saratkanur

The scene looked an hospital ward and concern etched my wife's face. Though it was her house, I had brusquely ordered them off my couch to show I had some authority and besides I didn't want his dirty blood staining my couch and remain a grim reminder of the circumstances that may turn me a homeless hobo.

"Get the hell off my couch, run away ....go..go...go now", I thundered and they hastened off the couch to the dining table where Darren lay his head enacting his final minute on earth .

Ammanie had taken control, she was a nurse and round in shape being fat both side to side and front to back, her huge mammaries dropping heavily down and countered by an mighty behind and if she had sharpened teeth,she could have been straightaway cast in jurrasic park .But the resemblance ended there, she was an extremely likeable person and was in complete command when she was around and stood by cradling his bleeding head against her huge chest and ordered her kids to get her emergency kit. Radha stood on his other side ,visibly flustered, the incident had taken out the joy of reunion and he moaned his make believe trauma and flopped his head between her exquisite bosom as well, a little too deeply for the miserly cut he had received. The slight gash had pulled the tight scalp apart and blood spurted in disproportion to the wound, making it look bloodier than it was. My son's eyes welled up, Captain Brainless, his hero, sat between two gorgons, mortally beaten to pulp and he whispered with little hiccups to me..

"Uncle Darren might not survive the hemorrhaging , we have to find the right blood type for a massive infusion , or he'll slip into a coma from which he may never wake up....Ever". .. so I pointed to wilkie at the foot of the door and asked whether the dog's blood would do.

"Papa , be serious... he is not used to our conditions and he could catch tetanus". That was a welcome thought, nobody survived tetanus for more than twentyfour hours, a relatively manageable interval, surely the hospital should be able to take care of that.

"Cruel.....Why did she have to do that, I think she over-reacted ...Look at her now , as if she cared!" she whispered in rage.Suchita was on my side, she couldn't comprehend the viciousness of the women who seemed to complement her in several aspects.

Overreacted! Ha ha .. who cared? whoo haahah!!.. I would have given half a hand if she could have as much penetrated an inch into the skull, deleting his floppy memory and wiped out ancient images and instances stored in his useless brain for at least the time they spent with us in India. What harm could he do from France, he couldn't even email and he had two families to look after when he found the time from transmitting aids with his fucking lifestyle.

Being the man of the situation he was taking advantage, playing up his injury,writhing and accidentally brushing Radha's rump as Ammanie isolated the cut on his head with a surgical blade and deftly sewed the skin together to stanch the slight ooze and wrapped a bandage around his head and contended with her work, she gave him a pat on his back, peck on his face, bit her lower lip , released it slowly while nodding her head and complemented Radha for her sharp aim. Hearing that ,Darren said

"What do you know, either she marries me or I'm claiming damages... tulips, ask your husband to sell your house" and Radha giggled bringing back memories in a flood. How long ago was it, twenty years since then ? In the loo, on the throne and locked in silence, my thoughts regressed to those carefree bachelor days and the subsequent truth I had come to know a few months ago. On the day of our house warming, after we returned to India , my brother- in -law came in after some emergency shopping and said he had seen a young girl in the neighbourhood who was a spitting image of my sister,his wife. We joked about my dad's trysts and concluded that he would have been too old to father a girl so young and speculated I could have been the one who had sown the wild oats.

Much later I was to see the young girl and my heart skipped several beats and I palpitated like a running dog shedding heat. I was at the grocery store and she was there with a women whom I had known briefly and had sex when I was a bachelor. I do not know whether the woman, Radha, tulips to us, recalled me from the drug induced haze of those days, if she did , she passed by without any hint of recognition. But I did and gasped , stunned by the realisation Radha was probably the girl's mother and the pretty young girl was my daughter and a feeling of uncontainable longing hit me. Then on,it was a search.

The clouds hung low and the early morning sun broke through only in patches,letting sparkling light glisten off the wet overhanging leaves. A cool light breeze spread it’s ethereal fingers and ran through the open French window and between the folds of the gossamer curtains . I shuddered a bit . Not that I felt cold,but apprehensive.

