by Tom Corbett
“No one knows,” Azita repeated softly. “The bullet hit a book I had just put inside my blouse, something I found in the drawers we were looking through in our old home. I can yet see the hate in this boy’s face as he levelled his gun at my head for another try. At that moment, praise Allah, one of the Afghan security men with us shot the boy. Allah was kind to give us such a quick guard to be with us at that moment.”
“The boy said nothing before he died?” Deena asked.
“Just the usual, God is great. Think how pathetic that is, believers who hate one another invoke the same God. Same with Christians. I wonder if they ever think about how silly that is? You know I read history for relaxation. I came across this story about the Great War in Europe a century ago. They were in trenches in France charging one another and suffering horrific losses of life. Christmas came, and an unofficial truce settled over the battlefield. No one knows how it started but the German and Allied troops came out of their trenches and greeted one another in what they called ‘no-man’s land’. For several hours, they exchanged small gifts, like tobacco and wine, sang their seasonal songs, shared some food, and prayed to the same God. Then it was over, and they returned to the same trenches to start the slaughter all over again. What an odd species we are.” Azita seemed lost in thought for a moment but then shook her head slightly. “In any case, our assassin died before anyone could ask why he hated us so or which of us he hated the most.”
“A book? Finally, your love of books came in handy.” Suddenly, Deena smiled and grabbed Azita’s hand. “Enough of that. Since I am stuck with you right now, I want to talk about something funny. How is your love life? That always amuses me.”
“Oh sister, you are the devil herself. Ever since we were children, you have been a torment to me.” But Azita was happy for the change in topic. She had not meant to tell Azita about her mother’s journal, not yet. For the moment, it could remain merely a random book that had saved her.
“That is my mission in life, my personal obsession. So, tell me, do I have any hope for nieces and nephews from you, with Benjamin or maybe this mysterious new boy? His name is Ahmad, right? Tell me all, everything.”
“What I should do is give you an overdose of sedatives.” Azita looked cross but that dissolved into a pensive pose. “I can hardly think of these things. I have not told anyone else this yet, you will be the first. The other day, I finally broke it off with Ben. We met, nothing had changed. He was saying the same words. Then I knew. So, I just spoke the words…we are finished. He was stunned. I could not believe he had no idea of my anguish. He then desperately tried to argue that we could elope, he would defy his parents. I would not hear of that, I did not believe him.”
“Sister, I think you would have if you truly loved him.”
Azita looked intently at her. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are. In any case, it is over. I think he was relieved, hurt yes, but relieved. Then again, perhaps that is what I want to believe. I can still remember him walking away, in the rain, his shoulders slumped. It broke my heart but there was no other way. Tell me, why does it rain so much in this country?”
“And this Ahmad?”
“Oh, him! Well, I have some news about Ahmad which you will be the first to know. I am pregnant with his child.”
Deena registered shock until she saw Azita laugh. “When I get better, you little shit, I will have my revenge. Now the truth or, sick bed or not, I shall beat you to within an inch of your miserable life.”
“We have seen one another but only very briefly and not since I broke it off with Ben, though I am not sure that boy accepts that it is over. Truth is, I keep putting Ahmad off, using you as an excuse.”
“Hmm,” Deena said and grinned, “I must get his email address and tell him what a wicked girl you are.”
“He should know that already, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him. What should I do Deena? I am serious now. How did you decide about Karen?”
Deena thought about that. “I will be honest. I don’t really know. I think Karen decided for me, but I am happy she did, I think. I am not sure my relationship is of much help to you. All those years, as a girl, I would talk about boys and read romance novels when I could find them. And yet, inside, my fantasies were different. I was hiding the real me from all of you. I felt so dishonest but what choice did I have, in that culture?”
“Oh, dear Deena, you must have been so lonely. Why didn’t you talk to me?”
