We sat down at the dining table: the elder, Dima, the child, and I. Everyone was quietly eating. The child quickly got up and went to his room, while Dima silently finished his meal and stood up. I finished mine and followed, but I realized at the last moment that I hadn't secured the gun on my waist. Discreetly, I slid it toward my stomach; the loose shirt kept it hidden. Outside, Dima was playing with embers by the fire.
"Be careful, Dima. Don't let the fire spread," I said.
"I'm careful already. Besides, it won't hurt me," he replied, staring at me for a long moment.
"Why did you come? What do you want from us?" Dima seemed suspicious. Had I exposed myself, or…
"I ran away, Dima. I was a captive, and I took shelter in the first house with a smoking chimney," I answered.
"Then why did you ask about that house? As if you were a soldier, as if you wanted to kill us… Are you like them?" Dima panicked; his hand got too close to the fire and burned. His eyes filled immediately. I grabbed his hand and blew on it to cool it down. Angrily, yet calmly, I spoke:
"Calm down, Dima. You'll hurt yourself. Wait, I'll bring you some water."
I went inside to fetch water from a small old cupboard and came back out. As I passed the door, I noticed he was speaking to someone in his father's room. I asked Dima to extend his hand; his tearful eyes met mine as he did.
"Put your hand in the water, and I'll tell you what happened… Weeks ago, I was brought here from Turkey. I don't know why I'm here. They tortured me, treated me for days, and injured me again. I escaped by chance. While talking to your father, he explained the oppression here, and I asked, 'Why is this man separate from you?' I didn't realize I had said anything wrong. Don't worry, I'll take my supplies and leave soon."
Dima stared for a long time, those beady eyes… It was impossible not to be affected by them. Her cheeks began to blush. I stood and turned my back.
"Wait, stranger. I feel sorry for your situation, but I was just scared. I was afraid of experiencing the same thing again, afraid of the oppression."
I turned and looked at her.
"I didn't come for oppression, I came to help, Dima." She lowered her head; she didn't even know my name.
"At first, everyone seems to come for help. But they inflict violence, oppression, and every cruelty on us." She began crying again. I crouched and sat beside her.
"Don't cry, Dima. Tell me. I feel for you. What did they do to you?"
Dima hugged me and began sobbing:
"Everything… first the women, then the children. They beat them for hours, raped them, injured the men, and forced weapons into the children's hands."
The men were complete scum; they deserved to die. I could do nothing but clench my fist.
"I wish there was something I could do to help you, Dima."
She lifted her head and looked at me sharply:
"Don't talk about those scums. That's all I want from you."
"My name is Kara. At first, I didn't trust you, but now I do, Dima. I believe you won't lie to me." I couldn't tell Dima my real identity, so I used my uncle's name. Now my codename had to be "Kara," and I told her so.
"I didn't tell you the truth, Kara," Dima said, looking at me sheepishly, a little regretful.
"They came one winter, the oppression continued. That night… my father resisted, they took him and my mother, tortured them. They raped my mother… and killed her. My father tried to kill a few of them but failed. Then they took me. They did the same cruelty to me, the same torture. My father could only watch; they forced him to witness what was done to me…" Dima came to my chest and hugged me.
"…and I became pregnant. I wanted to die, tried several times, but they didn't let me. Nine months later, a child was born, forcibly… that child sleeping inside is mine, Kara. He is deaf from birth. That scumbag didn't want him because he's defective; they don't let us leave this village. Every two days, men come to check on us. They leave us alive only to torment my father."
I held Dima's hand tightly and hugged her. Even though she was my age, she had been forced to understand life too early; now I understood the horrors she had witnessed. Her hand was red; I needed to bring medicine from my bag.
"I'll get you ointment from the neighbors. Stay here, calm down."
"Don't go, they'll catch you," she said. Still, I didn't listen. I retrieved my bag from its hiding place, put the ointment in my pocket, and took out my phone. I contacted Karahan.
"Codename 24, operation name: Harabelik." The call went through to Karahan.
"Report, 24. What's the situation?"
"Sir, I infiltrated. I've been here for nearly 24 hours. The man is likely here. The files are accurate; all the oppression inflicted on innocents is concentrated in one place. He doesn't want them leaving the village."
"What's your plan once you finish the analysis, 24?"
"Sir, I request permission to examine the village fully. I want to determine the number of men and neutralize them away from the innocents. I intend to eliminate the ones I know, under your orders."
"Orders and requests approved. Complete the mission within 48 hours and return to base, 24."
I acknowledged and hung up. A voice came from behind. I immediately turned, but got hit in the face with a butt. As I recovered, a masked man was attacking, aiming his gun at me, staring.
"Raise your hands, stranger." I obeyed. On the way, a sound came from the bushes. I got the knife from my wrist and drove it beneath his heart. He collapsed. Still alive, I cut his throat. I changed into his clothes, necessary for the analysis. I hid him in the bushes, covered my face with the mask, and passed through the village.
Near the edge, someone spoke in Kurdish: "Stop, where are you going?" I needed to lose the men.
"I went to fetch a little water, heval," I said.
"Don't wander around the village. Tomorrow evening, you'll bring El-Tarab's child here."
Luckily, they didn't stay long. My luck favored me on this first mission. I buried the clothes, put mine back on, and completed the analysis in a short time: 25 men were visible, 15 houses with chimneys, the man's house was at least 25 minutes up from the village. Tomorrow, I would take El-Tarab's child, Dima's son, there; preparations would be made then.
I arrived at Dima's house. She was still waiting by the slowly dying embers. Seeing me, she stood, scared.
"I was scared. I thought something happened to you. Why did you go?"
"I owe you, Dima. First, you took care of me. Now, I'll take care of you." Dima smiled and laughed. I applied the ointment to her hand.
"You smile beautifully. Crying isn't for you." Dima blushed, pulled her hand away, and ran inside. She was experiencing such emotions for the first time; I could feel it, because she had become a mother as a child. She didn't know love, affection.
I left the ointment inside and returned to the fire. I wondered what Alara was doing. I hadn't seen her for months. Did she remember me? Or how my father was? Two people I could miss were there: Alara, a very good friend, and my father, my family.
Footsteps came behind me; I reached for my knife. It was Dima again. "The bed is ready, come inside and rest," she said. She left without looking at me.