Time of Gifting

by Taki Drake

  Naomi almost glowed, changing from a tired and worn-looking woman to a charming elfin princess as she explained, “I like to take pictures, and the scenery is awesome! I also like tribal fabrics, and they have dying techniques that even my sewing club doesn’t know anything about. I haven’t been back there for a while, but it would be nice to be able to go back and show them something I have learned rather than have them be full of pity.”

  Pam and Geri joined in, pointing things out in the brochure that sounded exciting. The pictures in the small folded marketing literature showed vibrant markets, or souks, that promised intriguing items for purchase, while the vistas captured in images were breathtaking.

  No one noticed that Jean and Mary had not said anything. Mary could feel the weight of her friend’s focus and knew that she should reassure her, but it was simply beyond her capability at that moment. Afghanistan, this tour had to be in Afghanistan. Why could it not have been in another country, any other country, Mary thought to herself. Closing her eyes briefly, the woman concentrated on breathing slowly and calmly, glad that no one else had noticed her distress.

  Taking a deep breath and finally opening her eyes, Mary met Jean’s loving gaze and returned a small smile before saying to the group in general, “I love rugs, and I am always interested in new cuisines. If you think that we can go as a group, and everyone can get the time off, I think we should go forward.”

  Immediately, Jean chimed in with her approval, saying enthusiastically, “Count me in too!”

  Susanna burst into speech, almost incoherent, as she tried to explain to them why picking a location for their joint trip that was half a world away and in a dangerous country of foreigners was a bad idea. As the therapist grew more emphatic, Mary could see the group reacting by solidifying in their choice.

  Although she kept her face calm, underneath that deliberate expression, Mary thought to herself, That is not how to convince a group of people that they should not make a particular choice. All it is going to do is set up everybody’s back and make them more stubborn. We are all conscious that you’re trying to relate to our pain, but frankly, you do not have the life experiences to understand the actual depth of our loss.”

  Mary was yanked abruptly back into focus when Naomi said, “I think that Mary should be our group leader. She is very good at organizing things, and if anyone can get us discounts, she can.” Before she had a chance to object, Mary found herself the group’s de facto head by general acclaim.

  Chapter 4 – Confronting Pain

  Mary looked out the airplane window at the broad vistas below her. The grand sweep of the mountains and the stark, unrelenting rock outcroppings gave context to what her son had told her about the people that inhabited the land. Afghanistan, she thought to herself, I wonder if cultures are built around the emotions and attitudes that the inhabitants of an area need to survive.

  With a small “umph” as her backside hit the seat, Jean plopped herself down next to Mary. “I cannot believe you got the airline and the tour company to give us such a great deal! After flying first class, I am not sure I want to travel any other way. Since I cannot normally afford such expensive tickets, this means I will probably not fly.”

  Looking at her friend’s animated face, Mary knew that this trip was the right thing for them to do as a group. Rather than take up their group session time, the women had started to get together every other week to plan and prepare for the tour. She knew that part of that scheduling was Susanna still was being spooked at the idea of them going to Afghanistan. The therapist had tried multiple times to get them to change their mind, but every time she pushed, the women had become more determined to go.

  Mary knew that she could have mentored Susanna, teaching her that forcing people into a defensive position was doomed from the start. Unfortunately, Mary just did not have the energy. She could feel the pull on her reserves as if it were increased gravity dragging on her every action and fighting with even the motion of her chest as she tried to take a breath. Hopefully, Susanna will learn. At some point, she will have to become an observer and decide to learn from what she sees, rather than being a youngster that needs to be tutored.

  Jean finally wandered off to talk to Geri, the two of them concocting a plan for a blitzkrieg through the city vendor market. The sound of their happy laughter and excited speech warmed part of Mary’s heart with an almost hurtful intensity. Unable to join in that sense of camaraderie, Mary had concealed her own struggle behind a cheerful, placid exterior.

  Listening carefully, Mary could hear Naomi and Connie talking. The two women were discussing photography and how the use of images could set the mood of any visual display. When they slipped into technical details on exposure and shutter rates, Mary’s mind drifted off, latching onto the comfortable but sometimes confusing shorthand conversation that the twins, Pam and Patty, were engaged in.

  Puzzled at first, Mary listened for a while until she figured out they were talking about how to record their impressions of foods and spices. When Pam pulled Naomi and Connie into the discussion, Mary withdrew. Skimming the sound of their voices, she could hear the energy and joy they were merging there and knew that she had done the right thing with making this trip happen despite everything she was feeling.

  Unobtrusively, Mary checked the carry-on luggage she had tucked under the seat in front of her. A crackle of paper against her fingertips told the woman that the note from the APO address was still safe, holding the crumpled and dirty piece of paper whose stark message was just a cryptic series of numbers. Reaching in more deeply into the bag, she felt the cool ceramic texture of the simple box that was fastened securely closed.

  When her hand encountered the soft textured yarn and the bamboo knitting needles holding her current knitting project, she pulled it from the bag and began to knit. If I focus on my knitting, I ignore how excited everyone else is, Mary thought to herself.

