02_Coyote in Provence

by Dianne Harman

  She looked out the window of the limousine and what she saw reminded her of news reports she’d seen of war-torn third world countries. She was well aware of the toll the years of unrest had taken on the city, but in the light of day it was even more horrific than what she had seen last night. Every time she came back, it seemed to have regressed another hundred years.

  Her reverie was broken by the uniformed armed guard motioning her driver into the compound. She told him to pull over to the side of the large parking area and wait there until she returned. Her aunt and her driver were already in her aunt’s car waiting for Darya.

  “I’m sorry Husna, but I need to bring my bodyguard with me.”

  “Of course. That will be fine. We have plenty of room. This is my driver, Gul. I have no secrets from him and he is to be trusted.”

  Gul drove eastward. The farther they got from the wealthy district where her aunt lived, the more appalling the living conditions. Tent camps and shanties made of nothing more than tar paper held together with salvaged lumber stood side by side. Dust swirled everywhere. It looked like something out of a dystopian novel. Darya shook her head, not believing the depth of the abject poverty and suffering she was witnessing.

  Darya knew that the wealthy transferred a lot of their money out of Afghanistan. Even her aunt and uncle had recently bought a large home in Dubai. This was a country where the “haves” were very wealthy and the “have-nots” were beyond poor, simply existing from day to day.

  Gul spoke to her aunt in rapid Pashto as they pulled off the road onto a dirt track. Just ahead in the swirling dust, Darya could see a flat-roofed mud house with a wing on each side of the central part of the building. Gul pulled up to the front door and stopped the car. Lou got out and opened the back door. “Wait,” Husna said, “Gul thinks it would be better if your guard stayed in the car. He’s afraid he will scare the little girls. There is nothing to fear here. Gul will be with us and he is armed. You will be safe.”

  “Yes, that will be fine with me.”

  The door to the mud house was opened by an elderly Muslim woman just as Gul prepared to knock. She motioned for them to enter.

  “Husna,” Darya said, “how often do you come? She doesn’t seem to know you.”

  “This is only my second time. I can’t risk having Haji find out about it.”

  Nothing in Darya’s life prepared her for what she saw when she stepped through the door. There were about fifteen young girls assembled in a large open room. All of them had suffered horrible physical losses. Many of them were missing limbs and eyes. Burns and scars were the norm. Darya felt warm tears in her eyes and fought the nausea that rose in her throat.

  “Husna, this is far beyond what you told me. These children are filthy. They have caked mud on them and open running sores. Is there no medical care for them here?”

  “You speak like someone from the United States. There is no running water here or electricity. The two women Gul hired are family members of his. It is very difficult for them to get water from the well for cooking and drinking, much less cleaning the girls up. Because they are only girls, a place like this would never be allowed in the parts of Kabul that have utility services.”

  “But Husna, how will they ever heal without medical treatment and things like clean running water?”

  ”Right now we are trying to keep them alive by feeding them. That’s about all we can do. I am happy they are off the streets, but so much more needs to be done. We’ll talk more about them when we get back to my house.”

  Darya, Gul and Husna toured the house, Gul doing the talking. With their burkhas and veils, Darya and Husna were unrecognizable. He told the women working there that Darya and Husna were rich benefactors who might want to help. There was a large room in the center of the house where the girls spent most of their time. A fire pit was in back of the house where the cooking was done. On either side of the main room were large rooms with filthy mattresses covering the floor. An outhouse was located a few yards from the back of the house. That was it. No washer, no dryer, no refrigerator, no stove and no bathroom with a toilet and sink. This was a house where the only thing that mattered was survival.

  On the drive back to the compound, everyone was silent. Darya was having trouble processing what she had just seen. She wasn’t ready to talk about it in front of Lou. Although she trusted him with her life, literally, he was only human. If it were known that the wife of Haji Massoud was sponsoring an orphanage for little girls, that knowledge could be worth a lot of money, most likely as blackmail paid by Haji. Even though Lou was an American, and a trusted member of her staff, she thought it best not to speak about what she had seen in his presence.

  After they returned to the compound, Darya told Lou to go into a nearby room while she spoke with her aunt. She joined her aunt in the small room off of the main hall and was surprised to see Gul there as well. Domestic help and family members rarely mingle in Afghanistan.

  “Sit down, Darya. I am very tired, so this will be short. I can see that you’re surprised that I invited Gul to join us. It’s essential that you two know one another. The doctors have given me another month or two, at best. I know better. My time here is coming to an end.” She stopped and took a drink of water from a glass at her side.

  “Darya, I want this to be my legacy even though no one here will know about it. You have a plane and you are a pilot. Immigration and customs officials here are paid off regularly for all kinds of things. If they were paid well, they would not notice the little girls.

