VIII: Hasten Down the Wind

It sounded like an official declaration from the Ba'athists. It probably was, anyway. "From now on, you are not to use the name al-bu-Nasir. None of you. This has been passed down from Party headquarters. You're to address each other by first name and family name only."

The teacher motioned towards Sayid, a finger extending in indication. "For instance, he is Sayid Jarrah. He is not Sayid Jarrah al-bu-Nasir, no matter how many of you already know him by that name."

The new students shifted uncomfortably as the implications of this hit, and when he looked at them, Sayid saw concern. One of them was about to ask a question, lips opening, but then thought better of it. The same girl hadn't sung the national anthem. He'd noticed this, and he hoped that the class spy hadn't noticed as well.

A look over at Fahd assured him otherwise. The tall, athletic fellow was busy studying the Kurdish boys, not the new girl. He felt sorry for the Kurds. A report to the teacher would be issued, if not at the end of classes today, then at the end of mosque tomorrow, on Friday. The boys would be escorted out of class for a stern talking-to, and sometime within the next few weeks, their fathers would be tracked down in the streets and given a beating for their refusal to join the Ba'athists.

The new girl who hadn't sung the national anthem and wanted to ask the question was looking at him. He flinched, tried to smile at her. She was a daughter of one of the rich families, he figured, since she had gone to public school for only a short while. The private schools had been nationalized a few years ago, but what with the shutdown of the school in the northern end of the city, the new students had only just come to his school. Along with them, this girl, at whom he couldn't quite smile properly.

"We are going to study chemistry today," the teacher continued, and Sayid looked back towards the man, not caring what was being taught for once. Normally, he would have been interested, but today there were more important concerns, in the form of that girl. "We are going to do this by looking at the oil wells. Oil is important to our country, and it is important that, as sons and daughters of the revolution, you understand how it is acquired and processed."

Nobody feigned interest at that part. There had been a change in the way the teachers spoke – subtle, but still there. There was more political rhetoric, more emphasis on usefulness. It was as if the lessons were no longer taught for their education, but for their application in the new Iraq. Fahd was probably the only one who cared about the oil wells.

"If you will open up your texts to the chapter on oil processing – those that don't have texts, find someone to share with who does."

Sayid reached into his bookbag and took out a textbook, fingers skimming the embossing on the Party stamp of approval. He kept his book in good condition, in case someone wanted to share. Usually, nobody wanted to read along with him, though. Since Ibrahim was not in his science class, he was the smartest one here, and everyone knew it. The teacher's favorite, too. So they stayed away.

Not today, though. Today, that new girl was making her way towards him, having left the giggling clique of girls with whom she sat. He attempted to look like he didn't care, but from the way she looked at him, amused, he suspected that he failed miserably.

From behind him, there was the screech of a chair as Fahd leaned forward to stare at them, sitting so far on the edge of the seat that the back chair legs tipped in the air. Sayid leveled a sharp look at the taller boy, and deliberately placed the book down on the desk, letting it thunk loudly enough to send the attention of a few other students his way as well. Fahd would have to notice what he was doing.

He looked up towards where the new girl stood, waiting, and motioned her backwards. "Get your chair. You're welcome to read with me."

Fahd's chair legs resettled as he relaxed. Apparently he just wanted to make sure I was acting properly, Sayid thought. A good student and a good Party member. He flipped through the pages, looking for the cheap drawing of an oil well, as the new girl went to retrieve her chair and sit next to him.

–––

"You are two years younger than I? Nine?" The girl's voice was scornful, and Sayid knew that he had said the wrong thing. "And you are already studying chemistry. You must be very smart, Sayid." He could hear a change in her words, though, a strange disrespect now entering her voice. He shouldn't have told her his age. He liked her, and now he had ruined that chance.

To make matters worse, there was no way to respond properly and respectfully to her statement. Anything he said would be bragging. So he just shrugged, smiling, and replied, "I'm sure you're very smart as well, Noor. You studied in private schools for years. I'm sorry our public schools are so slow in comparison."

