The Greatest Game

by J A Heaton

  The warlords gave a cheer, but Daniel’s head spun.

  Who was this guest? Daniel wanted to know.

  The nuke didn’t seem to be with Qaqramon at the time. But who could afford to buy an atomic bomb and didn’t mind assisting the Taliban? Daniel soon had his answer.

  “There’s a reason we kill the Shias, as we did those Iranians years ago,” one warlord objected. “They are the worst of the infidels. They should know better.”

  Daniel remembered the incident from 1998 when the Taliban took Iranian diplomats hostage in Mazar-i-Sharif. They eventually executed them.

  “I suggest an approach that guarantees our victory,” Qaqramon answered. “Once we have the money and weapons from this sale and defeat the West, then we can settle our score with the Shias. But we must focus. The Iranians would only use the atomic bomb against the Americans, Europeans, or Israel.”

  There was silence as the warlords pondered this new alliance.

  Qaqramon broke the silence and yelled: “Who will join me in destroying the West?”

  Instead of more objections, the warlords gave their cheers of support. As the warlords rejoiced over their future victory, Daniel lay stunned in hiding.

  Iran is here? Daniel wondered to himself. It now seemed so obvious to Daniel. Qaqramon didn’t have the means or knowledge to use the nuke himself, either in his own country or in the West. But Iran would gladly pay and supply the warlords in exchange for the nuke. Iran did have the means to put the nuke to use.

  Daniel was relieved that he wasn’t going to be bombed along with the Taliban, but he now knew the nuke was more dangerous than he previously feared.

  14

  Leave, leave. Everybody leave, Daniel thought to himself after Qaqramon departed. As Daniel listened patiently, the battery on the radio died.

  Most of the men followed Qaqramon’s lead, but several stayed back to sleep by the spring. Daniel’s hope of leaving his observation post for the helicopter extraction point before dawn was unmet, and he surrendered himself to a few hours of uneasy rest in the shallow stone pit. He feared his snoring would betray his location. That, and the rocks jabbing into his stiff body along with the cold made it nearly impossible for him to gain any rest.

  When the sun’s glow crested the mountain ridge, several Taliban men rose with it. Daniel could hear voices leaving in both directions up and down the ravine. He forced himself to lie quietly for another hour in silence. Perhaps some men had hung back. Perhaps some would return. Daniel had to be sure he was alone. As he waited, he smacked his dry lips and realized his water bottle was empty. Thirst struck him, along with a throbbing headache. Daniel decided that he would drink from the spring and fill his bottle before heading to the extraction point.

  After another hour, which felt like four, Daniel carefully stuffed his listening equipment into his bag. Daniel bit his dry tongue, pushed rocks out of his way, and backed out of his dugout, pulling his equipment with him. He held his empty water bottle in one hand and his bag in the other. His legs gave way after a long night of being frozen in the stony hole, and he tumbled down the ridge and landed hard on the rocks at the bottom. It was unpleasant, but Daniel was unharmed.

  He entered the path that led to the spring. Relief came as blood began recirculating to his long-unused limbs. Thirst propelled his exhausted body forward. What little plant life that held up during the winter had been trampled by the Taliban. General Jones was right. They spoiled everything that was beautiful, even this spring that was the location of a treasured memory for Daniel. But Daniel shoved that all aside in his mind and arrived at the edge of the small pool fed by the spring. He greedily lapped up the water. After several deep swallows and a few deep breaths, he opened his water bottle to fill it. Looking about, he saw that the spring was much as before, though now in winter the pool was slightly smaller.

  The crackle of a radio behind Daniel froze him and made his limbs go weak again. It wasn’t Daniel’s radio. It had died. Daniel turned to look towards the sound. He saw a large boulder he had once hidden behind, about four years ago.

  Somebody is behind the boulder, Daniel realized.

  “Aziz, my brother, where are you?” a voice came over the radio.

  Daniel reached for his bag and considered fleeing down the pathway, but he knew he wouldn’t make it. He forced himself to turn and face Aziz.

