Even Now

by Karen Kingsbury

  “Why not keep the babies?” She looked again at the doorway. No one was watching them.

  The woman’s eyes grew horrified and she shook her head. “No babies when no husband. Not okay.”

  Right. Women in Afghanistan might be out from beneath the veil, but there were still social codes they had to live by. Being single and pregnant was probably akin to leprosy in biblical times. Another gust of silty air blew across the courtyard, and Lauren shielded her face. When it passed she squinted at the woman. “How do they get their babies here? And what happens to the babies next?”

  “There is more.” The woman looked around and took a step closer. “I meet you here two weeks. Two weeks. Then I tell rest of story.”

  The two weeks had passed quickly. A flare-up violence near the hill country took her and Scanlon away from the apartment for three days after Christmas. Twice they were close enough to the action that she wondered about her sanity. Journalists liked to think of themselves as invincible, mere spectators to the sport of war. But that wasn’t true. Lauren was well aware that a number of reporters had lost their lives since the war began more than two years ago.

  Now it was January 5, and she and Scanlon caught a ride back to the orphanage. So far she hadn’t reported on the situation. She wanted all the details before she wrote it for the magazine. I fit played out the way she thought it might, the story could wind up on the cover. American soldiers leaving a generation of orphans behind? It’d be the top story for a month.

  The road to the orphanage was dotted with potholes, and she and Scanlon bounced along in the backseat. It was another sunny day, dry and windy the way it had been for the past month. The air was cooler than last time she and Scanlon made the trip out, but not by much. The two of them still wore shorts and tank tops. Next to her, Scanlon looked out the window and exhaled hard. “I have a funny feeling about this story.”

  “Me too.” She picked up her worn shoulder bag and sifted through it. For stories like this she needed more than paper. She had a tape recorder and a supply of fresh tapes and batteries. She looked at Scanlon. “I have the feeling it’ll be the biggest story to come out of Afghanistan in a year.”

  He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, seeing past her into the barren hillsides beyond the narrow roadway. “Not that sort of feeling.” His eyes found hers. “Why couldn’t she give you the story when you were there the first time?” He nodded toward the road ahead. “We have to get another driver, make the hour-long trip a second time.” He paused and looked at the road ahead of them. “Seems weird to me.”

  “Scanlon, you worry too much.” Lauren scrounged in her bag again and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen. A pair of flies was buzzing around the back window and she waved them off. “The woman was scared to death. Another five minutes with me and she would’ve fainted from fear.”

  “Okay.” He put his arm up along the back of the seat and leaned against the door. “I still feel funny.”

  “Well you can feel funny all day long.” She patted his knee. “Just get pictures of those air-skinned babies in the back room.”

  “Did you see them? I mean, do you know where they are?”

  “Of course not.” She rubbed lotion onto her right leg and worked it down to her ankle. “That’s part of why we’re going back. The woman has more information, and then I’m going to convince her to let me have a look.”

  “Good luck.” His eyes danced and he shook his head. “The woman’s scared to talk to you and you think she’ll give you a tour of the back room?” He nodded. “If we get that far, don’t worry. I’ll get a hundred pictures.” His smile faded. “Just be careful, Lauren.”

  “Always.” They didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. Lauren could hardly wait to get inside, not just to talk with the worker, but because she wanted to see the children. She had several favorites already, kids who had bonded with her the last time she was there. Her bag held another supply of lollipops. If Scanlon didn’t mind, she’d stay into the afternoon visiting with them.

  When they pulled into the long driveway that led to the isolated building, they paid their driver and climbed out. He had nowhere to go, he told them. No other jobs. He pulled his car next to a scraggly tree and rolled down the windows. “I ready when you are.”

  “Thank you.” Lauren smiled at him and tapped her watch. “Could be many hours.”

  “Okay.” He put his hands together and held them along the side of his face. “I sleep here.”

