by Atia Abawi
“Stop!” Rashid yells at the man dialing the phone. I don’t understand why Rashid is helping us now, when he was the one who sent Latif’s men after us in the first place.
“Latif? Salaam aleykum,” the man says into the phone. Rashid drops to the ground.
I look at the black rifle lying next to him. That would be an even faster death. I wonder what would happen if I tried to grab it.
“Yes, yes,” the man says to Latif. “No, the roads aren’t clear. You shouldn’t come yet. No, we haven’t found them yet.” The man’s words surprise me. Sami seems bewildered too, as he moves even closer to me. “Yes, yes. We’ll let you know if we notice anything. Khuday pamon.” He ends his conversation with eyes still on Rashid. Then he slides the phone back into his pocket and says, “You better come up with a plan fast!” Rashid looks at the man and then us. He seems to be in as much shock as we are.
“Thank you! Thank you, Zaman worora!” Rashid says with what sounds like relief. He then makes his way to us. “You have to trust me. We don’t have time. Fatima, the provincial capital is only thirty minutes away. I can take you first. There is a place there I can drop you off that takes care of people. The mullah at the madrassa spoke badly about it because his wife went to them and they helped her divorce him and escape to Kabul.” He turns his attention to Sami. “Then I’ll come back and take you. They can then help you both get to Kabul. You can make a new life there.” Rashid’s eyes look possessed, but not in a sinister way. I still don’t trust him. I can’t. He’s been spending time with Latif’s animals, the same men who killed Mullah Sarwar. The same men who want to kill us. I push myself farther behind Sami.
“Just go back and say you never found us,” Sami says, brushing him away. “We can find our own way.”
“You don’t understand,” Rashid says desperately. “Latif has men everywhere! We found you because a police officer gave us your location. One of the ones who found you today.” Could it be true? Why wouldn’t they have just taken us? And I realize the young one on hashish must have been the spy. The captain probably had no idea. “But I can get you out now. And this office can help you get away from Latif and his men.”
“Give us a minute,” Sami says to Rashid, who nods and walks to Zaman. Sami turns around to look at me. Even through the blue cloth, I can see the concern in his eyes. He can’t be thinking of following Rashid’s plan.
All I can say to him is “No.”
“But this could be our only chance,” he says, his anxious eyes searching for mine through the fabric.
“What if this is a trap?” I say the words I know we’re both thinking. His eyes are a deeper shade of green than I’ve ever seen before. And there’s a tightness around them.
“I don’t think it is,” he says. “I believe my cousin regrets his actions.”
“But I don’t want to leave you,” I say as my tears begin to fall and my throat becomes heavy.
“I know, but I need you to. And I swear I’ll come for you,” he says. “You trust me, don’t you?” I nod my head, holding back my sobs. “Then go with Rashid.”
“No.” I start shaking. “No!”
“If you love me, with all of your heart—”
“I do!” I cut in before he can even finish.
“Then go,” he says, forcing a shaky smile onto his face. His eyes are blinking rapidly; I know he’s nervous.
• • •
I am flying through the streets on the back of Rashid’s motorbike. As we ride, I keep seeing Sami’s smile as he waved good-bye. I keep praying it’s not the last time I will see his warm soft lips or his gentle green eyes. I can’t stop crying, and I don’t care what Rashid thinks of it. I hate holding on to another man, even if he is taking me to safety.
I don’t notice we’ve arrived in the city until I hear car horns and motorbikes whizzing by. The city is even bigger than Mullah Sarwar’s village. Every block we pass seems to hold hundreds more people. Our motorbike slows down, and I realize we’ve turned onto a side street. Rashid pulls up to a large building that is surrounded by tall cement walls and round wire at the top. A guard stops us at the gate.
“What business do you have here?” the guard asks.
“This is an emergency,” Rashid says. “I’m here to drop off my sister-in-law. She’s in danger. But I have to hurry and get my brother as well.”
