Parvana untied the bundle with the plastic water bottle in it and shook the bottle so Asif could hear that there was still a bit sloshing around. He reached out his hand, and she passed it over.
She was going to remind him to take it easy, to not drink too much, but what was the point? It didn’t make any difference whether Asif took two swallows or one. They still needed to find more water soon.
Asif poured a little bit of water into the cap of the bottle. Parvana watched him pour it, bit by bit, into Hassan’s mouth, not spilling any.
“Isn’t that good?” he asked. “Would you like some more?” He gave Hassan three capfuls of water before taking a swallow himself. Then he passed the water bottle back to Parvana.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Parvana asked Asif. She realized that she didn’t know anything about this boy who was traveling with her. She knew he came out of a cave, but she didn’t know where he came from before that. She knew he was annoying, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know who had hated him enough to tear up his back.
“I’m alone,” Asif replied shortly.
“So am I,” Parvana said, “but I’ve got family somewhere. What about you? Do you have a family somewhere else?”
Asif tried to get Hassan to play with his finger, but Hassan didn’t seem interested in playing. He didn’t seem interested in anything.
“No,” Asif said finally.
“Did they go away? What happened to them?”
“I had a family. Now I don’t. That’s all there is.” He wouldn’t say any more, and Parvana wondered why she’d bothered to ask.
She took out her notebook.
Dear Shauzia:
Another day of being hungry, with nothing around that looks like food. I don’t even know if I am hungry any more. I’m just tired, and I feel like crying all the time. We’re almost out of water, and I don’t know what to do.
Remember those fairy stories we read in school, where someone taps a magic wand on a rock and water pours out of it, or where someone rubs a lamp and a genie comes out to grant three wishes? I believed in that when I was little, but now I know that a rock is just a rock, and that rubbing a lamp only makes it shiny.
Maybe when I’m old and spend all my time dreaming in the sun, I’ll be able to believe in those things again. But what do I believe in until then?
“You’re not very smart,” Asif said, “to be carrying all those things in your bag. It’s tiring you out and making you mean. You’re stupid.”
Parvana slammed down her notebook. “How dare you call me stupid? I have to carry all these things. Who else is going to carry them?”
“I could carry something. I could carry Hassan.”
“Don’t be silly. You can barely walk.”
“I could carry him on my back. It’s not so sore now.” Asif took off his blanket shawl and tied it into a sort of a sling. “Hassan can sit in here, and I’ll tie this end around my neck.”
Parvana thought of her aching arms. “Do you think it will work?”
“Of course it will work. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
They tried it out. Parvana had to help Asif stand, and she had to tie the baby sling on him, but it did appear to work all right. Hassan didn’t seem to care. He whimpered, but he whimpered when Parvana carried him, too, so she didn’t think it was because he was on Asif’s back instead of in her arms.
Asif could still manage his crutches with the baby on his back, so the three children moved on. They followed a dirt road because it was flat and easier to walk on. Sometimes a truck went by, or a donkey cart, but although Parvana waved for them to stop, they just kept going.
Toward the end of the day they came to a tiny village, almost as small as the one Hassan had come from. This one hadn’t been bombed or, if it had, the people had long since rebuilt it.
Old men sat on the ground outside their homes, shading their eyes from the sun as they watched Parvana, Asif and Hassan move slowly down the middle of the road that ran through the village. Parvana felt uncomfortable with their eyes on her, but there was nothing she could do about it.
“Do you think we should ask them for water?” she whispered to Asif.
“They don’t look very friendly. They might ask a lot of questions and make trouble for us,” Asif said. “Let’s see if we can find someone else to ask. Maybe we can find a child.”
They saw a few small boys playing with an oddly shaped soccer ball. There wasn’t enough air in it, and it didn’t go very far when they kicked it.
“Where can we get some water?” Asif asked them.
“There’s a tea house down there,” one of the soccer players said. “Do you want to play with us?”
“I’m thirsty,” Asif said. “Maybe later.”
The boys went back to their game. Parvana and Asif walked a little farther down the road and came to the tea shop.
“We don’t have any money,” Parvana said. “We’ll have to beg.”
“I don’t beg,” Asif said. “I can work.”
Parvana sighed. She was too tired to work. Begging would have been much easier.
The tea shop was a little mud hut with a few tables in it. There were three men inside sitting in silence. A large tea urn was at one end of the room.
Shauzia had been a tea-boy back in Kabul, running around the marketplace delivering trays full of cups of tea to merchants in their stalls. But there didn’t seem a need for that sort of person in this village.
“We’re looking for work,” Asif said.
One of the men shifted in his chair. “There’s no work here, boy. Do you think we’d be sitting still if there was work available?”
“We’ll do anything,” Parvana said, “and you don’t have to pay us. Just give us something to eat and drink.”
The man took a swallow of tea and took his time answering, as though Parvana and Asif were well-fed children asking for work for the fun of it.