Darren and Su stood on the terrace outside,among the rose bushes and dahlias, their shadowy figures silhouetted against the light and it added to the gloom I felt .He leaned on the baluster with his back to me observing life as it unfolded on the street and Su sat sideways on the railing with a coffee cup in hand,looking up at him . It was a vantage point where Darren stood, two floors above ground and with an eagle eye one could peer and get a deeper look between the crevices in bobbing T shirts.

The two should have been there quite sometime, the coffee cups probably empty and her lilting laugh carried across the hall to the couch where I sat trying to read the morning paper .Obviously Darren said something corny. For the present ,I would have been glad if it stopped there ,my mind was in turmoil and eyes would not focus and I sensed a subterranean rumble, a surreal notion of things about to explode, a feeling compounded every minute they stood there. I wanted then off the terrace

I poured myself a coffee and prepared to hail him .I cleared my throat for a rehearsal and communicate a joy I didn’t feel.

"Hey , come here Darren, did you see this, a goddamm Frenchman was caught ….. I croaked,....my voice cracked and trailed, my gut stalling in tension, which he heard and he said,

"Shut up, asshole, get a tooth brush and a salt gargle, I can smell you here,"…. horse laugh…ha hah hha ….ngi ngi ngi … and clamped two crooked fingers around my wife’s nose .I was angry at Su, I know their friendship was deep and platonic, oh yes, there was this one time when they had discovered each other; two long lost brother-and-sister souls had met and the scene turned treacly, sugar syrup pouring out of their eyes that I had to quietly tiptoe out of the room to avoid being caught in a mushy three way embrace. The loving sibling relationship had held and I trust my wife, but the least she could have done at that moment was to bring him inside and not play side kick to the idiot.

The clock inched towards seven fifteen, about time Radha and her mother would turn the corner, head our way and then go round the bend on the left before disappearing from view, a short interval, but big enough to ruin my life. I hoped and deeply prayed for the murky morning and drizzle to keep them them home. I also wished she had also changed and not retained the poise, exuding the same sexual appeal and allure as she did many years ago . Darren would scent it from a mile and I had to somehow get him off the terrace. Bastard, he had a way of being there when you least needed him and then it would turn around and you’ll need him then. Like that day in March in Kuwait.

My wife came in from the terrace, a fresh rose in her hand and placed it in a crystal vase on the coffee table and said…

“My god, Darren will never change, ask him what he did on the flight.” As if I didn’t know,

“That bastard would have flashed in the aisle, what else?" and feigned total disinterest.

And then it happened, exactly as I had foreseen.

“Radhaaaa”……he shouted and he flew past me giving me a quizzical look and ran down the stairs and through the hall and on to the street. I ran to the terrace in time to see him catch up and clamp his big hands around Radha's eyes

“Guess who” he hollered, guess wh..... tulips…mon cherry….The sudden attack and the noise frightened her mother that she tottered to the middle of the street . Radha shrieked and twisted and desperately tried to claw herself free, while he put his face to close her ear and nibbled and crooned...

“Guess who, my love" ,nuzzling her and then he turned to see the old women tilting over and falling down in the middle of the road .He let go and ran to help the old lady, who cowered as he approached. Radha saw the opening ,picked up a fist size stone , sneaked from the rear and cracked it on his head as he bent down to help the old lady up .I could hear the stone echoing off his empty skull, the shot could have debrained an elephant and I let go a whoop in sheer exhilaration of a goal eventually driven in to even the scores.I hoped he was dead but Darren survived,got up and faced her. She was always gutsy and kneed plenty of men who had tried to impose unwanted attention on her, and socked him in his balls ,the excruciating pain contorted his features and she recognized him. Her hands flew to her mouth,

Darren, you? Same ….Darren Darren? she cocked her head in inquiry while unknown to her he was bleeding to death or so I wished. Su had heard the clamor and was beside me and saw Darren's shirt turn red .I stood there unable to move a muscle and hoped that radha would walk away,but before that Su gave me a searing look for my inappropriate response, and ran down to help. And they came in with the bleeding bastard propped between them and the act brought together two women who should have never ever met and lived their separate lives oblivious to a blood bond that tied them in a fatal embrace that could see one of us dead .I cursed all.

