Veil of Silence

by K'Anne Meinel

  “How?”

  “I told you,” he reminded her gently. He understood. She had to have fears from the previous crash. It was certainly reasonable.

  She swallowed, realizing she had no choice. A mob, even one that they might be able to muster, would stop a car if they suspected that Zabi’s ‘wife’ was inside with his children. While she was certain she would be under military escort, she didn’t want anyone else to die. Enough had already died trying to protect her. She remembered a couple of the men from the helicopter crash that had survived before she passed out. After trying to fight off the ‘rescuers’ who had happened upon the crash, they had disappeared. She barely remembered the first rapes. She’d been numb by the crash, stunned by her capture, and she blocked out the way they treated her and the other captors until they disappeared. She’d been in this stupor until she realized she was taken into the hills to become one particularly nasty rapist’s ‘wife.’

  “Can you be ready to go within the hour?” Captain McKellan confirmed.

  She nodded mutely. “May I go?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “You may, Captain,” the major said formally. He wondered if she would ever be the same. Would she recover some of the spark that had been Lieutenant Gagliano? He realized she had no recollection of them meeting before. At one time, he had actually worked with her, but that was long ago. He hadn’t been a major then. He’d already recommended psych evaluations based on what Captain Lamar had said. She needed help. He had also put forth paperwork for a female obstetrician and gynecologist to meet her when she landed back in the States.

  “Do you think she will lose it?” Wynn asked them after she took the children and shut the glass door behind her. He indicated her mental state as he made a whirling motion next to his head

  “I think that woman is made of sterner stuff than most,” the captain commented in response.

  “How will you get her out of here?”

  “I’m going to fly her commercial. They won’t be expecting that. It may just save some of our men.”

  “How can you do that? Won’t they be watching all the airports? They’ll expect, being in the military, that she will fly out on one of our transports,” the major protested.

  The captain nodded. “That’s exactly why I won’t.”

  “What’s your plan?” Mr. Wynn asked.

  “I still have some details to work out,” he told him, not trusting the State Department man in the least. He didn’t have to tell him anything. They had cooperated to interview Captain Gagliano, but there was only so much he was willing to share.

  * * * * *

  Marsha gathered the children close and told them a fantastical tale of two small children that were going to fly in a big bird. She’d shared such tales before, but she hoped it would ease their transition into flying in a helicopter. The noise would be horrific. It was like nothing they had ever known. She herself had willingly hopped into a UH-1, a relic of the Vietnam War that seemed to remain in production to this day. The engine problems had begun after they were in the air for a mere half hour. Going down wasn’t from rebel forces attacking the bird, but from a mechanical error. It was no one’s fault. The hell that Marsha had experienced afterward, she could lay clearly at Zabi’s feet.

  Marsha was told by Linda that Major Scott had requested that she dress in the clothes that had been left for her and the children. By guessing their sizes, someone had managed to purchase them current and westernized clothes. Marsha would be wearing military clothes. It was laughable as she tried to close her pants over her big belly. The t-shirt looked grotesque. The children, however, looked endearing in their jeans and t-shirts. A big yellow sponge was on Amir’s shirt and a stereotypical Barbie on Bahir’s. Marsha didn’t know what to do with their Afghan clothing.

  “Take that in here,” Linda offered, showing her a duffel bag. “You may need them later.”

  Marsha took her advice, even packing the black burqa and the chador, as well as her more beautiful silk ones in gray with black patterns on them, carefully folding them against wrinkling. She remembered when she saw the material that Zabi had acquired, either by trade, barter, or theft. She’d been thrilled when Malekah announced that she would make the required garment so as not to shame Zabi at the celebrations they would be attending. Marsha had smiled inwardly as she felt she got the better outfit. Nothing could make Malekah look attractive. If Marsha had made any gesture of pleasure or gratitude, the bitter woman would have made sure that the outfit would have somehow been ruined.

