Kiss the Dust

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘But he hasn’t got any food or money or anything!’

  ‘He had an enormous dinner last night. You should have seen him eat! There’s about seven or eight of them in there, and they gave him a good send-off, I can tell you! They’d be going back themselves if it wasn’t for their families. And I gave him some money, enough to pay the guides, and something over for emergencies. I know you don’t have much faith in Rostam, but he is Ashti’s uncle. He may have bawled him out once or twice, but he’ll look after him.’

  Teriska Khan didn’t seem particularly comforted by the thought of Rostam, but she didn’t try to argue.

  ‘He never said goodbye to me,’ she said sadly.

  Kak Soran smiled. She’d obviously accepted the inevitable. He was relieved.

  ‘Did you want him to get the whole barracks up? Make a big scene of it? Of course he couldn’t say goodbye to you. But he went off looking happy. I think he regretted leaving the pesh murgas all the time. You know what he’s been like since he left Rostam. As miserable as a jackal in a cage. Well, last night he was his old self again. “Tell her not to worry about me,” he said.’

  One of the men inside the room called out a warning. Kak Soran looked up. Two soldiers were looking across in their direction.

  ‘Get back inside,’ said Kak Soran quickly. ‘We’re not supposed to talk. I told the captain I had no idea what Ashti was planning to do. I think he believed me, but he’s still suspicious. And mind what you say in front of the others. However friendly they are, the less they know the better.’

  Tara was longing to talk it all over with Daya, but Teriska Khan didn’t seem up to talking. She sank down against the wall.

  ‘Are you all right, Daya?’ said Tara. ‘You don’t look very well. There’s some food left over from last night. Would you like me to get you some?’

  One of the older women had been watching. She came over and picked up Teriska Khan’s hand.

  ‘Your mother’s got a touch of fever,’ she said. She arranged a blanket on the floor. ‘Lie down here and rest. She’s exhausted, poor soul, and no wonder.’

  The day passed slowly. Teriska Khan slept most of the time. They were only allowed to go out to the smelly old latrines round the back of the building, and there was nowhere they could have a proper wash. Worst of all, no one knew what was going to happen next. As the morning passed and the afternoon wore on, Tara began to feel they might be here in this cramped little room forever.

  Someone came at last when it was nearly evening. It was the interpreter. He told Kak Soran to follow him to the main office. A few minutes later, Kak Soran hurried back with news.

  ‘They’re taking us on somewhere else,’ he called in through the door of the women’s quarters. ‘Get the bags ready. They’re coming for us soon.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Tara called back.

  ‘They won’t say. To a refugee camp of some kind, I think.’

  ‘But what . . .’ began Tara.

  A soldier standing nearby shouted something.

  ‘We’d better not talk any more,’ said Kak Soran. ‘Just start packing. Be as quick as you can. We’d better not keep them waiting or they might leave us behind.’

  Not knowing was the worst thing, thought Tara. It made you feel so helpless. She hadn’t expected things to be like this. They’d left Iraq with only one thought, to get away to safety. Then the journey had been so difficult and dangerous that they’d had no time to think about what it would be like once they arrived.

  She’d vaguely thought that, once they were in Iran, they’d go to Teheran, and her father would find a job, and she’d go to school, and they’d find a kindergarten for Hero. They’d have to learn Persian of course, and they’d have less money than before. The house would be smaller, and it wouldn’t be easy making new friends, but still, they’d make a go of it, as long as they were all together. Baba had been to Iran before, a few years ago. He knew people in Teheran, and he even had some distant cousins there. When the war was over, of course, they’d go home.

  The other women were talking excitedly, bundling their things together. They were like the women from the village. In fact, they looked as if they’d never left their village before. They didn’t look as if they’d have any contacts in Iran, or any money to get started with.

  Perhaps it’s only them going on to the refugee camp, thought Tara. We’ll probably be taken on to Teheran.

  An hour later, when it was nearly dark, a minibus pulled up outside the two-roomed building. Everyone was told to get in. There was no chance to object or ask questions. The captain himself was in charge of their departure. Tara lugged the bags outside, and Kak Soran took them from her.

