The Music Trilogy (67 page)

BAGHDAD 2004

CHAPTER 24

Max had been promoted to corporal and the leader of the fire team that included Haferty, Stapleton and Honey. They were efficiently checking broken, bombed out empty houses and stores. The area had been declared deserted, but they were sent in for a last reconnaissance. The four Marines entered into a store through the front window that had been blown out and now lay in thousands of pieces on the ground. And then Max gasped. In the hell that was this war Max found himself in a little piece of paradise. This shop had at one time been a music store, and still housed a few exquisite Iraqi musical instruments. He took a deep breath. He could smell the exotic aroma of the woods that the instruments were made of. Most prominent were apricot and sandalwood. As he looked at the wall where the string instruments were hanging he had to smile, as they reminded him of notes on a page of sheet music. Some were short, others long, and each one beautifully crafted by what Max knew could only be a master craftsman. He secured his M16 and made his way to the wall, making sure he didn’t trip over parts of what once used to be, he was certain, a fine-looking store. He looked closer and marveled at probably twenty different music makers, lovingly touching the indigenous beauties.

“Hey, Haf, look at these! They’re absolutely stunning and all handmade!”

“They look pretty funky to me. Those guitar-like ones seem to have huge half apples on their backs,” Jock said.

“Yeah, those are
ouds
—amazing instruments.”

“This one only has one string, maybe it’s missing some.”

“Nope, that’s a
rababa
, Jock-Strap, used by the Bedouins.

“Hey, I like that name. And they only use one string, huh, weird.”

“Do you realize these are identical to what they used hundreds and hundreds of years ago?” Honey said.

“Let’s bring something back, you know, as a souvenir.”

“Naw, we can’t take anything, but boy would I love one of everything in here!” Max said, his eyes still dancing around the shop
. And so would Mom
, he thought to himself.

This was perhaps the first and only moment Max let his guard down, well almost, until a light gasp from behind one of the glorious
ouds
made him spin around. The hair on his neck stood up, a cold sweat trickled down his spine and his heartbeat stopped. Honey heard it too. The two men whipped around and pointed their M16’s at the spot where the sound had come from. A moan came from behind a row of overturned and mostly broken double-sided drums. They took a careful step forward and screamed at the spot:
Erhad!
Hands up!
Erfaa yadaik
! Come out! A young boy, no more than ten or eleven, slowly crawled out from behind the damaged drums. He held his thin shaking arms up as he whimpered in fear. Tears ran down his pale, mud caked face, and his once cream colored pants and shirt were a combination of brown filth, urine and crusted blood. He held his left arm up with his right hand as the fresh crimson liquid of his body streamed out of his arm and through his fingertips. The men continued to stare at the boy and asked him what his name was. The boy stared, unsure if these men were dangerous and were going to hurt him.

“H…Hamid,” he stammered.

“Ham? Your name is Ham? Jock asked pronouncing it with a southern accent that sounded more like ham and eggs.

“Not ham, Hamid, Hah…meed. He’s a Muslim, for God’s sake, they don’t even eat pork. You can’t call him Ham,” Honey said.

“Aw, but look how cute he is, how could he not be a ham.”

“Do you speak any English?” Max asked. The boy didn’t answer. “Inglisi?”

“La
. No.”

“Where’s your family?” The boy didn’t answer. “Baba? Mama?” Max tried again. Instead of answering the boy started to cry, pointed to the street and made an explosion sound and threw up his one good arm. More tears streamed out of his young, pained eyes.

“Aw, shit,” Jock said, “they got blown up. Poor little guy.”

“So, what do we do with him? We can’t leave him here and we can’t communicate to find other family members,” Max said.

“Let’s take him to the CSH, his arm is in pretty bad shape,” Colin said.

“Let me see, Hamid,” Max said, pointing to his own eyes and then to the boy’s arm.

Reluctantly the boy pushed his arm forward with his good hand. It was bleeding profusely.

“That’s bad. He definitely needs to get this looked at. I’m going to put a tourniquet on him. That should at least stop the fucking bleeding,” Max said to his men.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, he’s really pale,” Colin said.

Max finished with the tourniquet. “Alright, let’s get out of here. Jock-Strap, get the jeep.”

“On it.”

I don’t know how long the tourniquet will hold.”

“Yeah, let’s get the boy to a doc and we’ll find an interpreter to help us out,” Jock said.

“Let’s go.” Max picked up the little body and carried him out to the Humvee. They drove directly to the make-shift hospital. As soon as they arrived the men jumped out of the vehicle and Max carried Hamid inside.

“Got a wounded kid! Some help over here!”

“Bring him here,” a voice said behind him. Max turned and followed the nurse wearing scrubs and a surgical mask who had just exited one of the operating rooms. He couldn’t see her face but he appreciated the perfect curves. She pointed to a bed and he put the boy down. “Do you know if he’s hurt, other than his arm? The nurse said as she quickly, yet gently, prodded the small body.”

“I don’t think so, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Nice job on the tourniquet. You probably saved his arm,” she said, unwrapping the hasty bandage the men had applied.

“Thanks.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Yeah, Ham,” Jock said.

“Ham?” The nurse asked.

“Yes ma’am, like ham and eggs,” Jock grinned.

“Hamid, not Ham,” Max said.

Sam chuckled. “Okay. Do we know anything about him? His family?” She asked.

“Parents got blown up. That’s about all we could communicate—our three words of Arabic, his three words of English,” Colin said.

