Between these two countries where I have brothers

The kids flew away like a flock of birds, going up to the top of the camp, running with their heads down as if they had made a huge mistake. Only two remained: those who had discovered old Janat’s body. I asked that they be taken further, elsewhere, anywhere, just as I asked the neighbors to move away. Amar went to get a doctor: the Frenchman who works in the prefabs at the entrance to the camp. We had to wait, with the crowd that kept growing, the women who began to cry, to slap their bodies with the flat of their hands, the onlookers who came to see, the news which spread… I stood straight, in front of the entrance. For me, she was dead. There was no doubt about it. That’s not what surprised me. I saw many deaths, in my neighborhood, in Damascus, first, then, afterwards, on the road. No. What surprised me was that she died of nothing. What can you die of on such a calm day, when it’s raining and the sky is low? The dead, over there, in the country, there were, yes, in the streets, under the rubble, every day, but we knew why. We knew what had killed them. It was always a blow, whatever the weapon, dagger, shell, burst of automatic fire, the dead were falling under the bullets, bleeding, but Janat, alone, at home… I know very well that the human body can have its tired, but I hadn’t seen it for so long… Monsieur Mathieu came in with a hurry, with his stethoscope around his neck and a suitcase of medicine, just in case… He didn’t stay long. When he came out, I asked to be sure what she had died of and he whispered, looking tired, « heart attack », then he left. It was only then that I realized something was beginning. All eyes turned to me. Nobody said anything. They didn’t need. I knew. I am the chief of this end of the camp, the “head of section” as we say here. It was up to me to decide. That’s what they expected of me. Let me say what was going to happen, what should be done. Janat. I thought : « This is the first death of the camp ». Since we arrived, three months ago, last August, there have been births, seven in my sector, but no deaths yet… I have seen all eyes turn towards me and I read what they thought. There is no cemetery in Kawergosk. I’m not sure the authorities in Erbil will let us bury our dead in their big city cemetery. Where should we rest, we who no longer have land? We who arrived barely three months ago and dream of being able to return home? How many of us will die like this, in exile? I went back inside the tent to hide from the gaze of the small group crowding around me. The doctor had placed Janat’s arms along her body and closed her mouth. I looked at what was in the tent. What’s in each of ours: an old suitcase that has traveled with us on the roads of the sun, a stove, enough to make tea, a blanket, nothing more. And if, there, in a corner, a cell phone…

Guristan, who knew Janat a little because she went to fetch her water from the cistern and sometimes stayed in the evening to chat, helped me find her family’s number. His daughter is called Ahin. I called. Someone answered. There was a long silence. It was my home there. ON the other side. I could talk to someone who was in that country I left. There was no more distance. Home. It looked simple. Our voices could cross those kilometers that are impossible for us. I talked. I have explained. I heard the crying. Screams. They passed me a man, the son or the son-in-law, I didn’t quite understand… I spoke again. I gave my number. They asked if it was possible to recover the body… I didn’t know what to answer. They said that they did not live far from the border and that they could be at the border post on the day and at the time that we would tell them. I said yes, of course. That I was going to find out…

When I hung up, I stayed in the tent for a long time, in silence. It was the best. Return the body to the family. And not having to ask for permission to build a cemetery or go begging for a place in Erbil… That was the best, yes. But I started shaking. I do not want to go. Getting closer to the border. Take the path in the opposite direction, move towards there. I do not want. It’s too recent. I remember everything, and my body is shaking. The forced enlistment, the nights patrolling to hunt down those they called terrorists, that is to say any man in the streets, the women they had caught and locked up in cellars without light waiting to have time to violate them, I remember, it’s too close and my body started shaking as if I was there again. My escape, one night, in the streets of Ad Dumayr. And barely two hours later, the patrol that finds me, the blows then on me, the insults, sissy, cowardly, and the laughter showing me, « we’re going to make a man out of you »and the cellar where the women were stored, “choose the one you want…”my eyes on the ground, the cheekbones purplish from their blows, impossible to watch, to do what they ask, and their voice then, more pressing, obscene, and the anger that I hear, which tells me that they will kill if I don’t, I don’t want to go back there, it’s too close, I know I’ll start shaking, so I wipe my eyes and nose, get up, shut up resurrected voices, « We’re going to make a man out of you… »and I go out to fetch Delguesh and Sorin, the neighbors of old Janat…