  Unarmed, Daniel rushed towards the boulder where Aziz was just standing up, about to answer over the radio.

  The only advantage Daniel had was that of surprise.

  Aziz dropped his radio and reached for his AK-47 rifle on the ground. Daniel kicked the gun away, but the kick put Daniel in a precarious position. Aziz struck at Daniel’s knee and forced him to the ground. Aziz fell upon Daniel and grasped at him, struggling to grapple. There was no way Daniel could out wrestle this man. Aziz, like every young man in Central Asia, had been practicing wrestling from the day he was born.

  Daniel reached out desperately and grabbed a rock.

  He took a blind swing.

  The first strike hit Aziz on the top of his head. The second strike found his temple. Daniel struggled to his feet while striking at his head with the rock.

  Aziz pulled a knife and frantically swung the blade. His own blood blinded him.

  Daniel stepped back towards the spring. Aziz released a roar of anger and rushed at Daniel and slashed with the knife while wiping the blood away from his eyes with his other arm.

  But Aziz was blind with rage, and when he lunged, Daniel sidestepped him and brought one more blow down onto Aziz’s head.

  Aziz fell headfirst into the edge of the pool. Daniel spun and swung the rock down onto Aziz’s head again and knelt on his back. Daniel released the stone and pressed Aziz’s face under the water. Aziz soon stopped struggling. Daniel held him under until his limp hand released the knife into the mud.

  Daniel fell back and breathed heavily.

  The radio crackled again with Qaqramon’s voice. “Aziz? Where are you?”

  Daniel went to the radio, turned it off, and then placed it in his bag.

  Daniel returned to Aziz and picked up the knife. The blade was not razor sharp, but it had a bone handle. Daniel wondered who had crafted this knife for him. If it was a family gift, Daniel decided Qaqramon would not have the pleasure of recovering it. He placed the knife in his bag beside the radio and thought, Aziz had the better technology in that fight, but I won.

  After gathering Aziz’s sleeping mat, blanket, and other belongings, Daniel fastened them to Aziz’s corpse. For good measure, he placed stones in the folds of Aziz’s clothes. Daniel dragged Aziz into the cold pool where he would rest at the bottom. It wasn’t more than a couple of feet deep, but it was the best way to conceal the body. Finally, Daniel dropped the AK-47 into the pool.

  After washing the blood from his hands, Daniel backed away from the spring and towards the valley. The spring disgusted him. The Taliban had soiled what had been a beautiful oasis. But now, it was an unholy site Daniel never wanted to return to.

  Daniel turned to head up the valley towards his extraction point. But soon, in the morning sun, he spotted two men approaching on the ridge. Turning, he saw more coming from the opposite direction.

  Realizing that a detour was necessary, Daniel went back to the spring and scrambled up the boulders. He had no choice but to pursue a path that, he hoped, was known only to him and Oybek. One last glance at his watch revealed he had enough time before the helicopter would arrive.

  Daniel finally allowed himself to recall his memory with Nigora at the spring as he hiked along the path to the village that had hosted him about six years prior. A river flowed mostly north and south into Mazar-i-Sharif, but Daniel’s host village was not along that river. Instead, it was further up into the mountains, east of the river, and they depended on rainfall and springs. The mountains were not snow-tipped, and so the village could not rely on runoff water from melted snow.

  Although Daniel had often gone hiking wit
h Oybek in the mountains and valleys around the village, Oybek had been sick that day. He planned on nursing himself back to health with black tea. Desperately needing a break from his linguistic research, Daniel had decided to go hiking on his own. Oybek described a secret path that would take him to the spring and the pool it had formed. Oybek had taken Daniel near the spring before by another route. Nigora sat nearby and listened as Oybek spoke, ready to care for her sick brother.

  “Do you throw coins into the pool and make a wish?” Daniel asked Oybek jokingly. This question received a funny look from Oybek.

  “You throw your money away for wishes?” Oybek asked incredulously.

  “It’s a tradition to throw a coin into a fountain and make a wish,” Daniel explained. “Nobody really thinks it works.”

