or
something important shouldn't it?"
"You're important..."
"Only to you. I meant somebody or something everybody
knows."
"How about Camp Onion Ass?"
"How about getting serious? We could call it Camp St
Laurent."
"No way... I thought you didn't like that name."
"I'm getting used to it."
"Well, forget it. Why does it have to be named after
somebody anyway? Why not name it after something we all
know?"
"Why don't you name it after one of those things with
treads and tires. You know the things that look like they
were put together by two different people..."
"You mean a tank?"
"No it's like a tank but it's like a truck too... You've
seen them... you know what I'm talking about..."
I did know of course, it's called a half-track, but I
couldn't come up with the name of the thing that night to
save my life. All I could think to call it was a
whatchamacallit. That's what we ended up naming the camp.
But it seemed to fit, somehow. It almost sounded like a
boys' camp. All we needed was a lake and some canoes.
Life seemed good there. My men had the run of the place
and they took pride in keeping it ship-shape and spotless
while I continued my brain-storming sessions and my daily
calls to pester Jerry.
Two days later we took the truck and went on a field
trip. Our money was getting low after the two nights at
the motel and the meals that went with them, but we had a
picnic lunch from the camp and enough money to fill the
truck with gas. We took a trip to the gulf to visit the
beach. It reminded me of Fire Island, except it was a lot
hotter. I carried Ali down to the water and threw him in,
robes and all. The oil had not made it down that far
yet... I'm not sure if it ever did... but the water was
warm and I dived into it after him.
The rest of the men seemed restrained and hesitant, but
they all eventually ended up at least puddling in the
surf. They had spent all of their time working and trying
to keep me happy. I guessed that they had sort of
forgotten how to enjoy themselves. At least that's what I
thought until Twenty-one told me about the jellyfish that
had been reported in the area.
We were driving home and everybody seemed relaxed and
happy. I heard the men in back begin to sing "Mairsey
Doats and Doesy Doats" and I knew that all was well. This
would be the night that Jerry would have to knuckle under
and find a loophole for my men.
The truck crested the ridge above Camp Whatchamacallit,
and my spirits sank. There was a whole platoon of
soldiers there. They had guns and a bus full of extremely
unhappy looking Iraqi prisoners of war. But that wasn't
what bothered me.
"Oh shit!" Ali said. He spoke for the both of us.
Juarez was pacing in front of the gate... the gate I had
locked for the first time since the engineers left. He
looked pissed. Something looked different about him too.
It took me a second to figure it out and when I did I
knew that we were all in trouble.
"The goddamn fools promoted him Major. Ali, get lost."
Ali ducked down beneath the dash as I pulled the truck up
behind the bus. I got down and headed straight for Juarez
and saluted him.
"Where the fuck have you been?" he screamed.
"Right where they told me to go, sir," I answered. I
unlocked the gate.
"What have you done with your prisoners?" he demanded.
"I took them with me, of course."
"Where?"
"Why, east sir. Those were my orders, weren't they?"
"What orders?"
"The message that came in on the radio, sir... about the
nerve gas..."
"What nerve gas?"
"I'm not sure, sir. All they told me was to evacuate
because they had a suspected gas incident and the wind
was carrying it in our direction. They told me to get
everybody out and wait for the all clear."
"Who told you? We didn't hear that."
"It was the Saudis, sir. We monitor their channels too...
er, at least my translator does. May I bring my men back
in now, sir? We'd sort of like to get a meal started."
He looked at my robes.
"Have you gone native or something?" he asked.
"Sorry, sir, but this was what I was wearing when the
call came. We left in a hurry. I didn't have time to
change."
"Well, do it now. And report to my office in fifteen
minutes."
He jerked his head at the gate and told me to go ahead.
Then he ordered his men to unload his prisoners. He had
another forty in the bus. My boys scurried in and moved
their stuff into the best tent, the one nearest the
kitchen and furthest from the latrines. Ali managed to
hide himself in the middle of the group and waited for me
at the hospital with doc.
There was a marked difference in the attitudes of the two
groups of P.O.W.'s. Mine were relaxed and smiling.
Juarez's group were sullen and dirty. It might have been
the bus ride that did it to them, or possibly they were
true captives who really didn't want to be there. I never
did find out. My men segregated themselves from the
others. Juarez's order to keep the two groups of
prisoners apart was completely unnecessary.
I changed and went to see Juarez. What he had to tell me
really ruined my day, although it seemed to make him
happy. We would all be going home soon. I asked him who
he meant when he said "all" and he replied that he meant
everybody.
"You, me, the frogs, everybody..."
"Do you mean the wogs, sir?"
"Huh?"
"You said 'frogs', sir. Frogs are French people. The
Iraqi's are the wogs... er, this time."
"Yah, them too."
"They're going home, sir?"
"Yes, Lieutenant, they're going home. The deal was cut on
the third... two days ago."
"But what about the war, sir?"
"The war is over, Lieutenant. I'm amazed that your Saudi
friends didn't tell you."
"I've been a little busy, sir. I hadn't noticed. I just
assumed that we would finish what we started."
I'm not really sure what Juarez said after that. I only
knew that there was nothing but trouble ahead for my men.
I saluted the idiot and went to the hospital to see Ali
and the Doc. Twenty-one was there too. I gave them all
the bad news. They took it better than I had.
"When?" Ali said finally.
"I don't know," I answered. "I guess whenever they get us
some transportation. The new guys probably know already.
None of them looked too happy."
"Yah," he said. "I guess we should tell our boys."
He walked away purposefully. I stopped him.
"No, Ali. That's my job. I'll tell them tonight after
dinner. I don't want any of you guys to say anything.
Just round them up in their tent at 1800 hours." I owed
them that much. I left the hospital and returned to our
quarters to call Jerry one last time.
Jerry was getting sick and tired of hearing from me. I
could tell by the way he screamed. He didn't give me a
chance to get a word in edgewise.
"Look, Larry, I've told you all week long, there's
nothing you can do. They are Iraqi's. Nobody in his right
mind is going to take an Iraqi into their country, let
alone forty of them. Do you have any idea how the people
would feel about that? They'd hang any politician that
even suggested it. Now read my lips. They go back to
Iraq. There's no place else for them. Everybody else is
against them. Iraq has no friends...except you... and
Jordan."
"Who's Jordan?"
"Not who... what."
"What?"
"The country, Larry, the country... Jordan is the only
country that didn't get into this little shindig."
"Jordan?"
"Yes, Larry, Jordan. They've been acting as a sort of a
mouthpiece for Hussein, you know, telling the world his
side of the story..."
"I thought that was being done by the television crews."
Jerry's laugh was sardonic. But then he seemed to lose
his bite. "I wish there was something I could do for you,
Larry. But you've got to be a big boy about this.
Sometimes things just don't work out. It's like falling
in love. Sometimes only one person falls in love. It
hurts to find out that you can't have the one person you
love the most, because they don't love you."
I knew that Jerry was speaking from experience. Well, I
knew Jerry... I don't suppose he knew how close his cock-
eyed analogy was to hitting home.
But still, he'd given me an idea. As it turned out it
wasn't a very good idea. At least it didn't seem like a
very good idea when it blew up in my face, but... There I
go again. I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Jerry, does the United States have an embassy in
Jordan?"
"I think so, Larry, why?"
"Nothin', I was just trying to think about where I might
be able to see the guys again... you know, after the
war?"
"Forget 'em, Larry. They won't even know who you are ten
days from now. And you've got bigger problems. Remember
that club of yours in New York. If it doesn't start to
turn a profit, you're going to lose it, just like the guy
who lost it to you."
"He lost it in a poker game. I won that place."
"And all the Accounts Payable too if I recall correctly.
He was trying to lose. He wanted out. You didn't win
anything. I'm your Lawyer, Larry, remember?"
"You're also the guy who talked me into becoming a
reservist. I wouldn't be in this mess now if I hadn't
listened to you."
"But you have to admit that the money you made in the
reserves is the only reason you've been able to keep that
place open and eat too. Don't be coy with me, Larry. This
little war came along just when you needed it. If it
hadn't been for Mr. Hussein, you'd have lost the club by
now. Now, thanks to being over here full-time, you might
even be able to make a go of it... but you can't afford
to go flying off to Jordan to have a reunion with a bunch
of guys who won't even bother to show up."
"You're wrong there, Jerry. You don't know these guys..."
"I know you though, Larry, and I know what you can afford
and what you can't. Now, my advice to you is put those
guys on the next bus out to Baghdad."
Have I told you that I hate lawyers?
I called Rawlings in to my tent and asked him to get the
keys for the bus and gas it up. Then I got my maps out.
Chapter Eight
Goin' Over Jordan
When Rawlings got back with the bus I invited him into my
tent and asked him what the hell had been happening since
I'd last seen them. Rawlings was wearing my stripes, I
had made it to Juarez's old rank, and Juarez had jumped
to Major. None of these promotions seemed to have been
inspired or deserved. I was wondering what Juarez had
done to make Major.
"He saved the oil from being blown up, sir," Rawlings
explained. "Leastways that's what he told them reporters.
I guess the brass had to acknowledge that after the thing
hit the television."
"You mean he told them he stopped Al... that kid from
setting the oil off?"
"That's right, sir," Rawlings smiled. "Only by the time
he told them about it, that kid was a six foot commando
threatening to blow the place with a hand grenade. He
evidently done hand to hand combat to stop him."
"That son of a bitch!"
"By that you would mean the Major, sir?"
"Precisely."
"I agree, sir."
Ali picked this time to return to the tent. Rawlings eyed
him suspiciously, especially when he threw himself onto
his cot and seemed to fall asleep. He'd had a hard day at
the beach.
"Pardon me, sir, but isn't that the wog from the docks?"
"Hmm? Oh, you mean the six foot commando? No, he's
dead... he was shot by an Iraqi soldier that night. This
fellow looks a lot like him, but he's my Kuwaiti
translator. His name is Ali... Ali Baba."
Ali lifted his head and smiled at Rawlings. "Us Arabs all
look alike," he said, then dropped back onto the pillow.
Rawlings left confused. This was a natural state of mind
for him. As soon as he'd gone Ali was up on one elbow.
"You're up to something," he said.
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
"Those maps, for one thing... sending soldier boy there
to gas up the bus for another... What are you up to,
Larry?"
"I don't suppose you would believe me if I told you that
I really don't know yet?"
"I don't know. Why don't you try me?"
"All right," I said, putting down my calipers and turning
to face him. I put on my most honest and earnest
expression. "I really don't know yet, Ali."
He looked at me and I saw his brow furrow. His head
nodded a couple of times. "You were right. I don't
believe you," he said.
"Do you have any idea how far one of those buses can go
on a full tank?" I asked.
"How far do you want to go, Larry?"
"I was thinking about a trip to Amman."
"Jordan? Why?"
"Because, as I see it, Jordan is the only other place
where we might be welcome. I thought it might be worth a
try. Once things quieted down we could make a try for the
States. At least in Jordan you would be free men."
"But you wouldn't, Larry. You would be court-martialed."
"Only if they caught me," I reasoned.
"They'd catch you, Larry. You're not that good without
somebody like me looking after you. Your life would be
ruined."
"I was just talking to my lawyer, Ali. He just finished
pointing out to me that I don't have a whole lot to lose.
I could stay in Jordan with you. We ought to be able to
sell the bus. If not we can convert it into a recreation
vehicle and live in it. What do you think?"
"I think you've been out in the sun too long." He smiled.
"I guess you were telling the truth about not knowing
what you're doing." He laid back on his bed. "Let me know
when you do come up with a plan." He rolled over and
buried his face in the pillow.
It was disconcerting to say the least. Ali should have
been more enthusiastic. There were no other alternatives.
I had exhausted them all with Jerry on the phone. Of
course it was risky. We would have to cross the Nefud
desert to reach Jordan without going into Iraq. I didn't
know how the bus would hold up to a trip of that length,
through terrain that was at best unpredictable and at
worst impassable. The chances were that the bus would not
make the trip in a straight line the way I had drawn it
on the map.
The chances of finding fuel on the desert were even
worse. We would probably end up on foot. But even with
all these problems facing us I h ad expected a more
positive response from Ali. It was so completely unlike
him that I had to start thinking along another line to
understand why he didn't want me to take them to Jordan.
In the end it was really very simple. He didn't want me
to get into trouble.
At 1800 hours I walked into the barracks tent and asked
the men to gather round. They were all waiting with
expectant faces. They had been told that I was coming
with news. They were afraid it might not be good. They
had reason to fear.
I laid it on the line for them and let them know that the
repatriation would begin very soon. It was quiet in the
tent except for my voice and Ali's translation. I told
them that I had done my best for them, but that the
prisoner exchange program had been agreed to on March
third and there was nothing we could do about it.
I looked at Ali. Then I started telling them about
Jordan. He wouldn't translate. The men who spoke English
looked at him and wondered why he had stopped. I asked
for another volunteer. Twenty-one stepped forward, but he
wasn't speaking Arabic. He was talking to me in English.
"Boss, that's the dumbest idea we've ever heard," he
said. "They'd send you to prison for the rest of your
life."
"Don't worry about me," I said. "I'll be all right." I
then went on to explain the advantages of the flight to
Jordan and ended with a promise that I would personally
sponsor each and every one of them into the States as
soon as I could make the arrangements back home.
"You mean after you get out of jail," Ali sneered.
"Will you let me worry about that?" I said.
"Ali," the Doc said, "Do you not remember what I told you
about your life having a purpose? Do you not think that
Larry's could also have one?"
"Yah, sure," Ali answered. "Breaking rocks at Sing
Song..."
"That's Sing Sing," I corrected... then wondered why I
had bothered.
"But perhaps this is his purpose. Would you deny him the
opportunity to fulfill it?"