“Wait here,” the guard says and goes back into his box. I can make little out through the holes of my chadari, but I can see him on a phone. He comes back and lifts the gate to allow us in. “Go over there for a security check.” Rashid rides in and then helps me off the motorbike.
“That box seems to be the female check,” he says. “I’ll wait for you right here.”
I feel vulnerable and alone as I become aware of my surroundings. The building ahead is bigger than anything I have ever seen before. There must be dozens of people inside, none of whom I’ll know. But these strangers will help Sami and me? Why would they do that? I’m afraid of what is next and more than ever wish Sami were here. I lift the drape covering the entrance to the box Rashid pointed to, and I see a woman sitting inside. I hear noises from a radio. She puts down her glass of tea.
“Salaam, sister,” she says. “Do you have a purse?” I shake my head. “Okay, then I’ll just check your body. I’m sorry, but it’s my job.” I realize why she was apologetic after she slides her hand all over my body—from my head, down to my shoulders, around and under my breasts, on my butt, between my legs and down to my feet. The process is so violating, I’m even more frightened about this place. People don’t do this in our villages. I don’t know what kind of security check would allow a girl’s body to be felt up by a strange woman. I realize I’ve started crying when the woman speaks again. “I’m sorry, khwarak, but I have to do this. It’s my responsibility to protect the building from attackers. And lately people have been using chadaris to smuggle weapons and contraband into places. Especially places like this. You must be from a village, neh?” She pats me on the back and leads me out. “There, there. We’re finished now. You’re in good hands here.”
When I walk out, Rashid is waiting. He must have had his check outside with the men sitting at the table in front of us. I’m thankful that mine at least was in private. We walk up some steps, and he stops right before we go into the door.
“Fatima?” he says. I turn and look at him. “I need to apologize to you.” I continue to stare. I realize I haven’t spoken to him at all today and feel a pang of guilt for being so cold toward him. “I wronged you and Sami. And I hurt your family.” He begins to choke up. “You need to know something. And it’s bad.”
His words strike me like a knife hitting my gut. The look in his eyes tells me what I am about to hear will be terrible. Oh, God! Did he leave Sami to die out there?
“Sami?” I mutter.
“No. Sami will be fine. I promise,” he says, and I let out a breath in relief. He hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “Latif . . . Latif . . . killed your little sister,” Rashid blurts out. He continues to speak, but I don’t hear anything after those words. Afifa? Afo? She’s dead? She can’t be dead. It’s not possible.
“Liar!” I scream at him. “You’re a liar!” I yell it louder and begin pounding my fist on his chest. “Liar! Liar! Liar!” I keep shouting and continue thrashing at his chest, hoping to hit his heart.
He doesn’t stop my punches.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” his voice cracks.
And that is when I know he’s not lying. I drop to my knees on the concrete floor. “Afo . . .”
“Please forgive me,” Rashid says through his own tears. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I’m so sorry . . .”
“Afo . . .” I fall into a trance of memories. Helping my mother as she gave birth. My baby sister’s smiling face. Her wobbly run. The wa
y she jumped into my arms when I returned from Zohra’s. The bangles around her little wrist. Her fiery-red hair on my fingers, the soft strands that I loved to stroke as she fell asleep looking like an angel. She’s dead.
My baba! The pain he must be going through right now. Now he’s lost Ali and Afifa. And me . . . His worst nightmare has come true.
Afifa’s death also kills any of the dreams I had to ever go back. To ever seek their forgiveness and have them accept my choice. It was my choice that led to this. My choice has led to my sister’s death.
“What can I do?” Rashid says through tears. “Please tell me, what I can do?”
I can’t bring myself to look at him. I want him to leave. I want to see Sami.
“Bring Sami.” These are the only words I can get out before my body is wracked with sobs.
Thirty
RASHID
As I whiz back through the mountains, I see the sun dropping. The orange orb is a ticking clock. I have to get to Sami, and I have to get there fast. My speed makes the motorbike jump every time I hit a rock, but I no longer fear falling. I’ve worked out the system and am feeling more confident in my riding. Maybe I can get Sami into the city in less time than it took me to drive Fatima.