The Iraqis had used the strong room as a piss house, being next to the toilet and the stench hit and almost knocked me off when we entered the basement. The place was a mess with tons of garbage piled high and there was nothing that could be done and we went back and spent the day in jail , though not locked behind . When we were alone Eshmel looked me in the eye and called me a bastard and followed it with a string in Egyptian , words which I didn’t understand but knew was not complementary and only a photographer could have truly pictured him at that moment ,his bristles and fanned out teeth and sunken eyes accentuating his comic mannerisms and I had to avoid looking at him to stop myself from laughing

“Look at me, dirty shit, look what they did to me”……… and spread his fingers to reveal wounded ends and imprecise, scarred blackened nails growing awkwardly and tears welled in his eyes

My immediate reaction was absurd, I snorted trying to stifle my amusement and he saw my reaction and said bitterly

“Go on , laugh …….soon I’ll these bastards tear off your nails and you’ll never able to laugh there after” which really tickled me, setting off another paroxysm of laughter and doubled up. He came across and slapped me. The policeman at the desk intervened and pushed him away and I had to practically hide myself from him to stop my hysterical reaction to his anguished visage.

Fact, the man was tortured and had spent his time in jail. After being spotted by a palestine, whom he had to take into confidence ,he had retuned with him for the money to find it gone. He was reported and the Iraqis had tortured him and had held him captive and endured for some months and later , after the war, instead of being released, he was held by the police for further questioning and deportation along with other Palestinians . The brothers had just returned in time and had rehabilitated him, but ravages of detention was yet to wear off . I was caught around that time .

About afternoon, the next day a few expatriate labourers hauled the garbage and the man-hole was open for inspection. A torch was shown in and light reflected from still pool of dark greenish black water and nothing else and then one man put his his head down and peered inside and shook his head. I clearly remember the bags floating in the tank and then it struck me that it could have sunk and had the water probed with a long iron rod and we hit pay dirt. Water had seeped in through the hastily prepared plastic wraps and canvas bags and the soggy bills had sunk to the bottom of the pool.

It took a few more hours to get the bags out , clean the bills, dry and get them on the table while we sat around being ill at ease with each other. There were happy and unhappy faces, the happiest being the police chief, who came over and hugged me close and praised me for my honesty . The Egyptian was smarting under the agony he felt, neither did he get the money but had to pay physically for not finding it. The old sheik, Abu Daoud sat imperiously, he was happy for us, it augmented the faith he had in the Egyptian and enhanced my stature from a mere counter of notes to a dependable and honest servant. The chief swept two bundles towards us and thanked Allah and left us to sort the rest among us.

Immediately, Eshmel was at the side of Abu Daoud ,the elder of the two brothers who owned the business, took control and slid money towards the old man and spoke in Arabic. Abu Dauod listened , nodded, looked at me , nodded. Eshmel itched to pay me back and I could see it the way he denied himself the hand out. He said that they owed us nothing and the money could be used for better purposes and pointed me to the door.

I felt an iron grip closing around my leg and I looked below. Two men had appeared from nowhere and pulled me down and one drove me fist into my face nearly crushing my jaw.I fended of the next one by covering my face and the blows landed on my head, a kick glanced my ribs and I was really scared of being beaten to death; after a break Kuwait was once again theirs and were vicious in their victory, mercilessly thrashing corroborators ,informers and thieves. The big man , a multani, flashed his light on my face and recognizing me, stopped the beating. He was a gate-guard for the block behind and knew me, I had lived next door. Still I had a lot of explaining to do. Someone had called the police and I was driven to the station and locked up.The pain of beating persisted,I thanked my good fortune of not being lynched and suffered through the night.

My detention started almost rough but softened when I showed my US army work permit and a letter to travel .I had written that myself and the paper conveyed an authority and though it was received with an undercurrent of abhorrence , the chief did not pursue it much further, they were too indebted to Americans to do me any harm.

