Playing Atari with Saddam Hussein: Chapters 15–27

“Chickpeas, lentils, salt, coffee...” Shirzad peruses the contents.
I open the other box inside the bigger one to see what’s inside.

“Yes, Mama,” all three boys say in unison. I take a quick look back and instead of attackers, I see chastened sons. Another win for Pitfall Harry!

“Yes, Mama,” all three boys say in unison. I take a quick look back and instead of attackers, I see chastened sons. Another win for Pitfall Harry!

I realize what this is. It’s a public execution.

She is feisty, like Shireen.

“Baba and his unit are missing,” Shirzad says softly.
“What?” I say.
“Not officially,” Shirzad amends.

Gilad doesn’t look the way I remember him. First, he’s in a soldier’s uniform. Second, he’s thin, almost gaunt, and he has a shaved head.

It is Lex Luthor, my nemesis, who has destroyed the bridge, but somehow his face is that of Saddam Hussein!

I fly around, capturing Saddam’s minions and avoiding the kryptonite Saddam has released. I succeed! I capture Saddam Hussein and put him in a prison.

I chew slowly to savor the flavors, and it seems that the next bite is even more delicious.

My mother covers her mouth, suppressing a small cry.

Everyone disperses—Mama and Shireen-the-shin-kicker to the kitchen to clean up, and Ahmed and Shirzad up the stairs.

I put my finger on tiny Basra and Baghdad and start to turn the globe again. I trace a path along the same latitude. Straight across...just above the 30 degrees latitude mark.

I stand in awkward silence as my mother pounds and kneads a small mound of dough. She places it on a baking sheet and opens the oven.

We were all idealists back then, wanting to make Iraq a better place not only for ourselves and our families, but for everyone.

It was New Year’s Eve. To celebrate the start of 1991, the governor of Iraq held a ball. A glamorous, extravagant party at the Governor’s Mansion.

A woman appeared and beckoned us to follow her.

“Boys, you come too!” trilled Miss Happy.

Z stood up slowly, as if he was in no hurry to comply with his father’s request.

I imagine myself in a video game, Yar’s Revenge. The objective is to destroy the evil Quotile, which exists on the other side of a barrier.

I kick it back and it flies right over Mustafa’s head.
“Sorry!” I cringe. “I’m out of practice.”

“I’m done,” I say. “This air is killing me.” Then I add, “Not literally. My brother the tyrant wants me back to help him in the yard.”

“We’re leaving!” says Umar.
Yes! I think.
“For good?” I say at the same time Mustafa says, “Where to?”
“It’s classified.” Omar smirks.

“Trash pile,” Mustafa muses. “I miss the garbage truck. I miss all trucks.”

I can’t help it. I burst into tears. I sink down onto the floor and bawl.

I feel like I want to give up. I want to die. Finally I stop and take a deep, ragged breath.

“Iraq has accepted the cease-fire conditions imposed by America’s President Bush,” the voice says. “Iraqi troops will lay down their arms and pull out of Kuwait in full compliance with all United Nations Security Council resolutions...."

“Iraq has accepted the cease-fire conditions imposed by America’s President Bush,” the voice says. “Iraqi troops will lay down their arms and pull out of Kuwait in full compliance with all United Nations Security Council resolutions...."

Shirzad grabs my shirt to tag me, and something inside me just snaps. Pent-up energy converts to sudden rage. I whirl around and punch him in the stomach.

I lean over, pick it up, and hobble over to my bed.