Exiles in America(157)

technology was wonderful and civilian casualties would be minimal. In the

nights that followed, there was no more video footage, only photographs and

taped sound. Enormous trees of black smoke towered over a sea of flat roofs.

Buildings on a river were silhouetted against a fiery sky.

The war existed only on television. It was like a new TV series that everyone

was watching, with its own logo and theme music. Daniel often watched with

Zack, but irritably, angrily, sometimes leaving halfway through a broadcast.

Zack worried that the administration might be right and Iraq actually pos-

sessed weapons of mass destruction. American soldiers would die by the

thousands from nerve gas. Deadly germs and terrorist bombs would be un-

leashed in U.S. cities. The doctor wasn’t entirely sure if his fears weren’t also

wishes. He was surprised by how angry he was with his own country.

He continued to send his truncated e-mails into cyberspace.

Elena: We assume you are hearing the same bad news we are hear-

ing, but maybe more, since our government says nothing about civil-

ian dead.

Elena: The war distorts everything here, even the Oscars. As if to

offset any antiwar speeches, there were news bulletins throughout

the broadcast, although there was no news to report. These were

like advertisements for war, commercials for war. Our media has

sold its soul to liars.

Elena: Are you safe there? Do your neighbors trust and accept you?

Or are you tainted by your time over here?

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C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m

Still he heard nothing. He wondered if the war next door meant all com-

munication between Iran and the outside world was shut down, or monitored

so closely that Elena didn’t dare write back.

f 2

“This war is so sad. Yancy watches every night, but I can’t even bear to look

at a TV set. All those people in danger? I pray to God every day it’ll end be-

fore more harm comes to anyone.”

“A good thing to pray for,” Zack agreed. “War is terrible.”

Fay nodded and smoothed her skirt again. She was more distracted than

usual, more nervous under her shell of composure. She spoke in crisp, hard,

disconnected sentences. “But it makes a person think. War is good for that.

It’s made me realize that I need to be tougher. I’ve been giving myself one long

pity party. But I’m not alone in this world. I can’t just think about myself any-

more. You got to wonder if God gave us this war because we were getting

soft.”

Zack shifted uncomfortably. “Soft, how?”

“Weak. Full of doubt. Doubt is not something we can afford.”

“What kind of doubt?”

“Self-doubt. It’s self-indulgent. Especially at a time like this. Our way of

life is in danger. We can’t afford to shilly-shally.”

Zack was disappointed to hear Fay talk in White House buzzwords. “Are

you referring to doubts about your own life, Fay? Or to doubts about whether

we should be in Iraq or not?”

Fay stared at him as if the question were preposterous. “Well, about me, of

course. I have no doubts about the war. But the war has made me realize that

doubt is a bad thing.”

“You don’t think that doubt simply means stopping for a minute and ask-

ing ourselves if we’re doing the right thing?”

“It can. But too often it’s just an excuse to do nothing. And while we do

nothing, they could be attacking and killing us.”

“So we should hit first and ask questions later? Even if it means killing in-

nocent people?” He spoke softly but was surprised to hear himself respond

with such harsh words.

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

3 6 1

Fay stopped smoothing her skirt. “It’s for God to decide if they’re inno-

cent or not. Only I can’t believe they’re so innocent. Not when they live under

that dictator or believe that so-called religion.”

Zack remained outwardly calm even as his temper rose. He knew he

should wait and address this later, but he liked Fay Dawson and hated being

angry with her. “I should tell you, Fay, that I feel very hurt right now hearing

you talk like this. I have friends who are Muslims. They’re not in Iraq, but I

am concerned about them. I feel their lives are as valuable as yours or mine.”

Fay grimaced and groaned, like a teenage girl who’d just put her foot in

her mouth. But then she said, “I’m sorry about your friends. I truly am. But

they are not my concern.” She couldn’t look at Zack. “I don’t hate Muslims.

But they hate us. I can’t worry about their welfare. I have only so much worry

to go around. No, my worry is for our men in uniform. And women. They’re