IN THE CITY WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

By JAMES WILDE/ERBIL

The Ottoman Turks built a fortress to loom over Erbil, a city already old when they conquered it and still making history now that the Sultans of Constantinople are no more. From that citadel, Erbil last week appeared remarkably calm for a city just beset by Iraq. Banks were open, shops were doing brisk business and, except for several parliament buildings and the headquarters of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (P.U.K.), the city bore almost no indications of fighting. What little evidence there was, however, spoke volumes. A bust of Jalal Talabani, the P.U.K. leader, was beheaded at a road junction. His picture had also been stripped from the front of the Kurdish parliament. And throughout the town, the P.U.K. flag had been ripped down, replaced by the bright yellow standard of the rival Kurdistan Democratic Party (K.D.P.).

In its initial stages the Iraqi attack appeared quite formidable. "We watched the assault from the roof of our building," explained Paul Pouldahl, a U.N. official based in Erbil. "A huge number of Iraqi tanks were advancing on the city. It was a major show of force." That was Aug. 31. On the morning of Sept. 1, however, the Iraqis began to pull back. And by last Monday the 40,000 troops had all but vanished. The only thing left behind was a mobile armored battalion, which positioned its tanks and artillery about 15 miles southeast of the city. "They are dug in with barbed wire and in a defensive posture," said a Danish Special Forces colonel with the United Nations. "I think they are staying around to make sure that the P.U.K. doesn't come back."

The offensive destroyed any current hope of reuniting the two violently feuding factions. Talabani, who had accepted help from Iran, has openly called his K.D.P. counterpart, Massoud Barzani, "a traitor" for opening the door to Iraq. In an exclusive interview with Time, Barzani, who has always believed in a federal union with Iraq, cited the Iranian involvement. "All we have done is to defend ourselves against the foreign threat of invasion." Speaking at the resort of Asalahuddin, 18 miles north of Erbil, he said, "We are still willing to cooperate with America if it is really serious." He does not rule out the possibility of mending fences with Talabani--nor has he given up on the dream of a Kurdish homeland. "Hopelessness is a kind of death. We must always have hope, to the very last minute of our lives, that things will work out for the Kurds."

Despite the calm in Erbil, few believed the crisis had passed. On Thursday morning in Degala, 15 miles beyond the Iraqi encampment southeast of Erbil, K.D.P. and P.U.K. peshmerga [those who face death] battled for control of a critical bridge. On Friday both sides were still shelling each other. Yet these battles produced few casualties and even fewer refugees. In fact the biggest headache for Erbil's nearly half a million residents was that almost all water had been cut off by the P.U.K., which controls the dam outside of town. The streets were choked with water trucks, while two ice factories were besieged by thirsty crowds. "There's no water in the house," explained Fatima Mohammed, 6, who was carrying two empty tins. "I still have no water for two days." There was also no electricity, which meant that each night the city is lit only by tiny flames flickering from tens of thousands of candles--the only things Kurds can rely upon to show them the way home.