by Tom Corbett
You will probably find this overly sentimental but, speaking of treasonous thoughts against the patriarch, I often go back to those nights when I snuck into your room and we hid under the blanket to talk about the things that Father was trying to shove down our throats. I was the good student and you the goof off, but you seemed to have this wealth of information on what was going on in the wider world, even back then. I guess it was your gift and I absorbed it all. Funny what I remember after all this time. I can still recall you going on about how people like Father had been fighting progress for so long. You mentioned this guy Merwin K. Hart and the National Economic Council. The DuPont’s and Pews of the 1940s put up great money so that he could spout away at the socialist threat. He focused on all those immigrants that were allowed in after World War II and the havoc they would undoubtedly wreak on this country. I recall you saying that he would go after universities to convince administrators that it was their duty to stop the spread of pernicious ideas like those that had invaded Britain which, he was sure, would soon be as red as the Russians.
Why did that come back to me? Maybe it was his name…Merwin. I remember laughing when you mentioned it. But no, it is because you have gone off to fight the very same thing decades later. I know Kat is beside herself with worry, but I kept wondering why this is so important now. After all, the rich have been at this forever. You don’t have to answer that one. I think I figured it out.
At that very moment, there was a knock on the door, so faint that she was not sure it was her door or another down the hall. She stared at the door with indecision before getting up and looking through the peephole. A female figure was walking away. She opened and called out, “Karen.”
“Oh, you are still awake,” Karen said, turning back. “I was restless, hoping you were still up.”
“Yeah, come in. I am writing my brother an email.” She walked back and sat down. “This will take just a few moments to finish up. It is a confessional, I am apologizing for being such a shit to him.”
“Apologizing?” Karen cried. “Don’t do that. He will expect the same from all of us.”
Kay laughed. “I am glad you stopped by, I was getting way too serious inside. But I suppose I should finish this thought.”
Here is the thing. I want you to know that I love you, that I have always loved you. Yes, you have faults, more than the stars in the sky as I once said. But you are also the kindest and most sensitive man I know with Jamie being a close second of course. So many people don’t see that. They only hear the cutting wit and assume some lurking malevolence or, more likely, a lack of sincerity. I know you though, from a childhood where we learned evil and endured our individual tortures and from all those nights hiding and commiserating under the covers. That is when I first saw your character, your optimism, your love…even as a young boy.
One thing, this momentary lapse of judgement does not mean I will treat you any differently in the future. Not at all and surely not in public. I cannot have people thinking that I have gone all soft and squishy now, can I? You and I will know, though, even as I skewer your sorry ass in our typical battle of insults, that underneath I love and respect you deeply.
Chris, I know why you are back home. It doesn’t make your absence easier for me, but I do know and understand. I wish I shared your optimism that something can be done. Honestly, though, I don’t. Perhaps that is what separates us. I focus on the things in front of me, the broken body I might be able to heal. You, my hopeless knight, will forever tilt at windmills that will remain beyond y our reach.
Enough of this. Karen arrived a few moments ago. She is leaning over my shoulder reading this, starting to gag I believe. Wait, now she is picking up a large lamp and seems poised to attack me. I doubt that she approves of my feelings. In the end, though, you cannot take out what God has put in. A wise brother told me that…too many times to count.
I love you.
K
Karen sighed. “Are you bloody bonkers? You do realize that it will now take me months to whip him back into shape. I thought our unwritten rule was to always, always treat Chris like shit. You must really be in a bad mood.”
Kay rose and walked to the window. The lights yet blinked in the inky dark of a summer’s night. She looked up trying to see some stars but only a handful were visible. Suddenly, she was terribly sad not to be in the Panjshir where the night sky would sparkle, and one might sense the Milky Way shift as Earth spun on its axis. Finally, she spoke: “Not so much sad, Karen. Maybe more confused and just a bit melancholy. Hell, do you think I would say such nice things to Chris if I were on my game?” Kay tried a weak smile even though she knew Karen could not see.
When Karen spoke, Kay realized that she was immediately behind her. “Yeah, if we were back in London, I would suggest that we head out to get blitzed. Not so easy here in Kabul.” Suddenly, strong hands were massaging her shoulders.
Kay felt Karen’s hand move up to massage her neck. In a soft voice she managed to speak. “I know what the problem is.”
“And,” Karen prompted as she moved a bit closer so that her full breasts lightly touched Kay’s back.
“Shit,” Kay uttered as a shock of desire swept through her. “The thing is…I just don’t know where I belong. After all this time, I just don’t know. How can that be? I was supposed to be the adult child. Damn it.”
“Kay?” Karen then said no more, simply continuing her neck massage while gently rubbing her nipples across the other woman’s back.
Out there, in the darkness, they could hear the wail of an ambulance. It struck Kay as a plaintiff wail, a call for help. Why did she feel so alone suddenly? Her confidence and strength were ebbing. She needed touch, comfort, the human connection that might only be sated by physical contact. Everything in her said no. And yet.
“We can’t do this,” Kay protested without conviction.
“We shouldn’t,” Karen whispered with even less force.
Without a further word, both women turned and walked to the bed.
