I was sitting down next to the Palace pool to eat lunch when I heard a, "sir!"  It was a medic from battalion--we had seen much of Yusufiya and Oweisat together.

"doc, what you doing here?"

"I'm with Daniels," he motioned to a soldier who hung back, off the deck. "he's seeing the dermatologist at the Cash today." The Cash is the Combat Support Hospital in the Green Zone.

"He alright?"  I took a bite from my chow hall burger.

"well sir, he has these legions all over his body." I looked at the soldier, who was wearing the full Army Combat Uniform, regular long-sleeved blouse, trousers, and boots.  "It's like a mosquito bite when you pick at it, you know?  Like all over his legs and chest and stuff."

"what is it?"

"at first we thought it was scabies, that's what Colonel Foster said, you remember him, sir?"

"Yeah, the guy they called the 'Witch Doctor'?"

"he saw Daniels like 5 times and kept changing his diagnosis, first he said scabies, then the next time we took him in, Foster said it was impossible it was scabies, and I told him that's what he said before and he denied it so I showed him the form he filled out.  It said, 'scabies.'"

"How long's he had it?"

"Hey Daniels, how long you had it?"

"What, portambulitis?"

"Yeah."

"At least 9 months."  Daniels came over to the table.  He was small, with tanned skin, and bright black eyes.  His complexion seemed fine to me.  In fact, he looked quite clean and boyish.

I stood up and shook his hand.

"They didn't send you to a dermatologist sooner?"

"I asked Colonel Foster, sir, and he got mad because I guess he was a dermatologist on the civilian side, before the army or something, or he's a specialist, i don't know.  So he thought he knew what it was."

"tell him about the poison medicine."

Daniels laughed, "Foster gave me this cream to use and I read the label and it said 'poisonous if applied to broken skin' and I'm like 'poison,' what the..."

I took them inside the Palace, which houses the U.S. Embassy, and we drank coffee and laughed about the Army--which manages to survive and adapt unlike any other organization: because of soldiers who bear burdens both plain and hidden.  Because it fulfills it's own ends.  Because men endure.

the Path of Literature

A'adil is a short, leather-brown Iraqi man with ashen hair and deep set eyes.  He smokes "5 Star" cigarettes and always wears trim khakis.  "My life was school, the army, the wars, all of it was controlled, it was as though I lived in a tunnel," he explained.  "I don't want this generation to have the same experience."

 

Though he has a Chemical Engineering degree and Newspaper editing experience, A'adil fixes televisions.  Even plasma screens.  He repaired one on the patrol base.  When I heard he was a writer I asked him to teach a class at the renovated Community Center (a project completed by the Infantry company here).  A'adil agreed to teach poetry.

Last night was his first class.  15 teenage boys attended: sitting in two rows, taking notes, and standing up to ask questions.  "What is poetry," A'adil rhetorically asked, "An expression of the human soul with special words--to reach a certain aim or goal."  Ali translated all this for me on the fly.  "There are two types of poetry: classical or 'vertical poetry' and modern," continued A'adil.  "Any questions?"  A boy raised his hand, "sir, will there be an exam?"  "No," laughed A'adil, "I want to give you this class to teach you the way of literature instead of killing."  Another boy asked, "are there long poems?"  It was a good class.

A'adil read a poem by Dr. Hazim Souleman entitled: Waiting.

You say wait a minute, Spring will come

For Spring is fruitful all the time.

Winter has gone and Springtime has come

but Spring became like Winter.

There's no generosity that I expect

And you were not truthful with me and I am disappointed.

You are as you are in both seasons:

A scent that looms; a natural light.

"This poet was executed by Saddam Hussein," said A'adil.