by Tom Corbett
I have made a big enough fool of myself. So, just a little more then. I love you.
xoxoxo
Carlotta looked at the screen. Her fingers went back and forth between the delete and the send buttons. Oh shit, no guts, no glory she uttered to herself, and then hit the send button.
Several rooms away, Kay sat back in an easy chair and looked out over Kabul at night. She wondered what plots and intrigues were taking place out there. Darkness in this tortured land was not a time of rest and renewal. It was the respite used for seeking out new ways to destroy one’s enemies, real and imagined. What diabolical recesses of the human mind can become so distorted with hate that one finds pleasure and gratification only in the affliction of pain or suffering in others? Her melancholy mood brought her back to Chicago, the ER room where she had toiled for several years. Broken and wounded bodies nightly arrived, shot and maimed for such noble reasons as a suspicious look or a pair of Air Jordan shoes coveted by another. How had human life become so cheap and should she still care? Of course, she did. She knew she always would. Somehow, in her mind, she was balancing some celestial scale, offsetting the evil her father brought to the world with her small acts of goodness. Completing that balancing act, she grimly calculated, would take way more good works than she could summon.
This mood grabbed her from time to time, but she had always fought back. Reach out, she told herself. Connect with her world. Then, a cold thought struck her. Perhaps this was not the usual malaise brought on by too much violence and negativity out there in the real world. Perhaps this was a more personal affliction stemming from something closer to home. She had to write to Jamie, but what to say? Kay felt a chill even though the air conditioning did not cool down the temperature that much in her room. She went to the desk in her hotel room and flipped up the lid on her laptop.
FROM: Kay Crawford
TO: Jamie Whitehead
SUBJECT LINE: Miss you.
Hey love. I am sitting in my hotel thinking of you and the girls. Perhaps I am just lonely, but I am overcome with a bit of ennui this evening. My guess is that this is what I call the ‘Capitol Syndrome’. This is an affliction that is self-diagnosed and named. I generally love the road trips but the necessary visits to the central government leave me cold. Here, you can feel the duplicity, the scheming, and the corruption. It is not universal, of course. There are plenty of good folk around. Still, there is enough obvious shit to drag you down.
It will start getting better tomorrow. I am looking forward to meeting the Guptas that Azita and Deena talked about. I think Karen might have plans to make them part of our team, we will see.
I will be honest here. I am looking at the screen wondering what to say next. I could churn out a few sentences and say good night but then I would toss and turn in bed. I love you Jamie, and the girls. Never doubt that for a moment. You have given me stability and an anchor on which to hold. You can never fully appreciate what that means to me.
And yet, there are days when I feel something is missing. Our life in England is too comfortable. Isn’t that silly? Most females I know would kill to have a husband like you, a family like ours, and the money and material things we take for granted. But you know, and I know that there is more out there. We are pushed by broader and more fundamental obsessions - to make some difference in the world. Even my brother, whom I love dearly despite our squabbles, seems to have gotten it all together. On second thought, I doubt Chris will ever fully have life’s riddles solved, no matter how bright he is.
Okay, what am I trying to say here? I need to find some way to remain involved, to find some way of contributing to a greater good but without sacrificing the wonderful things I have in my life. Is that way too selfish? I worry about that, about being the girl who grew up with the silver spoon and got everything she wanted. I desperately do not want to become some whiney bitch, the very kind of woman I find so offensive.
Jamie, am I making sense here? The thing is that, when I am out in the field, the real field, I am alive. The people who come for my help are totally needy. Chris sometimes talks about being everything to some people. He is right. I hate to admit it but occasionally he gets something right. They have nowhere else to go. That very fact brings a rush to me. I mean something. I am needed. I cannot get that feeling at the NHS, it is just not the same. I know that if I don’t attend to someone, another physician will. I am fungible. I am not everything to the people I serve.
The thing is that I don’t know how to make this all happen. How do you feel about things? How do we balance the needs of the children against my aspirations, our aspirations? It is all such a jumble for me. Promise me one thing, that we will chat about this when I return. Okay?
Remember this…I love you dearly.
Kay continued to stare at the screen. She could not push away the sense that she had not been honest, not totally at least. There was so much more welling up inside. Damn, why was life so complicated? She did love Jamie, but it sometimes lacked intensity. Her life as a wife and mother often struck her as overly vanilla, lacking in passion and bite. True, Jamie was kind and smart and helpful and perfect in so many ways. Above all, he was the ultimate father. She thought about that for a moment. Without question, he was a better father than she was a mother. She tried hard but often felt she was going through the motions. That phrase, going through the motions, circled inside her head.
While Kay ruminated about her state of mind, Karen sat in her room trying to sort out her own feelings. After finishing her message to Chris, Karen had spent time looking out the hotel room window at the flickering lights of the city. She had been here once or twice when she saw an explosion or two from a similar vantage point. On those occasions, she never felt endangered, it was like watching a show. But it always reminded her of the reality out there. Tonight, though, all was quiet. Then again, you never knew, that was the hell these people endured every day of their lives. Now she turned to a message for Deena, her partner. She felt a sharp need to connect with her.