"Nothing personal, Doc," Ali answered, "but how long do
you think you'd survive on the desert if the bus did
break down?"
"I might die," the Doc returned. "But at least I would
die trying for a better life. Have you been away from
your homeland so long that you have forgotten what it is
like to live in a land where you can be killed because
you learned too much? Or perhaps that was not a problem
for you."
Ali shot a look at the Doc that would have killed if
looks could. But he kept his tongue still.
"Tell me now, Ali, have you forgotten how you pleaded
with Larry to take your body home with him if you died.
Why would a Kuwaiti do that?"
Ali stormed from the tent. Doc turned his sights on
Twenty-one. "Does your mother know about the games you
like to play?" he asked. Twenty-one shrank back onto the
cot behind him.
Five stood up. "When do we leave, Larry?" Evidently Abdul
figured the Doc would get to him next.
"It'll have to be tonight," I said. "We're going to need
a distraction around midnight as far away from the main
gate as possible."
I heard Twenty-one's voice begin to translate.
I found Ali in our tent which was just outside the
compound. He looked sullen. I smiled at him.
"I'm sorry, Larry," he said. "The Doc was right. I was
only thinking of myself. I hadn't even thought about you
or the rest of the guys. I just didn't want to blow my
chance of going home with you."
"You don't have to come with us, Ali. But I wouldn't stay
here either if I were you. Why don't you hitch a ride
into Riyadh and go see Jerry. I'll give you a note for
him and tell him to look after you until I get back..."
"Who are you trying to kid? You won't be coming back..."
He shook his head. "I hitched my wagon to a falling star,
didn't I, Larry?"
I couldn't answer that. My life had been a series of ups
and downs. Sometimes I felt like a toilet seat at a mixed
party. Most days, when I wake up, I have to check my bank
book to know if it's worthwhile getting out of bed.
I smiled at him again. If we did stick together the kid
was in for a bumpy ride.
"One way or another, Ali, I'll be back," I said. "I
promised you that we'd be together, and I don't break my
promises. But I made a promise to those other guys too. I
can't just forget about that. They need me now. They need
me tonight. There's no telling when the bus will arrive
to take them back to Baghdad. Tomorrow might be too late
for them. You can see that can't you? You'll be safe with
Jerry. You have your i.d. But... god, I'm gonna miss
you."
"I don't believe in God..." He was in my arms.
"So you keep saying..." His breath was hot and wet on my
shoulder. His body was convulsing with sobs... but so was
mine. I couldn't believe that we were saying goodbye. I
don't think that he could either. We both knew the
chances of me getting back across the Nefud... that is if
I made it to Amman in the first place.
I parked him on his cot and sat down to write the letter
to Jerry. In it I assigned my wages to Ali and gave him
power of attorney on my bank account. I asked him to look
after the young man and take him to the States, if
possible. I pointed out that he had Kuwaiti citizenship
and had served me well during his time in my employ. I
supposed that we should have a witness. There was one at
the main gate. He was guarding it. I took the letter out
and Rawlings signed it for me. I guessed that would
satisfy Jerry.
I put the letter into our knapsack along with the rest of
our money and a fresh change of underwear.
"Give me your hand," I said as he prepared to depart.
"Which one do you want?" he sniffed.
"The left one..."
He held his hand out and I clasped it. Then before he
could protest I slipped my watch over our hands and onto
his wrist. My father had given me that watch. Ali had
always admired it.
He hugged me and I kissed him deeply in the privacy of
our tent, then to make the story stand up I pushed him
through the door of the tent and onto his ass in front of
Rawlings.
"Filthy little wog! Get the fuck out of here! If I ever
see you around here again I'll turn you over to the
Iraqi's. I hear they like boys like you!"
The look of shock on Ali's face was real. The shame was
real too, but it would wear off. He pulled himself to his
feet and scurried up the hill. I hated myself. And I
wondered if I would ever see him again.
"Trouble, sir?" Rawlings asked stepping away from his
post.
"The little son of a bitch tried to blow me," I said
watching the white robes fade into the darkness.
"Filthy little wog..." Rawlings agreed. He returned to
his post and I went back into my tent... and bawled like
a baby.
Doc worked a miracle at midnight. Twenty-one delivered
it. The forty sleeping Iraqi's in the tent by the
latrines gave us our distraction. They thought they were
being gassed.
In reality, they were... but it was not nerve gas that
the Doc had concocted, it was a stink bomb, and good old
Twenty-one lobbed it right into the middle of their tent.
The confusion and screaming woke the soldiers who were
rushed in by Juarez. He himself led the charge and
directed the men while I took over guard duty at the
gate. I counted forty naked bodies as they streaked past,
then I closed the gate and fixed the lock in place. That
in itself wouldn't hold them long, but the wad of gum I
had worked into the keyhole might give us an extra minute
or two.
The men were naked because I had been able to see Ali's
robes a long way off. Since my men all wore whites, there
was a good chance that they too would have been seen
whereas their tans wouldn't. They dressed on the bus,
which was parked at the top of the hill. I released the
emergency brake and coasted backwards until the camp was
out of sight. Then I started her up. She was awfully
noisy.
"Sound off," I called when we were finally on the
highway.
"One," One answered.
"Two," Two shouted... well you get the idea. With the
lights off it was hard to be sure we had everybody. I
listened to the men. They knew the order by now. I was
relieved to hear each voice in turn and felt good when
Forty said, "Forty."
"Forty-one," a familiar voice breathed into my right ear.
If there had been a ditch we would have been in it.
"Ali!"
"Does this bus go all the way to New York?" he asked.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"You can't keep a good wog down. You'd be lost without
me, Larry."
He was right, of course. But that didn't stop me from
being upset.
"I wanted you to be safe."
"I feel safe whenever I'm with you, Larry. I don't want
to be anywhere except where you are."
"You're crazy, you know?"
"Uh-huh."
"We probably won't make it."
"So what? We'll be together. That's the main thing. Turn
left here."
"Twenty-one's navigating."
"I know a short cut. Left... here... You're not the only
one who knows maps."
"But there's no road, Ali."
"There will be... left, Larry."
I turned left and we bumped out across a hard level
plain. Ali reached over and switched off the lights.
There was a crescent moon and a billion stars. It was
enough to see by. Hell, there wasn't a road anyway, just
a direction. About an hour after we had turned off the
highway Ali's promised road appeared. But Ali was at the
back of the bus then, watching for signs of pursuit. We
bumped onto the road and picked up speed.
I can only piece together what happened back at Camp
Whatchamacallit from conversations I had later with
Rawlings and some of the other men. There was a lot of
confusion, of course, but that was the way we had planned
it.
The other group of Iraqi prisoners really and truly
believed that they were going to die. That's one of the
side effects of propaganda. A small area of your brain is
filled with information that you can't get rid of. It's
sort of like a television commercial. No matter how
stupid the jingle is, you remember it when you see the
product. You don't think about it all the time, but when
something triggers it, the effect is immediate, and with
gas, the terror is complete.
Some of those men were hurt in the stampede to get out of
there. We didn't want that to happen... but it did.
Juarez's men pulled on their masks as soon as they got a
whiff. This made it more difficult for them to see, and
naturally they were a little nervous, especially when
forty Iraqi prisoners of war came at them trying to get
their masks. We hadn't thought about that.
What saved the day was a rather smallish Iraqi P.O.W. who
had been trampled in the crowd. His cries for help
somehow managed to make it through the other noise and
Rawlings heard him. He ran into the tent and picked the
guy up and carried him to the hospital.
That made everybody stop and think. Surely, if the gas
had been poisonous, the Iraqi would have been dead. He'd
been exposed to it the longest. Everybody seemed to calm
down a little and Juarez sent for Doc to come and have a
look at the injured men. That was when the shit hit the
fan. The soldier reported back that Doc was gone. He also
mentioned that the entire tent seemed to be empty. Juarez
immediately smelled a rat. I'll give him that... he knew
what they smelled like.
When they got to the gate and tried their key, they
discovered my gum stash. This caused Juarez to lose his
cool and he grabbed one of the guns to shoot the lock
off. I don't know if you've ever tried to shoot something
as unsteady as a lock hanging off a gate, but let me tell
you it isn't as easy as it looks. The first bullet grazed
the lock and ricocheted through the windshield of
Juarez's jeep.
This made him really mad and he ordered somebody to hold
the lock steady, but fortunately for the rest of the men,
they were no longer attending. They knew that the war was
over and they did not want to take a bullet regardless of
whose gun it might have come from, or what it might have
passed through or bounced off previously.
It took Juarez three more rounds before the lock
surrendered. By this time, however, the bus was booting
across the plain in what we thought was a south-west
direction, and one of the three jeeps had a flat tire. We
had a good start on them.
That didn't stop Juarez from giving chase. He hopped into
his jeep and yelled an order. The other jeep quickly
filled and set out in the night to follow him. The
remaining men herded the Iraqi's into the tent my men had
vacated earlier. Then they tried to find another lock for
the gate.
We stopped the bus at sunrise in the shelter of a huge
rock face. Our plan was simple. We would drive in the
dark and try to find someplace to hide during the day.
We laid our maps out on a ledge of rock and tried to
agree on where we were. There were as many different
opinions as there were people. We got a clue from the
sun. It was still coming up in the east and going down in
the west, so we decided to watch where it went and follow
it.
There was water at our rest stop, and we refilled our
bottles and topped the radiator of the bus. But it wasn't
water I was worried about. We had two more days of travel
ahead of us and the fuel gauge was already down to half.
I must have looked worried because Ali asked me what the
problem was.
"To be absolutely honest," I told him, "we're running out
of gas."
"Is that all?" he grinned.
"That's everything!" I said. "Without gas we'll be stuck
in the desert. We have absolutely no idea where we are
and we don't know what we're going to run into out
there."
"Relax, Larry," he said taking my hand and guiding me to
the side of the bus. He pulled the luggage hatch open and
lifted it. "Will these help?"
There were four petrol cans tied into the cavity. They
were full too.
"Where the hell did you get those?"
"One came from the truck. The other three were in the
jeeps. I didn't think you would think to take them. You
were too busy trying to figure out where you were going."
"But how did you get them?"
"Very quietly... I came back after you threw me out."
"That was a risky thing to do, Ali. Those robes of yours
reflect the light."
"I didn't wear them."
"Great minds think alike."
I kissed him.
"Please, Larry, not in front of the men..."
We topped the gas tank and still had spare fuel. I led
Ali to the shade of the rocks and we found a place where
we could sleep the day away. Soon he was breathing
shallow regular breaths that told me he was asleep. His
head was on my chest and I thanked God that he was back
with me. Yah, I prayed. Wouldn't you?
I guess it was about then that Juarez and his men were
parking at the top of a bluff that overlooked the desert.
They had a vantage point that gave them a panorama.
Nothing could move without them being able to see it.
Unfortunately for them there was nothing moving. They
knew this for a fact. They watched the desert not move
all day. Along about four o'clock they decided it might
be a good idea to refuel the jeeps. That was when they
discovered that they had no spare fuel.
Juarez began to rant again. They radioed for somebody to
bring them some gas. Then they siphoned the remaining
fuel from the other jeep into Juarez's vehicle and he set
out alone to reconnoitre while his men followed his
progress and watched for anything moving.
After a while they saw something. It was on towards dusk
that they noticed it. It was so big that they really
couldn't miss it. We saw it too, and we climbed aboard
the bus and took our bearings. They would be the last
bearings we would get for a while as the sandstorm
swallowed us. We figured it would be a good idea to keep
going. The road was still visible most of the time. When
we couldn't see it we kept on it by feel.
If our wheels strayed to one side or the other the
roughness of the shoulder was easy to feel and correct.
Of course there were some blind sections that made us
slow up and there was one spot where I'd thought I'd lost
the road completely , but just when I thought I was going
to have to stop and backtrack a signpost loomed in front
of me and I ran it over, but I managed to get back on the
road.
We knew that Juarez was somewhere behind us. We'd heard
him on the radio. We figured, however, that the sandstorm
would stop him. He was in an open jeep while we were in a
closed bus. I hadn't counted on one thing, though. I'd
really pissed him off.
Juarez had been directed to our location by the soldiers
on the ridge. Then they had lost him in the sandstorm and
had needed to take cover themselves when the winds
overtook their location. The bus left very little in the
way of a trail, but we were on the only road in the area.
You really couldn't call it much of a road. It was just a
trail across the desert where traffic had hardened the
crust and worn it into a rut.
Juarez set his wheels into it and followed us. In reality
he was just covering territory... just trying to keep up.
He didn't expect to catch us and it surprised the hell
out of him when he had to slam on the brakes to avoid
rear-ending the bus.
It was stopped in the middle of the road.
He drew his sidearm and dug himself out of the jeep. The
bus was still running. It loomed like a building in front
of him. He felt his way cautiously along the side and
approached the driver's window with his weapon at the
ready. Then he leapt around to the front of the bus and
pointed the gun at the windshield. But the bus was empty.
That was when he felt the barrel of the Iraqi rifle touch
his neck.
I was already handcuffed to the Iraqi jeep. The driver
had been just about to take off when he got the call to
wait... that there was another one. They marched Juarez
past my forty-one prisoners who were sitting in the road
with their hands over their heads answering questions and
trying to establish their identities. They made the Major
and I share a pair of handcuffs.
"Welcome to Iraq," I said. I don't know why I said it.
Perhaps it was the relief I felt. Everything was out of
my hands now.
"Where are they taking us?" Juarez asked when he had
finally figured out what had happened to him.
"Baghdad," I said. "They think we're spies."
"How do you know that?"
"A six foot Iraqi commando told me."
The jeep took off and made conversation impossible, but
that didn't stop Juarez from telling me exactly what he
thought of me. I wasn't paying attention though. I was
watching a white form in the middle of the road in the
desert. Ali had his hands on his head like the rest of
them, but seemed to be sitting up straighter and
gesticulating with his elbows.
