Free The Girl in Green by Derek B. Miller Page B

half a dozen reasons, including legal ones. So the fact is, Arwood walked through the minefield because I put him there.’
    â€˜It can’t be that linear,’ Märta said.
    â€˜It really is.’
    Märta finished her drink and said nothing.
    â€˜I’m starting to think,’ he eventually continued, ‘that maybe we leave parts of ourselves behind in certain situations — some essential piece of ourselves that we have to cut off, otherwise there’s no way out. The future becomes a kind of journey to discover what you might actually have left behind and what you’re supposed to do about it. It’s more than trauma. It’s like a phantom limb, but with a piece of your soul.’
    Märta watched Benton. She studied his face. She’d known dozens of war journalists and photographers. It was stunning how impressed they were with themselves. A few deserved it, but most were parachute journalists who would drop in, take some pictures, and rush out onto Oprah so they could tell the world about their bravery and close calls, and how committed they all were to the ideal of a free press to support an informed democracy. She liked to say to them, ‘You realise that when you’re gone, I’m still here, right? Me and the rest of the girls?’ And they’d laugh, as though she were speaking through strawberry lip balm.
    Benton exuded none of this. He seemed sincerely miserable. It was refreshing. Maybe it awakened something in her Swedish soul.
    â€˜Why do you do this?’ she asked.
    â€˜Do what — this job?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜It’s a kind of momentum, isn’t it? It’s a job. A set of skilled tasks you eventually know how to do, which means you don’t know how to do other things, so eventually there you are. When the paper calls and sends me on assignment, this is the kind of assignment they send me on. They don’t ask me to do other things like … I don’t know … photograph food for the Lifestyles section. In fact, I think I might like working on a cookbook.’
    Märta smiled. ‘Really?’
    â€˜Well, sure. It’s honest and direct work that requires some creativity and technical skill. You get to see the benefits of your effort immediately. I imagine the people who work on that sort of thing are rather easygoing, and enjoy it. It’s useful, but there isn’t too much riding on it, really. I wouldn’t mind being in that atmosphere. Besides, after taking pictures of gourmet food, you get to eat it. That must be nice.’
    â€˜Actually, you can’t. A lot of the food is chemically treated. Much of what you see in magazines is entirely inedible. My boyfriend imports food into Sweden. I’ve been to photography sessions.’
    â€˜That’s disappointing,’ he said.
    They did not return to the topic of Arwood that night. What she wanted was proof that she wouldn’t become like Arwood. Instead she learned that she wasn’t alone with her fears. That recognition created an intimacy she needed. Looking at Benton, she realised that she wanted the world to contract for an hour rather than expand, and for her senses to be directed to something specific rather than to be scattered across the terrain of Kurdistan.
    She put her hand on his. It covered his wedding ring. She felt it press against her palm.
    He looked down at her hand. He looked surprised, but he did not resist. Instead, he laid his free hand on top of hers. Neither smiled.
    Before morning they were lovers.
    The crisis ended with a whimper. The Kurds wouldn’t get off the mountains until they could be sure of their safety. But Dohuk was below the 36th parallel, which was the demarcation line of the ceasefire in the north. US Lieutenant Colonel Abigail manoeuvred his companies closer to Dohuk to intimidate the Iraqis so they’d pull out and the Kurds could move back in.
    General Jay Garner put two