  “Good.” Lauren nodded at him, and she and Scanlon headed inside. The kids were playing in the courtyard and scattered throughout the main room. If today was like the other day, they would have lunch in fifteen minutes or so.

  They were inside for less than a minute when a man approached them. He hadn’t been around the other day. “Hello, I’m Feni.” His accent was slight, his English strong. “You’re here to do a story on our orphans, yes?”

  “Yes.” Lauren stepped forward. She wasn’t about to tell him that she had a private meeting with one of the workers. “People want to know about the children, how the war has hurt them.”

  “Very good.” He smiled. “I am the director of the orphanage. You may find me in the office if you have something to know.” He turned his hand palm up and spread it out toward the children on the floor. “Our children are very kind, very hopeful. Please . . . let me know if you need anything.”

  A gust of wind shook the windows. Lauren held her hand out to Feni. “Thank you. I’ll come find you if we have questions.”

  The man nodded at Scanlon, turned, and walked back to the office. As he left, a chill passed over Lauren’s arms. “Why wasn’t he here last time?”

  “I told you.” Scanlon moved closer to her so their arms were touching. “I have a funny feeling about this. Remember what the army’s media man told us. Never make an appointment with a local, unless it’s in plain sight of everyone. Even then we’re supposed to watch our backs.”

  “Right.” She wiped her palms on her shorts and ordered herself not to feel frightened. “This indifferent, though. The woman was a worker, Scanlon.” She gave him a confident look. “Really.”

  At that moment, a little girl came running up. She had hair halfway down her back, and Lauren recognized her from the other day. She’d been something of a shadow around Lauren through most of her last visit. The girl was adorable, not much older than seven, with one of her front teeth missing.

  The girl stopped a foot from her and did a little bow. “Hello, Miss.”

  “Hello.” Lauren smiled at her, looking into her eyes. She held out her hand and the girl took it, squeezing her fingers. “Senia, right?”

  “Yes.” The girl’s eyes danced.

  “How are you, Senia?” Lauren kept her smile in place, but felt the grief rise again in her heart. She had missed so much by losing Emily. So very much. But the grief was for more than the loss of her daughter. It was also because her job made it impossible to even consider adopting a girl like Senia.

  The child was grinning bigger than before. “I fine.” She peered into Lauren’s bag. Then she lifted her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “Sweets, Miss? Sweets, please?” She held out her hand. “Please, Miss.”

  The children knew very little English, but they took pride in using it. They could’ve spoken their native tongue, and Lauren would’ve understood it. Especially in the simple words and phrases the children used. But clearly they wanted to impress her, and so for the most part they spoke English.

  Lauren smiled at the girl. “Okay.” She pointed to the table already set with lunch plates. “After lunch.”

  The girl looked at the table and immediately she understood. She nodded and her eyes got shy. “Miss, you pretty.”

  Next to her, Scanlon had his camera out. He was snapping pictures of the girl, her earnest expression, the way she looked up with adoring eyes at the Americans. “You brought your playing cards, right?” He gave her a light nudge with his knee. “Get‘em out and sit on the floo
r. You’ll be surrounded before you can shuffle the deck.”

  It was a good idea.

  Lauren opened her bag and took out her pack of cards. Then she held them up so the little girl could see them, and she dropped slowly to the floor. “See,” she told the girl. “We play a game.”

  Scanlon stepped back and sure enough, a dozen kids were seated around her in no time, all of them with eyebrows raised at the cards in Lauren’s hands. She gave the first boy on her right a four of clubs. “Four,” she told him. Then she held up four fingers and counted them down. “One, two, three, four.”

  A light dawned in the boy’s eyes. He bounced little and took the card, rattling off something about numbers and a game to the girl next to him. The other children held out their hands and waited as she gave each of them a card and explained what it meant. They were still holding their cards when the workers filed out of the kitchen and into the dining area.

  “Here — ” Lauren held out the card box and slipped the rest of the cards inside. The kids followed her example. “Later.” She winked at Senia. “When we have sweets.”