I saw him look at the jeep when it pulled away. There was
a look on his face that I had only seen once before, and
that had been on the dock in Kuwait when I'd pulled my
knife and he had thought he was going to die. He mouthed
something to me. There was no hope of my hearing it of
course, but I think I got his message.
He didn't die... either time. My boys were all declared
heroes and paraded through downtown Baghdad. Juarez and I
were in the parade too. Then we were taken to the army
base and locked in the brig.
At last I had time to think. I thought about my life and
how it had come to the point it had, how I had been
drifting aimlessly until I had fished Ali out of the oil
and fallen in love with him. After that my life had had a
purpose, a direction. Ali was my rudder. But even he
couldn't steer me right. I was a fuck-up... just like
Juarez said I was... just like he kept telling me every
single day of our captivity.
We had adjoining cells. That meant that he could keep up
an almost constant harangue. I know that it annoyed the
guards. I shut him out. I had my memories and they kept
me sane through the two weeks that we served in those
little miserable cells.
My favourite memory was the afternoon we spent together
on the desert. I did not sleep. I couldn't with Ali
there. I studied his face and memorized his features. I
could draw him... if I could draw. Even now I can close
my eyes and see him lying there beside me in his filthy
white robes that I had given him. His naked feet were
filthy too. He'd been mucking about a lot after I threw
him out of the tent, taking care of the odds and ends
like he always did.
He woke up and caught me staring at his feet again. This
always embarrassed him. He worked them up into his robe
and punched me in the gut.
"When we get to New York City I want you to buy me a pair
of shoes," he ordered. "Real shoes, Larry. Then you won't
have to look at my ugly feet again."
"But I like looking at your feet," I protested.
"You're weird, Larry. I suppose that's why I love you."
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you love me, Ali?"
"Of course I do. I told you I did, didn't I?"
"Not until just now. You never said it before."
"I didn't?"
"Nope, most of the time you never said nothing. Every
time we had sex you stopped talking."
"I thought you liked it like that..."
"Sure I did..."
"I thought you knew..."
"I suppose I did, but you never said it before."
"Well, from now on I will say it every day. I love you,
Larry."
"I love you too, Ali. Promise me that you will never
leave me."
"I promise."
"Let me see your feet."
"Fuck off!"
I never did see his feet again.
Chapter Nine
Iraq And Ruin
Juarez and I made a video three days after we got to the
army base... well, he made a video. They had me there to
prove that... actually I'm not sure what they were trying
to prove... but they had me there too. It might have been
to balance out the scene. They certainly didn't want me
for my looks. By then I wasn't looking too good. Well,
neither was Juarez, but he looked better than I did. He
had told them what they wanted to hear.
I wasn't sure what they wanted, but by then I wasn't
talking anyway. I accepted what they did to me because I
deserved it. I didn't deserve it for the reasons they
thought I did. I deserved it because I had failed forty-
one men. The least I could do now was protect them now
that they were back in Iraq. What the soldiers did to me
wasn't important. I couldn't tell them the truth, so I
told them nothing. Besides, the truth wasn't what they
wanted to hear.
I suppose you saw the video on television. I never saw
it, nor do I want to. Let's just say it wasn't the high
point of my life.
It made it into every Iraqi home though. They made sure
of that. The war might have been over, but here was proof
that the Americans were not content. They wanted more and
were secretly invading Iraq even as the peace
negotiations proceeded.
That's what Juarez confirmed in his statement. At least
I'm told he did. I was thinking about something else at
the time. I was thinking about Ali. I wanted to get a
message to him somehow and my stupid clouded brain never
realized that I was being presented with the perfect
opportunity to let him know that I was okay. It was
almost too late when I realized that the video tape they
were shooting was for propaganda. When I did realize it I
knew instantly that there was just one message I could
deliver. My lips formed the same message to him that he
had mouthed to me as he sat in the road with his hands on
his head.
The interrogator saw me do it and misinterpretted it as a
sign that I was trying to speak, perhaps to add something
to Juarez's confession. He asked me if I wanted to say
something. I shook my head. But from then until they
turned off the tape, I never looked away from the camera.
Ali got my message. He knew it was for him. Well, it
couldn't have been for anyone else. He was the only
person I'd ever told that I loved.
Naturally he didn't visit. Nobody did. Juarez and I were
isolated. We saw no one but our guards. The guards didn't
speak English. We couldn't ask them for anything, but
that didn't stop Juarez from trying.
I didn't need much. I could have used some paper and a
pencil, but the guards stubbornly refused to understand
what I was requesting.
I wanted to write a letter to my parents. I had to tell
them that I was all right. I wanted to ask them to send
Ali some assistance any way they could. I wanted them to
know what we had been through... well, not everything,
mind you, but the parts that I could talk about in mixed
company. I wanted them to love him too and not to judge a
nation only by its leader. I wanted them to know that I'd
found a god of sorts in the desert who gave peace during
times of trouble, and didn't demand any specific
religious affiliation or ritualistic sacrifice.
But I had no paper.
I set myself, instead, to remember every event of the
week and a half that I knew Ali. He kept me sane when I
could have lost it the way Juarez seemed to be doing.
See, Juarez had made a bargain with the Iraqi's. They
said they would send him back in return for his
confession, but they didn't. Instead they told him that
we would be tried as spies. When he protested that we
weren't spies they told him that they had the evidence
they needed... his videotaped confession.
All of my men saw the tape. Doc recorded it. Twenty-one
sobbed bitterly when he saw it and raised suspicions
about himself in the cafe where he watched.
Abdul was at his parents' house preparing for his wedding
when the tape was first broadcast. His family watched
with him and were moderately surprised when he left the
room for an hour of quiet contemplation.
Ali was standing in front of an appliance store window
adjusting his uniform in the glass of the window when he
saw my face behind Juarez's talking head. He couldn't
hear what Juarez was saying, but he'd never listened to
Juarez before, so it didn't make any difference.
He got my message. I guess that's when he came up with
the idea that he and the boys should have a reunion.
Anyhow that's when he decided to look up the Doc.
Ali limped into the Doc's office twenty minutes after he
saw me on television.
"What's the matter with you?" Doc asked.
"Aw it's these damned shoes. Do you remember telling me
that you thought my life had a purpose?" he asked.
"Don't tell my you're finally realizing that, Ali," the
Doc answered.
"I just figured out what it is," Ali confirmed.
Doc looked at Ali. Then he did a quick survey of his
shabby office. "This has something to do with Larry,
hasn't it?"
Ali smiled. "Allah be praised. How did you guess?"
"Hmm," Doc observed, " Allah too? Why do I get the
feeling that I'm in trouble?"
Ali had gone to Doc because Doc was the most methodical
man in the group. Ali himself had never thought to make
notes, but Doc had kept records of our time together and
had prepared a list with forty names on it and each name
had a line of information about the person who owned the
name, and the best way that person could be reached.
They were going over the list when there was a knock on
the door.
Doc slipped the list of names into a file folder, shoved
a thermometer into Ali's mouth and sat him on his
examining table. Then he opened the door. Twenty-one
walked in. His eyes were red.
"We gotta do something, Doc."
"Two down, thirty-eight to go," Doc answered. "Do you
have a plan?"
"I do," Ali took the thermometer out of his mouth and
nodded to Twenty-one. "But we're going to need
everybody... Do you suppose we should call them, or just
wait for them to show up?"
"We'd better call," Doc advised. "My office isn't that
large. Will we require another stink bomb, Ali?"
"No, but we will need your particular expertise... and a
truck."
The round up proceeded apace. Each man in turn was
contacted. Each man was told of Ali's plan. Each man
threw his hands up in the air and said that Ali was crazy
and they would all be killed. Then each man in turn
agreed to be there. They all showed up too.
My men, of course, were not the only ones in Iraq to see
the video. It was aired on the seventh day of our
captivity after it had been edited and approved for
broadcast. By the time my boys saw it and got together as
a group to discuss Ali's latest brush with insanity,
another man was making his way to Baghdad. His name was
Mohammed and he was freshly back from Kuwait. He walked
now with a cane and a limp, the result of a war injury,
he said, but when asked to elaborate, he refused to be
too specific.
On his third day in Baghdad he did manage to get an
interview with the commander of the camp where Juarez and
I were being held. He asked for permission to interview
me. He said that he thought he could get a confession out
of me. The commander sent him away with the promise that
his request would be considered. Three days later it was
granted. When asked what time he would like to interview
me, Mohammed became a little melodramatic and requested
that the interview take place at midnight. When asked why
midnight, he replied that there was a psychological
advantage to waking a man up in the middle of the night.
His request was granted.
That's when my chickens came home to roost.
I knew there was something out of the ordinary happening
when my cell door opened. It opened at the wrong time of
day. I wished that I had my watch. It would have made it
easier to keep track of what part of the day we were in.
The lights in our cells were kept on at all times. There
were no windows. We were in the middle of a building
somewhere and the only time pieces we had were our
biological clocks and the changing guard. Meals provided
a clue, although sometimes the guards played with our
pumpkins by giving us the wrong meal... you know,
breakfast when you're expecting dinner... that sort of
thing...
I guess what I'm saying is that I really wasn't surprised
by the time of Mohammed's arrival, but I noticed it was a
little late.
Of course, the guards rushing in, stripping me and tying
me down to the bed naturally sparked my curiosity. Then I
saw Mohammed and knew that I was in trouble.
"Your name is Lawrence St. Laurent," he said as the
guards squeezed past him and shut the door behind them. I
heard the key turn in the lock.
"My friends call me Larry..."
"I am not your friend."
"Then I take it this is not a social call."
"No," he answered, "this is a retribution."
"Do you expect me to confess?"
"No," he laughed. It was the first time I'd seen him
smile. He was missing a few teeth. I hoped that the butt
of my gun had been responsible for their loss. His smile
turned into a sneer. "I expect you to die. I expect that
it will take a while though. I also expect that I will
enjoy it."
I imagined that he would. He started slowly enough. He
removed a length of rawhide from his jacket pocket and
wrapped it around my nuts. The other end he tied to the
foot of the cot. I winced when he pulled it tight, but I
tried not to give him the pleasure of hearing me cry out
in pain.
"I will let you enjoy the feeling for a while," he told
me, "however before you die you will lose them." He
pulled a straight razor from his shirt and opened it.
"But before the operation we must shave you."
I winced once more as he wielded the blade in such close
proximity to my penis. He was no better a barber than I
had been when I'd shaved him.
I heard a guard's voice outside my cell door. It was
challenging someone and a relaxed familiar voice answered
it. I wished again that I had studied Arabic. I wanted to
know what Doc was doing in the prison. Whatever he was
doing, I hoped that he would be quick about it. I was
bleeding from several cuts already and I didn't want to
end my days as a woman.
There was a muffled cry outside my door and I heard
something fall. Mohammed heard it too. He stepped away
and peered through the open slot. He must have seen
something because he challenged whoever was out there.
Seconds later the door opened and Twenty-one stepped in.
He was carrying a rifle. He looked at me.
"Hi, Boss. I see you're still into kinky sex."
"You should talk..." I smirked. Twenty-one glanced at
Mohammed.
"Is this guy your barber?"
Mohammed eyed him suspiciously and Twenty-one busted a
few more of his teeth with the butt end of his gun. Then
he used his razor to cut my nuts free.
"Hi, Larry." It was the first time I'd seen Ali in
uniform. "Sorry it took us so long to get here." He was
on his knees untying me. Then he helped me dress.
"You guys are crazy," I said. "How in hell did you manage
to get through the security?"
"Doc took care of that," Ali grinned.
"How are we going to get out?"
Ali reached up and kissed me. "The same way we got in.
C'mon."
We left Mohammed tied up in my cot. We didn't stick
anything up his ass though. We didn't have time. Ali led
me out and down the hall. We were almost out of the
holding cell area when I remembered Juarez.
"Let's leave him," Ali suggested. "The Iraqi's deserve
him."
"Ali, you're an Iraqi too," I reminded him.
"Kuwaiti," he corrected and held up my knapsack.
"We have to take him, baby." I'd used the term of
endearment many times with Ali, but it felt strange using
it to a man dressed in the Iraqi army uniform. "We got
him into this mess. We have to get him out."
Ali took the keys from Twenty-one and headed back. It was
the first time I'd noticed the body lying on the floor.
It was the guard.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
"No, just asleep," Twenty-one answered.
"Where's Juarez?" Ali called. Almost immediately a voice
answered from the cell next to Mohammed's. Ali unlocked
the door.
Juarez pushed his way out and looked around.
"What the fuck's going on?" he asked.
"Just shut up and follow me," Ali said. "You're being
rescued."
"Are you guys the special forces?" Juarez asked.
"Yah," Ali answered. "Real special..."
Ali took point and led us up the hall to the first
security point. We walked through it past the officer on
duty. He fell in behind us as we passed.
"Hi, Larry," he said. I looked back over my shoulder.
"Hi Forty. Do you work here?"
"No, man. I was just filling in for somebody tonight." He
smirked.
At the next checkpoint I noticed a pair of feet lying on
the floor. Five stepped out from behind the counter and
joined Forty. I began to see how we were going to get
out. I even thought that it might work.
"Whose idea was this, anyway, Abdul?"
"Ali's," he answered, "but don't worry, we improved it.
By the way, Larry, I'm supposed to be getting married
tomorrow. I'd invite you to come, but I don't think any
of us are going to be too welcome when they find you
gone."
"What the fuck's going on?" Juarez asked.
"Whose idea was it to bring him?" Abdul asked.
"Larry's," Ali and Twenty-one answered in unison.
"You'd better shut up, Major," I warned.
"Who are these guys," Juarez asked ignoring my advice as
usual.
"They used to be your prisoners," I told him.
