Excerpt
ITâÈçS A PERFECT NIGHT to run away, thought Fadi, casting a brooding look at the bright sheen of the moon through the cracked backseat window. It reminded him of the first line of the book From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
âÈêClaudia knew that she could never pull off the old-fashioned kind of running away.âÈë
Fadi was only halfway through the first chapter, so he didnâÈçt know how successful Claudia had been in her getaway, old-fashioned or not, but he sure hoped that his family would be. If they werenâÈçt, they were going to be in an awful lot of trouble.
Under the protective cover of darkness, the taxi he and his family were traveling in swerved around a bombed-out Soviet tank and exited the pockmarked highway. They needed to avoid the checkpoints set up by black-turbaned men on the main road. With the headlights turned off, the car careened over a rocky plain, rattling the passengersâÈç teeth. Fadi pressed his nose against the cold glass, peering across the desolate landscape.
His reflection flashed back, revealing a thin face with unruly dark hair escaping from beneath a traditional beaded cap. His nose sloped slightly to the left, evidence heâÈçd broken it once. He held his breath when the driver nearly hit a tree stump while plowing through a parched wheat field. Another mile and they arrived at the outskirts of the sprawling city of Jalalabad, in the eastern province of Afghanistan.
The driver slowed, weaving his way through narrow alleys toward the crumbling buildings that rose in the distance. They bypassed quiet residential neighborhoods and a shuttered local vegetable market. Finally, the brakes squeaked in protest and the taxi came to a lurching halt alongside a row of deserted warehouses. The concrete walls were riddled with bullet holes and grenade blasts.
âÈêIs this it?âÈë asked FadiâÈçs father, leaning forward in the front seat.
âÈêYes, Habib. WeâÈçre on the corner of Jalalkot Road and Turi Street,âÈë replied the driver.
Habib peered at the corner, his lips compressed in a tight line.
âÈêAs a boy I remember coming here with my father,âÈë added the driver with a heavy sigh. âÈêFor generations the merchants here created beautiful handcrafted paper.âÈë
Fadi took in the desolate junction, trying to imagine bustling streets, shops overflowing with stacks of gleaming paper, customers haggling over prices.
âÈêAll right, then,âÈë said Habib, his voice quavering for a moment. âÈêLetâÈçs go.âÈë
âÈêCome on, Fadi, snap out of it,âÈë whispered Noor, FadiâÈçs older sister. She pushed open the door and stepped out first, followed gingerly by their mother.
âÈêZafoona,âÈë said Habib, turning to his wife, âÈêare you all right?âÈë
âÈêYes,âÈë said Zafoona, her voice a thin whisper.
Noor took her motherâÈçs elbow and gently propelled her toward the side of the road.
Fadi emerged next, keeping a protective hand on his younger sister, Mariam, who slid out behind him. The faint moonlight provided just enough light to help guide them into the sheltered doorstep of a shuttered tea shop nearby. Noor and FadiâÈçs mother stood enveloped in burkas, two smudges of light blue against the drab gray walls.
Fadi glanced back and saw his father push a wad of cash toward the frail white-haired taxi driver, who shook his head. After a heated whispered discussion the driver finally pocketed the money and opened the trunk so that Habib could pull out their meager belongings. Fadi eyed the two scuffed suitcases. Most of what theyâÈçd ownedâÈ'the plush carpets, color television and video player, radios, jewelry, fine china, toys, clothes and even his motherâÈçs beloved booksâÈ'had been sold on the black market, or used as bribes to get their paperwork and passports in order.
âÈêSalaam Alaikum, and good luck, Habib,âÈë whispered the driver. His eyes glanced nervously over the deserted, dusty street.
âÈêWalaikum AâÈçSalaam, Professor Sahib, and thank you for risking your life to bring us here,âÈë replied FadiâÈçs father with a grim smile.
âÈêHow could I not?âÈë replied the driver. âÈêYou were my best student in Kabul University,âÈë he added, cracking a tired smile.
âÈêThat was a long, long time ago,âÈë said Habib, giving the man a fierce parting hug.
The family said their good-byes and watched as the taxi disappeared down the road, its broken taillight fading into the gloom.
Fadi peered down the empty street, trying to make out the words on the broken signs lying on the dusty pavement. ZAKARIAâÈçS PAPER EMPORIUM read one, while another claimed to have the finest writing vellum in all of Afghanistan.
The eerie stillness was broken by muffled coughing as Zafoona covered her mouth with a handkerchief. Before she could tuck it away, Fadi saw a trace of blood on the snowy white cloth.