The elder sibling laughed. “Then, you were this spoiled little girl with whom I fought all the time. Back then, you must remember that we were not so close. So many times, though, I almost told Papa and Mama what was inside of me. Do you think they would have understood?”
Azita reflected for a moment. “They were such kind and wise people. I think they would have tried very hard though our culture was so unforgiving. Of one thing I am certain, they would always have loved you.”
Deena nodded. “I know. I do know that. There are some Muslim countries where I might be beheaded for my love for Karen. We must be so careful when we are around the true believers. That pains me so much. And speaking of pain, I fear a headache coming on.”
Azita stroked her sister’s head. “I will give you something to help you sleep. Then, I am going to join the others for a bit. Perhaps I can convince them that this move would be silly. When you awake, Karen will be here to see you again before she heads back to London.”
“I hate being an invalid. I hate imposing on you like this.”
“Listen to me. It may not seem so, but you are getting better by the day. And put this nonsense about imposing yourself on me out of your mind. You are good training for me. How else will I learn how to deal with impossible patients?”
“Ha, ha. And when I do recover, just remember that you are in big trouble.”
Azita leaned over and lifted her head so that she might swallow some pills. “This will relieve the pain and help you sleep. And believe me, nothing would make me happier than for you to be well enough to chase me around the room threatening me with a long, wooden cooking spoon.”
“Oh my, I did that, when we were young. I had forgotten.”
“I haven’t.” Azita laughed. “Good thing Mama came in to save me.”
“Azita, before you leave. Do you love him, this mystery boy?”
The younger sibling looked out of the window before responding. “Sister, I have always been a woman who focused on the intellect, on knowledge. These matters of emotion and the heart, the things located deeper in our consciousness remain alien to me. All I can say is that I feel something when I see him, hear from him, that I have not felt before.”
Deena smiled broadly. “Finally, my sister has found love. How delicious.”
“Oh, you are a wicked sister, enjoying my torture. But remember this, I know of many ways to do you in that are virtually undetectable. It will look as if you had died from meanness, which everyone who knows you will believe.” Azita leaned over and kissed her sister lightly on the lips. “Now, get some rest. But you are wrong, I found someone to love a long time ago, someone pathetic whom no one else could possibly love.”
“And who might that be?”
“You, of course. You - my wicked sister.”
As Azita headed for the door, Deena called out. “And you, silly sister, run to that boy and make love to him. Do you hear me?”
“Hah,” Azita yelled back as she exited. “Even if they detect the poison that I used on you, no jury would ever convict me for ridding myself of such a wicked sister.”
Deena smiled and realized how exhausted she was. She leaned back to seek the relief that sleep would bring.
Azita looked up at the sky. It was cloudy, she should have brought an umbrella. After all this time in England, she still had not gotten into the habit of expecting rain. It always seemed to be sunny in Afghanistan, at least that was her memory. Apparently, early lessons were hard to dismiss, they clung tenaciously to one. But she knew that already. O
ne does not shed one’s culture easily at all. She talked and acted like all the other Oxford students about her. Only her olive skin, perhaps her long and dark brown hair, and the occasional head scarf denoted her heritage from the outside. But inside was a different matter. She took her scarf and aggressively positioned it to cover her head. Let the world know who she was. Damn them.
“Azita,” she heard, “wait.”
She whirled about to see Ahmad moving quickly to catch up to her.
“Are you back to stalking me?” She said more gruffly than she had intended.
“No,” he stammered. “Well, maybe. Yes dammit, I am.”
“That covers all the possibilities.” Her voice was slightly less aggressive though she yet sounded cross. “What do you want?”
“I…I…”
“For God’s sake, spit it out.” Azita saw his face dissolve in pain and then was distraught at her tone. Why was she being so mean? She was not angry at him but at herself, at her inability to make any decisions. “Listen, Ahmad, I am sorry. You deserve better. You should find a girl who can be there for you. What can I offer? I might be going off to America next year, then maybe someplace in the world…perhaps even home, to our native country. Would you really like that? You have spent your whole life escaping our culture, would you go back to it for a girl, especially for a girl as confused as I am? That would be foolish, beyond foolish.”
