One man

One man returned home in the twilight of another Baghdad day. Slowly he pushes his fish cart from the tired market making sure not to attract any unwanted attention. His wages from the day equaled a percentage of what he made as a physician but it wasn’t fisherman they were killing nearly as much as doctors these days. He retired his cart to the rear of his dusty house and made his way through the front door. The door barely held together from the constant battering it took from soldiers looking for ghost but he did his best to keep it as a barrier from out there to inside, his one refuge.

The warmth of the house was masked with the smell of jasmine from the window sill and dinner being prepared in the kitchen. He cleaned his face in the basin of water and made his way to the bedroom to change shirts. The sound of his wife’s singing warmed him as he entered the kitchen. The song was one from a distant time in Babylon but comforting all the same. His wife turned as he entered the room and embraced him in the conservative way of their customs.

He spoke of his day by the Euphrates catching today’s sales and how well he did with his wagon full of carp. She was happy for his success but not nearly as happy as she was to see him once more. She returned back to the stove to remove the food from the heat as he took a seat at the table. He read last week’s paper for the 6th time as if it was today’s as he brushed his graying mustache. The sound of a small plate of lamb and rice echoed from the table as he put his paper to the side. He makes a small prayer of thanks and then is served by his wife. Soon after he begins to eat she serves herself.

The meal was the first thing either had eaten all day but they did not rush. To rush would remove one more civilized thing they were able to keep for themselves. The dinner conversation covered what she had done that day, news from the streets and when the power was going to go out tonight. Once the meal was finished she stood quickly and cleaned the table. He made his way to the roof where at night it was cooler than the downstairs but also provide less protection from the dangers of the night. The sounds of his wife soon followed with a bowl of figs and dates.

The fruit was their sole form of dessert. It wasn’t that they could not get sweets from the market but it had been harder to get fresh fruit since the last few markets had been the scene of destruction. The sun slowly sunk beneath the horizon leaving the darkened sky with hints of orange and red. The sole street light shown down on an empty neighborhood littered with paper. The crack of distant gunfire broke the silence every few minutes but it had become a fixture of the moonlit night.

Slowly the lights of a Humvee made their way down the street. The Humvee was followed by three more and a handful of men making cautious movements. It was when the tank appeared the he decided to go downstairs and greet the men of the night, if only to save his door one more time.