TO: Deena Masoud
FROM: Karen Fisher
SUBJECT LINE: Note from Kabul
Hi…I desperately hope this finds you well. We just finished a busy day in Kabul, will be seeing your friends who have their clinic in your old family home here tomorrow. I will let you know how that goes.
As you might guess, this is the time when I miss you the most, the evenings. Back in London, this is when we would snuggle on cold winter evenings, sometimes before a fire. I love those moments. I yet cannot fathom what favorable whim of the Gods brought you into my world. I feel like the luckiest gal in the world somedays. I hope you feel the same.
I do miss the girls terribly. Sometimes I feel terrible foisting them on you and my now rather elderly parents, but I know in my heart they love taking care of them. To think, a lifetime of misunderstanding and tension has been erased by two cute Afghan orphans. Well, in truth, my siblings helped me out loads by generally screwing up their own lives. Thanks for small favors.
One part of this trip that does not bring me joy is the thought of returning north, near to the place where you were shot. That memory, of you being near death, is burned into my head. I think, in the end, you are braver than I. I know you talk about returning here someday. I understand, even if I cannot quite envision how we will make that work. But we will. I promise. I need you to remain part of my life.
More tomorrow…all my love,
Karen
Was that enough? Karen now wondered why the message was so brief and further worried that the sentiments were overwrought, perhaps lacking authenticity. Did she not have more to say? Was she afraid that continuing would somehow lead to places she was not prepared to explore? Yes, that was it. She knew at some level that words led to more words and superficial thoughts to deeper sentiments. Better to turn the tap off early than let everything run out for all to see. She sat there stewing, turning all sorts of thoughts and fears over in her mind.
Ahmad Zubair could not
seem to get enough of the city. He knew it was dangerous, but he walked the streets even after dark. It was the embassy area, so security was better. Still, there was no place in the whole country where disaster might not strike, and he knew it. Yet, he wanted to bask in the warmth of an Afghan evening after the sun had escaped its daily duty. He stopped in a coffee shop and enjoyed some familiar sweets - a flakey concoction seeped in honey. It all was so familiar, even the conversations that swirled around him. It was like nothing had changed, he had never left. Then, a feeling swept over him. Finishing his treat, he started back to the hotel, first at a brisk walk and soon at a trot. Entering his room, he flipped open his laptop and went to his emails. His heart sunk momentarily when he saw nothing from her, but she was busy after all. He started typing with purpose.
TO: Azita Masoud
FROM: Ahmad Zubair
SUBJECT LINE: Will you marry me?
Dearest Azita,
I will get straight to the point. I have spent much time on this trip thinking about all the reasons you have kept pushing me away. Really, to any objective observer, your actions make little sense since I am such an obvious catch. In any case, this is what I have come up with.
First, I considered the fact that I am not good looking enough or sexy enough for you. However, I have looked in the mirror and I am satisfied that I am very handsome. As far as being sexy enough, how would you know? We have yet to make love. On that score, I could bring written testimonies to my skills. However, I fully believe that we should try things out in that department so that you have proof of my skills. In the end, despite the lack of direct evidence, I have dismissed that as a valid reason.
Of course, you might believe that I am not smart enough for you or, more likely, that I am not smart in the same disciplines in which you focus. This is true, the second part that is. I am more involved in economics and international development than in the hard sciences though my colleagues always considered economics a real science. But here is my real argument. You would get bored with any husband who is identical to you in interests and vocation. I will argue that some differences between partners helps sustain interest over time. Okay, that is my story and I am sticking with it. I admit that you may be smarter than I am overall, but we do not know that for sure. Pushing me away is proof that you are not as omniscient as you think. Besides, good luck in finding any boy as smart as you. I should say, good luck finding a boy who is as smart as you and who also is as sexy as me.
Of course, it might be that you love this boy Ben very deeply. I have given this matter great thought. He must have many fine qualities if he has reached your heart. Though I know many girls who make awful decisions about boys, I cannot believe that you would be foolish in this area. You are not a foolish girl, except when it comes to me. If such is the case, that your love for him is strong and unshakable, I have no other choice but to withdraw and suffer my fate.
Then I think it is not that but something else. You cannot love me because of something to do with our common culture. Here, I am less certain about what the issue might be. Are you trying to pull yourself away from me because I remind you of a religious culture that you are escaping, even though I am the most marginal of Muslims, not really one at all? Or could it be that you are searching for someone who has a firm grip on their roots, who embraces their traditions more fully? I know the torture of being plucked from one set of understandings about the world and placed in another.
I think, maybe, the problem lies here. I am guessing, but you are likely wondering about returning to Afghanistan one day and perhaps feel that it would be unfair to me if you did. Okay, we will put aside the fact that it would be fairer to me if you simply raised the issue and not assume my response. I know that women think about things in odd ways, indirectly and then get mad when the boy cannot see what is in their head. Abdul, my wise father, explained such to me. I might point out that I am here, in Kabul, and soon will be in Panjshir. I cannot quite explain my feelings tonight, but I feel that I am home. I walked the streets tonight. The sights and sounds all seemed so familiar, almost comforting despite all. I was home.