She is getting worse, he thought, worry creasing his forehead. He glanced at his father, who gave him an encouraging wink and gently squeezed his shoulder. Fadi smiled in return, but he could see the fear lingering in his fatherâÈçs eyes, fear coupled with determination. As a Pukhtun, his father was bound by the ancient, sacred code of Pukhtunwali to protect his namusâÈ'the women of his familyâÈ'with his life. With a shiver Fadi recalled the moment, nearly six months before, when his father had revealed his plan.
It was a blustery day in January as the family sat together at breakfast, trying to keep warm under layers of clothing. FadiâÈçs mother set down a plate of old bread sheâÈçd reheated, along with chunks of white cheese, a rare treat.
âÈêOoooh!âÈë said Mariam. Her hazel eyes sparkled as her fork inched closer to the plate. âÈêSomething to go with boring old breadâÈö . Come to me, my yummy in the bummy tummy.âÈë At ZafoonaâÈçs nod she speared a large sliver.
âÈêHey!âÈë squawked Noor in mock anger. âÈêLeave some for us.âÈë She poked Mariam in her ticklish spot, under the ribs, and got a loud giggle.
âÈêI only took a tiny, tiny piece!âÈë squealed Mariam, and wiggled out of the way.
âÈêGirls, behave yourselves,âÈë said Zafoona, casting them a weary disapproving glance.
While Mariam spread cheese on the bread, her expression turned serious. She glanced at Noor with pursed lips. âÈêHey, Noor,âÈë she said in a loud whisper.
âÈêWhat, Ms. Yummy in the Bummy Tummy?âÈë
âÈêI need your help with something.âÈë
âÈêWith what?âÈë
âÈêWill you teach me how to sew Gulmina a new dress?âÈë Next to MariamâÈçs plate sat a Barbie that was the envy of all her friends. SheâÈçd inherited Gulmina from Noor when her older sister had outgrown it. And now, even though the dollâÈçs features had faded and she was missing her left hand, Gulmina accompanied Mariam everywhere.
Noor took a piece of cheese and looked at her younger sister with a raised eyebrow.
âÈêPlease, please, pretty please?âÈë begged Mariam. âÈêIâÈçll do your chores this whole weekâÈ'peel the potatoes and turnips, take out the garbage, and iron the clothes.âÈë
âÈêI donâÈçt know âÈö ,âÈë began Noor. âÈêYouâÈçre not even allowed to use the ironâÈ'âÈë
âÈêPlease,âÈë cried Mariam. âÈêIâÈçll do whatever you want.âÈë She put on her sad puppy-dog face and flashed two dimples at her older sister.
âÈêOh, all right.âÈë Noor sighed. âÈêI guess thereâÈçs nothing better to do than design a new wardrobe for Gulmina the Glamorous.âÈë
âÈêSure,âÈë said Mariam eagerly. She chattered on about what colors to use, mostly lavender and pink, while braiding GulminaâÈçs patchy honey-colored hair.
Fadi tuned out his sistersâÈç phenomenally boring conversation, added a chunk of crumbly brown sugar to his watered-down hot milk, and stirred. He watched fat snowflakes swirl through the crisp air and land in the backyard. He shut his left eye and pretended to look through the viewfinder of his fatherâÈçs old camera, which Habib had given to Fadi for his eleventh birthday, a few months before. He squinted, framing the old plum tree against the cloudless blue sky. He wished the weather were better. Maybe he could have convinced his father to take him to the quiet back hills of the city to take pictures. But, no. It was too coldâÈ'and too riskyâÈ'to be caught with a camera. His eye fluttered open as his father cleared his throat.
âÈêI have something I need to tell you,âÈë said Habib.
Fadi glanced away from the accumulating snow with a frown. His father didnâÈçt sound like himself.
âÈêThe situation has become too dangerous for us here,âÈë said Habib. There were deep circles under his eyes, as if he hadnâÈçt slept for many nights.
âÈêSituation.âÈë ThatâÈçs an understatement, thought Fadi as he resumed stirring his milk. Over the past year things had gotten more and more frightening. Even going out for bread could get you in all sorts of trouble.
âÈêAnd so itâÈçs set. We are leaving,âÈë announced Habib, looking around the table.
âÈêLeaving?âÈë Fadi mumbled, blinking slowly, like a confused owl.
âÈêWhat?âÈë said Noor, as her fork dropped with a loud clang.
Zafoona sat calmly. It was as if she had been expecting the news.
âÈêFather, what do you mean weâÈçre leaving?âÈë asked Noor.