"And will be again, with any luck," Twenty-one added.
"You mean they actually are Iraqi's?"
"I'm Kuwaiti," Ali said over his shoulder. "I've got
papers."
We reached another check point and picked up another two
escorts. I recognized Ten and Twenty-nine. They smiled
wide smiles and fell in behind Abdul and Djamal. There
was an Iraqi soldier asleep at a desk.
"What did you use? Knockout drops?" I speculated.
"That's a trade secret," Doc answered. "Ali, you're
limping again."
"It's these stupid boots, Doc."
"I'll order you some orthopedic shoes tomorrow," Doc
mused. Then he remembered what it was he was doing. "Do
you suppose they'll accept my prescriptions in Saudi
Arabia?"
"I know one thing for sure," Twenty-one commented wryly,
"they won't accept them in Iraq anymore."
A nervous laugh swept through our parade.
"You could always go barefoot, Ali," I suggested.
"Will you stop that?" he complained.
"Stop what?" Doc asked.
We reached the front of the building and Doc's question
went unanswered. We would have to go outside now. There
were real soldiers out there with real guns and real
bullets. What I didn't realize as I stepped out with four
more soldiers behind me was that the majority of the
soldiers hanging around outside were my men. We all
converged on a truck and everybody hopped up inside.
Ali sat beside me on the floor of the box and I put my
arm around his shoulder. I felt his familiar arm about my
waist. In the darkness I heard him catch his breath a few
times as he cried silently beside me. I was crying to. I
had never expected to feel his touch again. I pulled him
closer to me, his head found my chest and he soaked my
shirt with his tears.
As we slowed for the main gate three more men jumped onto
the truck.
"How many of you guys are there?" I asked.
"All forty-one," Ali's muffled voice said into my chest.
"You mean everybody came?" I buried my face in Ali's
hair.
"Lieutenant, did you just kiss that Kuwaiti?" Juarez
asked.
"Yes, Major, now do us all a favor and shut the fuck up,
or we'll throw you off the truck."
"Can't I do it anyway, Boss?" Twenty-one asked. But I
wouldn't let him. Instead he pointed his gun at Juarez
and requested that he turn around and face the other way.
When Juarez's back was turned Twenty-one smiled, leaned
over and kissed me on the lips. "It's good to have you
back with us, Boss."
I made a mental note to learn the name of every one of my
men. I started with Twenty-one.
"What's your name, Twenty-one?"
He grinned at me.
"I sort of like Twenty-one," he answered.
"No, I want to know your real name," I insisted.
Ali looked up at us and there was a look of anticipation
on his face. It made me press poor Twenty-one again.
"Come on, man. Tell me your name."
"I don't like my real name. Can't we just stick with
Twenty-one?"
"No." I looked at Ali. "Do you know his name?" I asked.
He grinned and nodded.
"What is it?"
He stretched up and whispered in my ear. When I heard the
name I understood its owner's aversion to it. It was the
mother of all names. I looked at Twenty-one. He was
regarding me nervously. I guess he was afraid that I
might actually say the dreaded name aloud.
"You poor bastard," I commiserated. "You're right, we'll
stick with Twenty-one."
Twenty-one smiled a weak, grateful smile and turned back
to guard his prisoner. I don't suppose that my
independent confirmation that his name really sucked made
him feel any better about it though.
The truck bounced and swayed through Baghdad, then
crossed a bridge with a lot of holes in it and headed
south. We had to stop for several patrols and check-
points where officers inspected the forged orders
requiring the transfer of the prisoner from Baghdad.
Four was driving and he was a cool customer. He looked so
bored that even Doc, who was in the cab beside him
thought for a moment that he didn't know that the orders
weren't real. Then he remembered that it had been Four
who forged them. None of the patrols bothered to look
into the back of the truck. If they had they might have
noticed that there were two prisoners instead of one.
Finally the men began to relax. I took this as a sign
that the last of the check-points was behind us. I
relaxed too as the truck crossed the miles and the North
Star told me that we were headed in the right direction.
I laid back and dozed with Ali's head on my chest and his
familiar form in the crook of my arm. We crossed the
Saudi border at about four o'clock in the morning. A
cheer went up.
Twenty-one nudged Juarez with the barrel of his gun.
Juarez looked over his shoulder.
"Yah? What do you want now?" Juarez asked humorlessly.
Twenty-one handed the gun to the Major. Juarez took it.
For a minute there I thought he was going to use it. Then
for a second I thought he might be going to smile.
Twenty-one clasped his hands onto the top of his head.
Juarez sniffed and said, "Cute..." Then he put the gun
down and turned to face the back of the truck once more.
I guess he had other things on his mind.
Twenty minutes after we crossed into Saudi Arabia I saw
something whiz past the back of the truck that made me
start thinking. I banged on the cab and told Four to
stop. The truck slid to a halt. Then we backed up to the
signpost I had demolished at the cross roads just before
the Iraqi squad had appeared in the sandstorm.
"What is it, Larry?" Ali asked as I jumped down from the
truck. I turned back and helped him down. Twenty-one
joined us. I ran to the signpost to be sure that it was
the one I had crushed. There was no doubt about it. It
now stood about half the height it had been before. It
had been speared back into the sand beside the splintered
stump where it used to be. You could still see where the
bus had dug up the shoulder of the road.
"We didn't invade Iraq," I said. "We were kidnapped."
"What's going on?" Juarez had joined us. I explained the
significance of the signpost to him.
"It would seem, Major," I concluded, "that you confessed
to something we didn't do. We didn't cross by ourselves.
The Iraqi's took us into Iraq."
The men were all off the truck by now. They seemed to be
milling about.
"But it's okay, Major. The Iraqi's brought us back out
too."
Abdul stepped forward. He laid his gun in the middle of
the road and started to remove his uniform. Everybody
watched. Beneath his khaki he wore the restaurant whites.
Still visible on the breast of the shirt was the number
five. He grinned at me and shook my hand. Forty stepped
forward and laid his gun beside Abdul's. He too stripped
down to his whites, the whites I had bought for him in
Riyadh. He took my hand as well. The next man up was
Twenty-one.
"I don't have a gun any more, Larry." He jerked his head
towards Juarez. "I gave it to him." I couldn't help
smiling as he took his clothes off. He was only wearing
undershorts until Ali threw him his robes. They had been
in my knapsack. He pulled them on gratefully and stuck
his hand out. I grabbed it and pulled him to me. We
almost destroyed each other's vertabrae. Then he saluted
me and I returned it.
The next man up was Four, our driver.
"What's your name?" I asked as he laid his gun with the
others. He looked at me peculiarly. Ali translated the
question.
"Ahmad," he answered.
"Thank you, Ahmad. Thank you for everything."
Ahmad looked to Ali. Ali translated. Ahmad smiled and
said something else. Ali stepped over to him and
whispered into his ear. Ahmad came to attention and
saluted me.
"You're welcome, Larry." He grinned proudly and ripped
off his shirt and pants. He produced a lighter and
ignited the uniform. Then he threw it onto the pile with
the others.
Each man in turn approached me to lay down his arms and
remove his uniform. It reminded me of a demented mass
with me as the priest blessing my flock. But I
appreciated the ritual and with only a little prompting
each one of them spoke to me in English. They told me
their names and I did my best to pronounce them when I
thanked them for what they had done for me. Juarez
witnessed the event, but I doubt that it moved him as
much as it did me.
The blaze of the burning uniforms lit up the early
morning darkness. It was probably what attracted the
border patrol. I know it was what attracted the camera
crew from Atlanta who showed up at about the same time as
the M.P.'s in the jeep who arrived as the last five or so
men were performing the ritual. The M.P.'s seemed to
realize that something almost reverent was happening.
They held back and waited. The camera crew didn't. They
moved right in as Three was telling me that his real name
was Farid.
The portable light of the camera almost blinded him as he
began to unbutton his uniform. He looked at me. I told
him that I understood and it was not necessary for him to
take his clothes off if he felt embarrassed by the
lights. Ali translated. This seemed to satisfy him. He
defiantly ripped off his shirt and flung it into the
flames. His pants were quick to follow. Farid was really
just a boy. I shook his hand like a man, though. Then I
saluted him. He snapped to attention and returned the
salute. Then he walked briskly away to join the sea of
white behin d me.
Chapter Ten
Saudi Arabia
Have You Ever Had One Of Those Days?
The camera crew recorded the next two men as well and
then they found Juarez and asked him what was going on. I
didn't hear what he said, but I found out later that he
had told them that he wasn't sure, but it looked to him
like General MacArthur saying goodbye to his troops. Then
he added, "Only this guy shall not return. He'll probably
be shot at dawn."
The correspondent asked him what he meant by that. Juarez
told him. He was just getting started on a diatribe about
my mutinous behaviour when the cameraman unshouldered his
machine and drew the reporter to one side. They both
looked at Juarez again. Then they both looked at me. The
cameraman shouldered his camera again and they moved in
on Juarez.
"Major Juarez," the reporter read his name from Juarez's
name patch on his shirt, "aren't you the man who was
interviewed recently for Iraqi television? Were you not a
prisoner of war?"
"I escaped last night. As for the interview, I was forced
to read a statement the Iraqi's had prepared. I said
nothing that I myself had written."
I didn't remember any script or cue cards and I had been
present for the taping.
"Are you not the same Major Juarez who was promoted for
having prevented an Iraqi commando from blowing up the
docks north of Kuwait?"
"What?" This came from Ali. He had changed into his robes
and was now watching the camera crew work. His outburst
attracted the cameraman who panned to find him. "He
didn't stop me. Larry did."
The reporter turned and brought his microphone in Ali's
direction.
"You say you were the one Juarez stopped?"
"I'm the guy who was trying to blow the oil," Ali
confirmed, "but Juarez didn't do anything to stop me. It
was Larry that did that. Juarez just pissed me off. If I
had had a decent flint none of us would be here today."
"Who is Larry?"
"That guy over their shaking hands with that Iraqi. He's
your hero... well, he's mine anyway... He saved my life
that day... twice..." Ali looked contemptuously at
Juarez. "That guy didn't do nothin' but scream at me."
The reporter turned back to Juarez. "Didn't you say that
the Iraqi who tried to blow the oil was over six feet
tall?" The cameraman nudged him and whispered into his
ear. The reporter continued. "Wasn't he supposed to have
threatened to use a hand grenade?"
Juarez looked at Ali who pulled himself up to every one
of his five feet and three inches.
"There was a lot of oil... Everything was black... I
thought he had a hand grenade... It didn't look like a
lighter."
"It was a lighter," Ali stated flatly. "Why don't you ask
Larry? He was closer to me than you were."
"Is that true, Major Juarez?"
Juarez turned on me. "St. Laurent! I thought you said
that the prisoner had been shot by an Iraqi!"
"He was," I answered. "But the Iraqi who shot him didn't
have any bullets in the gun he used."
"Who is this guy?" Juarez asked looking straight at Ali.
"Didn't you tell me he was a Kuwaiti?"
"Yes, sir, I did."
"Well, is he?"
"He has papers to prove that he is."
"Well, why the fuck was he trying to blow the oil?"
"You'd have to ask him that, sir."
"Why were you trying to blow the oil?" the reporter
asked.
Ali looked confused for the first time. He looked at me.
I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't know what to tell him.
"I was trying to commit suicide," he finally admitted
quietly. Then he looked up at me. "Larry stopped me. He
saved my life and showed me that there are still good
reasons to want to live. Larry is my friend. Major Juarez
is a liar... and an idiot..."
This last comment did not sit well with Juarez who made
for Ali with murder in his eye. He didn't make it all the
way though. When he picked himself up out of the sand he
looked to see what had tripped him. Twenty-one smiled at
him and apologized for having such big feet. He was now
standing between Juarez and Ali. Naturally the reporter
wanted to know who he was.
"Hi, I'm Twenty-one. I'm from Iraq. Well, all us guys
are. We busted Larry out of jail last night and brought
him back to Saudi Arabia. Larry made us bring that guy
with us. I knew it was a mistake, but we couldn't talk
Larry out of it. Larry's the kind of guy who does the
right thing... even when it's wrong." Twenty-one got a
confused look on his face as he tried to figure out why
what he had just said didn't seem to make sense.
"Your name is Twenty-one?" the reporter pursued.
"It is now, yes," Twenty-one confirmed.
"What was it before?"
"I'd rather not say."
"I understand. You want to protect your family in
Iraq..."
Twenty-one considered this. "Yah... okay..."
By now all of my men had re-surrendered to me. I had been
keeping track of what was going on with the camera crew
out of the corner of my eye, but I think you already know
how I feel about television. I wasn't too anxious to be
on it. But, like it or not, I was next.
"Lieutenant St. Laurent," the reporter began as the dog
and pony show moved in my direction, "what were you doing
in Iraq?"
There it was. They'd saved the hardest question for me. I
squinted at the light and tried to figure out how to
explain my actions... where to begin... how much to
divulge...
"He was kidnapped," Ali said. The camera swung back to
him. "The men and I escaped from Camp Whatchamacallit
when Larry told us that everybody would have to be sent
back to Iraq. Larry was guarding the gate when the men
stormed it. I was responsible for getting the gate open.
We had to take Larry hostage or he would have tried to
stop us. Major Juarez followed us. He didn't know that we
had taken Larry hostage. We didn't have time to leave a
note."
"We were headed for Jordan. We thought that we could get
from there to the States someday. See, that's really all
any of these guys wanted... a chance at a new life. Larry
tried to help us get it. But when he couldn't swing it,
we decided to take matters into our own hands. So we
stole the bus and set out across the Nefud. We would have
made it too, if it hadn't been for that stupid
sandstorm..."
I was relieved of course that Ali had drawn the cameras
away from me. I hate cameras. I looked at Twenty-one. His
forehead was a mass of wrinkles as he considered the
story Ali was concocting and tried to remember all the
details in case somebody asked him to confirm it. Behind
him Abdul was translating what Ali said for the men who
didn't speak English.