  ‘Daya’s not very well, Baba,’ said Tara.

  Kak Soran looked surprised. Though he had occasional fevers and viruses himself, Teriska Khan never seemed to go down with anything.

  ‘She’s tired and upset, I expect,’ he said. ‘Get a move on and make sure you put your chador on. There’s no sense in offending them.’

  ‘But we’re not going to this camp place, are we?’ said Tara.

  ‘It’ll only be temporary I expect,’ said Kak Soran. ‘Better do what they say.’

  The minibus was old, but at least it had proper springs. The interpreter and a soldier sat in the front with the driver. Tara sat by a window. This time she wouldn’t be staring out of the back into a cloud of dust, but she still wouldn’t see much except what the minibus’s headlights picked up.

  The first hour was all right. Hero had recovered as if by magic from the awful journey through the mountains, and she started showing off and clowning. She made everyone laugh, and even the interpreter turned round and smiled. But in the end she climbed on to Teriska Khan’s knee.

  ‘Can you take her, Tara?’ said Teriska Khan. ‘I’ve got such a headache.’

  Tara patted her knee invitingly. Hero pulled a face and started to object, but Tara picked her up, and settled her into her arms. Hero bounced around for a moment or two, then cuddled in and started sucking her thumb, which meant she’d soon be asleep.

  Once she was quiet, they all fell silent. It wasn’t a friendly, relaxed silence, but a tense, uneasy one. It was so strange and frightening not knowing where they were, or where they were going, not even knowing the names of the towns they passed through. Tara was glad she was holding Hero. Her curled-up body felt warm and relaxed and comforting.

  Kak Soran and the other men talked quietly together on the middle seats. Tara heard a bit of what they were saying.

  ‘Not allowed to work here? But surely . . . my cousin . . . five years ago . . . a good job in Tabriz.’

  ‘Yes, but . . . before the war . . . Kurds suspected . . .’

  She couldn’t catch all they said. The roar of the engine was too loud. She stopped listening, and soon she fell into a kind of doze, half dreaming, half awake.

  She was at home again. It would be the summer holidays now. She and Leila were planning to invite a party of their school friends. Khadijah would come of course, and Nasreen, who was so shy she hardly ever spoke to anyone. She’d ask Daya to help her make honey cakes, and they’d play their favourite records and try on a few clothes. Perhaps they were all doing it right now without her. Did they think of her at all? Did they miss her?

  She opened her eyes. She didn’t want that dream to go on any longer. It was too uncomfortable. Instead, she’d imagine that the minibus was going in the opposite direction, south-west instead of north. It was driving towards Sulaimaniya through the pleasant rolling countryside of northern Iraq on a bright morning, past fields full of early-ripening wheat and nodding sunflowers. It would soon stop in front of the house. Baba would unlock the door. They’d all rush in. She’d dash straight to the bathroom, have a long shower, wash her hair and change into some clean clothes. She’d never felt so filthy in her life.

  After a while the daydreams faded and Tara’s mind went blank. Without really seeing it, she watched the dusty verge of the road, li
t up in the minibus’s headlights, flashing hypnotically past. Every now and then they’d pass a brief blaze of light that streamed out from an open mosque door, or from the square window of a village house. Occasionally they went through a larger town where she caught sight of a busy bus station and a crowded main street.

  After what seemed like hours and hours, the minibus began grinding its way up a steep mountain road. It was so winding that Hero would have been sick if she hadn’t been fast asleep, slumped against Tara’s shoulder.

  ‘What’s the time?’ Tara whispered, not liking to break the silence. Kak Soran squinted at his watch.

  ‘Two o’clock. This can’t go on much longer. We must be nearly there.’

  ‘Nearly where?’

  Kak Soran shrugged and didn’t answer.

  Half an hour later, the minibus stopped with a jerk.

  ‘Out! Get out!’ the interpreter said. They were the first words he’d spoken since the start of the journey. He hurried off through the door of a nearby building.