“You can’t work,” he finally said, looking at Asif.
“My brother will look after the baby,” Parvana said quickly. “I can do the work of two.”
“What is your name?” the man asked.
“Kaseem,” Parvana replied, giving her boy-name.
“My chicken house needs cleaning,” he said. “If you do a good job of that, I’ll give you some food, but then you’ll have to be on your way. I only have one chicken house, and I’m not about to give away food for free.”
The chicken house stood at the back of the small yard. It was filthy.
“There’s water there if you want a drink,” the man said, pointing at a rain barrel. “If the water’s good enough for the chickens, it’s good enough for you. I’ll bring you food when you finish the work.” And he went back to his friends.
The yard was surrounded by a fence that was falling apart more than it was standing up, although the fence around the chicken house was in good repair. Parvana lifted Hassan off Asif’s back and helped the two of them settle in a bit of shade under two scraggly trees. She brought them a ladle of water, but Asif motioned for her to drink first. She emptied the ladle in a second, then filled it again. Asif gave some to Hassan before drinking himself.
Parvana thought of the chickens that had bullied her in the bombed-out village. She wasn’t in the mood to be bullied today, and the chickens seemed to sense that. They scurried out of her way.
She worked steadily, scraping away chicken muck with an old board and pushing filthy straw out into the yard, trying not to get too much muck on herself. As soon as she got the job done, they could eat.
Nestled in some straw, she found some eggs the owner had forgotten to collect. How could she take them? They would show, and probably break, if she put them in her pocket. She looked over at Asif, asleep with Hassan, using their blanket bundle as a pillow.
Parva
na looked around. It was wrong to steal. She had seen what happened to thieves under Taliban law. They had their hands cut off. She didn’t want that to happen to her. But she did want those eggs!
She cupped the eggs in her hands and checked to make sure the coast was clear. She would dash across the yard, tuck the eggs into the blanket bundle and dash back into the hen house.
But she couldn’t do it. Her father would not be proud of her if she stole. They were often hungry when they were traveling together, and although the opportunity to steal came up, her father wouldn’t hear of it. “Our bellies would be full tonight,” he would say, “but could we live with ourselves in the morning?”
Parvana put the eggs back and went back to cleaning the hen house. It was filthy, but at least it was small, and soon she was finished.
“Here is your food,” the man said, bringing a small bowl of rice into the yard.
“There are three of us,” Parvana said.
“But only one of you worked. Do I look like a rich man?”
“You are richer than we are,” Parvana said. “We are children.”
“If I help all the hungry children in Afghanistan, I would soon be as poor as you. If you don’t want the rice, I’ll take it away.”
“We want it,” Asif said. But the man stood there and held the bowl just out of Asif’s reach.
“Please,” Asif said. “Can we please have the rice.” Parvana could see his hand trembling.
The man finally handed the bowl to Asif, then went back inside.
The children shared the small amount of rice, eating in grim silence. It didn’t take long to empty the bowl. Then Parvana filled their water bottles, and Asif rinsed out a few diapers for Hassan.
“Grownups shouldn’t turn their backs on children,” he said angrily as he squeezed water out of the diapers.
“I wish I had taken those eggs of his,” Parvana muttered, casting a dark look at the tea house.
“Go and get them now,” Asif said.
“It’s too risky.”
“Then we’ll come back.”
They found a spot at the edge of town where they couldn’t be seen. They spread the diapers out to dry and waited until night came.
Leaving Hassan asleep in the hiding spot with their belongings, Parvana and Asif snuck back into the village and into the back yard of the tea house.
Parvana found the eggs she had left behind and put them into her shoulder bag next to her letters to Shauzia.
Asif, moving slowly, picked up a chicken so smoothly and calmly that the chicken didn’t even squawk. He put his shawl around it and handed it to Parvana. Then they crept out of the yard.
On the edge of the village, they picked up Hassan and their belongings and kept walking until the village was far behind them.
“People who cheat children deserve to have bad things happen to them,” Parvana said. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry.”
“Eggs for breakfast,” said Asif.
Then they laughed.
NINE
Parvana couldn’t sleep. Her belly was empty, and it hurt.
When they had the chicken and the eggs, it felt like they had all the food in the world. Hassan couldn’t eat chicken very well because he only had a few teeth to chew with, so Parvana and Asif decided to let him have the eggs. Parvana cooked them up nice and soft. There was no oil left to cook with, but she watched them carefully, and they did not stick to the pan too badly.
Asif killed the chicken simply and quickly, and Parvana began to think there were things he could do besides complain and annoy her.
They ate the chicken for as long as they could, feeding Hassan the softer parts. They all felt better when they were eating. Hassan took an interest in things again, and Parvana wasn’t nearly so grumpy.
But eventually there was nothing left to eat, and they all became hungry again.
Had it been a week since the chicken ran out? Parvana could no longer keep track of time. She lay on the hard ground, wondering what the point was of eating one day, when they just got hungry again the next day.