"We got lost and ended up coming across an Iraqi patrol a
couple of miles north of here. We were still in Saudi
Arabia. It was the Iraqi's who were on the wrong side. I
guess they were lost too. But they had guns and there was
nothing Larry or any of us could do about it. They took
us back to Baghdad. They tortured Larry and Major Juarez
until the major agreed to make the video tape. When we
saw the tape, we knew that we had to do something. So we
went in and got Larry out... we got Juarez too."
The camera lingered on Ali a while until the cameraman
realized that he had finished. Then they turned back to
me.
"Is that what happened, Lieutenant?" the reporter asked.
I looked at Ali. He stared back hopefully. I looked
around at the men in white who surrounded us. They were
my friends. They had risked their lives for me. Even now
they had no guarantees that they would not be dead by the
end of the week if they were shipped back to Iraq. And
yet they were trying to protect me.
"No," I said, "that's probably the biggest crock of shit
Ali's come up with yet."
"Sheesh, I don't believe this guy." It was Twenty-one of
course.
"What did happen, Lieutenant?"
I looked at Juarez. I looked at the M.P.'s. I took
another look at Ali.
"The truth is," I said, "it was all my idea. Ali didn't
want to have anything to do with it. He told me that just
before we left. But he came along anyway when he could
have been safe back in Riyadh. I was never a hostage
until the Iraqi patrol picked us up. Ali was right about
the location, though. The Iraqi's were in Saudi Arabia.
We weren't in Iraq."
"He's right about something else, too. All of these men
are heroes. If it wasn't for each and every one of them
laying their life on the line, Major Juarez and I would
still be in prison in Iraq. In fact, I'm pretty sure I
would be dead... or horribly mutilated, by now."
"Lieutenant, who are these men?" the reporter asked.
"They're my friends," I said. I heard Juarez grunt with
satisfaction. As far as he was concerned I had just
slipped the noose around my own neck. I tried not to pay
attention to him. "I say that proudly," I added. "They
are all good men. They are all prisoners of war as well.
They risked their lives for me and the major. If our
government sends them back to Iraq it will be committing
murder forty times over."
"Lieutenant St. Laurent," the reporter said, "could you
tell us how you came to know these men?"
I guess he thought it was a simple question.
The sun was standing high in the desert sky by the time
we finished. The M.P.'s had let the reporter and his
cameraman do their job for them. They had a pretty good
idea of what had happened and they hadn't had to do
anything but take notes... and radio for backup. When the
other soldiers arrived the M.P.'s approached us and asked
me to accompany them. Juarez smirked until they told him
he'd have to get in the jeep too.
They let me hug Ali and Twenty-one before I left, but
when a line up started to form behind Twenty-one they got
a little impatient. They still hadn't had their
breakfast. They herded the men back into the Iraqi truck
and we started back to Camp Whatchamacallit. Well, my men
went there. Our jeep kept going all the way to Riyadh.
My hug on the desert was the last time I ever touched
Ali.
Juarez and I were quartered in Riyadh and placed under
house arrest until the investigation could be completed.
Jerry visited me everyday and advised me legally. But
nobody could advise me about how to deal with the
depression. There was a television set in the room they
gave me. But I was afraid to turn it on. I was afraid
that I would see myself holding a gun walking behind an
oily little wog between the abandoned vehicles that
littered the road north of Kuwait City.
I was afraid that there might be news of another sort...
news of the exchange of prisoners... my prisoners. I
didn't want to know about that. I considered trying to
escape... trying to make my way back to Camp
Whatchamacallit... stealing another bus and trying
again... Then I found myself considering Ali's original
option. That was when I knew that I was in trouble...
real trouble.
A week went by like that. It was worse than the two weeks
I had spent in Baghdad. At least in Baghdad I had been
the enemy. Here I was supposed to be on the same side as
the people who were doing things that I couldn't accept.
It was a relief to be called before the generals.
The room was a boardroom. I was escorted in by two other
soldiers and positioned at the end of the boardroom
table. The generals and their aides were seated at the
other end and along the sides. Jerry was there. So was
Colonel Hadford.
I couldn't meet his eyes. I had used him, and now he knew
it. It was difficult for me to find a place in all of the
other problems I had caused for so many other people who
had trusted me, but I managed to fit my regrets about the
way I had treated the colonel in among all the other
screw ups. I caught a look at him out of the corner of my
eye, though. He didn't look angry. He has that kind of
face. I guess you'd call it a poker face... always the
same.
"I want to start off by saying at the outset that the
only reason that we are not recommending that you be
court-martialed and shot is that your commander was one
of the biggest assholes in the service," the head general
began. "That being said, I want to ask that my previous
comments be stricken from the permanent record of these
proceedings."
They ran the tapes back and restarted the machines.
"Lieutenant St. Laurent, we have heard your side of the
story already. We have heard from the other witnesses.
Your entire squad has been interviewed and confirms the
highly unorthodox way you seemed to have handled... the
situation. What we want to know now is if you have
anything further to add... anything we don't know about?"
"I have nothing to say, sir, other than to request once
more that some provision be made for the Iraqi men who
risked their lives to save mine... and Major Juarez's."
"Private..."
"Yes, sir?"
"No, not you, Lieutenant... Juarez. He was stripped of
his rank. He is now a private. He was shipped back to the
States yesterday. Don't you watch television, man?"
"Actually, no..."
"Well, it seems that you are in a minority, Lieutenant.
Everybody else seems to..."
"Sir?"
"...watch television, son. Everybody Stateside seems to,
anyway. You've become quite popular Stateside. So we've
decided to send you there."
I guess I must have looked a little dejected.
"Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?"
"It's the men from Iraq, sir. I was wondering about them,
sir."
"That is out of my hands, Lieutenant. You'll have to
speak to Colonel Hadford about that." I guess I glanced
at him. He raised his hand to tell me to hold on. I
looked back at the general.
"Your actions in Kuwait have been duly noted, Lieutenant.
There were many outcomes to the situation that would have
been far more catastrophic than what has happened.
Besides, your commander left a lot to be desired..."
"That's why we have decided to promote you, Major."
"Do you really think that's a good idea, sir?" The words
were out of my mouth before I realized that I had said
them.
"Not really. I didn't say that I had decided to promote
you, Major. I said that we had decided... I do have
superiors too, you know... back in Washington...
Evidently they watch television."
"Sir?"
"You really don't know what's going on, do you?"
"No, sir."
The general looked at me.
"Really, Major, I like my officers to keep themselves
informed. Colonel Hadford, would you mind bringing the
Major up to speed?"
Colonel Hadford stood up. All eyes turned to him, mine
included.
"Major St. Laurent... Larry... you may not watch
television, but you've spent a lot of time appearing on
it in the past few days. It seems that you and your
prisoners have become a cause celebre back home. It's all
that anybody's talking about. Even my mother called me to
tell me what to do."
"Sir?"
"You've made it to the talk shows too, Major... you and
your men..."
"I don't understand, sir."
"It would seem, Major, that although you should be court-
martialed, the only court you are to be tried in is the
court of public opinion... and the trial has already been
held. Your promotion was the verdict."
"What about my men, sir?"
"That, Major, is up to you."
"Sir?"
"Evidently some strings have been pulled in Washington.
Well, after the outcry on the talk shows, I guess we all
pretty much expected that would happen. At any rate, the
end result is that you will be allowed to sponsor the men
into the States, if you agree."
"All of them?"
"Yes, Major, all forty of them. It seems that they have
become heroes in the minds of the American people. That's
what the talk shows are telling us anyway. There's been
about a ton of mail addressed to somebody named Twenty-
one at a place called Camp Whatchamacallit. There have
even been a few job offers."
"When would I be able to see the men, sir?"
"Whenever you wish, Major. Unless, there's anything
anybody else has to say..."
The concensus was that everything that had to be said,
had been. I was elated. Jerry came over to me and shook
my hand. I saluted the generals and prepared to leave.
"Where are the men?" I asked Colonel Hadford.
"They're still at the camp, Major. Security there has
been relaxed a little and it's been turned into a
hospital for the Iraqi wounded. Your boys are more or
less running the place."
"I imagine that made Doc happy," I said. "He'll have Ali
running around..." That's when it hit me. "How many did
they say I could take back with me?"
"All forty, Larry. You're going to have your hands full
finding..."
"But, Colonel, there were forty-one."
I had stopped in my tracks. Colonel Hadford stopped too.
He was carrying a clipboard with several papers on it. He
found the list of names.
"Oh my God!"
"What is it, Colonel?"
"There was one Kuwaiti in the group. Because he was
Kuwaiti he didn't qualify for the amnesty. He was
returned to Kuwait two days ago."
"Ali..."
"Ali," Colonel Hadford confirmed.
I felt my knees go weak.
"Do you know where he is?" I asked.
"I'll try to find out. Why don't you get your stuff
together and meet me in my office."
"Colonel, I have no stuff. Why don't I just come with
you?"
"Didn't you have a gun, Larry?"
"Oh my God!"
"What is it, Larry?"
"I think I left my gun in the restaurant in Kuwait."
The news from Kuwait wasn't good. They were pissed with
the Iraqi's because of the destruction of their country
during the nearly seven months of occupation. It was just
a matter of time before someone spotted a smallish figure
in dirty robes and asked him what his problem was. That
the person who spotted Ali happened to have been in
Kuwait during the occupation and remembered his face was
probably in keeping with the run of luck Ali had been
experiencing since the war ended.
That Ali was an Iraqi soldier did not immediately enter
the mind of the Kuwaiti man who spotted him and told the
police about him. He only knew that he had seen him
somewhere before and he worried that the dirty young man
did not appear to have any place to go.
Kuwait was filling with Kuwaiti's once more, Kuwaiti's
whose exile had been cushioned by a surplus of wealth.
They did not return to their homes on foot, dirty and
dishevelled as Ali appeared. They returned in their
limousines, and when they got there, their homes were
already being cleaned up by the Palestinians who had been
serving them for years.
The police who picked Ali up did not immediately know
what they had. He showed them the identification that had
been issued to him by Colonel Hadford. They ran a check
on this identification and found it to be legitimate.
The knapsack Ali carried added further proof of his
affiliation with the allied armies. But when they looked
into the outside pocket of the knapsack they found
something that Ali had forgotten about. He didn't know it
was there because he hadn't put it there. I had.
The police pulled out the two pieces of i.d. that Ali had
brought with him to the docks... the two pieces of i.d. I
had washed for him and pinned to the knapsack to dry...
the two pieces of i.d. I had been unable to read except
to establish his first name... the two pieces of i.d. I
had carelessly stuffed into the outside pocket of my
knapsack to keep them safe for him... the two pieces of
i.d. that condemned him as an Iraqi.
Chapter Eleven
Kuwait & See
A Broken Light For Every Heart
The Kuwaiti jail was a lot more modern than the brig
where Juarez and I had done our time. It had a lot
tighter security. I realized right away that my men and I
would not be able to repeat Ali's rescue plan. Ali's only
way out of jail was a one-way ticket back to Iraq. That's
what they told us when we tried to get in to see him.
We didn't get in that afternoon. We returned to Camp
Whatchamacallit for the night.
The mood at the camp was subdued. I was quietly greeted
by all my men who gathered around with smiles on their
faces and a touch of affection for me, but nothing too
overt. They knew how I felt and they felt that way too.
Part of us was missing. Something had changed. No matter
how excited they were that they would be going to the
States in just a few more hours, they didn't speak to me
of anything but their happiness to see me again and the
terrible tragedy that had befallen Ali.
Doc took me on a tour of his hospital and showed me his
wards of patients, but that was only to get me away from
the crowd, to someplace where he could talk to me.
"You mustn't blame yourself," he told me as we waited for
the bunsen burner to reheat the coffee he kept in the
laboratory section of the main hospital tent.
"Who else can I blame? Allah?"
"No, that wouldn't be wise, even for agnostics like us,
Larry."
This surprised me.
"What do you mean... us?"
"Does it really surprise you that much? How many doctors
do you know who are religious? Not the ones who lose a
lot of patients anyway, Larry... They tend to be
philosophical, but not too religious."
"Then what was all that crap about Allah having a plan
for Ali... and me?"
"That wasn't crap, Larry. It took us where we wanted to
go... or almost anyway. Besides, who knows what Allah has
in store for any of us. I said I was an agnostic, Larry.
I didn't say I was against the idea of Allah, I just
haven't been sold on it... completely."
"You know, Doc, you're as big a manipulator as Forty. I
was starting to believe in God until I found out about
Ali. And it was all my fault. Everything I did was
wrong."
"Not everything, Boss."
I had not seen Twenty-one standing in the opening of the
tent.
"Hey, man, I hear you made a hit in the States!"
"Not as big a hit as I'm going to make... thanks to
you... and Ali. Doc was right Larry. You shouldn't blame
yourself. I know Ali doesn't blame you. He asked me to
say goodbye to you for him. He asked me to tell you that
he loves you. He told me to tell you every day. I guess
that means I'll have to live with you, huh?"
"There has to be some way out of this," I said. "They
have to let him go. They have to understand."
"Tomorrow you will try to make them," the Doc stated.
"But regardless of the outcome Larry, you have to realize
that you have succeeded forty times. Without you we would
all be in Iraq right now."
"And without you, so would I," I sniffed.
"Good point," Twenty-one admitted.
"You're not helping much," Doc complained. "Don't you
have anything else to do?"
"Not really," Twenty-one sighed. "I was reading some of
my mail, but my eyes got sore. Do you know, some of them
sent money too?" He pulled a roll of bills from the
pocket of his robe. "The last time I counted it there was
a couple of hundred dollars." He handed me the money.
"What's this for?" I asked.