CHAPTER 12
THE 2016 ELECTION LOOMS
Azita examined the sad face looking back at her from her computer screen.
“Hello Ben.”
She was alarmed by the vision before her. His face was forlorn, his skin sallow. It was more than that, he appeared gaunt, with a haunting aura about him. He must have lost considerable weight, something she found troubling given his original slight frame. It was the eyes most of all, a bit sunken and dark. Perhaps it was the shadowing in the room where he was located. She hoped that was the case. She did not want to contemplate other possibilities. He had been pestering her for some time to chat on Skype. Typically, she employed her busy schedule as an excuse, not exactly a lie but not exactly the truth either.
“Hi,” he responded.
They stared at one another in silence for a moment. “It is good to see you,” she offered. “It has been some time.” She tried to recall when they had last connected other than via email or texts but could not. She had struggled with this. Part of her wished to cut him off with finality. It was not that she no longer had feelings for him. She did, deep feelings. Not love, but something close. She still felt respect, admiration, even affection. Those emotions had been so new to her with any boy that she initially had confused them with something more profound. She now tried desperately to find some accommodation of mutual sentiments that would permit a continuation of their friendship. That had proved far more difficult that she first imagined. Asymmetrical affections are, by design, destined to inflict pain. This was no exception.
Still, she was grateful to him, for many things, even the physical lovemaking. That had always been lacking in some respects yet had suggested a dimension of the human experience that intrigued her. She found that untapped part of her life something that she wanted to embrace with this other young man, Ahmad, and yet was so reluctant to do so. Why was that? Was she afraid that she would respond to it fully, or not fully enough?
“Ar
e you well?” She asked, thinking inside that she should be honest and ask why he looked like shit. That question formed at the back of her mouth, but she could not force it out.
“I am well enough, I guess…getting by. Well, to be honest, I have been distracted. My work has…stalled.”
She knew he wanted her to ask by what. Desperately, she hoped that he had merely run into a technical or theoretical challenge. Perhaps he was just run down from excess work while trying to jump start his research. That was possible. She knew better, though. She knew what was holding him back and it broke her heart. She did not want to go there, so sought another route for the conversation. “Benjie, I hope you are not letting your work suffer. Science is hard, we all get discouraged. I know you can overcome any problem.” She was listening to her own words and cringing inside. “You have so many gifts…please don’t let me hear that you are not using them.”
“I am gratified to hear that you care.” His expression remained remote, lifeless. “Frankly, I am surprised.”
“Yes, I care. Damn it, I care.” She exploded and could see his body jump a bit on the screen. “I have never stopped caring about you and how you are doing. We have meant a lot to one another…”
“Past tense, I see.” He intruded.
“Benjie, don’t go there, please don’t.”
“Why not? I faced down my parents for you. That was not easy, but I did it.” His demeanor changed, showing signs of animation. “I told them that I was going to marry you no matter what. I was willing to give you my all, to break with my family and my culture. And then you turned me away, just because of this Arab boy who just walked into your life.”
Her temper flared but she held it in check. “Please don’t go there. Don’t you dare. Listen, I broke off our engagement when it was clear that your parents would never fully accept me. They might be courteous, but they could never embrace me as a daughter. How could we live together knowing I had driven a wedge between you and your world? You know that to be the case.”
“No,” he protested. “I don’t. They were coming around, really. They were changing, I swear.”
“Oh, dear Ben, please don’t delude yourself. If they softened toward me, it was only because they began to see the marriage would never happen. They will always love me at a distance, only at a distance. And don’t you see, there were…there are other things. Yes, we had this shared dream at one point, we would both be scientists. We would work together on medical research. That was a fine ambition, but I was always torn. I don’t believe you ever saw it, but I was. Others kept telling me what a fine mind I had, how I was destined for the academy and a laboratory. When I protested about wanting to work with people, that was dismissed with the ‘you can always have your private practice’ trope. Sure, I could treat a bunch of spoiled academics in Oxford or Cambridge or some similar intellectual sanctuary. It hit me at one point, I was being swept along, permitting others to tell me what I should be, who I was. Even you were part of that.”
“No…no, I never.” “Listen to me Benjie.
You never said, ‘Azita, you must be a scientist’. But we talked about the things we shared, a lot. We did not talk about the things we did not share, like this pull I feel to go back.”
“Back where?” He sounded increasingly plaintiff.
“To my home.”
“Don’t be absurd, for Christ’s sake. Why would you ever want to go back to that hell hole?” The words had simply escaped him. He could not take them back.
Azita looked at him hard. She tried to recall if she had ever heard him swear before. She could not. Then she tried to recall whether they had ever talked about her returning to Afghanistan. To her surprise, such a memory escaped her. Her response was measured, absent any anger. “Listen to me, I want you to move on with your life. You have a marvelous mind, focus on your work. Forget about me. I am not worth it. Think about all that you can contribute, please.” Something in his expression made her stop. “Benjie, are you even listening to me, are you?”
“No,” he said. “I have stopped listening.”
“We can still be friends. I want…”
“Stop Azita, just stop. Don’t you understand?”