Next day morning, Abu Sameer ,younger brother of my erstwhile employer arrived and looked me over. He had added a few pounds and looked like he had been on a long holiday and after a brief conversation with the police chief , he asked me

“What were you doing here? It took me a minute to collect myself
“Here? In Kuwait?
“Yes and what were you looking for”
“I’m working for an American army contractor and since I was in Kuwait, I thought I could collect my books I’d left behind .The front door was locked and nobody answered, so I went around to see whether any one was inside”.

“So why didn’t you contact me”………

“I tried the office numbers and there was no response and went behind to look whether anybody was about so I could contact Abu Daoud.

He asked me a few more routine questions ,listened gravely and shook his head and lifted his chin and signaled . Eshmel was brought in, gaunt and wasted and his eyes burned with wild fury, and…,well that’s a brief description. On seeing me his satisfaction showed visibly on his face and drew on his scraggy beard and jiggled a bit. I could not fathom the source of his pleasure and it became evident soon . Phoo… was he in a haste to tear me.

“We had three million in currency at that time and I had moved the money with your assistance to a safer place. It is missing and you were the only other person who knew where the money was hidden"…..he screwed his lip and nervous ticks turned facets on his face.

“You have your figures wrong ,Mr. Eshmel, we had close to five hundred thousand and we had packed them in ten bags and had left the dinars behind if you remember that”…. I had acquired a slight American accent and stressed it to intimidate him.

“Yes, Yes, Yes, what happened to the money and the dinars” asked the police chief.

“I’m not sure, the money should be safe, I’ll not know until we search the place. The dinars,……… Iraqis might have pissed on that” …..I said with vengeance and the interrogators winced, I had hit a raw nerve without knowing that was exactly true.

Almost twenty odd years since then, trying to sleep, I felt a similar dread, a trepidation on how to handle a secret of which I was the lone bearer and I thrashed about in bed with an uneasy mind that refused to settle, waking Su up. I knew Darren would soon find out and contemplated the consequences, the hurt feelings and repercussions of a deed committed during a passage through life as a bachelor ,way before my life took wings, where mine had now become dissimilar on discovering an unknown part of myself .

“Stop kicking your legs about, you’re ruining my sleep”. When stressed, I had a habit of flexing my legs back and forth along the smooth surface of the bed .

Kuwait. My mind went back to the days of war trying to smother my predilection for the present which surfaced despite the fear of being unmasked and made to mortally answer for it.

I had gone back to the office after fidgeting for two days over that decision . I had called Darren once again and he said that the outcome was there to see, one person was already dead and I would be the next one. His basic philosophy was-‘do not take what is not yours,’ much to the contrary of his own ways, where he took everything including his neighbour’s wife and lived a life of debauchery and cunning that should have worn out his soul, pole, hole and sole by then, still he would hold forth on the virtues of prudence and good behavior as a cure for trouble- free and uncomplicated life for others.

It was mid March and the desert temperature had shot up and I could feel the sweat snaking and trickling behind the ears. It was about seven in the evening and very dark, the place looked a ghost town, not many people were to be seen and except for an occasional army vehicle, the roads were empty and the atmosphere had a very sombre feel, you could sense a creep from behind. Reaching the office, I tried the front door, which was locked. I didn’t know what it meant, the Iraqis had used the place as a base and wouldn’t have closed it behind them , so I went over the side where a narrow gap separated our building from the adjacent one, at the end stood an iron gate which led to the block at the rear.I clambered over the gate and walked along the back wall towards the middle where a small courtyard met our back wall. Nobody was around so I tried to clamber up but with no proper foot hold I slipped, bruising myself and after another attempt when I had one leg over, I was caught.

Someone was trying to break and enter , I thought it was next door, but then I realized it was my door. I could see him on the other side desperately trying to force his way in , while my mother stood inside, half naked ,and strained to keep him out with her back against the door which opened and gnarled fingers crept in through the side and I cried out in terror asking mamma to run, but she couldn’t , and the hand reached round and grabbed her arm and tore it from her shoulder. The man looked like Adrian, but I knew it wasn’t, because he was screaming in my native language. Then the door flung open and bright light flooded the room and hurt my eyes , I put my arm across my eyes and opened it, now fully awake and sweating.