"I want you to give it to Ali for me, if they'll let him
have it. I don't think it would be a very good idea for
me to go and see him. Tell him that I'm going to study
law and find a way to get him to the States as soon as I
can... that is if you can't get him out tomorrow."
"Thanks, Twenty-one. You want to be a lawyer?"
"Sure, I suppose so... Why?"
"Oh, no reason, really. It's just that I had hopes that
you might find honest work."
Twenty-one smiled. "You mean as a taxi driver?"
"Either that or a male stripper."
"What tent did you say you were staying in, Larry?"
"I think I'll spend the night in the hospital. I don't
want to go back in our tent."
"That might be a good idea," Twenty-one answered and
winked as he departed. "See ya later, Boss."
Doc poured the coffee.
That night Twenty-one slipped into my bed beside me. He
held me for a while and neither of us said a word. The
next morning it was as if nothing had happened... nothing
had. Two friends had shared a lonely night's vigil
together. The fact that one of them came from New York
and the other one came from Baghdad was irrelevant.
The next morning I climbed into the jeep beside Colonel
Hadford and we travelled back into Kuwait to try again.
Well, I tried again. Colonel Hadford went to remind a few
people about a few things.
Just after noon a telephone rang in the reception area
where I waited. The policeman listened and responded in
Arabic. Somehow I knew it was about me. I guess it must
have been the way the man kept looking at me. Anyhow, as
soon as he put the telephone down he worked the intercom
and motioned to me to follow him.
I was led to a small room with a sheet of plexiglass for
one wall and a telephone on the table in front of the
plexiglass. The other side of the room behind the
plexiglass was dark, but I could make out another table
with another chair and another telephone. There was also
another door. It opened and a hand reached in and turned
on the light. The room flickered before me until the
fluorescent light finally caught.
And there he was... looking frightened and shrivelled and
so much smaller than I had remembered him. The guard told
him what to do but he did not look at him. His oil-
colored eyes never turned away from me as he felt his way
into the chair and picked up the telephone. I picked up
the other one.
"I'm sorry," I said. "This is all my fault."
"Larry, don't..." he answered. "Doc was right. It was the
will of Allah. I served his purpose. Now I must be
punished."
"What for?" I asked. "You didn't do anything wrong."
He looked at me strangely. Then I realized the there was
a bit of a smirk on his face.
"You really haven't been paying attention, have you,
Larry? The oil... the onion... the hamburger... I thought
God had got even with me with the pŸt,, but I guess not.
I guess he must have been keeping score for a while now."
"He got even with Juarez. They busted him down to
Private." Ali's face lit up when he heard that.
"What about you, Larry?"
"The idiots promoted me. I'm a major now."
"Way to go, man!"
"It doesn't mean anything. It was either promote me or
shoot me. Evidently we all made a splash in the States
with that video they shot. They said I could take
everybody home with me... everybody, but you, that is. I
didn't know until yesterday that they had sent you here."
"Yah, I know."
"Are you all right... I mean, considering?"
"Yah, Larry, I'm okay. The food's pretty good. Of course,
I'm not their favorite inmate. When do you guys go?"
"The day after tomorrow..."
"So soon? How'd they work that?"
"They're working the propaganda machine. They want to
show us off while the sentiment is still high. I guess
we'll be working a few functions for them. That will give
me a chance to try to get you out of here."
"I know you'll do it, Larry... But don't be too
disappointed if it doesn't work. The Kuwaiti's are very
upset with me right now. I'm the wrong kind of wog."
"Colonel Hadford is out bending a few ears for you right
now. He hasn't forgotten how you showed him where all the
mines were. He told me he'll stay here and try to get you
home to me."
A voice came on the line. It said something in Arabic.
Ali smiled.
"We only have another minute, Larry. Please don't forget
me."
"That would be impossible. I'm going to let the world
know about you."
"Just your mom and dad would be good. I know you'll do
what you can, though. Will you write to me?"
"Every day. Just be sure you take care of yourself.
Colonel Hadford will come to see you to make sure nobody
hurts you before we get you out. I love you."
The door opened behind Ali and he stood up. The phones
were now dead. But we did better without words anyway. He
mouthed his answer to me. Then he was gone... and I never
saw him again.
I looked at the clock in the next room. Only five minutes
had gone by. I wondered how hard Colonel Hadford had had
to work for even that much.
The next two days of my life flashed past. I spent almost
every waking moment talking to people who didn't want to
hear what I had to say. The only friend I had in the army
was Colonel Hadford. He worked harder than anybody for
Ali's release. I already had his guarantee that Ali would
be included in the amnesty once the Kuwaiti's released
him, providing of course that they did not try him and
find him guilty of war crimes. That was a distinct
possibility too. Ali had confessed that he was planning
to blow up the gas and oil pouring into the Persian Gulf.
He'd said so on television.
There were only about three thousand copies of the tape
in existance. The fact that he hadn't done the thing did
not mean that he had not contemplated it... and attempted
it. The fact that he had showed Colonel Hadford where the
mines were did not impress the Kuwaiti's much either.
They pointed out that there could be only one explanation
for him knowing where they were... he had to have put
them there. If anything, they pointed out, that stacked
the deck even more against Ali.
I was torn when I saw the plane that would take me away
from Saudi Arabia, probably forever. I hated it... the
plane, not Saudi Arabia. I had grown to love the country.
I had met so many nice people. I was taking forty of them
home with me, but leaving the one who had defined my life
for me... and has continued to define it for me ever
since.
The men were excited of course. For most of them this was
their first plane trip. It would be a hell of a trip to
start. They would be following the sun and travelling for
more than eight hours, but they would be arriving in the
New World, as they referred to it, at the same time they
left the old one. It meant a lot of translating for
Twenty-one, who had taken over as the leader of the group
in Ali's absence.
Like all good leaders I got on last hoping against hope
that there would be a shout from somewhere half-way
across the airport to tell the plane to wait for one more
passenger. But the shout never came and Twenty-one, the
Doc and the stewardess eventually persuaded me to board.
I strapped myself in as the plane began to taxi.
"Sound off," Twenty-one ordered when the announcements
were finished. This time the men got to forty and the
voices stopped. That's when I realized that Ali really
wasn't going to be coming with us. That's when I started
to write my third letter to him. It was a long one. I
wanted to tell him about how the roll-call had affected
everyone who had called a number and how quiet it had
been while everyone waited for his, "forty-one."
Everybody contributed a message to the letter, some in
English, some in Arabic.
We mailed it to Colonel Hadford when we landed at
Andrews. For some reason I didn't trust the Kuwaiti mail
service.
Our first surprise awaited us in the lounge of the
airport. Winston was there with forty-one suits. All but
one had a number on it corresponding to the number of the
man whose measurements Abdul had faxed to his lover in
Washington. The one without a number was a gray thirty-
six short wool suit that would have looked beautiful on
Ali. I thanked Winston and said that I would put it in
Ali's closet until he got home.
The men cleaned up at the hotel and although they were
all dog tired, we attended our first function at a church
in Virginia. This time others catered the reception and
my men tasted the cuisine of another country as the
guests of honor rather than surreptitiously in the
kitchen.
We all felt out of place and we shook a lot of hands.
Twenty-one and Abdul were very popular with the young
women. They posed for pictures with a lot of them, kissed
a few of them, and signed a lot of autographs. I sidled
over to Twenty-one after one of these photo sessions and
commented that he seemed to be enjoying the young women.
"Not really, Boss," he answered. "I'm just trying to make
a good impression. It sure is different, though."
"What? The country, the women, or you?" I asked. He
looked at me with a startled expression.
"Everything but me," he answered. Five and Winston walked
by almost holding hands. Twenty-one noticed the look in
their eyes. "I guess this is where Abdul gets off the
bus, huh?"
"It sure looks that way," I agreed. "I'm going to miss
him."
"Yah," Twenty-one sighed. "We all are." We watched the
couple disappear though the front door. "You'd think he
would say goodbye, though."
Almost as Twenty-one finished speaking the door bounced
open again and Abdul raced back in. He hurried back to
us.
"I'm going now, guys," he said. "Here's our card. I'll be
at the home number. Larry, thanks." He hugged me and I
saw a tear forming in his eye. "Don't worry about Ali,
man. I'm gonna pray for him. We all are. He'll be here
before you know it."
I kissed his forehead and we hugged again. This made a
few people in the church nervous. I realized that I would
have to watch my step. I didn't want to alienate these
people who had helped us so generously when we had needed
them. We didn't want to open another front in the war
just at the time we were negotiating the prisoner
exchange. Then Twenty-one hugged Abdul too and he was
gone... but not for long.
I looked at the card that Abdul had handed me. It bore
both his name and Winston's. There was a pretty exclusive
address on it as well. I filed the card in my wallet.
We attended every reception that had been laid on in our
honor. As I promised Ali, I spoke to everyone who might
be able to influence the Kuwaiti government to release
him. There were congressmen and a couple of senators, two
ambassadors and an assortment of attaches who heard my
pleas. Some listened, others didn't. Sometimes I would
feel I was getting somewhere, other times I felt like I
was banging my head against the wall.
Finally it was all over and time for me to take my men
home, or rather to try to find homes for them. We used
the club as our residence... well, there was really no
other place big enough.
I guess you've seen the club, but that's not the place I
brought my men. It was a whole lot seedier then and about
forty years out of date... you know, mostly a place to
get drunk in... and the faster the better.
We had a tired band or two that played there, but mostly
it was just the piano and from time to time a jazz trio,
when they weren't playing the bigger clubs downtown. As
for atmosphere, though... nada. I knew that the place
needed a facelift, but there were two things that I
lacked to be able to make the club into a paying
proposition. The first thing I didn't have was the money
to do it. The other thing I lacked was an imaginative
idea... something that would attract people. I brought
both back from the Middle East with me, but I didn't
realize it right off the bat.
What I did realize was that my men needed homes. It was
while I was busy looking for them that Twenty-one and
Doc, who were staying with me at my apartment, began
hatching a plan to turn my club, the Kool Kat Klub, into
the hottest thing to hit uptown Manhattan since discos.
They realized that they had an abundance of talent in
their group, artists, musicians, techno-whiz-kids,
culinary craftsmen... you name it... we had it. But
probably the most important thing we had was a
brotherhood that extended a lot farther than my forty
men.
New York City is a truly international metropolis. It
didn't take my boys long to get to know the other Arabs
in the neighborhood. Some were distant relatives. All of
them were connected. If a thing was needed, it could be
obtained. Often it could be obtained without money
exchanging hands. Lots of things are free in this world.
My men seemed to know where the free stuff was and how to
get it.
The first thing I noticed was that the food started to
taste. I can't say that it tasted better, because the
chef I had hired before I left for the Middle East didn't
actually serve anything that had flavor. He made
everything bland so as not to upset anyone's palatte in
particular.
The next thing I discovered was that Twenty-one had been
working on my computer. This was his special forte. He
had learned English partly in order to make use of the
machines he had found in the university. Arabic had its
limitations. One of these limitations was the number of
good computer programs that were available in it... none.
Twenty-one took to the machine like a duck to water and
when he discovered mine it was just a matter of time
before he had his own directories filled with much better
programs than I could afford. I asked him where he had
obtained them, but he was vague.
When I asked what he was doing with them he was a little
nervous about showing me, but I pressed him and he called
up a CAD program.
"We've been thinking about the club, Larry," he began.
"You have a pretty good location, but..."
"But it needs a lot of work," I agreed. "I was hoping to
have a little money left over from my service in the
Gulf, but I mustered out a little sooner than I thought I
would."
"And it hasn't helped having forty mouths to feed,"
Twenty-one added.
"Thirty-nine," I reminded him.
He looked at me and a few more furrows etched himself
into his forehead. I guess he had forgotten that Abdul
was now in Washington.
"Still the place needs a face-lift," he pressed. "I think
we all agree on that."
"Yah," I said and watched as his long fingers flickered
on my keyboard. "The only thing bringing people in right
now is you guys. They want to get a look at a bunch of
real heroes."
"Then why not use that?" Twenty-one asked.
The computer drew a three dimensional view of the club as
it was.
"What do you mean? Put you guys on display? You're
already working there a couple of nights a week."
"Yah," Twenty-one agreed, "but only as waiters and
cooks." He flicked a few keys and sat back. "Why not make
us..." he glanced at the computer screen as it began to
redraw the same view of the club, but with a completely
different decor... "the main attraction."
My club had been transformed into something out of the
Casbah. It was the same building, but now there were big
slow-moving ceiling fans and low round tables covered
with white cloths. The walls were rough plaster, there
were lattice-work screens and indirect lighting filtering
through them.
Twenty-one grabbed the mouse and led me through the
three-dimensional replica, past the bar, up onto the
stage and back down through the front door. The screen
went blank. Then a new picture redrew itself, this time a
representation of the front of the building as seen from
the street. The facade wasn't all that bad, but the phony
marble front did nothing to attract the eye. I think the
original idea had been to not repel anyone.
"We have a few changes in mind for the exterior too,
Larry. This is the only thing I'm not too certain about.
I know how sentimental you are."
"Me? Sentimental? Like fuck! Go ahead, Twenty-one. Lemme
see what you have in mind. There's nothing about the
front of the building that can make me sentimental. I've
hated it ever since I first laid eyes on it."
"No, man, I didn't mean..."
"It's all right Twenty-one. Show me what you want to do."
He clicked a few keys and we watched.
"Have you ever read '1,001 Arabian Nights'," he asked as
the computer looked through its files for the right one.
"Yes, of course," I answered. "Ali Baba and the forty..."
My club had been transformed before my eyes. The windows
on either side of the door were now onion-shaped as was
the doorway itself. The phony marble was gone and a
stucco front added to the Middle Eastern influence. But
what caught my eye was the neon sign above the door that
had replaced the fluorescent one that had advertised the
Kool Kat Klub. Now the name of the club was scrawled in
an elegant imitation Arabic that read, "Ali Baba's".