  She packed the children’s traditional outfits more willingly. These had been made by Zabi’s mother, Aadila, a crafty old bird who fondly adored her only grandchildren. She didn’t like Malekah, had wanted Zabi to put her aside in favor of a younger woman. This captive, this American woman, had given him prestige when he announced his intention to take her as his second wife, and this only after he realized she was pregnant with his child. He anticipated a son off this healthy female. He had been disappointed in the female child she bore him. His anger had continued to the point that a miscarried son had taught him an invaluable lesson. The birth of the long-anticipated son meant his legacy would live on. He was sure this latest pregnancy was another son.

  Marsha was ready much sooner than the major had anticipated and Linda led her through the embassy to the roof. She heard the chopper blades long before she saw them. The noise was rather deafening and she could see the fear in her children’s eyes. She faked her own happy face for their sakes. She could feel the sweat that had broken out on her body. Her forehead was beading up, and not from the extreme heat in this country. “Remember? The big bird? We’re going to fly,” she told them excitedly, hoping to fool them into enjoying the ride.

  Bahir was excited. The story was coming true! Being older, she understood more of what was going on. Amir was terrified. He hung back until Marsha had no choice and scooped him up to carry him to the chopper. Her body protested. One baby in her stomach and another being carried in her arms was too much for her beleaguered back. She took it slow as she tried to hold Bahir’s hand and carry her duffel bag.

  “Good luck,” Linda shouted over the noise as they came out on the roof.

  “Thank you for everything,” she shouted in return, blinking back tears from the dust that the chopper stirred up.

  Linda watched as the pregnant woman, her children with her, hurried toward the open door of the chopper. The child in her arms was screaming in terror. The little girl looked on eagerly at the adventure. A man dressed in battle fatigues stepped forward to take the duffel bag and help the passengers into the plane. He scared the toddler in her arms further as he looked so odd with his helmet and earphones. He shut the sliding door behind himself as he too climbed aboard.

  Marsha felt dizzy. She couldn’t believe she was in one of these contraptions…again. The baby kicked painfully. Amir was screaming his head off. She sat down and grabbed a set of earphones and placed them over the toddler’s head. He stopped screaming almost immediately as the noise was blotted out, then he looked about in wonderment at the strange contraptions. She quickly eased him off her lap and onto a seat by himself, buckling him in. She put Bahir into another seat and buckled her in, giving her a set of ear-phones too. She smiled toothily, her baby teeth shining brightly against the brown of her skin. Marsha sat back. The kicks from within were making her stomach hurt. She buckled herself in and put on her own set of earphones.

  “Okay?” someone called into them and she gave him a thumbs up. She didn’t feel like talking. She was too ill and was hoping she wouldn’t vomit.

  She closed her eyes and felt the sickening lurch that meant they were taking off. She quickly opened them to watch the children’s reactions. Bahir’s big brown eyes were wide with excitement. She didn’t look scared, which was a relief to her mother. She looked down at Amir and he was playing with the earphones, the muffling of the noise enticing to him. He had felt the lurch, but didn’t really pay attention to it as he wasn�
��t looking out the windows. Marsha leaned back and closed her eyes again.

  It didn’t take long and they were already landing. The corporal who had jumped in with them escorted them into a hangar, carrying her duffel bag.

  “Do you have a change of clothes in that, Captain?” he asked her. “Do you have local clothing?”

  “Why?” she asked, curious.

  “You are to change into it if you do,” he told her. “We’re getting you out of here anonymously. Do you need a burqa? A chador? How about the children?”

  “No, I have what I need here,” she indicated the duffel bag. Now she understood why Linda had told her to pack everything. She was grateful that someone had washed the garments as they’d been full of dust from their harrowing escape and no amount of smacking would release it all.