Dear Azita, I have never forgotten my roots, where I come from. I study the things I do, not to make money, but to someday perhaps help those struggling countries, like Afghanistan find a way forward. We are not so far apart. In different ways, we are striving for the same things.
Suddenly, the young man stood up and stared out of his window. How many times as a young man had he dreamed of escaping this place, going to some fabled, western land where the young could dream absent guilt? How many times had he prayed to Allah to whisk him away from under the thumb of a regime that suppressed the very feelings that made people human? Now, he looked out over the city with longing. Why, for God’s sake? He read in his classes that migration decisions were a complex set of push and pull factors. Was he being pushed to possibly return by some emptiness he found in the West or was he pulled by some magical connection to this place? Suddenly, he focused on the lights of the embassies that dominated the near view. Which one was it? He tried to do a quick calculation. It was India, he decided, but was not sure. Then it hit him that he was merely procrastinating. With resolve, he sat back down. Time to say what needed to be said.
But all the arguments in the world pale against one inescapable fact…I love you. I have loved you since I was a pudgy boy annoying you and you were that young girl following your father around desperately trying to ignore me. Funny, I remember the first moments as if they were yesterday. My heart raced, my hands perspired, and my brain froze. You would understand it better as my limbic system overdosing me with dopamine. And yes, I looked this up a while ago just to impress you.
What is important is not those reactions from long ago. Even I, foolish boy that I was, thought they would fade. Funny thing, though, those feelings never have. They remain as strong now as they were then. Apparently, some attractions are primal and unavoidable. I guess we are not creatures of free will unless it is a freedom to pursue that which is dictated by something deep within us.
Well, enough avoiding the question which is -will you marry me? I have been walking about the streets of Kabul this evening thinking about you on the other side of the world. I can wait for as long as necessary. But I must know if I have any shot at all. All I need to know to quiet my beating heart is that we are committed to one another.
It helps even to say what is in my heart. Now I think I will be able to sleep tonight. Who am I kidding? I will spend most of the night thinking of you.
All my love, Ahmad.
He looked at what he had written, paused, and hit send. He watched a little icon whirl as the word ‘sending’ seemed to stay on his screen forever. Perhaps the Gods of cyberspace were rejecting his message. Then, another blip and the words ‘message sent’ appeared. He sighed deeply, wondering how the object of his desperate affections would receive his words on the other side of the world. Just what did lovers do before cyberspace, he wondered?
Kay was still restless and knew that sleep would elude her until she completed one more personal message. For some reason, her brother had been on her mind most of the day. She knew why. He would not be in England when she returned. It was easy to ignore him when he was nearby. But now? There was a sharp sound out there in the night. Had it been a bomb? But she saw no smoke nor heard no subsequent commotion. Her reverie had been broken though. There were words and sentiments that had been floating around inside her head all day, for several days. Perhaps it was time that she permitted them to escape.
TO: Chris Crawford
FROM: Kay Crawford
SUBJECT LINE: An apology?
Hi there,
Yes, it is really me. I know I don’t get in touch as often as I should. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I think that may be the last residue of mother’s Catholicism, the term mea culpa. Not the term so much as the ever-present sense of guilt. The priests sure did a great job of making us feel guilty about everything. Hell,
maybe that is why I am writing to you late at night, to assuage a little excess guilt.
Now that I have started, I am not sure where to go next. Okay, I do. It is just hard to express it. All these years, ever since we were little, I have never been very nice to you, and I don’t mean our usual banter. I treated you like an outcast when you left for Oxford and, worse, when you never returned. I blamed you when you did the very things that I desperately wished to do myself but for which I lacked the courage. I came to hate you simply because I could not summon any personal conviction or sense of purpose. How pathetic is that? It was not difficult to poke fun at such an easy target. You never fought back. Oh, you had that dry wit but that was directed at everyone, at least everyone you liked. Perhaps that made me even angrier. You absorbed my anger without complaint. Do you have any idea how infuriating that was?
Then, when I finally was getting to know you again, you ran off in the other direction. Really, must we always have an ocean between us? It is true, I said nothing but went through a few more furious days thinking you had abandoned me again. What a silly sot I am. In truth, I never said what really was on my mind. Before Amar, I was terribly cruel to you about your love life. Why should I have cared? Of course, I know why since I am being honest. I was so confused about myself, and so lonely. Just a typical female, am I not. Wow, I hate that.
I know you cannot see me right now. But I am calming down. The thing is, I do miss you. I felt us coming together, through our children and spouses and similar interests. We were not exactly neighbors but close enough to get together often. I had grown to love that. It was like having my brother again, as when we whispered our first treasonous thoughts against Father. Then, suddenly, that warm feeling of being co-conspirators was gone again.