Tears welled in my eyes.
"Shit! I knew it!" Twenty-one cursed. "I knew it was too
early to show you."
I grabbed him and kissed him. He held me for a while and
we had a good cry together. Then I told him that his
plans were beautiful, entirely appropriate and far too
expensive.
"That's where you're wrong, Larry. We've just about got
everything we need. All we needed from you was the go-
ahead, two weeks completely shut down, the okay to invite
some media people for the re-opening, and a promise that
you won't go off the deep end when we start tearing
things out."
"You have everything you need? Where did you get..."
"Oh, yah and a promise that you won't ask where
everything came from," Twenty-one added.
I hugged him again and looked at the computer screen. The
simplicity of the design appealed to me.
"It's beautiful," I said. "He'd love it."
"Yes he will," Twenty-one agreed. Then he got excited. He
grabbed the mouse and moved the image drawing closer to
the doors. "This is my favorite part," he grinned. "The
doors are voice-activated." He pulled a small microphone
from the side of my computer.
"Where'd that come from?" I asked.
"The sound card," he answered.
"But I don't have a sound card..."
"You do now. Oh, and I had to remove some of your dirty
picture files... but don't worry... I backed them up on
disks. Do you mind if I copy them?"
It was my turn to grin.
"So how does this work?" I asked.
"Well, the customer comes to the door and they say the
words once. If they have been there before the computer
will recognize their voice. If not, that will mean
there's a new customer and a gong will go off. The
doorman will appear and make sure they are old enough to
come in. Then he will tell them to repeat the passwords
and the door will open."
"Go ahead," he urged and his anticipatory smile went from
ear to ear. "Try it."
"What do I say?" I asked.
Twenty-one's smile disappeared. "I thought you said that
you'd read the book, man."
"Of course," I acknowledged, feeling like a fool. I put
the microphone close to my lips and said, "Open sesame!"
The doors flew wide open and a young man in flowing Arab
robes bowed to me on the screen. I started crying again.
"Sheesh, I don't believe this guy. It isn't necessarily
Ali, Boss. Aw, shit! Now I'm doing it again. It'll be all
right, man. You'll see." But Twenty-one was sobbing with
me and the little Ali on the screen kept smiling and
bowing and smiling and bowing and... well, you get the
idea.
That night Twenty-one and I had sex. We each needed the
same person beside us, but he was far away, so we made do
with each other. After seeing Twenty-one and Forty
perform in the motel in Saudi Arabia, I was surprised and
gratified by the sensitivity he showed. There was a lot
of kissing as we gave ourselves over to the inevitable.
The big friendly boy moved about the bed and presented
different parts of himself to me as he explored my body.
We had shared sex before, of course, but that had been in
Kuwait, in the office of the restaurant, with Abdul and
Ali, so this was the first time we had done it together
alone. This was strange when you realize that we slept
together every night.
At one point I grabbed one of his feet and began to kiss
it.
"What are you doing?" he complained. He tried to yank his
foot away.
"What is it with you Arabs and your feet?" I asked.
"Don't you realize that they're sexy too?"
"But they're feet..." he argued.
"I'm not asking you to do mine, man," I countered.
"I hope not," he bitched as he parted my ass cheeks and
shoved his tongue in. It felt really good especially when
he surrounded my asshole with his lips and sucked.
"What's wrong with this picture?" I asked. It broke him
up. I shoved his foot into my mouth as far as it would go
and felt his toes wiggling inside.
"Fuck you!" he called and tried to push it in all the
way. I pulled off his foot.
"That comes after the foreplay," I answered. Then I went
for that long elegantly curved cock of his until I made
him splash down my throat.
I guess things got a little frenzied there for a while.
We both had a go at each other's ass. We both unloaded a
couple of billion sperm cells up each other's shitters.
Then we both collapsed into a sweaty sticky mess on the
damp sticky sheets and wondered whether or not we would
wake Doc up if we took a shower together. Eventually the
conversation drifted back to the proposed renovations and
the money that would be needed to do them.
I was not satisfied with Twenty-one's assurances that
everything was in place. I wanted to know how they had
managed to round up everything in so short a space of
time. That's when he told me about the network they had
established with other immigrants from the Middle East. I
was still not satisfied. I wanted specifics.
"The neon sign," I said. "That has to be custom made.
What could you trade for that?"
"That we had to pay for," he admitted. "But the money is
just about all together for that. A couple more nights
and we should have it."
"Are you guys using your salaries from the club?"
"No... not exactly. Well, not this club..."
"What do you mean? Are you guys working another club?"
"Not all of us... Just some of the younger ones..."
"What kind of clubs?"
"You don't really want to know, Boss."
"All right, Twenty-one, which ones are stripping?"
"You mean besides me?"
"You too?"
"Yah, so? It was your suggestion..."
"I didn't mean for you to take me literally."
"Hey, man, it's fun. And where I come from it's all right
for a guy to do erotic dances..."
"But not without his clothes on..." almost serene look on
his face... at least the part of his face I can see
"Well, yah, that part took a little getting used to. But
I like it, man... and they like me... most of them,
anyway. I made about a thousand dollars already."
"Yah, but how many weeks did you have to dance to make
that?"
"Three nights, Larry."
"Three nights?"
"Yah, well I didn't just dance."
"I know what goes on in those places, Twenty-one. A
thousand dollars in three nights?"
"I was the featured performer. A lot of them remembered
me from television."
"I'll just bet they did."
"Hey, don't worry, man, I didn't use my real name. I have
a stage name."
"What do you mean a stage name?"
"I call myself 'Twelve'. Aw, Larry, what's the matter?
Abdul's doing it too. He's the guy who found the place in
Washington. He phoned and told me about one here in New
York."
"Winston let's Abdul strip?"
"I don't think he knows. Anyway Abdul's working on the
voice activated door. That's really a big ticket item, so
we had to put our best man on it."
"I don't think I want you guys dropping trou to pay for
the club..."
"Larry, you'll just have to accept it. We all want to
contribute. Some of us can do it by renovating the club.
The rest have to raise the money for the things we can't
scrounge. But don't worry. We aren't making it our life's
work. We're just trying to give something back. You've
given us a place where we can come and work. That will
keep us from starving while we find the jobs we're really
suited for. If we make the place a success, it's better
for us. So a couple of us dangle our peckers in front of
some guys... so what? They pay us for it. They're
happy... we're happy... everybody's happy. And we get
the club on its feet. What's so wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is a little thing called 'AIDS'," I
reminded him. "What you are doing is dangerous."
"Doc already took care of that. He showed us all about
condoms. We're all right, Larry. You can relax."
"Doc knows what you're doing?"
"Yah... sort of..."
"What do you mean by sort of?"
"He thinks we're dancing for women."
"No he doesn't." It was Doc's voice that interrupted.
"Why don't you two shut up? Do you want the whole
neighborhood to know what's going on?"
"Well," I said, "I guess it won't make any difference if
we take that shower."
In spite of my objections to the way the men were getting
the money they needed to fund the renovations, we closed
the club down two weeks ago. They gutted it almost
overnight. By the end of the second day the wiring had
been upgraded. Twenty-seven was an electrician who had
already found a job with a construction company. He made
sure everything was up to code and called in the
inspector he'd met on one of the sites he worked.
After that everything seemed to happen at once. Plaster
went over everything inside and outside. As soon as it
was dry the trim was applied. The stage was reinforced
and re-planked. The bar was overhauled and all new
plumbing was installed. A mirror the length of the bar
was installed. Several coats of paint were slapped on,
inside and outside.
Yesterday they installed the carpet and the sign. Today
Twenty-one is trying to debug the doors. They told me it
would be ready for tonight, and I guess they were right.
There's only one thing missing, of course. I guess we
know what that is, huh? A happy ending...
Well it's time for Colonel Hadford's bus. He flew in from
Saudi Arabia last night. He said that nothing could keep
him from the opening of Ali Baba's. He must have waited
for Winston and Abdul. They're due now too.
Colonel Hadford called me last week and told me that Ali
really appreciates all my letters. Unfortunately he is
unable to send me any answers... something to do with
censorship... He says that we have to keep praying for
Ali, and I do. I've started to go to church, too.
Ah, there's the Colonel now. Colonel, over here. Abdul,
hey man, don't you guy's have any luggage?
"Hi, Larry. You remember Winston."
"Yes, of course. Colonel, it's good to see you. Did you
have any word from Ali?"
"Yes, I did. But I think my batman has it. He'll be right
here, though. He's just getting the luggage off the bus."
"What did he say, man?"
"I believe the message was, 'Forty-one.'"
"What did you say, Colonel?"
"Turn around, Larry. He said, 'Forty-one.'"
"Ali??? Ali!!!"
"Please, Larry, not in front of the men..."
Editor's Note: At this point the tape stopped.
Epilogue
Setting The Record Straight
Hello, my name is Twenty-one. Larry and Ali aren't up
right now, so I thought I would take advantage of the
opportunity to set the record straight.
First of all, I want to thank all of you who wrote to us
and especially the ones who sent money. It was very kind
of you and we all appreciate it. Your efforts on our
behalf really helped everybody, Ali included.
Some of you have asked what we were doing in Kuwait. The
answer to that is really quite simple. Most of us were
trying not to be killed. I started out in Southern Iraq,
myself. When your guys started firing the artillery at us
I decided that Southern Iraq had lost whatever appeal it
had previously held. Of course with the air war already
pulverizing Baghdad, Northern and Central Iraq were even
less tantalizing. So three days after the bombardment
began I personally invaded Kuwait... on foot. A lot of
the guys had the same idea.
See, you folks weren't taking prisoners at that point.
You were too busy shooting at us. Kuwait was not being
bombarded. The only real destruction came when our army
headed back for Baghdad. That was happening at about the
same time I got there, but I swear that I didn't do it. I
was looking for somewhere to hide... and a bath.
I found both in Kuwait City. I also found a lot of my
friends there. We were waiting for things to cool off a
little, and trying to figure out how to surrender without
getting our heads blown off, when all of a sudden we hear
this story about the restaurant downtown that's being run
by a bunch of Iraqi soldiers who are serving meals to the
U.S. military.
Well, none of us believed it, of course, but I was
getting pretty hungry by then, so I took off my uniform
and wandered down there for a look. Naturally I went in
the back door and I recognize a few guys. One of them
gave me his dinner and went out front to make some more
for himself.
Well, I scarfed it down and they showed me where I could
lay down and get some sleep, cause I was pretty tired by
then, but just when I'm starting to drift off these two
idiots in the freezer start to laugh about something.
Well I'm half asleep by then and I don't really know what
I'm doing, so I go in there and ask them to keep the
noise down because I want to get some sleep.
It was the guy who gave me his meal who was in there with
an American, only he's all dressed in robes like a
Kuwaiti. Well, I didn't know whether to whistle or wind
my watch by this point, but they grab me and take my
clothes off, which is a little disconcerting, especially
when they don't do anything but put more back on me. They
dressed me up like them and sent me out to wait tables,
right in a room full of U.S. servicemen.
Ali, the guy who gave me his dinner, seems to be in
charge, so I hang out with him for a while and when I
tell him that Juarez, the guy they really sent me out to
serve, wants peaches and cream, well, Ali gets a stupid
grin on his face and he gets me to go into the freezer
with him and masturbate all over the peaches with him.
That's when Larry comes in and catches us, only he
doesn't say nothing. He guesses what it is we're up to
and salutes just as I'm getting ready to unload on those
peaches. We threw a little milk on there to sort of hide
what we'd done, and then I had to take it out and give it
to the goof. The son of a bitch never even tipped me.
But I didn't want to tell you the same story Larry
already told. I just wanted to make sure that you
understood that I was tired and a little stupid when that
happened. I don't remember actually surrendering to
Larry, but I could have... I guess. I suppose that it was
just sort of understood. Anyway, I'm not really like
that... most of the time.
My story really picks up where Larry left off, here in
New York. He's right about all of us feeling bad about
having to leave Ali, but we knew we had a good man going
to bat for him. We'd all met Colonel Hadford, and he knew
who we were. I don't think he believed that cock and bull
story about Ali being Kuwaiti for a minute. But he got
him his papers because Larry asked him to.
I suppose that Ali showing him where all the mines were
didn't hurt his case either. We fed him well too. He
never had to worry about what he ate like that Juarez
guy. I still can't believe that Ali fed him that onion
and the bastard never knew what he was eating. There was
a lot of it on there too.
Of all the people I have met in this world I would have
to say that Ali is the one who is most like a brother to
me. I know how Larry feels about him. I feel the same. I
guess that makes Larry sort of like my brother-in-law, or
something. We're all one big family anyway. That's what
made it so difficult to try to cheer each other up when
Ali was in jail. We all felt just as bad as Larry did.
Of course it also made it hard to keep the secret about
Ali's release from Larry. There wasn't a day that went by
after Colonel Hadford told us and made me promise to make
sure that nobody told Larry that every one of us didn't
feel like telling him, but somehow we made it. Of course
now Larry says that he knew it all along, but that's
bullshit... and we told him so.
See, Ali was released about the same time that we started
the renovations on the club. I have to admit that I had a
little something to do with it, and even though I'm not
proud of what I did... well, it worked.
Let me tell you what happened.
The guys and I realized early on that we were going to
need some serious cash to pay for the sign we had planned
and the doors that Larry told you about. We had no idea
where to get it until Abdul phoned from Washington and
told us what he had done the night before.