  As the plane continued slicing through the air toward its destination, Mary continued to knit as tears ran down her face. Repeating to herself internally, I can do this. I have to get past this block, this barrier, the woman held onto the excitement and joy of her friends as if they were a life vest in a turbulent sea of emotion.

  << <> >>

  By the time the plane had landed, and the women collected luggage, their enthusiasm dimmed slightly under a thick blanket of exhaustion. Herding the group through Customs and Immigration checkpoint was simple for Mary considering all of the school field trips she had joined. Thinking to herself, At least they are easier to get moving in a single direction than thirty 8-year-olds! And, they do not have to be convinced to hold hands to keep with a buddy.

  Finally, setting foot into Hamid Karzai International Airport’s main terminal, Mary immediately spotted a cheerful-looking man holding up a placard that read, “Textile Exploration Tour” and marked with the tour company logo. A sense of relief washed over Mary as one of her worries disappeared.

  Although she had all of the verification documentation and directions that the tour company had provided, there was always that niggling worry that they would end up in Afghanistan with nobody knowing they were expected. Dredging up enough energy to put a smile on her face, she moved over toward the man, asking as she got near him, “Are you here to pick us up? My name is Mary Marston, and I am the group leader.”

  The man’s smile grew even broader, and his eyes lit up with joy as he said, “Welcome to Afghanistan! My name is Abdul Sayyid, and I will have the honor of being your driver while you are here on your tour.

  “Mrs. Marston, if you and your companions will follow me, we can go immediately to the waiting bus. There will be a short drive to where your hotel is located in Kandahar. All of your rooms are already available, and the tour organizer will meet you there.”

  Mary heard sighs of relief behind her, followed by Jean’s voice murmuring, “Thank goodness! I so want to get out of these shoes, and hopefully, there is a shower!” Enthusiastic agreement from the re
st of the women brought a small smile to Mary’s face as the polite young driver led them out of the airport proper into the sunshine of Afghanistan.

  When the heat slapped them in the face with a temperature that clamped a tight grip on their chest, forcing gasps of surprise, the women finally realized how different this environment was. The reality of how far they had traveled became clear to the women at that moment, something that they had been insulated from within the giant airplane.

  At least for Mary, the trip had muffled the sheer number of miles traveled and the changes in the environment. Those differences were now starkly apparent. The air did not carry the same scents and odors that clung around Boston like the city’s personal perspiration. Instead of smelling of seawater, asphalt, and the tangy breezes of the American Northeast, the air was almost perfumed with aromas of open-air food stalls and the slight breeze that slid over the mountainous landscape of rocky crags and evergreen trees that dotted the Hindu Kush range.

  As her chest loosened up, Mary took a deep breath, expanding her lungs and just taking in what the country had to offer. A small part of her tenseness released, letting some of her worries to detach to be carried off by the fresh-smelling wind. Shaking herself for getting distracted, the woman speeded her stride up to catch Abdul as he continued to walk.

  Before Mary could ask the driver her questions, they reach their destination. Abdul stopped by the side of the cheerfully painted bus, nodding at the two men that had been standing there. One of the men went to the luggage compartments on the rear quarter of the bus, unlocking them and turning to smile expectantly at the women who paused behind Mary.

  Pointing toward the man, Abdul projected, “Ladies, if you would please hand off your luggage to Ahmad, he will stow it for you. Then Ali will help you climb into the bus while I start it and get the air conditioning running. I know from other visitors that it is a bit of a shock to come from the airplane to our weather.”

  Spurred on by the promise of air conditioning, the seven women were quickly divested of their burdens and gallantly assisted into the bus. Mary had slipped into the front seat on the right of the bus, a place that she thought would be the best place to ask questions and get quick answers. The other women scattered out, picking seats at random.

  Glancing around, Mary saw there were many more seats than passengers. Curiously, she asked, “Abdul, are there more people going on the tour with us, or will we be shifting to a smaller bus?”

  The driver answered, “This vehicle will be the one we take for the entire tour. Since your group is here specifically to acquire rugs and other bulky items, the tour organizer chose this bus as the most appropriate.”

  Mary was startled, asking, “I thought we would just stow them in the lower storage compartments. We are getting rugs and textiles for the most part, and I thought they would be better tucked away.”

  Abdul patiently expanded his explanation, stating, “No matter how well insulated, the smells of exhaust and gasoline would start to invade the fabrics and rugs that you purchase. Rather than harming them in that way, it is much better to put them inside of the bus where they are preserved and where you could possibly examine and talk about them during the tour.”

  Mary was touched by the tour organization’s thoughtfulness and stayed mostly silent until the bus pulled up in front of their hotel, the Kabul Star Hotel.

  The first sight of their hotel startled the women. A high-rising building of glass and modern architecture, it was fronted by a pair of tiered fountains and meticulously groomed bushes. Although the tour had sent the group many images of their rooms, the hotel’s exterior was far different from the more humble structure that they expected.

  A voice spoke up from the back of the bus, “Abdul, is this the place that we should start wearing our scarves, or just when we go out walking in the markets?”

