BAGHDAD, Iraq, 10 August 2003 — To Mohammed Salah, a burned and broken victim of this week’s devastating car bombing at the Jordanian Embassy, the future looks nearly as bleak as his recent past.

“Since Saddam Hussein has gone, we’ve come to realize anything can happen. This was not a surprise, actually. The world is upside down, and no one seems able to step in and make things all right,’’ he said as he lay in a bed at Yarmouk Hospital, a dank and dusty house of despair. He was awaiting the first of four operations to repair nerves and circulation in one arm and remove shrapnel from his chest. He hadn’t been visited by a doctor in 18 hours.

On Thursday, Salah was a passenger in the back seat of a car that was suddenly blasted and set afire by a sudden explosion as it passed the embassy. He escaped the burning wreck by pounding through a window and staggering across a median strip. The car’s Jordanian driver and two Iraqi friends died in the flames.

In all, at least 13, and perhaps as many as 19 bystanders and security guards, were killed in the attack. At least 50 people were wounded.

The attack has given Iraqis in the capital a feeling of being under assault from all sides. Violence and uncertainty have persisted nonstop since the war to depose Saddam ended. Major combat was declared over on May 1, yet numerous civilians have been killed by US forces — some protesting US occupation policies, some caught in the crossfire between American troops and guerrillas, some shot down during US raids on suspected resistance hideouts. Other civilians have been killed by Iraqi fire directed at Americans.

Now Iraqis, including at least one infant, have been killed in the unexplained bombing of an Arab embassy, for which no group has claimed responsibility. “There are many ways to die in Baghdad,’’ said Salah, 22, an unemployed former soldier.

Car bombs are not new to Baghdad, although it has been a long time since they struck the city. During the 1980-1988 Iran-Iraq war, opponents of Saddam set off bombs in the city. Despite numerous crackdowns, it was rare for assailants to be caught, Iraqis recall. “If Saddam couldn’t get his enemies, imagine how it will be for the Americans,’’ said Ali Abdul-Hadi Ahmed, an airport worker whose house was shaken by Thursday’s explosion.

“Back then, it was resistance to Saddam that caused the bomb problem. Now maybe it is Saddam’s people,’’ mused Abu Haidar Jafari, who was repairing broken windows in his house a block from the embassy. “We are caught in a circle.’’

The bomb ripped open the front of the embassy, hurled a parked car atop the three-story building and shattered windows half a mile away. As the latest in an escalation of attacks aimed one way or another at the American occupation — Jordan was a silent partner in the war and let US Special Operations troops operate from its territory — the car bombing was worrisome for US military officials. On Friday, American investigators picked over wreckage at the embassy while soldiers stood guard. L. Paul Bremer, the American civilian administrator for Iraq, described the bombing as a “new phenomenon.’’ He speculated that if Saddam’s supporters were behind the attack, “it does raise the question as to whether they have had technology transfer from foreign terrorists.’’

Some military officials have fingered Ansar Al-Islam, a militant group that includes fugitive combatants from the war in Afghanistan, as a chief suspect. Before the war, Ansar operated in mountainous northeastern Iraq. An assault by Kurdish military forces under US command crippled their operations. Nonetheless, Ansar remains a threat, US officials say. “We know that group is in the country,’’ said Col. Guy Shields, a military spokesman in Baghdad. “It’s too early to say they are responsible.’’

On Friday, Salah lay face up on a dingy bed at the hospital, being comforted by friends. His right arm was in a cast, his left was bandaged. Burns covered part of his face and body. Pieces of metal pockmarked his skin, and his chest was bandaged.

Though public health in Baghdad has recovered from the critical situation that prevailed in wartime, when injured were strewn about hospital hallways for lack of space and medical supplies were scarce, care is far from assured and seems rudimentary.

A young resident physician who guided a reporter to Salah said that it was not certain the patient could be operated on soon, because oxygen and anesthetics were in short supply. A car wreck victim next to Salah had been waiting four days to have some broken bones reset.

Several survivors of Thursday’s bombing were taken to private hospitals in Baghdad where, for money, care is more forthcoming, hospital officials said. Some victims were ferried to Jordan. “I need to get out of Iraq. I am without money to pay for anything,’’ Salah said.

Salah’s misfortune is only the latest to strike him and his family. Their house was partially destroyed by US bombs early in the war. A few days after US troops occupied the city, a thief pointed a gun at the head of one of Salah’s uncles, told him to get out of his car and stole it. “This was right in our driveway,’’ Salah said. Carjacking is still common in the city.

His aunt entered the ward. She had forced her way past a security guard who was trying to convince visitors that it was too late to enter. Many were carrying food for their kin and friends; the hospital does not feed its patients.

Salah began to weep. “I’m glad to see you. My arm is going to fall off and I’m going to die,’’ he said. The doctor slipped out of the room.