Sam turned to the boy and spoke to him in Arabic: “The men told me about your parents, I’m very sorry. Do you have any other family, uncles, and aunts?” The men looked at each and raised their eyebrows.

Hamid nodded. “I have an aunt.”

“Hey, you’re fluent,” Max said. “Are you an interpreter?”

“No, but I minored in languages. I speak Spanish and Arabic.”

“Gracias por el niño. Su nombre, Señorita?”
Thank you for the boy. You’re name?” Max asked.

“Oh, your accent is Castilian. Are you Spanish?”

“My father’s from Spain.

“My name’s Samantha, but everybody calls me Sam. I bought a magnificent guitar in Madrid once. It was a really small shop, no wider than someone’s outstretched arms, and the old man making the instruments only made about one a month. It was a total work of art.”

“I know it well, it’s on
Calle de
…”

“You do?”

“I mean I’ve heard of it,” Max quickly said. Of course he knew it, all the best guitarists purchased from the old man, even his mother had.

Sam looked up for the first time and saw the name on his shirt. It read
del Valle
. And then she looked at his face, and stared just a second too long. Max smiled.

He stared at the liquid jade of Sam’s eyes. He had never seen such a beautiful color, and he was sure that the rest of her face was just as exquisite.

“I wish I had that guitar with me. It would really help the wounded.”

“Really? How so?”

“Oh, I can’t really get into it now. Too much work to do.”

“But could you tell me about it some other time. I’m into music myself.”

“Are you?”

“I am.” Max wanted only to stare and to see the rest of her face. “Are you, uh, almost finished with Hamid?” What was it about this woman? Max never had such a reaction to anyone before.

“Yes, why?”

“I thought maybe you’d like a coffee.”

“No,” she said flatly.

“A soda?”

Sam untied her mask and took it off. Max looked at what he believed was the most stunning face he had ever seen. His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes turned violet. He thought his chest would explode. Never had he reacted to a woman in such a way, and he wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her! She took off her gloves and threw them in a bin and the young man’s heart sank down to his feet—she was wearing an engagement ring.

Colin, who witnessed the little tête-à-tête hadn’t said a word. He quickly understood the look in Max’s eyes and knew better than interfere when the guy had his sights on a girl. “Well, we have to get back,” the big man said. “It was nice meeting you Sam, and thanks for what you did for Ham. Oh, and I’m Colin by the way.”

“No problem, nice meeting you too.”

Colin started to leave when he noticed a nurse, Chantal, coming out of an OR. She removed her mask and surgical gown. He gasped at the beauty of the woman and knew without a doubt that she was just as beautiful inside. There really was such a thing as love at first sight, he thought. He would have to visit the CSH more often, they both would.

♫

WASHINGTON, D.C.

CHAPTER 25

Davina Walters’ manager, Jacques Laffitte, was on the telephone, his instrument of choice. He conducted business all over the world for the singer’s concerts, bookings, interviews and anything that was needed. He was a master at his craft and had made both himself and the singer very wealthy and world famous. Of course Davina had the talent and Jacques was just as good at his endeavors. They had an unbreakable understanding—he ensured that everything went smoothly and she just needed to focus on her music. It was a pact they made twenty years ago when they first started, and would always be in effect. They loved each other as the closest brother and sister could. Monique, Jacques’ wife, and Davina had been best friends since school and their friendship was as solid as concrete. Jacques and Alejandro had also been best friends since their days at the Sorbonne and the four were closer than blood relatives.

Davina walked into one of the guest cottages on the estate she kept exclusively for the Laffittes. “Jacques, how is everything coming along?” She asked as soon as the man hung up.

He looked up at her and shook his head. “You’re a little crazy, you know that.”

“Tell me something new,
mon ami
. Anything less than ‘a little crazy’ would simply be boring.” Davina always spoke French with Jacques. Although he was fluent in several languages he was most comfortable conversing in his mother tongue.

“As far as entertainment it is a brilliant coup! Everyone is excited—the press is delighted, the television shows are thrilled, even the military is happy.”

“The military?”

“Yes. It will boost the troops’ morale.”

“I see. But they are making sure that no one knows about Max.”

“Oh, yes, that is one of the best kept secrets. They won’t even tell
us
where he is.”

“Do you think he’ll be at the concert?”

“They won’t say, but I have a feeling that they’ll arrange it somehow. What you’re doing is very brave, Davina. That would be the least they could do for you.”

“Well, to be honest, it was a way to see Max, but it’s become much more than that. It’s my way in helping the war effort, not just the proceeds from the documentary and TV specials, but as a support for the brave men and women who are putting their lives on the line for the ones they love—for us, their families and their country.”

“Yes, you’re right. Are you ready, though?”

“Absolutely. Actually I think it’s going to be a lot of fun because I won’t be the only entertainer, and all of us will be on the same plane.”

“Good. Tomorrow’s the day, at first light we are supposed to be at the base.”

“Yes, that’s fine. I’m just sorry Alejandro won’t be able to join us,” Davina said. “He would have wanted to be present and see Max. And you know how he hates missing any of my concerts.”

“Yes, I know only too well,” Jacques answered.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t use our own plane, but the military said it would be too dangerous.”

“This is the ‘crazy’ I was talking about. You can still reconsider, Davina. We are, after all, going into a war zone with interesting effects like grenades and machine guns. And I have clauses of every kind protecting us.”

Davina laughed. “Oh, Jacques, if the military was half as good as you are a strategist the war would be over in a couple of months.”

“Yes, of course, but unfortunately my forte is in entertainment law, not military maneuvers.”

♫