My eyes adjusted to the light and just in time to catch a robe cascading down my wife's naked ass.

“Darren”! ……… Su said wide eyed ,giggled and ran out.

“Trohokada mainmon”……. tway mon christe’……..I’ll kick this door down, fucking ass hole. Merde". Oh! Darren, the serial fucker.

I was totally concious now .It was three ,a cold ,cold early morning, and the announcement of his arrival at my door had woken up the neighbourhood and lights streamed out through window curtains, some parting to investigate the unearthly intrusion at the dead of the night and had set off a recurring dream from a childhood trauma.. As a small boy ,with a bat I had beaten a sparrow trapped in a small dark room next to the bath to death and mamma heard the noise and banged the door open to see me pulling it’s wings apart. She was looking in from behind the door , her wet naked top half dripping water and saw me and cursed me for my unkindness and said someday her hands would be pulled apart in a similar act of cruelty and she would die like the bird. I had cried sitting at the bathroom door and begged her not to die, mamma wouldn’t listen and said god treated us the way we treated his other creations and each one of us will have to pay for our misdeeds.

The dream recurred, only the setting changed and I would be unable to warn my mother though I could sense the imminent attack, my words would not carry and had to wait to get over it by waking up in a sweat.

By the time I reached the door, they were on the floor, and on seeing us running towards him, he shrugged my younger son off his back, leapt up and held my wife in a bear hug. I could see her ample bust flattening against his chest and he kissed her all over the face , making satisfied uuumms as if she was his wife. He kissed women without invitation, even a dog ,as long as it was a female.

My younger son had sensed him earlier and opened the door for him and was going through their WWF routine ,wrestling on the floor when we arrived to disturb their romp and Darren stood up to concentrate on his mission of trying to own my wife. He had come with heavy baggage, three of which were his immediate family, coat racks with painted lips. The biggest lip twirled and made apologetic shapes trying to atone for her husband’s animal behaviour and came over and planted a kiss on my cheek. I put an arm round her waist, waiting for Darren to finish with Su and run through the dogs, which he did and got up, put his nose close to mine, said fuck off and headed for the first bedroom, which was mine and crashed for eternity. Ammanie tried to explain, but Su put her at ease, had their luggage hauled and her kids sent up to the guest bedrooms.

Ammanie sat with us and we talked for a few minutes and broke for the night and I waited for the real life nightmare to begin.

Darren ,Eshmel , Jamail, Adrian and Charles , dissimilar men living vastly different lives, but willing to give another man a chance- me.

Darren , unnaturalised frenchman, fornicator exrtaordinaire, cuntlicker in air plane toilets, a ugly man who attracted women like a bare light bulb drew flies in monsoon rain and kissed them, positive juices flowing through veins instead of blood, , guaranteed to make anybody he met happier by at least 33 degrees,a worker of miracles, laughing at death when gnawing cancer ate him from inside.He gave me my first break

Eshmel Jumouke Benabe, the Egyptian, polygamist, polyeverything, greedy for money, women , men, food ,drink and pornography ,but ready to wait and ferret .Calculating ,intuitive opportunist , a compulsive note downist - he even transcribed telephone conversations with his wives.My mentor ,until a bitter power struggle pitted us against each other.

Jamail Asheri,Iraqi scion, heterosexual ,ambitious, thoroughly convinced about the rights of man ,volunteered for a dictator's army because he believed one day he would change his world from within .Refusing to stand down, he fought to make real that dream and died reaching for that .He let me discover my inner strength. .

Adrian Nash, Irish, homosexual, youngest in his famliy , difficult to describe, lived with his mother because he could not bear to let her live alone. Warm, kind, just missed being a catholic priest,tried to live like one and repented for not being able to do so, a forerunner of modern day gay bishops and held sodomy was okay but gommorah was uh-hoe. One of the few civilian casualities of the war. He died for me.