  The kids spotted the lunch servers, and they jumped to their feet, scrambling to their places at the table.

  “Where’s the informant?” Scanlon kept his voice low so only she could hear it.

  Lauren searched the faces of the women. “She’s not there.”

  “See.” The workers walked slowly toward the lunch table. “Something funny’s going on.”

  The lunch women spotted Lauren and Scanlon, and they smiled and waved. There were six long tables squeezed into the room, and each seated twenty children. Lauren was amazed at how quickly the workers slapped sandwiches on the table and poured water for the children. She stopped a few feet away, while Scanlon switched discs in his digital camera.

  All along Lauren figured this was the time when she’d meet the woman. They’d spoken during lunch before and they’d been uninterrupted because the kids were preoccupied. But where was she? And was it just Scanlon making her nervous, or did she feel the same thing he did? An uneasiness that somehow, something about the meeting wasn’t right?

  Feni, the man in the office, stepped out during lunch and watched the children for a minute or two. Then he looked in her direction and gave a little wave. She did the same, and he disappeared back into the room. She looked past him and saw a desk and a phone, not much else.

  “That Feni guy makes me nervous.” Scanlon had his camera open. He was checking one of the settings. “He seems shady.”

  Lauren bit her lip. “Maybe he doesn’t like Americans hanging out at his orphanage.”

  “Maybe.”

  The children were just finishing lunch, and Scanlon was saying something about the workers, how they seemed distracted, when Lauren caught the glimpse of a woman walking across the courtyard toward the front door. She held her breath; it was her informant. She stood in the doorway, and their eyes locked.

  “Hey.” Lauren leaned close to Scanlon, a smile playing on her lips so she wouldn’t catch the attention of any of the adults in the room. “She’s here. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll come too.” He slipped his camera into his bag and started in beside her.

  “No.” She gave him a look that left no room for negotiation. “She wanted me by myself.”

  He pursed his lips and made a frustrated sound. “All right.” He looked around her toward the front door. “Don’t go far.”

  “I won’t.”

  This time as she left the building, she could hear the children calling after her. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Scanlon running interference, gathering them and telling them that she would be right back inside. Lauren picked up her pace.

  They didn’t have much time. She stepped into the courtyard and was met by yet another gust of gritty wind. Shading her eyes, she looked around, but the woman wasn’t there. “Hello?” She took another ten steps and scanned the yard. There were several nooks and small areas near half-standing walls, but the woman was nowhere.

  Unease slithered up her spine, and she half-expected to see Feni step out from behind one of the broken walls. She owned a gun, but she didn’t carry it with her. If Feni had something planned, she couldn’t offer much resistance. She was about to turn around and go back inside, when she heard the sound of children’s voices behind her.

  “Miss!” It was Senia, leading another little girl and two boys out into the courtyard. “Miss, sweets? Please?”

  Lauren was about to tell them no, that the sweets had to be eaten inside and that they needed to go back and wait for her, when an explosion of bullets rang out across the patio. In a blur that took a fraction of a second, she turned toward the sound and saw three figures cloaked in black, each with a machine gun aimed in their direction.

  “Stop!” She held out her hand toward them, then spun to look at the children. Two of the kids lay spread out on the ground, their white shirts spattered with blood, a dark pool fanning out beneath them. “No!” She was about to run toward them when another round of bullets rang through the air.

  A burning sensation ripped through her shoulder and knocked her onto the hot cement. She’d been hit, and even though she kicked her legs and tried to find her way to a sitting position, she couldn’t do it, couldn’t move. All at once a series of voices began shouting at each other, and she looked toward the desert sand at the place where the gunmen were still standing. They waved their guns and started toward her, and she understood. She was the one they wanted. In the blur of pain and confusion she realized what was happening. Scanlon was right. It was a setup. The story probably held no more truth than half the other crazy lures that had been tossed her way.