  “This is like a small pool, hidden among the mountains,” Oybek explained. “Would you throw money into that? Let me know, and I’ll look for it later.”

  “No,” Daniel replied. “But I might this one time today.”

  “What will you wish for?” Oybek asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Daniel said with a glance to Nigora, who was pretending not to listen.

  “Here. Take this with you,” Oybek said after pulling his pistol out from under his pillow. “Hopefully, you won’t need it, but…”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said as he accepted the pistol.

  Daniel left on his own after breakfast, carrying enough food and water for a whole day of hiking. The hike was enjoyable at first. But that didn’t last long.

  Although Oybek’s directions had seemed to make sense, Daniel gradually became less convinced of his path. After less than an hour, Daniel knew, generally, where he was. He recognized which mountains were on which side of him, and he knew which direction he was going because of the sun, but he had wandered into unknown territory.

  He hoped to God that he haddn’t come across an old Soviet minefield that would take off his leg. But Oybek would have warned him if there were minefields in the area. With plenty of water, Daniel pressed on, confident he would either find the hidden spring, or he would be able to find his way back.

  Soon, the hot sun beat down on Daniel, and he took note to drink less water to make it last.

  Minutes later, Daniel was looking for the shade of a boulder in which he could take refuge and reassess his situation. He spotted one such jagged boulder partway up a ridge ahead, and he realized it was one of the landmarks Oybek had told him about. He was almost certain he was about to find the spring.

  Daniel made the turn among the boulders on the ridge, and he recognized that he would arrive from a direction he had not expected. After another turn, he looked down into the oasis. He imagined submerging himself in the refreshing water and swallowing mouthfuls as his body cooled off.

  He gingerly climbed down into the clearing surrounding the crystal pool, but then he heard a voice.

  Surprised, Daniel instinctively hid behind a large boulder.

  Somebody else was coming to the spring from the other direction.

  Daniel peeked over the stone, and he relaxed when he saw Nigora approaching the pool. She hadn’t seen him. She was dressed in a simple white dress that reached to her feet, with long sleeves. Her black hair fell straight to her waist.

  Initially, Daniel considered playing a joke on her. Then he realized how inappropriate it was for them to be alone together like this, though neither of them had planned it.

  But she was there when Oybek told me how to get here, Daniel thought. She knew I would be here.

  Daniel peeked around the boulder to see what Nigora was doing. He pulled his head back when he saw her white clothes folded neatly on a rock by the edge of the pool.

  She’s bathing.

  Daniel forced himself to be still, with his back against the concealing boulder. He heard the water splashing as Nigora washed herself. Daniel did not want to know what Nigora’s father or brother would do if they had known Daniel was here.

  After a few minutes, Daniel heard Nigora come out of the water. She sang as she dried in the sun. Daniel sat and waited, hoping she would leave soon.

  But she wanted to meet me here, Daniel thought again. His heart raced.

  Daniel waited.

  After several more minutes, Nigora dressed and left the spring.

  Daniel waited to be sure she was gone. His heart had not slowed down.

  He left the pool the way he had come, his knees weak from anticipation as he pressed on.

  Daniel pondered Nigora’s intent and couldn’t avoid the obvious conclusion. Nigora’s message to him had been clear. Daniel had wanted to accept, but he wanted to do so in a way that honored Bobo and Oybek. Daniel would speak with them when he returned. He had to talk with Bobo soon. If Daniel was correct about Nigora’s desires, he was uncertain how she felt about his inaction. Daniel hiked back to his host village, planning what he would say to Bobo. The thought of securing Bobo’s blessing carried him along quickly as he considered a life with Nigora afterward.

  Now, however, about four years later, as Daniel hiked towards his host village, he wondered if he would find Bobo alive.

  Daniel looked down from the rocky mountain ridge towards the village he had called home for a year and a half. Daniel had always thought it appeared quaint, but now it looked abandoned. There were no clucking chickens, and the water pump was dry. He had memories of children running about, men working the hard ground and caring for animals, and women cooking over fires and hauling water. It was a hard life for all in the village, but it had a sense of rhythm and beauty he had learned to appreciate. But now, as Daniel took one last deep breath before searching for Bobo, he prepared himself for the possibility that his host father had already died.