“You really think so?” He interjected quickly.
“I know so. You probably have fantasies of wild sex with this female you hardly know. But that can never last long. And then what? You would resent me and the life I forced upon you. I would no longer be this exotic temptation but merely this boring wife who dragged you away from this world you worked so hard to find.”
Ahmad held up his hand. “Just wait…wait. Is this why you have been avoiding me, telling me that you are too busy attending to your sister? I thought maybe you and Ben had made up, that I lost you to a better man. But it is all about you knowing what is best for me. If that is the problem…”
“No, it is about knowing how boys think. Besides, you are…nice looking. You could have any girl you wanted. Why torture me?”
“What! You know how boys think? Young lady, you may know many things, but I guarantee you know precious little about boys and love.”
“Oh,” she snapped back. “And now you presume to lecture me on what I know and don’t know.”
“In this case, yes.” He did not back down while Azita, in fact, did take a step back. “Here is what I know. My father told me that your parents loved one another until their tragic deaths. He could have escaped to England with his family when he was younger and lived an easier life, but he stuck it out hoping to provide some comfort to his people and his country. Madeena lost her position at the university, she was forced to be an ordinary housewife, one of the invisible women. Did she stop loving him or he her? Not from what I was told. And my father, his marriage arranged for him as a young man. He took my mother to foreign lands where she sometimes knew no one, even had trouble with the language. And yet…” his voice was softening in a subtle way, “they never stopped loving one another. My father wept uncontrollably at her passing. That is where I learned about love.” He stood there breathing hard. Suddenly, his face registered a new awareness. “Wait, did you say that I am nice looking?” His face broke into that crooked smile that Azita found endearing.
Azita looked up at the sky. It had begun to drizzle; harder rain was likely on the way given the darker clouds to the west. “Ahmad,” she whispered. “There is no more Ben in my life.”
“Really?” Ahmad seemed to be absorbing the news. “I think I am sorry for you.”
Azita smiled faintly. “Wow, you really are a terrible liar.”
“No…” Ahmad began to protest when she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a nearby alleyway. Once they had privacy, she flew into his arms and kissed him hungrily. Shocked, Ahmad stumbled back against the alley wall, but she followed him and pressed her body hard against his. Both instinctively began to grind against each other as Azita emitted a low, primal groan, almost a desperate wail. Ahmad by now had recovered from the initial shock, pulling her more fully into his stronger body as if he could absorb her body into his. His mouth sought out her neck and face and then they found each other’s mouths and the frantic search began for deeper levels of sensation and connection.
Suddenly, Azita pushed him away. “Damn you.”
“What?” Ahmad was confused as the rain increased.
“Damn you,” she repeated.
“Why?”
She turned and started away. “I must go.”
“Why?” he repeated as she reached the main street.
Before turning the corner and disappearing, she turned back and looked at him directly in the eyes. “Because you made me fall in love with you, that is why.” Then she was gone, and the rain came harder.
“I am beginning to think that the Masoud family village is cursed. First, I got shot while rescuing the girls and this guy’s worthless ass.” Karen nodded in Chris’s direction.
“And I yet appreciate the gesture, even if I were not your primary concern,” Chris offered.
“Not even close.” Karen smiled. “And then the love of my life gets shot in the head during a celebration of all things. I may never let her go back.”
“But you would be fine if I did?” Chris asked, knowing the answer.
“Hell,” Karen responded immediately, “I would pay your airfare. After all, you are going to run off to America and abandon me. You are not my bloody favorite right now.”
“Nothing has been decided about America,” Amar quickly added and then was silent.
“I am thinking,” Kay added, “I doubt we could stop the girls from going back to their homeland, if they chose to. My poor brother here went apoplectic when I defied him and joined Amar at the Panjshir site without his permission. He straight away flew in to yank me out, lot good that did.”