  The others all humped their luggage out, and the minibus drove off. They were left standing in a huddle, their bags and bundles on the ground all round them, waiting for whatever would happen next, and looking round at the camp.

  The moon was still up, and in its cold white light the place looked eerie. They seemed to be on a high bare plateau between two sheer mountain peaks. It looked like a barren, miserable place. Tara shivered. It was chilly even now, in the middle of summer. In winter it would be terrible.

  They were standing outside a cluster of square concrete buildings with a flagpole on top of the tallest. Beyond were rows of small wooden huts in long straight lines, which all had a door but no window. The moonlight glinted on their corrugated iron roofs. Tara looked back along the road they’d come by. There didn’t seem to be any gates or fences. Perhaps they’d be allowed to come and go as they liked. Then she noticed how absolutely silent it was. There was nowhere to go, from this wild, remote place. It would be madness to try and escape from the camp. No one could survive for long in these waterless mountains, unless they had food and water, and knew exactly where they were going.

  Minutes ticked by. No one came and nothing happened.

  ‘Are they just going to leave us here all night, without anything, without even a drink of water?’ one of the other women said suddenly. She talked more loudly than she meant to, and her voice seemed to boom out in the thin mountain air.

  No one had to answer because just then the interpreter came back.

  ‘This way,’ he said, starting off towards the central two-storey building in the middle of the concrete headquarters block. ‘No, not you.’ Once again the door was barred to Tara who was about to follow her father. ‘Only men in here. Women in that room.’

  The men were away for a long time. Tara was glad Hero was still asleep. Daya seemed more than half asleep too. She looked hot and flushed in spite of the cold night air.

  At last the interpreter came back with Kak Soran and the camp commandant, a tall, middle-aged major. All the bags and bundles were opened, and their contents tipped out on the bare concrete floor, just as they had been yesterday. Every piece of clothing, every packet of food, every pot of ointment or pair of shoes was carefully examined, just as they had been yesterday.

  ‘Money,’ said the interpreter. ‘He wants to know how much money you’ve got.’

  Kak Soran seemed to expect the question. He put his hand inside his jacket and brought out a thin roll of notes. The major licked his thumb and counted them slowly. Then he looked hard at Kak Soran.

  ‘No more?’ said the interpreter. ‘Hasn’t your wife got any jewellery? Anything hidden? Think carefully before you answer.’

  Kak Soran shook his head. Tara suddenly realized she was clasping her hands tightly together. She forced herself to let go and look unconcerned.

  The major handed some of the notes back, and the rest he put in the drawer of the desk.

  ‘He’ll keep it for you,’ the interpreter said. ‘You’ll get it back when you leave here.’

  ‘When will that be?’ said Kak Soran quickly, sensing an opportunity.

  ‘How should I know?’ said the interpreter, shrugging his shoulders.

  Then the questions began. It was just as if the interrogations of two days ago had never happened. The major asked the same old things again and again.

  ‘Who are you? What’s your name? Why did you leave Iraq? Why did you come to Iran?’

  At last Hero woke up and started grizzling. The major seemed to see her for the first time. He looked quickly at her, then at Teriska Khan, and then he began to move some papers round on his desk. He muttered something to the interpreter.

  I think he’s sorry for us, thought Tara with surprise. He could be a nice person.

  The interpreter stood up.

  ‘The major will see you again tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Be quick, pick your things up. I’ll take you to your quarters.’

  They had already learned what ‘quick’ meant. They got down on their hands and knees and began to scrabble their belongings together in desperate haste. The major said something else.

  ‘He says to take your time,’ the interpreter said unwillingly.

  Tara felt tears in her eyes. She wasn’t expecting kindness. It made her feel weak, and painfully grateful.

  Their bags were ready at last. They picked them up, and followed the interpreter and Kak Soran. Then they went out into the moonlight again, and dragged all their stuff down the long rows to a cabin near the edge of the camp. Teriska Khan could hardly walk. She kept stumbling, and every now and then she coughed. The interpreter took a key out of his pocket, unlocked the cheap padlock on the door, and opened it. They went inside. Kak Soran felt for a light switch near the door, found it, and pressed it down. Nothing happened.