  The corporal gave her privacy, leading her to a small, anonymous office while she changed out of her ill-fitting military clothing and into the beautiful Afghan clothes. She hid the children and herself with the absolutely ugly and all-encompassing burqa. She was grateful it wasn’t the kind that had a net across the face, but was sure if Malekah had thought of that, she would have insisted that Mahsa, meaning Marsha, wear one. She was careful to attach the chador across her face, leaving only her eyes visible. Next, she covered up Bahir in another burqa she had stolen from their camp. She’d chosen it because its size allowed her to hide the child. Most children, most female children, didn’t have to wear these black robes until they became teenagers. This one was a pale blue color. Her tiny daughter didn’t look odd in it and it hid her features well. Next, she put the one on Amir. Zabi would be furious if he knew that his son was wearing ‘women’s’ clothing. Anything that impinged on his masculinity was a threat. She hadn’t understood that at first. Most of the men in the village were decent, but Zabi took much pride in his claim on the American woman. She’d found later that many had recommended that she be returned, but he had kept her for her ability to fight, for the fact that she had been overcome, that he owned her, and that she’d given him his long-sought-after children. Once she gave him a son, he wouldn’t have let her go unless in death. Amir didn’t want to go back in the burqa because it was too hot. Marsha had finally calmed him after his terror flying in the helicopter, but the big tears were still obvious on his small face. She laughed and cooed with him, tickling him, trying to distract him as she dressed him. There was a knock on the door.

  “Captain Gagliano, ma’am,” the corporal made it sound like an apology. “Your escort is here. I have this for you,” he said, showing her a bottle of infant drops. She frowned until he explained that they would help make the children sleepy for the next stage of their trip, especially if Amir acted up again. “My wife has used them to help with the air pressure on their ears.”

  Marsha was pleased and thanked him for his foresight. She couldn’t tell him that the child wasn’t upset by the air pressure, but by the noise. Neither of them had any experience with such mechanical wonders. These were the things out of children’s nightmares.

  “These men will go with you,” the corporal explained.

  Marsha looked up at the two men, dressed as any young Afghan male of good means would be. Their semi-Western-styled suits had more traditional Afghan clothing underneath, the combination a common sight with Afghan males. Her heart was in her throat and she took a protective, if unbalanced step in front of her children. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  “The major thought that you would look less suspicious if your escort looked like locals,” the corporal explained. “Pete and Johann will escort you to Europe and possibly back to the States.”

  “How ya doin’?” a Texas drawl greeted her as the very Afghan-looking man, who introduced himself as Johann, stepped forward to shake her hand.

  “I’m Pete,” the other very dusky-looking man greeted her and held out his hand to be shaken. It was firm, it was moist and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it was gay. She eyed him, wondering how she had spotted it after all these years.

  “If you are seen traveling with these two men and two children it will be less noticeable,” the corporal explained further.

  Marsha nodded. It was actually a rather brilliant, if simple plan. “When is our flight?” she asked, looking around.

  “Now,” Pete told her as he held out an elbow for her to take.

  “No,” she told him as she declined to take it. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “I must walk behind you two as befits a good wife,” she explained. “You two must appear to be ignoring my existence. Maybe look back now and then, even appearing a little angry at how slow this mere woman and the children are. If the children like you, maybe carry them now and then?”

  The men nodded, understanding more. Everyone who came over here got a crash course in the culture, but until they experienced it or actually saw it, it was just hearsay. She had provided invaluable information for their plan to work. They had to get her out of Kabul. It had been explained that Captain Marsha Gagliano and the intel her brain held, might be valuable. Their job was to get her home safely.

  They escorted her, Johann’s back turned, but glancing back frequently and showing exasperation as a husband or other male family member might do. Pete brought up the rear, looking for any problem that might arise. They walked along the edge of the buildings and then across the tarmac to a plane sitting there waiting for passengers. She shepherded her children along behind Johann, not looking up as they were taken into the plane first, up the walkway from under the plane, and seated. She put Bahir in the seat by the window and Amir in the seat in the middle. She herself sat on the outside. She felt safer doing that. The two men took seats across the aisle from them with room for three more on the far side of them. Both looked at her with questions in their eyes.