She closed her eyes and tried again to sleep.
She had chosen her sleeping spot carelessly. There was a rock in the ground that jutted into her back. No matter how she changed her position, she was still uncomfortable. But the night was cold, and at least she was warm. If she got up to find a more comfortable place, she’d get cold. If she stayed warm, she’d be uncomfortable.
At least she didn’t have to worry about waking Hassan if she got up. He slept with Asif all the time now.
The rock dug into her again, and she decided to move. She could always get warm again.
“One, two, three,” she whispered, then flung back her blanket.
The cold air grabbed at her. She tried to move quickly before it really chilled her, but she couldn’t find a smooth place to put her blanket. So she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and sat on the ground.
“Maybe I’m the only person awake in the whole world,” she whispered. “Everyone else is sleeping and dreaming, and I’m awake, watching over all of them. Parvana the Protector.” She smiled.
She started humming a song about the moon that she had learned at school. The music went out into the cold night air and seemed to make the stars twinkle more brightly.
There was a shuffling behind her. She knew without turning that Asif was awake, and she waited for him to say something rude about her singing.
Instead, he shuffled over to her on his bottom. He gently tugged at the corner of her blanket, and she wrapped it around both their shoulders. She added words to the song she’d been humming. Then Asif sang something he knew, then they sang something together that they both knew.
They sat and sang and watched for shooting stars, until they were both so tired they were able to fall asleep again, even with the ache in their empty bellies and the sharp rocks under their backs.
TEN
Dear Shauzia:
We’re going to have to walk again today, although I would rather just sit. I’m so tired. But I keep thinking of what my father always said. “If we stop, we die.”
Hassan flops around. He’s like a sack of rice. His eyes are dull, and he doesn’t respond when we talk to him. It’s like he’s already gone away.
The grass we ate yesterday upset our stomachs. We all have nasty stuff pouring out the bottom of us. It’s bad enough for Asif and me, but it’s worse for Hassan, who has no clean clothes left. It’s a good thing the sun is warm today, because he’s naked until his laundry dries. One of us has to keep fanning him to keep the flies away.
Wait a minute, Parvana thought. Hassan hadn’t eaten any grass. They had tried to feed him some, but he wouldn’t take it. So why was he sick?
Then she knew. She had forgotten to boil the water before they drank it.
She knew well enough to do that. Even back in Kabul, where the water came from a tap in the street, it had to be boiled before you could drink it. Unboiled water could make people sick. Everybody knew that.
She looked out at the little pond they’d been living beside and drinking from for three days. Fast-moving streams were sometimes safe, but water in ponds always had to be boiled. How many times had her father told her that? No wonder they were all sick.
She took up her pen again.
I’m tired of having to remember things. I want someone else to do the remembering.
Parvana put her writing things back in her shoulder bag and gathered some dried grasses to build a fire so she could boil some water. Until someone else came along, she would have to take care of things.
“At least with our stomachs upset, we don’t feel like eating,” she said, when the baby’s clothes had dried and they were walking again.
Asif didn’t answer. It seemed to take all of his energy to simply keep moving. Parvana knew she sh
ould carry Hassan for him, but she didn’t offer.
Two more days passed. The children stopped for yet another rest.
Parvana sat with her writing things in her lap. She was going to write another letter to Shauzia, but couldn’t bear to write again about how hungry they were, or how thirsty, or how much Hassan stank. She was tired of writing those things. She wanted to be able to write something new.
If only the world were different, she thought. She closed her eyes and imagined a cool, green valley, like the one her mother’s family came from, only better and brighter than the way her mother had described it. She thought of the sort of place where she would like to live. Then she opened her eyes and began to write.
Dear Shauzia:
This morning we came to a hidden valley in the Afghan mountains, so secret that only children can find it. It’s all green, except where it’s blue or yellow or red, or other colors I don’t even know the names of. The colors are so bright you think at first they will hurt your eyes, but they don’t. It’s all so restful.
Parvana kept writing, and as her words filled the page, she could see Green Valley more clearly in her mind. It almost became real.
“Writing to your friend again?” Asif asked from where he was sitting.
“Do you want to hear it?”
“Why would I want to hear what a couple of girls have to say to each other?”
“You’ll like this,” Parvana said. “Let me read it to you.”
Asif didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, so Parvana read out what she had written.
Green Valley is full of food. Every day we eat like we are celebrating the end of Ramadan. I just finished eating a big platter of Kabuli rice with lots of raisins and big hunks of roasted lamb buried inside it. After that I ate an orange as big as my head and three bowls of strawberry ice cream. No one in Afghanistan has ice cream any more, except for the children of Green Valley, and we can have as much as we want.
You would love it here. Maybe when you get tired of France you could come here, and this is where we could meet instead of the Eiffel Tower. Now that I’ve found this place, I never want to leave.
Parvana's Journey Page 5