  ‘The electricity in the cabins is only on in the evenings,’ the interpreter said.

  Moonlight streamed in through the open door. The cabin was empty. Its wooden walls were stained and its floor was unswept.

  ‘A – a carpet? Blankets?’ said Teriska Khan in a hesitant voice to the interpreter, who was in a hurry to go.

  ‘Ask tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You can get a heater and some blankets then. You’ll have to make do for tonight.’

  He went away. Hero started crying again but for once no one took any notice of her. Tara sat down on the nearest bundle, put her arms round her knees, and began to rock herself backwards and forwards. Then, in the pale moonlight, she saw something move near her foot.

  ‘What’s that, Baba?’ she said.

  Kak Soran bent down to look, then squashed the insect under his foot.

  ‘Bugs,’ he said. ‘This place is infested.’

  He stood up and looked across to Teriska Khan. It was funny, thought Tara, she’d never realized it before, but even though he was a man and head of the family, of course, he always looked to Daya in a crisis, especially when the crisis was at home. But now, for the first time, he seemed to realize that she was ill. She was coughing more and more, a dry hard little cough, and she couldn’t stand. She just lay down where she was on the cold hard floor and shut her eyes.

  ‘This is awful, terrible,’ he said to Tara. ‘She can’t stay here.’

  He seemed to crumple, as if all the strength had gone out of him.

  ‘She’s ill,’ he said.

  Tara was cold, hungry and exhausted, and she nearly sat down and cried like Hero. Then she felt a cold shiver of fear creep over her. There was no point in crying. No one would be able to comfort her. They were all looking to her for comfort now.

  ‘She’ll be all right, Baba,’ she said. ‘There must be a doctor here. Anyway, I’ll look after her.’

  ‘You don’t know how to.’

  ‘I do. I’ll make sure she rests, and I’ll do the cooking, and get her plenty to drink.’

  ‘But there isn’t even any water.’

  ‘There’s a tap, the man said, at the other end of the camp. I
can go and fetch it like I did at the village. I’ll find a little pot for Hero. She can help too.’

  The idea of Hero carrying water seemed to be the last straw. Kak Soran went to the doorway and stood staring out across the camp to the mountain peaks, which were glittering under their ghostly white caps of snow. Tara’s fear turned to anger.

  ‘We haven’t got any choice,’ she said bitterly, repeating something one of the women had said the night before. ‘When you’re refugees you haven’t got any choice.’

  She unrolled a blanket and tucked it gently round her mother. Then she made a little nest of spare clothes.

  ‘Come on, Hero,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a bed for you. You’ll be nice and cosy here.’

  17

  Although they were all so tired, it was just as well that night was a short one. Tara was too worried and too hungry and cold to go to sleep properly. There was hardly any bedding, certainly not enough to stop up the cracks between the floorboards and there were howling draughts everywhere.

  The cold wasn’t the worst thing though. Only a few minutes after she’d dropped off into a light doze, Tara woke up again, her skin crawling and itching. She sat up and scratched her arms and chest. She seemed to be covered with insects, dozens of them. She scrambled to her feet.

  ‘Aagh!’ she said. ‘Get off!’

  ‘It’s only a nightmare,’ mumbled Kak Soran, vaguely aware of a disturbance. He obviously thought Hero was dreaming again. Tara took a deep breath. A week ago she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself screaming. But now the thought of disturbing the rest of the family stopped her. Hero was peaceful and quiet, and Daya seemed to be asleep. Tara could hear her shallow rasping breath. There was no point in waking them up. In the dark they wouldn’t be able to do much about the bugs. She’d just have to wait till it got light, and deal with them then.

  She was beginning to feel a bit steadier. She shook out her clothes one by one. It was awful to think there might still be bugs in them, but it was too cold to undress. She seemed to have got rid of most of them anyway. She felt one more, crawling across her shoulder blade, and managed to catch it and nip it between her fingers before it could bite her.