The Bone Clocks

“It’s a liberal jizz rag, sir,” said a nearby marine.

“Liberal?” Major Hackensack said it like the word “pedophile.” “You a liberal, British journalist?”

I swallowed. The Iraqis were watching us too, wondering if their fates were being decided by this incomprehensible but clearly ill-tempered exchange. “You’ve been sent here because of themost conservative White House in living memory. Truly, Major, I’d value your opinion: Do you consider your leaders to be smart, courageous people?”

Immediately I saw I’d misplayed my shitty hand. You don’t suggest to a sleepless, angry officer that his commander in chief is a clueless jerk-off and that his comrades-in-arms have died for nothing. “Here’s a question for you,” Hackensack growled. “Which of those gentlemen know who shot down our helicopter?”

My feet no longer touched the floor of the pool of shit Aziz, Nasser, and I found ourselves in: “We only got here minutes before you did.” Insects buzzed, distant vehicles clattered. “These people told us nothing. They aren’t living in times when you trust strangers, specially a foreign one.” The officer was reading me as I said this; a subject change would be a good idea. “Major Hackensack, please could I quote your views about the real Iraqis by name?”

He leaned back and squinted forward: “You areshittin’ me?”

“Our readers would value your perspective.”

“No, you cannot quote me, and if—” Hackensack’s radio headset crackled into life and he turned away. “One-eight-zero? This is Two-sixteen; over. Negative, negative, One-eight-zero, nobody here but Caspar the fuckin’ Ghost and a bunch of gawpers. I’ll make inquiries for form’s sake but the fuckers’ll be laughing at us from under their fuckin’ head-towels. Over … Uh-huh … Roger that, One-eight-zero. Last thing: Did you hear already if Balinski made it? Over.” The major’s nostrils flared and his jaw clicked. “Shit, One-eight-zero. Shit shit shit. Shit. Over.” He booted a stone; it richocheted off the Kiowa’s fuselage. “No, no, don’t bother. Base admin couldn’t dig shit out of their asses. Inform his unit liaison directly. Okay, Two-sixteen, over and out.” Major Hackensack looked at the black marine and shook his head, then turned a malevolent gaze my way. “You just see a sewer-mouthed military man, don’t you? You just see a cartoon character and a platoon of grunts. You think we deserve this”—he nods at the wreckage—“just for being here. But the dead, they had children, they had family, same as you. They wanted to make something of their lives, same as you. Hell, they were lied to about this war, same as you. But unlike you, British journalist, they paid for other peoples’ bullshit with their lives. They were braver than you. They were better than you. They deserve more than you. So you and Batman and Robin there, get the fuck out of my sight. Now.”

“A salaam aleikum.”The elderly Irishwoman has a foamy cloud of white hair and a zigzag cashmere poncho. You wouldn’t cross her.

I place her Drambuie on the table. “Waleikum a salaam.”

“How did it go now? Shlon hadartak?”

“ Al hamdulillah. You’ve earned your whistle-wetter, Eilнsh.”

“Most kind. Now, I hope I didn’t send ye astray?”

“Not at all.” It’s just me and Eilнsh in the corner of the banquet room. I can see Aoife, playing a clapping-chanting game with a niece of Peter the groom’s, and Holly’s chatting to yet more Irish cousins. “They had a bottle in the lounge upstairs.”

“Did ye bump into any extraterrestrials on the way?”

“Lots. The lounge looks like the bar scene from Star Wars.” I guess an Irishwoman in her eighties won’t know what I’m talking about. “ Star Warsis an old science fiction film, and it’s got this bit—”

“I saw it in Bantry picture house when it came out, thank ye. My sister and I went to see it on our penny-farthings.”

“Beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to imply … Uh …”

“Slбinte.” She clinks her schooner of Drambuie against my G-and-T. “Bless us, that’s the stuff. Tell me a thing now, Ed. Did ye ever get up to Amara and the marshes, in Iraq?”

“No, more’s the pity. When I was in Basra I was due to interview the British governor in Amara but that morning the UN headquarters got bombed in Baghdad, so I drove back for that. Now Amara’s too dangerous to visit, so I missed my chance. Did you visit?”

“A few months before Thesiger, yes, but I only stayed a fortnight. The village headman’s wife took a shine to me. D’ye know, I still dream of the marshes? Not much left of them now, I hear.”

“Saddam had them drained, to deny his enemies cover. And what’s left is riddled with land mines from the war with Iran.”

Eilнsh bites her lip and shakes her head. “That one wretched man gets to eradicate an entire landscape and a way of life …”

“Did you never feel threatened on your epic ride?”

“I had a Browning pistol under my saddle.”

“Did you ever use it?”

“Oh, only the once now.”