Charles, American ,black,millionaire,self confident to the point of disdain, who had bought a house in the most exclusive part of the town because somebody at the golf course had asked him "and, where do you live?" and had his chauffer stay there,educated at MIT, intelligent , typical American know how enthusiast and powerpoint presenter.Remorseless, even when he sold out on me.

And along with three women, were part of my life ,affecting unforeseen turns in my life to this day as I pen the final and most poignant time of my life and I discover I had another life unlived from the day I set out on that journey from college to man to father.

Someone laid a hand on my shoulder .I had popped some pills with a swig ,I felt a heaviness and could not respond, pegged back into the sand by an unwillingness of my mind and I wanted to sleep, close my mind shut, to escape the upwelling of regret and stanch the heaving spasms of sorrow, reliving the cruel fate dealt to Adrian.

Adrian was a complex man given to manic moods and sought companionship from another human being and I liked him and spent much of our free time together leading to some speculation that we had a sexual relationship, which was not true, just that we could mentally reach each other in an easy friendship where you do not feel intimidated or compelled to please.

Thoughts flooded my mind, the few months spent with him had left a longing , a need to see and hear him. I felt a pain. Once he had read us Keats' ode to a nightingale, infusing the rendition with images of longing and death, that now I heard that in my mind and could see him fade away while only painful memories of him remained.

"Mr. Charles Lambert...... says it's important".he handed me the set. I tried to tell him the sadness I felt, but he cut me off and said

"I know .....Sergeant Graham says there are twelve intact trucks, I want those trucks moved to Al Sagayah
in eight hours. Do what you have to do".

A small speck appeared on the horizon and steadily became larger,a chopper, the swish of it's rotors cutting the air and it descended and hung an inch above the road. A soldier in the battle dress with patches of light green and brown hopped down and ran in a low arc towards me while within seconds the injured and the dead were lifted onto the chopper and it swung away and up.

"You have twelve trailers intact, I want them moved . Call your nearest emergency station , organize and get the two damaged vehicles off the road .I need the metal gratings , move it on to another trailer and I want them at Al Sagayay eight hours from now." The soldier spoke like a machine

Two trucks and trailers lay immobilized on the narrow road, it would take roughly eight to nine hours to organize and mobilize the heavy equipment to move them,so we cut the stays on the flat bed truck and pushed the pallets of gratings of the edge on to the concrete , hacked the straps and lined the gratings on the sand and moved the convoy around the wreckage. It took some time,the effort and toil took my mind off Adrian and we were in Al Sagayay much ahead of the time. Later on I send back a team to bring back the rest of the stuff lying on the desert road.

Much later, in a passing conversation, I realized Charles had put me in charge of the operation to get me out of the shock.Any of the men in uniform with our convoy would have done it easily.

I was tired and mentally exhausted and took me some time to realise I was back in Kuwait.

It rained that day, black blobs of muck, blacker than the clouds which carried it, pelting our windscreens and coating it with a layer of oil , the wipers got stuck and when I clambered on the hood and tried to swab it off ,it clung to the glass and smeared it a more darker tan . The water and oil got under my collar ,sticking my hair to the nape of my neck making me extremely uncomfortable.

I've seen red rain ,when I was a child ,at the onset of a monsoon ,the droplets were orangish red and believers in my home town said that high above a celestial war raged between the forces of good and evil and the rain was the blood of the defeated ‘cheguthans’,…sathan …., satan…, and those who were caught in the rain were made to go through elaborate rituals to be cleansed of the evil transfusion. I liked the red rain , I ran in my white shirt and it turned orange and my mother wept for bringing misfortune on myself and had thrashed me within an inch of my life. This black rain nearly killed us all