But I have to get to him first.
I’m scared Zaman will change his mind and call Latif or that Latif will send someone to check on us. I can’t take the chance of him catching us. I won’t feel comfortable until I know Sami is in the city.
I turn the bike, ripping into the valley. And I can see them. Sami and Zaman are no longer hiding in the crevice. I’m almost there! I grip the throttle as tight as I can. The engine roars. As I get closer, I release the accelerator and hit the brake. I skid on the dusty pebble road, feeling the weight of the bike tipping. I come to a full stop, and the bike tumbles to the ground.
“Are you crazy?” I can hear Zaman yell as he runs over.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“I don’t care about you! I’m thinking of my motorcycle!” He inspects the vehicle as I pick myself up, feeling some soreness on my left thigh.
“Sorry,” I say to Zaman before looking at Sami. “Are you ready?”
“Is she okay?” he asks with sunken eyes.
“Yes, she’s fine. But we have to go now.” I turn to get back on the motorcycle, but Sami isn’t moving. “What’s going on? We need to go!” I yell.
“Latif called,” Zaman says. I turn to look at him again. “They’re going to be here any minute now. You won’t be able to outride them.”
“What? Yes we can!” I turn to Sami. “Come on! Rasa!”
“I don’t want them to know you took her there,” Sami says. “If they catch us, they’ll know to check the city, and they’ll find her. I have to protect her.”
“How can you protect her if you’re dead?” I’m infuriated that my cousin can give up so quickly. “They don’t have men in every building of the city. I took her somewhere he can’t get to.”
“Rashid, they called twenty minutes ago. They should have been here by now,” Zaman says. “We can say we caught him and didn’t see the girl.” We both look at Sami, whose eyes are closed, as if he is praying.
“No!” I yell at both of them. “No! No! No!”
“I’m not getting killed for this!” Zaman yells back. But this time I ignore him.
“Sami, quick, take off your clothes,” I say to my cousin. “Take them off!” I scream at him as I pull off my black top and bottom. He finally listens and starts taking off his beige outfit. I throw my clothes at him. “Throw me yours and give me the hat.” Sami does as he is told.
“What are you doing?” Zaman asks, sounding agitated and annoyed.
“I have another favor to ask,” I say to him.
“I can’t help you any more,” Zaman says, waving his hands as he starts walking back and away from me.
“I need your bike,” I say. “I’ll pay you back, you have my word.” I can tell Zaman isn’t convinced. “Listen! Saving an innocent life after all the blood we’ve spilled is our only way to receive forgiveness from God! Don’t you want some good deeds on your list when we face judgment?” My words seem to be working, because Zaman looks worried. I keep staring at him and notice his eyes shift to Sami.
“Fine! Take it!” Zaman yells. “But what are we going to say, that we got robbed by this guy?” He gestures to Sami, who looks defeated and pathetic. For the first time, I notice he has lost some weight and looks weaker since leaving our village.
And then I hear a distant buzzing. Zaman and Sami hear it too. I run and jump on the bike. “Get on!” I scream, and Sami jumps on behind me. I can tell Zaman is already regretting his decision, but he doesn’t stop us. “Tell them we found him but he climbed away through different crevices in the mountains. We separated to find him.” The buzzing gets louder. The sound of many motorbikes making their way to us. “When you came back out,” I say as I start the engine, “you couldn’t find me and the bike was gone.” I don’t even wait for Zaman’s response before speeding off.
“Can you hear me?” I yell to Sami, trying to talk over the roar of the engine.
“Yes!” he screams back.
“When I stop this motorbike, I’m going to jump off. I need you to make it to the city by yourself. Can you do that?”
“Why? Aren’t you coming? They’ll kill you,” Sami says.
“Don’t worry about me. Think of Fatima.” I can’t even believe the words I’m saying right now. “She’s at the human rights offices near the blue masjid. When you get deeper into the city, ask anyone for directions, and they’ll tell you how to get there.”