  Working his way down towards the simple buildings, Daniel froze when he accidentally sent rocks tumbling down the ridge. After waiting a few seconds and deciding that nobody was around to hear it, Daniel continued his descent.

  He checked each of the poorly constructed huts in turn, not a few of which had collapsed. As expected, they all seemed to have been empty for several months. He left his host family’s for last. If Nigora’s story was true, then it was Qaqramon who had ruined this village.

  Another good thing in this world ruined by Qaqramon and the Taliban, Daniel thought to himself.

  Daniel approached his host family’s home and went to the structure on the side that had once served as his own room. Daniel entered the barren structure. The roughly cut wood plank floors were uncovered, and the small window held a broken pane of glass. Nothing else covered the window. Daniel wondered how many hours he had spent studying and working in there. Initially, the family had built it for Oybek and his future wife, according to their custom. Oybek was supposed to start his family in that room after Daniel left. Instead, because of Daniel, Qaqramon came to the village and brought death and destruction.

  Daniel leaned against the wall, full of anguish and regret. He gazed into his old room for several more moments and then turned to enter Bobo’s house.

  Now, a man stood in the doorway. What Daniel saw confounded his expectations.

  “Danyor-jon,” the white-bearded man said, leaning against the doorframe. The man smiled broadly, revealing his toothless mouth. He had used the same term of endearment he had always used with Daniel. His eyes were closed.

  “Bobo! Grandfather!” Daniel said excitedly, still not believing what he saw. “You’re here, I thought…”

  “Come in and drink tea with me again,” Bobo said.

  Daniel ran up to him and embraced him.

  “What happened to your eyes?” Daniel asked. “How did you know it was me?”

  “I knew you would return,” the old man said. He turned into his home and went to sit on a floor mat, feeling his way. Daniel sat across from him and accepted the small cup of tea, which had long since become cold.

  Daniel had so much he wanted to say, but he found he couldn’t speak. Instead, a giant lump blocked his throat, and te
ars filled his eyes.

  After a few attempts, Daniel managed to say he was sorry.

  “Why do you apologize to me?” the old man asked.

  “It’s because of me that… that man, ruined your family, and—”

  “It is not your fault,” the old man cut in. “That man must give an answer to God for his own actions. He thinks his cause for his people and his land is just and God-given, but he is an evil chieftain, foreign or not. You can’t accept his guilt as your own.”

  “Nigora told me that he, Qaqramon, took her,” Daniel said, but he was unable to finish his sentence.

  “It is not you who should apologize to me,” the man said. “I should apologize to you.”

  “But why?” Daniel asked. “While you suffered, I was in Uzbekistan, and then America, and then—”

  “I have one regret, and that is that I did not give Nigora to you as your wife.”

  Daniel remembered when he had returned from the spring four years ago. His mind was made up, and he had boldly asked for Bobo’s blessing to marry Nigora. The old man had given an excuse. His older son had to marry first. Daniel had asked again, and Oybek himself had pleaded with his father to allow Nigora to marry Daniel. But he had remained resolute. “I would never see her again if she were to go to America.”

  Daniel had not been able to argue with that.

  Instead, Daniel had decided to wait to ask again later. But as he had waited, Nigora had seemed cold towards him. She must have felt rejected and ashamed from her bold advance at the spring, and she hadn’t known that Daniel had asked her father for permission to marry her. When Daniel had left the village to go to Tashkent, he hadn’t known at the time it would be permanent.

  Now the old man asked for something from Daniel. “If you see Nigora again, take her with you. Take her away from this place. That man has poisoned this land and made it bitter for me. I am angry with that man, and I don’t know if God will forgive me. I can’t see him, but I despise his voice every time I hear it. Someday, I will poison his tea. His green tea, the only tea the arrogant man will drink. I will not live to see another Ramadan, I’m convinced, but if only I knew Nigora was away from here.”