We were almost an hour on the road and it was turning to be one trip from hell. Adrian had caught up with us a Qaysumah and had briefly indicated to me he had a plan. He was playing cagey, refusing eye contact and the mystery of the plan heightened the excitement and set me on the edge. The effects of the lethal cocktail of the previous nights were yet to shake off and left a grouchy feeling and bad taste in my mouth, adding to that, a pervasive aroma of petrol hung in the air and it gradually turned nauseating I wanted to retch, which I did until my stomach cramped. . Then came the downpour, lashing liquid goo and the tires of the trucks churned it into an emulsion making the concrete road slippery and the heavy trailers slid sideways and when the drivers applied the brakes ,it snaked, the lateral movement nearly forcing the heavy vehicles off the road into the sand. Adrian called for a halt and raced through the side to the front and as he got there, the jeep sunk ,nose first, into the sand. He got down, threw down his cap and spat. And then the unimaginable happened.

One trailer had slid into the sand , the trucker pushed the pedal and the engines groaned under the low gears as he tried to impart enough power to pull the trailer on to the road but the tires spun free, slipping on the oil and then abruptly the treads bit into the concrete and the vehicle lurched forward . The driver jammed the brakes in reflex , skewing the monster trailer and it slid across to the other edge , the tires on one side sunk into sand toppling the trailer in slow motion but what followed was spectacular, the force of the overturning 60 tonne trailer flicked the engine cabin over in the air and threw it down judo style and continued it’s forward momentum ramming into the trailer in front, deflecting and crashing into stalled jeep nearby ,instantly killing five men and injuring another three. Adrian who was standing with his back to the truck, inspecting his stalled vehicle ,was crushed to pulp.

Being from the world of life predestined , where every moment of one’s life is clearly defined and trajectory set in motion from the moment of birth ,I had plodded on in the belief that Adrian would have a plan when we caught up at AlSagayah, though my senses and mind had rebelled and urged me to signal Adrian to call off the ill fated adventure and go back home. I was traumatised by Adrian's death for which I felt responsible .He had no reason to travel anywhere if I hadn’t set him on the road and the grief and guilt would forever accompany me, the fumes of petrol at pumping stations triggering the olfactory senses and acutely replaying and recreating the events of that day , a memory I would carry until my death and a debt I would carry until his mother’s.

The plan was set to fail the moment it was launched but not in the grievous manner it finally did.

The opportunity came by when least expected ,mid March. The UN forces were digging in after Saddam Hussein withdrew what was left of his army but there was no let up in the coalition preparedness for battle .Bush had called for a cessation of fire but nobody at that time knew whether Saddam had dangerous weapons or hidden resources to unleash terror and mayhem in a counter offensive and the army was bracing itself for that eventuality.

Unlike Normandy or Iwo Jima where overwhelming numbers were thrown into battle and lives sacrificed for a tactical toe hold , there was a strategic shift in the gulf war. Though firepower to destruct and snuff out lives had increased manifold, the primary offensive strategy was maximum gain with minimum loss of lives , and planning was more precise to keep causalities down, which was evident from the outcome, very few lives were lost on the coalition side.

Charles and his engineering corps were at the forefront of being prepared and ordered construction materials he had stashed at junctures east to west from Az Zifli to Dhammam on the Saudi coast, to be moved up and relocated along two main arteries heading north into Kuwait.Adrian got me the authorization to move to AzZifli and organize the reserve teams and move the containers and set them further upfield, , where advance teams from Charles’ unit had established desert stations with wireless radios and beacons.

The army was everywhere and I had no link to the outside world except a grand communion with the vast expanse of sand that got under my eyes ,nose and mouth and all I could do was stop and relieve myself without being constantly watched. I was tense and disoriented and really didn’t have a clue of what I was doing . Much as I liked to make myself believe that Adrian wanted the money more , I was as keen and had my own plans of how I would use it but enduring the three days of an uncomfortable drive in the cabin of an army van ,heightened with barking orders, I cursed my greed and questioned my blind dash into the unknown with no plan whatsoever for money which I believed would be there.

I remember reaching Kayusmah, drinking whiskey lazed with valium and crashing for two straight days. I was shaken awake and the next leg was across the Suadi border into Al Sagayah in Kuwait where the road to Jahra began, at the end of which my destiny was shaped.