Winston had been out of town with his congressman for a
couple of days leaving Abdul alone and feeling bored. So
he went out for a night on the town and found this strip
club where the guys strip and other guys watch them. He
was hanging around outside when this guy comes out for a
smoke and sees him there. It was one of the other
dancers. He gets an eyeful of Abdul and likes what he
sees and asks him if he's there to audition. Well Abdul
has been hanging around trying to work up enough nerve
just to go inside, but he tells the guy that he wouldn't
mind auditioning, if he thinks there's a chance that they
would like him.
Well the other guy looks at him and says, "Oh, baby,
there's no doubt in my mind!" So in Abdul goes and the
first thing he sees is a black guy with a twelve inch
cock waving in front of him there on the stage, which is
just a bunch of boards propped up on cement blocks.
Abdul figures he can't compete for size, and they
probably won't want him, but he also figures, what the
hell! He watches a couple of more guys to see what they
do, then he hops up and does a strip that has the
audience sitting on the edge of their seats with their
jaws hanging open... sorta like Larry does. When he
finishes nobody claps for a while, then one guy starts
and the rest of the audience wakes up and joins in. See,
they were all sort of in a trance there because Abdul is
such a beautiful guy.
They hired Abdul on the spot and he worked there the rest
of the night. All the time he's there he's talking to the
other dancers. A lot of them have been around a while and
they know the circuit. They tell Abdul about the other
clubs on the east coast, a lot of which are in New York,
but they don't mention how the real money is made. Abdul
doesn't know any better so he stays in the dressing room
all night and when the shows are all finished he goes to
get his money from the manager, who tells him to be there
the next day too.
When he leaves there are about six guys still waiting to
see him and talk to him. The first guy asks if he can
take him home. Abdul figures that would be a nice thing
for him to do and it's kind of late, so he says, "Sure."
Then the guy asks him, "How much?"
Abdul asks him, "How much for what?"
"To spend the night with you," the guy says.
Abdul says that he doesn't own his home and he shouldn't
invite people to stay with him without getting permission
first.
The guy tells him that that is all right since he has a
hotel room right around the corner and he'd be willing to
pay Abdul two hundred dollars to come with him and let
the guy use him as a lollipop all night.
Well this sounds like major bread to Abdul and he agrees
to spend the night with the guy and gets the most serious
sucking he's had since Kuwait. The next day he calls me
and tells me that he thinks he has the down payment for
the doors. Then he tells me where to go in New York to
find the Follies.
Now, I'm no Abdul and I know it, so I get a bunch of the
better looking guys together and we walk down to the
place to have a talk with the manager. It turns out that
she's a woman. Well, that was kind of stupid. I guess
that she would have to be wouldn't she? But it's a
totally different idea than dealing with a man. You've
got to understand we're Arabs, and not totally sold on
this equality thing.
But we swallow our pride and drop our drawers and she
watches each of us and chooses me. I'm sort of wondering
what I've got myself into when she tells me she will
start me off on Friday night and Saturday night when she
usually has fifteen of us stripping.
The other guys head up town to audition at a couple of
other clubs and I go back to Larry's club to see if
anybody can teach me how to dance. See, I'm a little
unco-ordinated.
Well, everybody wants to show me different stuff and I'm
getting sort of confused by it all and trying to remember
what they say, when Ahmad asks me how I got the job if I
couldn't dance. I told him I had just moved to the music
and he said, "Show me."
They put on some music and I got up on the stage and
showed them what I'd done... well I didn't take all my
clothes off like I did at the Follies, but I took off
enough so they got the idea, and Ahmad, that's Four to
you, says it looks good to him and I should just keep
doing what I'm doing. Well that made sense to everybody.
Anyhow the next item on the agenda was finding me a
costume. Ahmad just looked at me and said, "Why not wear
the robes Ali gave you?" Again, everybody figured he was
right, so I gave them a wash and hung them out to dry.
That Friday night the place was packed. I don't mean that
everybody was there to see me, you understand, I'm just
telling you that it was a busy place on Friday nights. I
was just one of the fifteen dancers when I went in there,
but I noticed that when I came off stage after my first
dance and started walking around in my robes, that a lot
of people were looking at me like they were trying to
place my face. One guy in particular though was just
looking at me.
Every time I turned around I would see him staring at me,
until I looked, of course, and then he would look
somewhere else. He was an Arab too. I thought he might
have been offended by me having danced bare ass, me being
an Arab too and all, but he didn't come close enough to
me for me to start a conversation with him. He just hung
around me. Once I was talking to this guy who wanted to
have sex with me, and I felt like I was being watched
again. I looked over my shoulder really quickly, and I
saw him turn and walk away. But he had been eaves-
dropping on my conversation. I was sure of that.
I had been telling the guy I was with that I was one of
the fellows he'd seen on television during the war. He
asked me what my real name was. I had been dancing as
Twelve because when the manager asked me what my name was
for the introduction I had not been prepared. I didn't
want to give my real name, Twenty-one, and the name I was
born with really sucks, so I thought really quickly and
told her Twelve, because Twelve is just Twenty-one
backwards. But the guy I was with seemed okay, so I told
him my name was Twenty-one.
Anyway the guy says, "So you really are an Iraqi... and a
hero at that!"
"Well," I said, "I don't know about the hero part, but I
guess I have to admit to being Iraqi." That's when I
looked over my shoulder. I didn't see the Arab guy again
after that... that night. The guy I was talking to did
eventually get around to telling me what he had in mind
and we did it in the women's washroom. He paid me thirty-
five dollars and asked me for my phone number. I gave it
to him, but I took his too and told him I would call him
Sunday afternoon.
I got a lot of phone numbers that night. The word spread
through the place that I was one of the Iraqi's who had
busted Larry out of jail in Baghdad, and my dance card
was full for the rest of the night. The same thing
happened the next night.
I was turning so many tricks that the manager decides to
keep me on for the next day too, to see if I can pack
them in one more time. She even put a special sign up out
front advertising that she had me, "Live from Iraq,
Twelve... it isn't just his name..."
Now, I'm no slouch in the pecker department, but twelve?
Well I guess if you're using the metric system... and I'm
really excited... But then I could use my real name.
Anyhow, there were plenty of guys there on Sunday too, to
suck a celebrity, and I hit a thousand dollars for the
three days by about four o'clock in the afternoon. That's
when I saw another Arab guy watching me. Only this time,
this guy comes over and interrupts a conversation I'm
having with another guy and tells me to come with him.
I told him I was busy and he'd have to wait, but then he
tells me that he does not intend to wait and I feel the
barrel of the gun in my back. He doesn't keep it there
but he just pokes me with it to let me know that he's got
it.
I figure that I'd better do as he says, so I excuse
myself and go where he points me, which is out through
the turnstile and down the stairs to the street.
On my way out I almost knocked over the guy I'd been
talking to on Friday night... you know the guy I'd told
who I really was? When I didn't call him that afternoon
like I said I would, he called my number... well, Larry's
number actually... and Doc told him that I had gone to
work again, so he came on over to see me.
Anyway, I'm still in my robes, which is unusual and this
guy knows it... but I'm being pushed along against my
will and he sees this. When they push me into a
limousine, the guy takes down the licence number and
realizes that the car has diplomatic plates. He realizes
this because he works at the United Nations, and he makes
a telephone call and finds out that the car is registered
to the Kuwaiti d elegation.
Well, he figures that two plus two still equal four, so
he looks through the phone book and finds the number of a
friend of his from work and calls him up to find out
everything he can about the Kuwaitis who are in town.
Meanwhile, I'm being blindfolded in the back of the
limousine. This leads me to believe that they are serious
about kidnapping me... well, I've always been pretty
smart. But at that point I'm feeling pretty stupid, and
I'm wishing I was back in Iraq. This wish gets fonder as
the afternoon turns into evening. I'm led from the car to
an elevator and it goes up a couple of floors. While it's
doing that a couple of guys are stripping me naked. When
the doors open they push me through onto a marble floor
and drag me along a ways until I hear a door close behind
me.
The next thing I feel is a kick in the nuts that I am
absolutely not ready for and I double over like Larry's
jacknife. This makes it easier for them to tie me up,
which they do. They put me into a sling and then they
leave me there. I hear the door close anyway. But I don't
think that I'm alone. Ten minutes goes by and there isn't
a sound in the room, but I know that there's somebody
there with me. I don't say anything though. My nuts are
still stinging and I'm feeling sick to my stomach with
the pain and I don't want to go through it again, so I'm
being a good boy.
Then I hear somebody snap their fingers off to my left,
but it doesn't really surprise me like I think he thought
it would. I do turn my head in his direction though. He
isn't wearing shoes. I know this because the floor is
still marble in this room and a couple of seconds after
he snapped his fingers to the left of me, he did it
again, only on the other side. He's playing with my
pumpkin, like Larry always says.
Well, I don't bother looking, because I'm blindfolded,
afterall and there's no way I could see anything anyway.
I guess he figures that I'm getting a little sick of his
stupid game, so he steps between my legs and grabs a
healthy handful of my nuts and gives them a twist. This
re-engages my interest immediately.
He's hanging on with my nuts twisted around, I figure
about three and a half times, and I defy any of you guys
not to scream when that happens. But then he sticks my
cock in his mouth and bites it.
Well, my back arches up about a foot and a half when he
does that. I'm thinking he's going to bite the fucker
off. I'm screaming and pleading with him to stop, and I'm
doing it in Arabic.
Well, he stopped. I'm wishing I could see so I could have
a look at it and all of a sudden I can. He ripped the
blindfold off me and it turns out he's the Arab guy from
Friday night.
"You're Kuwaiti, aren't you?" I said. See, I'd been doing
some mental arithmetic myself.
"Good," he answered, "at least you know who is killing
you, Iraqi."
"Look, man," I said, "I didn't want to invade Kuwait.
That was another guy's idea. I wasn't even in Kuwait
until the war ended. I only went there to get out of the
line of fire... and take a bath..."
"Shut up, Iraqi. You killed my brother!"
"I never killed nobody!" Sorry about the double negative,
but that's as close as I can come with the translation.
He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back until I
thought my neck would snap.
"You are guilty!" he screamed. "Allah knows you are
guilty!"
"Allah knows right where I was all the time," I argued.
"I never killed nobody!"
He fetched me a knee in the back. Then he went back
between my legs. He took a loop of fine wire and pulled
my nuts through it. I knew what he was planning and I
didn't want any part of it. The loop had two free ends
wrapped around a pair of wooden handles.
He pulled the handles away from each other and I felt the
wire tighten around my scrotum just beneath the base of
my cock. Between his feet on the marble floor sat a
bucket. I knew why it was there. The bastard was going to
castrate me and let me bleed to death... and he didn't
want to stain the floor with my nuts or my blood.
"Oh, jeesh," I whined. "Please, man, don't do that!"
That's when the door opened and a voice bellowed,
"Yasin!"
The man who bellowed looked a lot like the man between my
legs, only older. He glared at the scene and tried to
figure out what was going on. It did not take him long.
The evidence was pretty much laid out before him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
Yasin still held the two handles that could sever my
testicles in a millisecond. I hoped that the man in the
doorway would realize this, but I dared not say anything
for fear of angering Yasin, who was now apparently under
the influence of the older man. The older man walked into
the room and approached Yasin.
"Give me those things," he said across my lower body. I
wished that he had been a little more specific, but Yasin
seemed to understand. He let the pressure off a little,
but then he seemed to rebel and I felt the wire tighten
once more.
"But he's an Iraqi, father," he cried. "He killed your
son. And they made him out to be a hero."
"Yasin..."
"No, Father, he must die!"
"And if he does, I will lose another son," Yasin's father
said and his voice was soft and full of love. "Give that
to me, Yasin. I do not want to lose you, too."
Well, Yasin started to cry and he dropped the two
handles. I felt the thing loosen and fall off. It
clattered into the bucket. I closed my eyes and breathed
a sigh of relief and when I opened them again Yasin was
no longer in the room. His father was there though. He
looked at me and I could tell that he didn't like what he
was looking at.
I guess a couple of minutes passed like that, then the
door opened again and two men came in. I recognized the
man from the Follies who had kidnapped me. Now he was
untying one side of me while the other guy did the other
side. Yasin's father never touched me.
They threw me my robes and I pulled them on. Only then
did Yasin's father speak to me.
"You have me at a disadvantage," he said. "I have
diplomatic immunity, but my son..."
"You're a diplomat?" I asked.
"I am," he stated. "This situation could be very
embarrassing. I ask you to accept my apologies. I am also
willing to reimburse you financially..."
"I don't want money," I said, "I want justice."
"You have that right," he acknowledged. "Kidnapping is a
serious offense..."
"I don't care about that," I said. "Do you have much
influence in Kuwait?"
"How do you mean?"
I went for the bundle. "I've got this friend, see..."
Colonel Hadford told me that Ali was released into his
custody the very next day.
Well, that's about all I had to add to Larry's story. I
guess you all saw the news piece they did about the club
opening. It was a real bash. I shook hands with the Mayor
and a couple of other people who told me they were
important. The guy who saved my life was there too. The
place was really packed and has been every night since. I
think we've got Larry off to a good start. Well, it only
seems right. They say turnabout is fair play.
Ali took my place in Larry's bed, of course, but don't
feel sorry for me or nothing. I've been bunking in with
another guy I met in Kuwait. He's taking me home to
Boston in a couple of days to meet his mother. He's also
going to get me into M.I.T. Maybe you remember him... his
name is Roger Hadford.
Author's Note:
I hope that you enjoyed the story of Larry and Ali and
all of their friends. If you did, I would like to hear
from you. I have plans to write Ali of New York and
Twenty-one of Boston, but I need to know if anybody is
reading these little projects of mine.
You can e-mail me at heap@aracnet.net with your comments
and suggestions. I would also like to hear from anyone
who does not approve of the stories, for whatever
reason... except of course racism. We've all had bad
experiences with people from different ethnic groups. But
it is a mistake to hate all members of a group because of
the actions of a few. Let's learn to live together. It's
the only chance we have.