“Not ordinary boys. Not boys like Khalid. Where is this crazy idea coming from?”

The wedding bus trundled past. A young man with a trumpet hung out the door and sent a lungful of notes spiraling into the sky.

“Abu Issa said . . .” Huda’s throat ached. “He said he would put Khalid in the Lion Cubs, and then into the fedayeen.”

Abdul Amir growled and shoved the box of pastries back in the shopping bag.

“Did you ever consider the saying ‘If you can’t beat them, join them’?”

Huda recoiled. Who was this man sitting next to her?

“I can’t believe you’d say that, after all that we suffered—”

“The past is dead.” Abdul Amir’s palm sliced the air.

“But you know—”

“What I know is that once, I had a good job. I studied hard and worked long hours. I deserved it. Then the Westerners imposed their sanctions and killed the hopes of ordinary Iraqi men, like me. I was forced to rely on my wife to feed my family.” His cheeks burned. “Now you say I should sneak my son out of his own country. For what? I ask you. So he can end up a gas station attendant in the fabulous United States of America?”

“Anything is better than the fedayeen,” she hissed.

“Abu Issa wants to scare you, that’s all. You need to give him more information.”

“But I have nothing to tell.”

“Make it up then, like everyone else working for them.”

Huda tried to reply but shock rendered her dumb. The wedding procession rolled past. She stole a glance at Abdul Amir. Whether a love match or arranged the traditional way, it didn’t matter how well the bride knew the groom on the wedding day. Husbands could change so much; even a wife of sixteen years could suddenly find herself married to a stranger.

* * *

Abdul Amir paced up and down the garden, backlit by the flames of the refinery. He swigged on his fancy Dutch beer, stopping only to rip weeds from the garden.

“Don’t overreact.” He hurled a leathery rue into the compost pile. “Abu Issa has the carrot and the stick. That talk about the Lion Cubs was the stick. Give him some information, and he will be happy.”

Huda pointed to his beer bottle.

“And that is the carrot?”

Abdul Amir scowled, but shame colored his cheeks. Huda noted his mixed emotions with relief. Perhaps she could still influence him. Once upon a time, he’d made a habit of confiding in her and trusting her opinion. But since losing his job, he spent more and more time brooding in the garden, or at the coffee shop with the other jobless men, all of them sucking on nargilah and bitterness.

“You can’t be so foolish.” Abdul Amir paced on. “Not about our son’s future.”