“You can say that again, my trip there was a disaster. I wound up with a wife.”
Kay hurled a pretzel in the general direction of her brother. “What I am saying is that you cannot keep someone away from something that is their passion, and certainly not if it is an obsession. And this village in the middle of nowhere has some hold on them. I mean, they never spent much time there, but it represents something special to them, maybe symbolic. They will go back, I am sure.”
“That will kill me,” Amar said.
“And me,” Karen added. “Kay, have I thanked you for what you did that day? Thank God you were there.”
“Only about a dozen times.” Kay rolled her eyes back in mock frustration.
“Well,” Karen became a bit defensive, “probably not in front of this fine crowd. So, here is my thirteenth thanks. But to change the topic back to our roots, which is what I think we were discussing, I do understand the pull. My family, going back in time, worked the land.”
“A farmer’s daughter, I just knew it.” Chris smiled broadly. “All this time, I wondered what fragrance you used. It is Eau de la Swine Trough.”
“As I was saying before the rude interruption, I have visited aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents who still live in that region, northern England near the Scottish border. Poor place, lots of small and hardscrabble farms with nothing much going on. Even though I never lived there, I still feel a tug when I have visited. It is like returning to the earth, your origins. This place, and these people, are where I came from. It is spiritual in a way.” Karen looked at Chris suspiciously, waiting for a sharp retort.
He decided not to disappoint her. “I get it Karen, you are one with the common folk. That is why I have often said you should buy the Hairy Hare. You would be the perfect entrepreneur-owner. Everyone knows you are a people person.”
“Here we go,” Karen sighed.
“No, really, you could work the bar listening to the woes of the common folk and solve their common, everyd
ay problems and issues.”
“Oh, bite me, you sot.” Karen threw another pretzel at him, which sailed over his head and glanced off the back of a nearby patron who seemed not to notice.
“See, right there,” Chris said with satisfaction, “the common touch.”
Karen affected an exasperated tone. “No matter how many times I tell him, Chris doesn’t get it. This is a fake pub. There are no common folk here, just pseudo-sophisticates who think they are getting the common folk experience. But, as much as we are trying very hard to ignore this, let us at long last focus on the question at hand: are you going to America?”
Chris took a deep breath, looking at Amar as he did. “Well, it is doable, for the family I mean, if we relocate to Madison, which is in Wisconsin,” he added for Karen’s benefit. “That is close enough to Chicago but not right in Father’s neighborhood. I could do what needs to be done quietly. Besides, they want me at the university, which has an internationally recognized poverty research center and a fine international program. They have assured me a position for Amar at the university hospital and a chance for her to teach a course in international health topics at the medical school. They believe that some students might be attracted to working overseas. Since Azita came back from Afghanistan, she has seemed to settle on children’s health as a specialty; there is a great children’s hospital on campus where she could do her internship. If we want, we get to swap homes with a professor who will be at Oxford for at least a year. His place is right on this gorgeous lake called Mendota, adjacent to the north side of the campus. And the girls can start elementary school in a place that teaches the children of a whole bunch of foreign graduate students who live in what is called Eagle Heights. The diversity there is amazing, like going to a United Nation’s school.”
“Sounds perfect,” Kay offered. “Then again, I sense a but coming.”
Again, Chris looked at Amar who remained silent. He ventured a response. “We are not all on board. After meeting with Father, I concluded that there is a reason to do this. It was not anything he specifically said, but rather his look. He had this look about him, as if he was privy to something very scary. I wish I could explain my feelings about him, what I saw that day. His smile, his look. It was like staring into the heart of evil. Amar is neutral and not enthused. Azita leans against but, of course, does not have to come with us necessarily, though it will kill me if she does not. And the girls, well they don’t get a vote though they could benefit greatly from a cross-cultural experience.”
