I wait for emails from my former Iraqi translator to appear in my Inbox—too long a wait, and I assume he’s dead. I fear mentioning any part of his name that might identify him to the wrong people.

Sitting on the steps of my platoon’s HQ in southern Iraq some time in 2003, I asked our translator what he had done while his city was being bombed by Americans during the invasion. 

He started into an impassioned 5-minute monologue. A 20-year-old student, he told of how Saddam’s Fedayeen guerrillas tried to recruit his university’s English class to defend the city as Marines closed in. He described days of remaining in his home as the fighting began, the fervent praying in a cramped room with his sister’s annoying children.

In subsequent conversations he would speak of life under Saddam’s regime, the murder of his anti-government uncle and the torture of a friend whose fingernails had been ripped out after emailing the United States.  

He still tells stories.

In November 2003 he wrote to my unit (then recently returned from Iraq) about the bombing of our former HQ, where he was working with Italian soldiers.

"im okky my friend god help me from this explosion i was in petrol with my friend italian it was every thing horrible thanks for god because he saved me"

He wrote that he feared being killed and how he hated Iraq and wanted to leave it.

"just tell me what ican do if when i walk in the street one day terrerist man will kill me in front of all people in the markit or in any where."

Another email, sent on April 10, 2004:

".im so angry from the situation here ,i think if the situation stay in the next dayes the same ill leave my job.i ask my god to stay with us to bless our life and i hope for my iraq the good futre for the good people not the bad .any way i hope my brother from god this message not the last message for me if my god safe my life and i dont be in grave"

At Christmas later that year he seemed to be more at ease:

"dont worry about me ,im so brave no body from the followers of al zargawy or osama ben laden will hurt me because i have the heart of marines ."

Then this past year, after months of not emailing, I contacted, him confident the situation in southern Iraq was calm enough for him not to worry. He quickly set me straight:  

"i heared that the (JAM)Al sader army in the next stage will threat the interpreters and i afraid that you will not hear any news about yourbrother in iraq again i hope this news uncorrect because my familly said to me you have to leave this jop as soon as you can because it's too dangerous for you"

I try to keep his spirits up. I ask him about his family, and tell him what I've been up to. But how much can I really write? How can I write against the extremely real prospect of death from my comfortable apartment in New York City?