“Understand what?” She thought she knew but had to ask.
“That I cannot continue without you.”
“What does that mean?” Her voice was full of concern.
“Nothing. I just mean that you are the one with the fine mind, the exceptional mind really. I am…” Then he stopped. His expression was replete with pathos.
She opened her mouth to respond but the screen went blank. She sat their thinking of all the arguments she might make in return. Was he foolish enough to dismiss his own talents? What was wrong with him? She should call him back, force him to listen. She could push him back on track. She knew she could. But all she could do was look at the blank screen and feel the tears stream down her cheeks.
For the next few days, Azita tried to push her conversation with Ben out of her head, burying herself in the impossible workload pushed upon interns. She loved the work. It was primarily with children but, as is the case at this level of medical training, eclectic in the topics covered. They assume that the students have much book learning and virtually no hands-on experience. Her mentors continually were amazed at this prodigy who could work her way around the human body with such aplomb. What were they teaching her? In rounds, she often became a teacher to the other students, relating similar situations faced back home, sometimes without all the comforts of modern technology. In practicum situations, the others scrambled to be her partner. In some ways, she was bringing lessons learned the hard way back into the academy. Yet, she did it in such a way that she did not generate envy or hostility. She had not a hint of hubris, she merely wanted to share with the others. They understood that.
No matter the pace of the work, she could not escape the image of his face just before the screen went blank. He had looked devastated. But how could she make it better? Different dialogues coursed through her head but none of them were satisfactory. They all ended badly.
Amar was waiting one day as Azita headed out for her walk home at the end of a long shift. It was a decent walk to their temporary home on the lake, but she loved the time to clear her head. “Why the ride?” Azita asked.
“Jump in, let’s go over to Picnic Point.” This was a favorite place of theirs to walk and talk when they had the chance. Somehow, Azita could sense this was not to be a casual stroll, nor chat.
“What is wrong?” Azita asked as they started out. When Amar did not reply, they took the short ride in silence. After parking at the entrance to the peninsula, they started down the now familiar path. The light of the day was beginning to fade, one could see a hint of the evening lights across the water. The dome of the state capitol was clearly visible, framed by an increasingly dark blue to purple background. A brisk breeze brushed up against the two walkers as they buttoned up their jackets against autumn’s reminder of what was about to come. Yet, they were surrounded by the beauty of fall’s coronation of color. The trees were already past their peak with a growing carpet of leaves cushioning their feet, occasionally crunching under their steps. They remained in silence for a while until her anxiety was about to burst. “Just tell me. What is wrong?”
Amar turned to her with an ashen face. “Sweetheart, this is not easy. Ben’s parents tracked me down, through Karen. Apparently, they did not know how to reach you…”
“No…” Azita groaned. “He killed himself, didn’t he? Please God, no.”
“I’m sorry.” Amar moved to hug her daughter but Azita kept backing up.
“I killed him. Oh my God, I killed him. I did.”
“Azita, stop. You did not kill him, he did that to himself.” “No, no, no, you don’t understand. I killed him just as if I had plunged a knife into his heart with my very hand.”
“No, no my dear, apparently he had been planning this for some time. He stockpiled pills, so he had b
een planning this, probably for some time.”
“He called, just the other day. He looked so desperate and I gave him so little. And then, and then I should have called back. I just knew it…I did. His look, at the end…his look was haunting. But I didn’t. You know why?”
“Sweetheart, don’t.”
“Why not, I am nothing but a selfish bitch. I was busy. I couldn’t be bothered. He had become an inconvenience. What kind of monster am I?” Azita kept backing up as Amar approached, tears flowing down her face.
“Don’t you dare say that.” Amar’s voice teetered on anger.
“Why not? Goddamn it, it is true.” With that, the girl turned and walked away quickly.
For a moment, Amar was taken aback by language she had not heard before. She sprang forward, grabbed her daughter by an arm and spun her around. “Stop it.”
“No, let me go, I killed him.”
Suddenly, Amar’s hand swept up and across Azita’s face. The smack was loud and seemed to echo across the hushed evening. The young woman staggered back, blinking. She had hardly heard a cross word from Amar in all these years, never mind experienced such an expression of anger. A couple waking nearby looked briefly and then moved on at a quicker pace, not wanting to become embroiled in a clearly domestic dispute. Azita’s tears stopped as a red welt surfaced on her cheek. Amar spoke clearly and with conviction. “I am not going to let you do this. Do you hear me? Just stop it, damn it.”
Azita stared at her mother with eyes that were fixed by surprise. Finally, she managed a response. “But I…I…” That was as far as she could get.
Amar caught her by the shoulders and shook her. “You listen to me, young lady. You have a decision to make here. Yes, this is a tragedy. Yes, we should all mourn his passing. Yes, in hindsight, we are all imperfect. All that is true. But I never, ever want to hear you take this burden on yourself. You did nothing wrong. His family never accepted you. That, my dear, is the fact, the source of all this tragedy. That was always the issue…from day one. What if you had run off with him? You would have had to rip him from his roots, his culture. For God’s sake, how long would that have lasted? Do you understand what I am saying?”