“But what about you? What will you do?” he asks.
“Don’t worry about me. I have a plan,” I say. “But can you get there?”
“Yes,” Sami says.
We both fall silent.
The truth is, I don’t have a plan. I just know I have to distract them and give Sami a head start.
Latif has men coming to the valley, but he’ll have others making their way to the main road. Inshallah, they’ll see me before they see Sami, giving him more time. And capturing at least one of us may satisfy their thirst for blood. I pray it will.
We’ve made it far enough, and I stop the motorcycle. I jump off, and Sami slides forward. “You need to go now! Keep driving, and don’t look back!”
“Are you sure? Will you be okay?” he says. He’s always been the worrier. Something I thought made him weak, but I realize now it made him stronger than me.
“I’m fine. Just go! Fatima is waiting for you.” I pat him on the shoulder, but he pulls me in for an embrace. I give him a squeeze before letting go. “Now drive!”
I watch as the dust cloud trailing him gets smaller and smaller. My breathing steadies as he disappears. I start walking in the same direction. Anyone coming from the valleys will have to pass me first.
Minutes go by before I hear the buzzing of other bikes. I straighten out Samiullah’s pakol and speed up. I recite prayers to calm my nerves, the same prayers Mullah Sarwar recited before Latif killed him. The buzzing eventually becomes a roar as the men get closer. Some start shooting in the air, trying to get me to turn around and face them. But I don’t. I just keep walking. When they pull ahead of me, I drop to the ground facedown, tasting the salty dirt. The motorcycles all pull around me, and I can hear the men jumping off.
“You!” one voice howls at me.
“It’s him. It has to be the lover boy,” another says. “But where’s the whore?”
“Get up!” the howler demands. But I don’t move. The longer I stay down, the more time Sami has. “I said get up!” I feel a striking blow to my side. Followed by another and then another. It continues until he has managed to kick me hard enough to roll me over.
“Rashid?” I open my eyes and see that it is Azizullah. “W
hat are you doing? Have you gone mad?” My lips begin to form a smile, and I laugh. A cackle that I can’t stop. Maybe I have gone crazy. But I don’t care anymore. “Have you found your cousin and that girl?”
I answer him with more laughter.
“He must have let those kafirs go!” I hear another voice yell. “He’s not wearing the same clothes. Look!”
“Is that true?” Azizullah asks me, but I just keep laughing. “You stupid bastard!” He continues to kick me in between his orders to the other men. “You three, get on your bikes and ride toward the city—see if you can find them. I’ll take care of this dog!”
Azizullah stops his kicking long enough to grab his weapon. The pause gives me a moment to feel the intense pain he has inflicted. And before I know it, he pounds the butt of his rifle over my lungs. The pressure knocks the air out of them and has me spitting out blood. Then he takes the head of the rifle and places it on the middle of my forehead. But I don’t feel fear.
“Where are they going?” Azizullah asks me as he digs the metal deeper into my skull.
“Come here,” I whisper.
“What?” he yells.
“Come down here,” I gurgle through the blood in my mouth.
Azizullah looks around at his men and then back at me before kneeling down. “Now tell me, you khar quss,” he swears. “Where are they?”
“Closer,” I mumble. I allow him to get as close as possible before I use all the energy I can muster to shoot out a mixture of blood and spit onto his ugly face.
“You son of a—” He jumps up and fires his weapon.
I feel the pressure of the bullet hitting my chest, but I don’t feel any pain. My vision becomes hazy, but it doesn’t matter, because I no longer have the strength to keep my eyelids open.
My parents’ voices fill my head, soft and pleasant.
I hear my mother teaching me my prayers. I can feel her gently stroking my hair. I hear my father telling me how to be a man. How to protect my mother, my sister, my family. And then I hear my baby sister’s laughter. Sparkling, beautiful. I hear it all . . . and I know it’s safe to take my last breath.