  Abdul had pulled the bus to a stop under the portico but had not opened the door. Turning back to look at his seven charges, the driver gave them all a serious look and said quietly, “It would be most considerate if you did cover your hair now. It is very seldom that women unaccompanied by a male ever stay in hotels in my country. That is one reason I will be staying in a room on the same floor as you do. Additionally, we will be joined by two other males, starting tomorrow. That will provide better translation services for you and also hopefully lessen any adverse reaction from some of my countrymen.”

  The seven of them had discussed this issue multiple times in the months leading up to the trip. Their group therapist, Susanna, had brought the possible religious or cultural collision as one reason not to go. She desperately wanted them to pick someplace easier and safer. But just as Mary had suspected, the young woman’s protective reaction had solidified the group’s determination to travel on the trip of their choice.

  Without further objections, each woman pulled out a scarf and wrapped it in the manner they had practiced. Their hair covered respectfully, in tune with the culture in which they traveled, the seven American women finally disembarked into a world of different expectations, structures, and sensations.

  Chapter 5 – Bargaining and Spices

  As the bus left Kabul’s city limits, Mary thought back to the last seven days and the fantastic sights they had experienced and exciting things that the group had done. Leaning back, the group leader stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, looking forward to a day without extensive walking.

  Mary thought to herself, I felt I walked at home a lot, but nothing like what we have done over the last week. That first day that we went to the markets, I was sure my feet would fall off. The next day, heading out to check out the small shops on Flower Street was an exercise in pain management, at least until we got excited about what we were finding.

  Running her eyes over the six other women that comprised her group, Mary was conscious of a deep sense of satisfaction. She had intuitively known that this trip was exactly what they all needed. That conclusion was entirely illustrated by the enthusiasm and smiles that bounced around the inside of the tour bus like an emotional game of volleyball.

  Naomi was waxing poetic about the pictures she had obtained. The avid photographer captured more than three thousand photos, operating on an almost euphoric level as she twisted and squatted while taking photographs at the Paghman and Bagh-e Babur Gardens.

  When they climbed through some of the historic forts and runes like Shahrara Tower, the woman’s efforts to catch the perfect shot worried Abdul so much that he had assigned one of the other men accompanying them, a very young man by the name of Juma, to physically grab the back of her garments when she started to lean too far over a cliff or drop off.

  Mary had smiled in pure amusement when she saw how appalled the young men looked at the idea of grabbing hold of an unrelated woman. However, she still made sure to go over to them as Abdul argued with the young man to reinforce that what he would be doing by safeguarding her would be a kindness rather than an imposition.

  It was apparent that Jumal had reservations about what they told him. However, the first time Naomi absentmindedly thanked him for preventing her from falling headfirst off into a hundred-foot drop, the young man seemed to relax and was an alert and caring protector from that point on.

  The entire group was amazed at how skilled the three escorts were in speaking English and translating to the various shopkeepers and people with whom the women interacted. Although each man had a slight accent, none of the women in the group had problems understanding them, nor did the men exhibit any difficulty understanding the sometimes strong Boston accent of the seven women.

  Whether it was assisting with purchases the women wished to make or easing their way into the Fort against the disbelieving denial of a religious traditionalist, the three men, Abdul, Juma, and a middle-aged man by the name of Haji, had made what would have been an extremely contentious and frustrating adventure into something that was pure pleasure.

  Even if she never said anything about it, Mary a
dmitted that she had been pleased with how startled Abdul was when she had started to bargain aggressively over her purchases. Her guide’s surprise had been nothing compared to the shock in the face of the shopkeeper when she had greeted his price with derision and had turned to leave his shop.

  Stunned for a moment by her actions, Abdul had scurried after her only to have the shopkeeper call out, asking why she left. Calling back over her shoulder, Mary had said clearly and loudly, “If that is your idea of a reasonable price, even for a starting bid, I am going to find someone who has not been smoking hashish before he comes to work in his shop. I get a hundred times that amount of textile for a tenth of that price anyplace else with a reasonable shopkeeper. So that means that you either think I am stupid or do not understand your own costs. Either way, I do not see a single reason to buy anything from you!”

  All over the market, silence spread out in a rippling pool. Mary noticed her friends’ wide eyes as they froze in booths close by and was also aware of the intense scrutiny of shopkeepers as their gazes bounced between her and the man who suddenly was looking at her with more respect in his regard.

  Stepping forward, the man gave her a short half-bow, his lazy tone now replaced with one of respect. Speaking clearly enough to be heard by the surrounding area, he said, “My apologies, Honorable lady. I believe I have made an error in my pricing. Please rejoin me in my shop for some mint tea while I see how we can come to a more favorable and fair arrangement.”

  Mary’s blood began to race, and anticipation warmed her core as she fully slid into the appropriate drama of the moment. Throwing her hands in the air in a universal sign of exasperation, she looked at Abdul, saying, “I suppose that we might as well listen to see if he understands what is reasonable, rather than having to negotiate for all that I want from another vendor. Besides which, tea always makes a bargaining session flow better.” With that, Mary reversed her direction and reentered the shop.