  “Gul and I have done some research. His nephew is very good with a computer. We’ve learned that there are private airports people can fly into in various parts of the world where immigrations and customs inspections are barely conducted. If these people were given money, they might overlook little girls. My dream is to get them to the United States and have them adopted. Of course, they would need some form of ID. That is my dream, Darya. Now I need you to go. I am very tired. Think about what I have said. When will you be back here?”

  “I am planning to return in two weeks. I will come and see you then. Take care of yourself. May I please tell my parents about your medical condition?”

  “No, they would want to come and see me one more time. It will be better when I am gone. I will see you in two weeks.” She rang the bell and immediately Fahima was at her side. Darya watched her leave, feeling as if her heart was being tightly squeezed.

  What a brave, wonderful woman. I have no idea how I’m going to do this, but I will. I will do it for her.

  “Gul, my aunt said that your nephew is a computer whiz. I am quite comfortable with the computer. I think it would be a good idea for you and me to make plans through him. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. Here is how to reach him. He has a computer in his house, but it doesn’t always work. He lives next door to me. Your aunt is a wonderful woman. Every person who works here loves her. We will take care of her. Don’t worry.”

  She looked at her watch as her phone rang. “Yes, Tela, I am on my way. I will be going to the afternoon meetings. You can fill me in later. Thanks for attending the morning meetings in my place.”

  Darya was physically present at the afternoon meetings, but most of the time her mind was miles away, trying to figure out how she was going to get the little girls to the United States. She’d never encountered a situation like this, in fact, she was sure that very few people had.

  Well, when I began my company people laughed at the thought of an Afghan woman as a successful business executive. They’re not laughing now. If I did that, I can find a way to get those little girls to the United States.

  When they got out of the last meeting she turned to Tela, “Cancel the meetings for tomorrow. I know we have an important dinner meeting tonight, but I want to leave after that. Call Mike and tell him I need to fly to Marseille. I understand that most cities have small airports for private planes. Tell him to find one in the Marseille area that has immigration and customs. T
hat’s where I want to land. We’ll spend the rest of the night there so make arrangements at a hotel and have a limousine pick us up.” Tela was already making calls as they walked to their suite.

  CHAPTER 18

  The limousine was at the front door of the hotel, ready to take them to the airport when she and Tela returned from the dinner meeting. Tela told her that Mike was already at the airport and that the plane was ready to go. When they got to the airport, they entered the immigration and customs building that serviced private planes. Darya hadn’t paid much attention before, but she realized the immigration people who were there this evening were the same ones who had been there when they landed. Thinking about it, she realized that she’d seen the same individuals most of the time she’d taken off and landed in Kabul.

  It was quiet in the outbuilding where the offices were located, and no planes were landing or taking off. Darya walked over to the immigration official who appeared to be in charge. “Pardon me, sir, but I have a question.”

  “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “I have some people who would like to get out of Kabul, but they lost their identifications in a bombing. I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help them. I would like to fly them out of here. Can you help me?”

  Darya was an expert at reading people and she immediately knew that she was going to be able to get the girls out of Kabul. It was just a matter of how much it would cost her.

  “I don’t usually do this type of thing, but if the price was right, I might overlook the lack of proper papers,” the immigration official said.

  ”And what would that price be?” she asked.

  “How many people are you thinking of flying out of here?”

  “About fifteen.”

  “Let me think.” He paused and then said, “I would need 20,000 AFN for each one of them.”

  She quickly calculated that it would run about $350.00 for each little girl. “All right. I can do that. When are you here?”

  “I am off Fridays and Saturdays. I work from 3:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in about two weeks. Remember our little talk. When I leave I’ll have an envelope for you. The money will be in it. Thank you and I look forward to seeing you.”

  She walked back to her group. “You must have learned some good news,” Pierre said, “You’re wearing a huge smile.”

  “Yes. I learned some very good news.” She waved at the immigration inspector as her group followed her to the plane, Lou, as always, only a few yards behind her.

  As soon as she got in the plane she went into the bathroom and took off her burkha. Her mind was spinning. Now she knew she could get the girls out of Kabul, but where was she going to put them and how was she going to get them into the United States?

  About an hour before the scheduled landing in Marseille, the light on the phone next to her seat blinked, indicating that the pilot wanted to talk to her. Even though she had a pilot’s license, she usually let Mike fly, Kabul being the exception.

  “Miss Rahimi, we will be landing at the airport we usually use. I know you requested a smaller airport, but this one has very little traffic this time of night. It does allow flights in and out and has French Immigration and Customs. I thought it might work well for whatever you need.”

  “That’s fine, Mike. I trust your judgment. Let’s see, we’re scheduled to land about 6:00 a.m. Marseille time, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I checked with the tower and no other flights are scheduled to land or take off for the next hour. We should be able to get through there easily.”

  As she hung up the phone, Pierre made his way over to her seat. “Miss Rahimi, how long do you plan on being in Marseille? I’m wondering if there will be enough time for me to take a short trip to see my parents.”