  Usually she was smart enough to avoid meeting with unnamed informants who promised a shocking truth. But this time it had involved kids . . . babies. She felt herself losing consciousness and she fought to keep her eyes open. The men were coming closer, and she wanted to scream. But that would only make them open fire on her. Instead she lay unmoving. Maybe they would think they’d killed her.

  And maybe they had. Her shoulder was on fire, and she felt something warm and wet beneath her. Spots danced before her eyes, and she willed herself not to let go, not to give into the darkness that pulled at her. No, she ordered herself. Not yet! The children needed her. They were hit, two of them, right?

  She inched herself backward, toward them. But as she did, Feni ran out from behind a door across the courtyard, and in a rush of bullets, he shot and laid out the first of the three gunmen. At the same time, bullets came from a window in the orphanage and before the gunmen could react, all three were on the ground.

  Feni ran closer and sprayed another round of bullets at them. When he seemed sure they weren’t going to move again, he raced to her. She heard Scanlon’s voice from behind her at the same time.

  “Lauren!” He was at her side, turning her over. “We have to get help.” He looked at Feni, who was just reaching them. “Call for help, please!”

  She moved her good arm and took hold of Scanlon’s ankle. “The children . . . ”

  “The women are helping them.” He gulped. His face was pale and lined with worry. “Don’t move, Lauren. Help’s coming.”

  “It’s . . . just my shoulder.” She winced. Her words were sticking together, and she felt faint again. “I’m . . . okay.”

  A woman ran up to them with a roll of bandaging. She handed it to Scanlon and he worked fast, pressing it hard against her upper arm. The pain was like white-hot lightning hitting her again and again. It roused her up and brought her back to the moment.

  “We need to stop the bleeding.”

  “The children, Scanlon.” She waited until he had her shoulder wrapped tight, then she sat up. Nausea built in her, but she shook it off. Scanlon tried to stop her, but she jerked away from him. Crawling on her knees, she covered the three feet that separated her from the cluster of women. “Please! Let me . . . let me see.”

  “Move, please,”
Scanlon took the lead and helped clear a path to the kids at the center of the circle.

  Lauren pushed her way closer until she could see them clearly. One of them was a little boy, moaning and moving his head from side to side. He lay on the ground and Lauren looked at the place where the women were working. The child’s kneecap had been blown off his leg.

  She brought the back of her hand to her mouth, but she stopped herself from getting sick. What about the other child? Two women were kneeling beside her and only then did Lauren notice that they were weeping. Weeping and wailing and stroking the child’s hair. Lauren still couldn’t quite make her out, so she crept a little closer and then . . .

  “No! No, not her!” The words that came from her were almost silent, spoken with what remained of her strength. Senia, the little girl with the missing front tooth. “Oh, please!”

  Scanlon dropped down beside her. “Lauren, come on. They’re taking care of her.”

  One of the women let her head drop back. She clenched her fists and shook them at the sky. “Why? Why her?”

  Lauren reached out, but she had no more strength, no way to reach the little girl. “Scanlon, is she dead? Tell me if she’s dead.”

  “Lauren — ” he put his hand on her shoulder — “let’s move. They need room to work.”

  The wailing from the women grew louder, and others joined them. The only woman missing was the informant, the one who must’ve gotten away once the shooting began. The one who had set her up. She looked up one last time. The little girl’s eyes were open and unblinking. One of the weeping women near her shut first one of Senia’s lids, then the other.

  Scanlon brought his head close to hers. “She’s gone, Lauren. Let it go. Come on.”

  She wanted to run to the child and hold her in her arms. They hadn’t had time for sweets. That’s all the girl wanted. A lollipop. A lollipop and a chance to hold her hand the way she’d done the last time Lauren was there. The spots were back, and she let her forehead rest on the ground. It wasn’t too late, was it? The sweets were still in her bag. Maybe if she found one she could give it to Senia and everything would be —