Even Mariam, whoâÈçd been busy scraping out the last of the honey from a metal tin, paused to stare at her father. âÈêWhy are we leaving?âÈë she asked, her brows knitted in confusion.
âÈêYour mother needs better medical care,âÈë said Habib.
Fadi glanced at his motherâÈçs pale face. She sat shivering, cold despite wearing two sweaters, one of HabibâÈçs old coats, and a shawl. SheâÈçd caught a cold at the beginning of winter and it had gotten worse. The few doctors left in Kabul didnâÈçt have the right equipment to diagnose what was ailing her or the right medication to make her better. SheâÈçd taken a turn for the worse the week before when theyâÈçd buried her mother, FadiâÈçs grandmother, in the cold, hard ground next to her husband.
âÈêItâÈçs because of them, isnâÈçt it?âÈë said Mariam, her eyes wise beyond her six years.
They all knew who she meantâÈ'them, the Taliban.
âÈêYes, jaan.âÈë Habib sighed, reaching across the table to ruffle MariamâÈçs fine reddish brown hair. âÈêThe Taliban have made it very difficult for us here.âÈë
Zafoona cradled her steaming cup in her hands. âÈêIt had to come to this,âÈë she murmured, muffling a cough.
âÈêYou were right, Zafoona jaan,âÈë Habib said with a deep sigh. âÈêWe shouldnâÈçt have come back.âÈë
âÈêYou only had the best intentions for the country âÈö for the people,âÈë said Zafoona. She patted her husbandâÈçs hand. Her face was laced with sadness and a trace of pity.
Mariam frowned, looking from one parent to the other. âÈêWhat do you mean, âÈæWe shouldnâÈçt have come backâÈç?âÈë
âÈêMariam jaan,âÈë said Zafoona, giving her youngest daughter a resigned look. âÈêRemember I told you we used to live in America?âÈë
Mariam nodded. âÈêFather went to university there to get his P âÈö PH âÈö PH something.âÈë
Noor wrinkled her nose. âÈêPhD, silly. Doctorate of Philosophy in Agriculture.âÈë
âÈêYeah, PhD,âÈë said Mariam, grimacing at NoorâÈçs know-it-all-ness.
âÈêYou were born in America, in Wisconsin,âÈë added Noor.
âÈêBut why did we come back to Afghanistan, then?âÈë asked Mariam, her sticky fingers drumming against the table, the honey tin forgotten.
âÈêFather and Mother wanted to help the people in Afghanistan,âÈë said Fadi, trying to shut her up. He wanted to know more about how they were going to leave.
âÈêAnd you did help them? Right?âÈë prodded Mariam. ZafoonaâÈçs lips tightened at her impertinence, but she stayed silent.
Fadi rolled his eyes. Mariam somehow managed to get away with everything.
âÈêYes, jaan,âÈë explained Habib, as if trying to remember it all himself. âÈêWhen we returned to Afghanistan, the Taliban asked me to help get rid of the countryâÈçs vast poppy fields that were used to make drugs.âÈë
Fadi had heard this all before, how Afghanistan had become the worldâÈçs largest producer of opium and how the heroin derived from the poppies was ruining the country.
Mariam nodded uncomfortably. She had seen the thin, ragged drug addicts huddled on street corners, begging for scraps.
âÈêSlowly I convinced the farmers to destroy their poppy plants and start growing food for the hungry people,âÈë said Habib.
âÈêYour father worked very hard,âÈë interrupted Zafoona, âÈêbut things didnâÈçt work out as weâÈçd hoped.âÈë
Fadi looked at his fatherâÈçs defeated expression with growing apprehension. His father had always been optimistic, even during the most difficult times.
âÈêBut if the Taliban did such a good thing, why are they bad now?âÈë asked Mariam.
âÈêMariam,âÈë said Zafoona, her tone full of warning.
âÈêItâÈçs all right,âÈë said Habib, holding up a weary hand. He turned to Mariam, his expression solemn. âÈêItâÈçs human nature, Mariam jaan. Whenever someone is handed lots of power, they have a tendency to abuse it. The Taliban was a group of young religious students. When they first came to power, they brought peace and order to the country. But with time their strict interpretation of Islam began suppressing the people theyâÈçd helped free.âÈë
âÈêThatâÈçs why they made you grow a beard,âÈë Mariam said, and smiled, reaching out to stroke her fatherâÈçs face.