  She thought a minute. “Yes. I’d like to go with you. I’ve never met your parents. You’ve told me how beautiful that part of Provence is and I’d like to see it. We’ll take a limousine.”

  “Well,” Pierre said, “that will be a first. I doubt that my parents have ever seen a limousine. Maybe we could take them for a little drive in it. I’m sure they’d like that.”

  “For what the limousine service charges me, it won’t be a problem if you want to take them for a ride. Mike told me we should be there in an hour. You can email them. You know we have Wi-Fi on the plane.”

  “You have not met my parents. I don’t think they’ve even heard of the Internet. A rotary phone is as modern as they’re ever going to be. Maman still hangs her clothes out to dry on an outdoor clothes line.”

  “And they probably smell a lot better than my satin sheets,” Darya said, smiling at the charming image in her mind of an old lady hanging up wash in the countryside.

  “I’ll call them later and tell them I will be visiting them early this morning. The roosters wake them up at dawn so that shouldn’t be a problem. I think it’s better if I don’t mention you. They would work too hard trying to make things look good for you.”

  An hour later Mike expertly landed the plane at Marseille and taxied up to the small building that housed French Immigration and Customs. The front porch light was on as well as lights inside. They got their luggage out of the plane and walked into the building. They could see a limousine waiting for them.

  ”Go ahead,” Darya said, “I want to talk to the inspector when all of you are finished. I’m going to be coming here often in the next few months and I want to ask him some questions. You can wait for me in the limo.”

  Her group easily made it through immigration and customs. All of them were used to traveling with Darya and knew this was just part of their job. When it was her turn, Darya showed the inspector her United States passport. While she’d been waiting, she’d noticed a photograph of a woman and two little girls on his desk.

  “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice your photo of a woman and two little girls. Is that your family?

  “Yes. They don’t like it when I have to be away from them at night. I work three nights and two days. The days are much better.”

  “Does your wife work outside of the home? I don’t know whether it is common for women to do that in Marseille.”

  “No, sometimes I wish she did. We could use the money, but we both feel it’s more important for her to be at home with the girls, particularly with my schedule. It’s better for them.”

  “If you would like to make a little more money, I might be able to help you.”

  He looked at her. “I won’t do anything illegal. If you’re thinking about bringing in drugs or guns, non. My girls are more important to me than some extra money. What would they do if something happened to me?”

  “What I’m asking you to do doesn’t involve drugs or guns. I would like to bring some Afghan orphans into Marseille. I need to get medical care for them and see that they are well taken care of. Then I’d like to fly them to the United States where they can be adopted. I could really use your help. Without your help, I don’t know what will happen to them. Some of their families have abandoned them and some have parents that have been killed in the war. They’re missing arms and legs. Several have been beaten or scarred from knives and cigarettes. Here are some photos I took of them.”

  She handed him her cell phone.

  As he looked at the photos, his face became ashen and his bushy black eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Mon Dieu,” he said as he crossed himself, “You are speaking the truth?”

  “Yes. There is a small orphanage outside of Kabul with no running water or electricity, but the girls are better off there than on the streets of Kabul. They are filthy, need medical attention, and are suffering from malnutrition. When I saw them, I wanted to help. I’m just now making plans. Will you help me?” she asked.

  “Oui.”

  What will you charge me?”

  He stroked his chin with his long fingers as he thought about it. “Is this only once, or will you be doing this often?”

  “I’m no
t sure. I imagine it will be more than once, probably several times a year.”

  He was quiet and then said, “I would like to have two thousand euros each time you land and take off with them. I think that’s fair. If anyone finds out about this, I could lose my job.”

  “All right. Two thousand euros it is. When should I plan on landing or taking off?”

  “I work Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights. If you could land around this time, it would be best because there are very few planes taking off or landing and my shift is over at 8:00 a.m. When will you be starting this?”

  “I don’t know. I need to find somewhere for the girls to stay while they’re here and I need to find people to help me in the United States. I will see you in a few weeks. Would you like me to notify you ahead of time?”

  “Yes, please. Here is my card. I will write my cell phone number on the back of it.”

  “Thank you and I look forward to doing business with you,” she said as she walked out the door and into the waiting limousine.

  She called Mike as she and Pierre drove to Travaillan, the small village near where Pierre’s parents lived. “Could we take off tonight? I’m anxious to get back.” She listened for a minute. “Yes, I can have everyone at the plane at 7:00 p.m. Are you sure you’ll be rested enough? I know there’s some pilot directive on this and I don’t want to ask you to do something that may cause problems for you.” She listened, then said, “I’ll have Tela call them and we’ll meet you there. Sleep well.”

  Later that evening as she walked up the steps of the plane, all she could think about was the orphanage, her aunt, and how she could carry out her promise.

  SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA JUNE, 2006

  CHAPTER 19

  At 4:30 in the afternoon, Darya was sitting at her desk in her office in Santa Monica when the buzzer on her desk rang. “Yes?” she said into the intercom.