Principal al-Quds folded her hands atop her tatty desk. The wood was scratched all over and pockmarked by deep gouges, as if it had been in a knife fight. The concrete wall behind her was bare except for a portrait of the president. The lone window was cracked. The glass had been plastered with masking tape, but the wind slipped through anyway and made a high-pitched keening sound.

“Please, believe me, Khalid is a loyal Iraqi.” Huda fumbled with her bag, as if she might find an excuse in its pockets. “He wanted to march with his classmates in the president’s victory parade. But he was sick with fever. I made him stay in bed. His absence was my fault, not his.”

Huda glanced at Principal al-Quds. The woman was as blank as the wall. She pried open her wallet.

“Our family would like to make a donation to support the school’s celebrations of our president’s glorious victory.” Huda slid all the dinar she had across the battered expanse of desk. “You can decide how to use it, Principal al-Quds, for whatever purpose you think is best.”

Principal al-Quds didn’t move. She eyed the money like it was a viper slithering among her manila folders and collection of cheap pens. Huda cringed and tucked her hands in her lap.

“I know you have a well-paying job, Mrs. al-Basri,” said Principal al-Quds. “No doubt this allows you privileges others cannot afford. But that does not mean your son can flaunt the rules. Not when it comes to demonstrating his love for his country and his president.”

“Of course, you’re right. It won’t happen again.”

“Khalid’s teachers report other missed classes as well. How do you explain this?”

“I can’t . . .” Huda shook her head in bewilderment. “His father and I will make sure he misses no more school, or any other parades. Please believe me, Khalid is a good boy. Please, give him a chance to prove himself trustworthy.”

Principal al-Quds stared across the scarred expanse of wood. What does she see in my eyes? Huda wondered. Liar? Sinner? Traitor? Shame painted her cheeks red. She used to consider herself a moral woman. Now she lied every day, accepted payoffs from the mukhabarat, and negotiated kickbacks from merchants eager to separate Ally from her cash. She blackmailed Rania, a woman who used to be her closest friend. Now, she’d added bribery to her sins.

“I am a mother, like you.” Principle al-Quds rapped her fingers on the desk. “So I will not report Khalid’s absence from the parade. For the moment . . .”

“Thank you, Principal al-Quds. Blessings upon you, and blessings upon your family.”

Bowing and mumbling apologies, Huda backed toward the door.

“Wait.” Principal al-Quds flicked her index finger toward the wad of dinar. “Take that with you, Mrs. al-Basri. I’ll keep my morals instead.”

* * *