"Sayid, how many times must I tell you to call me Nadia?" He didn't reply. "Your school is all right." The girl leaned against the side of the school building, her hands stuck in her jacket, her long dress waving with the breeze. "In the private school, though, we would study about trees and mountains. In your school and the one in North Tikrit, we've studied about oil wells and airplanes. It's a different…" She trailed off, not finding the word readily available.

"Emphasis," he piped up, using the foreign word instead of proper Arabic. It occurred to him moments later that he shouldn't have said that. He hadn't been trying to seem smart, but it would surely look that way to the girl.

True to his suspicions, her tone seemed less appreciative than he had wanted. "Emphasis, yes." She inched away from him where they leaned against the wall, and studied a group of their classmates that had formed an impromptu cricket match. Fahd had just made a hit, and was loping around lazily, busy scoring runs while smaller, stockier children scrabbled after him. "I like Fahd," the girl said suddenly, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction.

He felt sick. "Fahd!" he exclaimed, more shocked than he'd wanted to sound. "Fahd is the class informant, Nadia. He will tell on you if you do anything wrong. You can't like him. That's impossible!"

Nadia shook her head, a quicksilver grin flashing across her face. "I do not like Fahd," she assured him. "I know he's the informant. But I also know that he's not a nice person. I could never be friends with him, Little Sayid."

He bristled at the nickname, but did his best not to show it. He had called Nadia 'Noor' a few too many times to expect her not to call him something terrible.

As Fahd ended his runs, Sayid glanced over at the game. His classmates were starting to move back for the class building, done with their exercise period. He turned to look for the door and felt hands on his jacket, long and slender fingers that clutched on his shoulders through the thick material and shoved at him. He reached out a hand to brace himself against the classroom building and missed, landing ingloriously in the muddy splotch within the thin strip of grass.

He could hear Nadia laughing, and he smiled as well. I must look like a fool, he thought, and he started to pick himself up, grinning back at Nadia, feeling stung but not minding the sting too much. "Why did you do that?"

The girl's voice was merry. "Because you let me."

He grinned wider, raising a hand to shuck some of the mud from his face and hair. The others were starting to close in, though, and he froze when he heard their laughter start as well. The sound made him feel a bright bolt of sudden hatred for what Nadia had done. He looked through the crowd and saw Fahd looking at him. Fahd was laughing the loudest of anyone.

At least Nadia waited for him to clean himself off, though. Even Fahd had gone in, after more time gawking than Sayid had thought possible with the teachers watching. Nadia and he were the last to go in, and she scrubbed at the edge of his jacket quickly and a bit roughly, looking oddly like a washerwoman for a Jazeem daughter.

"I'm sorry, Little Sayid." Nadia's voice was apologetic. "It was just – you looked so funny, with all that mud on you, and you didn't expect it at all, and – " Apology gave way to laughter, and he felt himself join in, too. " – oh, you looked awful!" She let his jacket drop, picked up her skirts to scale a few steps towards the school door. "We'd better hurry. I have music lessons and you have – "

"Algebraic equations."

She stared. She was impressed, he could tell, but she also seemed somehow frightened by this new information. "You're in algebraic equations?"

Once more, he could not give her a proper answer. Anything he could say would be bragging. He didn't have to, though, for as she stood there on the step, the door opened, just a few inches shy of hitting her. Both of them looked towards the door to see Fahd standing over them, looking proud at his opportunity to scold them. I thought I was the teachers' favorite. Why is Fahd delivering messages for them?

"Headmaster says to come inside, or you'll receive demerits. Both of you."

He wanted to say more to Nadia. He wanted to be friends with her. But Fahd stood there, gazing down at them with the look of an imam, and Nadia ducked her head away from Fahd's eyes, trying her best not to confront him. She ducked under the arm of the class spy and moved for the hallway beyond, and Sayid followed quickly on her heels, feeling Fahd's smirk beaming at him all the way to his mathematics class.