A dusty wind had picked up and the town seemed under a barrage. So much had happened in the years since the Americans had come and gone. So much wasted blood, all the destroyed mosques. The enemy had been relentless on Samarra, swooping in from the horizon in their pickups and black banners, waving their atrocity in our faces and rubbing it in. We had been losing then, but the cordon for holy Samarra had withstood the assault, barely.

Evil was still in the air, however, and this dusty wind had a smattering of that time.

“You had best get going before the road to Baghdad is closed.”

“Saleh, you haven’t asked me why I may not see you again.”

I did not tell him that a man can only take so many goodbyes. I was exhausted. Mostly with my choices. And those of others. I met Jasim’s eyes and waited for him to speak again.

“I will take my family and go to Morocco. I worked there before. I have connections.”

“Jasim, Morocco is not Iraq. They don’t need translators like you over there. You’ll be bowing all day and night to French and German tourists. You’ll be a waiter in some tourist-trap restaurant.”

“So be it. Do not be harsh on me, Saleh. I cannot live in fear for my family here every day. Look at what happened to . . .” He trailed off.

“Zahra the Beheader?”

“Ay, yes,” he said in a way that was not quite his own Iraqi accent, as if he were already considering himself gone from here.

“God be with you, my friend.”

“And them?” He pointed toward the barbershop.

“I guess I will not have to worry about a haircut in Samarra.”

“What will you do with them? That old lady looks very sick. She needs a doctor. And that young man, he . . .”

“Looks confused? That he is. He can’t go back to Iran.”

“Why not?”

“They already named a street after him. He’s a martyr.”

Jasim raised an eyebrow. “They think he died in battle?”

“Something like that.”

“And you are here to do what for him?”

“He believes he should become a real martyr and not remain a fake one.”

“But Saleh!”

“I know, my friend. You have to escape to Morocco and this man, I suppose, has to do what he has to do.”

Jasim thought for a bit. “I could take him to Morocco with me.”

“You are too kind. I’ll figure something out for him. He will not die. Not if I can help it.”

“Allah!”

“Allah!”

Jasim disappeared in a squall of dust and traffic.