  “Can I get you anything?” the steward asked solicitously, his accent was decidedly French. These were VIPs who had been ushered onto the plane before anyone else. He would make sure they were taken care of.

  “Could you bring me a little bit of 7-up for my tummy?” she asked, still not looking up so he could see her face.

  “Yes, madam, right away,” he told her. He asked the men across the aisle and they both turned him down. He was back in minutes with a can and a cup.

  Marsha waited until he had gone back to the galley to await the other passengers. She pulled the tray down on the seat in front of her and put the cup and can on it. She popped the top, glancing over in time to see her children fascinated with the sound. She kept herself from smiling as she began to pour the soda into the cup. The bubbles rising and clinging to the sides of the cup were fascinating to them. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the drops. After reading the label, she squeezed some into the cup of soda, using the eyedropper to stir the concoction. She handed the cup to Bahir. “Drink only half. The rest is for your brother,” she warned the little girl.

  “Ohhh,” she sighed blissfully at the strange, lemony taste. Marsha hoped the medicine hadn’t tainted it.

  “Mine,” Amir demanded in Tajik as he watched his sister enjoy the beverage.

  “Wait your turn,” Marsha warned him in English. She wouldn’t put up with some of the behaviors that had been acceptable back in the tribe. Male arrogance was encouraged at an early age. Some tempered it with respect for women. Some, like Zabi, let it go to their head.

  Bahir dutifully drank half, maybe a little more. She was surprised and delighted at the burps that came up. Marsha gently helped Amir to drink the rest, bending painfully on her protruding stomach as she reached. He got some down his chin and she carefully wiped it away. She could hear them opening the doors for the rest of the passengers. She wanted no one to take notice of her and the children. Finally, Amir was finished.

  “More?” he asked hopefully and then looked disappointed as his mother shook her head. Turning resentfully, he looked out the window of the plane at the activity below them, the baggage handlers, and the other airport personnel.

&
nbsp; Marsha sat back in her chair again and sipped at the remaining soda in the can. She hoped the bubbles would settle her own stomach. The baby was kicking in protest. Her nerves, her stress, everything was upsetting the little one and she rubbed her stomach before putting her hand down. She wanted no one to realize she was a pregnant woman traveling with two children. The two swarthy men traveling with her would help her façade.

  Pete got up as the other passengers began to board the plane and came over, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I want to be sure that they know we are together. Is there anything I can do?”

  Marsha shook her head. Already, passengers were coming down the aisle looking for their seats, and Pete was in the way. Reluctantly, he returned to his seat as people couldn’t get past him in the narrow aisle. Repeated requests to “Excuse me,” in various Afghan and European dialects had him glowering. He turned the glare on her once he sat down again, hoping people would get the hint. What people saw was a woman in a black burqa with two small children beside her. Both children were looking anxiously out the window and this made more than one person smile. It would be assumed they were both female children as they too were covered in the light blue outfits. Although a lot of children were allowed regular Afghan clothing, it wasn’t unheard of for some religious sects to hide their daughters under the all-encompassing clothing, even from an early age. Marsha kept her head down, only glancing at the children as they enjoyed the sights outside the window. She realized, not only would the plane ride be a first, but even something as simple as a window was a novelty. They’d experienced a window in the jeep, some in the embassy, and now the one on the airplane.

  “Moray, is this like the story?” Bahir asked, a bit too loud.

  In a quieter voice, Marsha shushed the exuberant child, but assured her it was. She saw the telltale signs of sleepiness coming over the young girl. Already, Amir was blinking heavily. He was fighting it though, as there was too much activity going on outside and passengers were streaming into the plane. Slowly, he was losing the fight and Marsha caught him before the plane was fully loaded and he began to fall asleep backwards in his seat. She turned him, buckled him in, and stood up to look for a pillow.