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was fearless. I fired a few more rounds and listened to the hail of bullets echo in the hills. The odor of gunpowder was intoxicating. Virile. After emptying the magazine of its thirty-six bullets, I smelled the barrel of the Plimout and headed back home, replete.
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    My mother killed a rooster and prepared a feast. My uncle Avdal Khan, who worked for the oil company, had just been put on early retirement. The government no longer wanted Kurds in sensitive positions, such as in the oil sector. And my uncle had decided to return to his hometown.
    I was delighted. I had new pals—my cousin Sardar and especially his sister Shahla. She and I were the same age and she was very beautiful.
    But the most beautiful thing was that my uncle came back with a television set! A television!

    In the evening, as soon as the programs were to begin, I darted over to their house. First we had the privilege of hearing the party anthem, followed by endless speeches by President al-Bakr and Vice President Saddam Hussein. I was seeing the two Baath leaders for the first time. I looked at them, incredulous. Al-Bakr was an old man; he looked like our neighbor Babik the ice-cream vendor. But Saddam was young and slender, with a black mustache, and he was taken seriously because he very seldom smiled. Soon I could no longer bear to sit through the anthems or the speeches to the glory of Pan-Arabism and Baath nationalism. I would come in time for the Egyptian soap opera Anter and Abla . The plot revolved around a wealthy young man, Anter, who was in love with Abla, a black slave. The entire neighborhood talked about my uncle Avdal Khan’s television. We all wanted one, except my mother, who regarded TV as the devil.
    When my father received his meager pension, he added to it a little money he had saved and bought a television set. I went with him. It was a small set that worked on a car battery. The owner switched the set on. We saw the image of Saddam Hussein appear, bright and clear, and he quickly switched off the set. My father stood up, and after protracted bargaining, the deal was settled. The understanding was that once the set was bought, it couldn’t be returned. We went home. My father was pleased with his purchase and I was delighted. The television was set up in the upstairs bedroom. To please my father more, my mother fixed us some good tea. The entire family sat down in front of the set while my father tried to tune in the image. But it remained blurry, the tea got cold, and we began to lose all hope of seeing Anter and Abla , our favorite soap opera. My mother asked my father, “Why did you buy a television set that runs with a battery when we have electricity?” My father didn’t answer. He started to get worked up, turning the antenna in every direction. Our enthusiasm vanished, and worriedly we watched
our father seething. We knew he was capable of anything in this state.
    My father began to realize he had been swindled, and for the benefit of the salesman, he screamed, “May my donkey bugger your wife!” Exasperated, he stopped to drink his glass of tea, which, having been poured long before, was cold by then. He became annoyed at my mother and threw the half-full glass against the wall. Fearing the worst, we all got up and went downstairs to the first floor to sleep. My mother muttered that he had let the devil into the house.
    A little while later my father called to us: the image was in focus; we could come back. We got out of our beds and went upstairs, only to discover indistinct shadows that strained the eyes. Soon even the shadows disappeared. We went back to bed while my father continued to curse the salesman and his wife. At around two in the morning, my father got dressed to go out. All of us were awake, fearing he would take his Brno with him. Fortunately, he didn’t. Holding the television under his arm, he told me to follow him. We went back to the salesman and made him get out