Habib laughed. âÈêYes, they did, didnâÈçt they? But what they donâÈçt see is that you cannot force someone to be religious. It must come from their heart.âÈë
âÈêItâÈçs not fair,âÈë burst out Noor. âÈêThe Taliban is oppressing everyone, with a version of Islam that theyâÈçve cooked up. TheyâÈçve banned everything! Music, movies, books, photography, and kite flying. Show me where it says that in the QurâÈçan. Show me!âÈë
Fadi knew that wasnâÈçt the main reason she was upset. Although many women in Afghanistan traditionally chose to wear the burka, a head-to-toe coveringâÈ'including his grandmother and his auntsâÈ'the Taliban now made it mandatory. Women were compelled to cover up when they ventured outside. Worst of all, theyâÈçd closed down the girlsâÈç schools, saying the schools would reopen when stability and safety had been restored to the country.
Zafoona murmured, âÈêOppression is the worst thing in AllahâÈçs eyes. He forbade it not only for himself but also for us.âÈë
âÈêTrue,âÈë said Habib, âÈêbut unfortunately, the world is full of oppressionâÈ'oppression of men against men, group against group, and nation against nation.âÈë
Fadi sighed. Life in Afghanistan had become more and more dangerous for their family, especially since the TalibanâÈçs most recent visit to their house.
âÈêWhere are they?âÈë grumbled Noor, interrupting FadiâÈçs thoughts. She tapped her foot and pulled back her burka, revealing flashing brown eyes under arched eyebrows.
âÈêThey should be here any minute,âÈë Habib said in a soothing voice.
Fadi pulled Mariam under the tattered awning as she tried to inch toward a skinny dog nosing through a pile of garbage. She hadnâÈçt spoken a word during the white-knuckled six-hour ride from their home in the capital city of Kabul. Now she clutched Gulmina at her side and looked up at Fadi, a frown marring her usually cheerful round face.
âÈêItâÈçll be great, youâÈçll see,âÈë he whispered. âÈêThereâÈçs lots of chocolate where weâÈçre going. And Barbies,âÈë he added with a grin.
She nodded, fingering the bright pink burka that enveloped Gulmina. Noor had sewn it for her just the week before, during a fit of boredom. The Taliban had banned all toys that depicted human figures, since they were considered sacrilegious, so Gulmina was hidden away in the folds of the bright cloth. âÈêIf you say so,âÈë murmured Mariam.
âÈêI do say so,âÈë said Fadi, ruffling her hair. He sensed that Mariam knew they were never going back to their sprawling villa on Shogund Street, with its airy rooms and plum trees in the backyard. Well, only one plum tree. Since the war, the trees had been cut down for firewood. And after years of neglect and lack of money for repairs, the house was falling apart.
âÈêRemember,âÈë whispered Habib, pinning an especially stern gaze on Mariam, âÈêunder no circumstance are you to tell anyone your real name. If anyone asks, tell them we are farmers escaping the fighting in our village.âÈë
Mariam nodded with a gulp. SheâÈçd been warned repeatedly not to reveal who they were or they could be arrested and taken back to Kabul.
âÈêAnd, Fadi, pay attention. We wonâÈçt have a lot of time once the truck shows up.âÈë
Fadi nodded, straightening his back.
Habib glanced down at his wrist, but it was bare. HeâÈçd given his watch to their faithful servant, Shamim, that morning as theyâÈçd left the house. âÈêWhat time is it, Noor?âÈë he asked, pulling thoughtfully on his white-streaked beard.
âÈêSeven minutes past midnight,âÈë replied Noor, glancing down at her glow-in-the-dark Mickey Mouse watch with the frayed strap.
A braying donkey rounded the corner, its owner in tow, causing the family to shrink against the building, trying to disappear into the shadows. Fadi peeked around the cement wall to watch the one-legged man pet the long-eared animal. Fadi closed his left eye and imagined the scene through his cameraâÈçs viewfinder. There was something sad yet endearing about the image. Many men, women, and children had lost limbs to land mines across the country. Fadi blinked, his eyes watery. For all the problems in Afghanistan, this was still home. Dread crept into his heart. Would this be the last time he ever saw it?
âÈêOh, Rosebud, my lovely four-legged friend,âÈë coaxed the man. âÈêLetâÈçs go home so you can have potato peels for dinner.âÈë
Rosebud tried to bite her owner, causing Mariam to smother a giggle.
Fadi smiled and shrugged off his morose thoughts. His mind wandered back to Claudia and her great escape. We need to be successful in ours. He didnâÈçt want to imagine what the Taliban would do to his father if they were caught.
Âû 2010 Naheed Hasnat
