As Tor Khan drove ho, his hands kept trembling.
The steering wheel slipped in his sweat-soaked palms, the wheels rolling over the broken asphalt made irregular noises, echoing his chaotic heartbeat.
Every detail of the coup looped through his mind, like a nightmare, making his heart race.
Barzani's cold eyes, Rashid's cruel smile as he described the ambush plan, and the crisp clinks of the four whiskey glasses now seed like the toll of a funeral bell upon recollection.
Each scene made his stomach twitch, the bitterness of bile rising to his throat.
He rolled down the car window, letting the cold morning air disperse so of the accumulated smoke and sour fear in the car.
He parked the car two blocks from ho, turned off the engine, and sat quietly in the car to organize his scattered thoughts.
The night sky over Elbil was unusually clear.
On this night without the cover of war and smoke, stars fell like scattered diamonds on a black velvet sky.
Tor Khan looked up at this starry sky, rembering twenty years ago when he was a young platoon leader, leading his team on a night mission in the Sinjar Mountain Area for the first ti.
The sky was just as clear back then; his soldiers were still alive, they still believed in the cause they were fighting for.
What an ordinary night, what an ordinary city.
The kebab shop on the corner had already closed, its iron shutter halfway down; the neon sign of the 24-hour pharmacy in the distance continued to flicker; a couple returning late embraced as they walked through the intersection, the girl's laughter clear like a bell.
All these everyday, mundane life scenes now seed so fragile and heartbreaking to Tor Khan.
What about after tomorrow?
When the sounds of the coup's gunfire ring out, when Chairman Masood falls into a pool of blood, when soldiers storm the governnt building, how long can the city's peace last?
Those people joking in the kebab shop, those families buying cold dicine in the pharmacy, those couples walking arm in arm.
Do they know about the storm that's coming?
Tor Khan pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, taking a deep breath, trying to quell his overwhelming emotions.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated on the passenger seat.
He glanced at the screen.
Rashid's na was flashing.
He let it vibrate until it automatically went to voicemail.
Five seconds later, an encrypted ssage popped up: "Tomorrow morning, six o'clock, sa place, final confirmation. Do not reply."
Final confirmation.
Those four words were like four nails, firmly fastening his fate to the cross of betrayal.
Tor Khan started the engine and slowly drove into his garage.
The sound of the electronic shutter door closing behind him echoed especially harshly in the silent night.
He sat in the dark car for a full three minutes before finally gathering the courage to open the car door.
Most of the lights in the house were off, only a warm yellow floor lamp was still on in the living room.
That was his wife Lana's habit.
No matter how late, she always left a light on for him.
This light had been the warst comfort during his many years in the military, but tonight it felt like a watchful eye, illuminating the unease and filth in the depths of his soul.
He quietly pushed open the door connecting the garage to the kitchen, the door hinge making a slight creaking sound.
Almost simultaneously, the kitchen light ca on.
Lana stood there, holding a steaming cup of milk, wearing a thin fleece robe.
The warm light outlined the gentle contours of her profile, highlighting the shadows under her eyes.
She hadn't slept either.
If it were usual tis, he would certainly smile and give his wife a hug.
But today, he inexplicably felt a thief's guilt, his heart pounding wildly.
"I thought you weren't coming ho tonight."
She said softly, her voice full of concern and a hint of complex emotions.
Lana was always perceptive; perhaps she had already sensed sothing.
"Things... got dealt with later than expected."
Tor Khan took off his dew-drenched coat and accepted the cup of milk.
The warmth of the ceramic cup conveyed a false sense of peace, the milk's aroma blended with the honey's sweetness—this was the taste he'd known for fifteen years—the taste of ho.
Lana approached him, reaching out a hand, her fingertips lightly brushing over his furrowed brow.
Her fingertips were slightly cool, but their touch almost made Tor Khan tremble.
Her gaze road over his face, seeking sothing.
Tor Khan deliberately avoided eye contact with his wife, afraid she would see what's hidden behind his flickering gaze.
"Did sothing happen again?"
She asked, her voice low, as if afraid to wake the sleeping children upstairs.
"Lately your forces have been moving frequently, there are lots of rumors in the city… My father called this afternoon, saying his friend in Suleiman told him that a third of the camp there is empty."
Tor Khan's heart contracted sharply.
His father-in-law had deep connections in the Kurdish Patriotic Alliance, with alarmingly accurate information.
"What rumors?" he tried to keep his voice steady, taking a sip of the milk, burning his tongue.
Lana shook her head: "They say General Barzani wants to start a war, they say Chairman Masoud is too weak, they say the Aricans are preparing to withdraw their advisors… I don't understand politics, Tor Khan. But I understand you."
Her fingers stopped on his cheek.
"You haven't been sleeping well recently, mumbling in your sleep. Early this morning, you scread 'Don't shoot,' waking Ali up."
Tor Khan forced a smile, holding his wife's hand.
Her hand was small and soft, but her palms and fingertips bore thin calluses from years of housework.
User Comments
0 comments from readers