Saving Kabul Corner

by N. H. Senzai

  “Just a sec,” the voice replied.

  “Hello?” said Wali.

  “Wali, it’s Ari,” she said breathlessly.

  “Hold on,” he whispered. “I’ve got to find a quiet place to talk.” There was a rustling noise and the click of a door closing.

  “I’m so sorry about your store,” Ariana burst out. “A police officer just came to our house and told us about the fire.”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Ariana’s heart pounded at twice the speed. Does he think my father or Uncle Shams did it? “My father didn’t have anything to do with it,” she said, close to tears. “I swear—he was at home giving candy out to the trick-or-treaters. My uncle was at his house too.”

  “I believe you,” Wali finally whispered. “But my dad is beyond angry. All the money he put into the store is gone. He wants badal.”

  Ariana sank to the kitchen floor, clutching the phone to her ear. She glanced at Laila, who mouthed Ronald Hammersmith to her. Ariana nodded. “Hang in there, Wali. I’m going to call Ronald Hammersmith’s office and find out the name of his printer,” she said. “Maybe that will get us closer to whoever is behind all of this. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Okay,” said Wali. “I’ll be here.”

  Ariana ran into the garage, followed by Laila. Inside the file of clues lay Ronald’s campaign flyer with his website address. Within seconds Ronald’s smile filled the screen. He sat beside his wife and two sons, posing next to a vibrant rose garden blooming beside a sprawling mansion. The white stucco and red tile roof reminded Ariana of the house they would never own, and she felt a twinge of sadness. The other night she’d been tempted to ask her dad if he’d forfeited the deposit, but hadn’t had the guts to do it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a mystery to solve before it’s too late. On the right side of the screen was a button labeled Contact us. She clicked through and found the address for his campaign headquarters, which was located at his office building, along with his e-mail address and phone number.

  A breathless woman picked up the phone after a few rings. “Ronald Hammersmith for mayor, campaign headquarters. How can I help you?”

  “Hi,” said Ariana. “I’m a big supporter of Mr. Hammersmith and need some information about his campaign.”

  Laila gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Oh, is this the press?” asked the woman. “Ronald is happy to make time for an interview, though elections are four days away.”

  That’s right, thought Ariana. Elections were the first Tuesday in November.

  “No, no, I’m not from the press,” said Ariana hastily.

  There was a momentary silence at the other end. “Oh, then what can I help you with?” asked the woman, sounding less interested.

  “You see,” said Ariana, “I’m a student from ­Brookhaven Middle School in Fremont, and I’m the president of a club called the . . . er . . . the Green Recycling Society. Our teacher told us that Mr. Hammersmith is dedicated to green practices and that he uses recycled paper for his campaign flyers.”

  Ariana collapsed in a chair, slapping her head. I sound like a moron!

  Laila patted her on the shoulder. “You’re doing great,” she whispered.

  “Recycling society?” said the woman. “Look, honey, elections are coming up and things are very busy here.”

  “I know. I’m really sorry to bother you, It’s just that we wanted to know where you had your amazing ­flyers printed up.”

  “Is that it?” grumbled the woman.

  “Uh, yes,” said Ariana, her fingers crossed.

  There was a pause and a long sigh. “Hold on. Let me look that up for you.”

  Ariana jumped up and down and gave Laila the thumbs-up.

  • • •

  Leaf Designs was located in downtown Fremont, on the corner of Mowry Avenue and Paseo Padre Parkway. Ariana was winded after the twenty-minute bike ride there. Wali was waiting by his bike, helmet in hand.

  “Before we go in, I have something to tell you,” said Ariana, huffing from the long ride. “Something Officer Nguyen mentioned when he was at our house.”

  “Okay,” said Wali. He looked terrible. His usually smooth hair was in tangles, and he had circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept for days.

  “He said that both the doors at Pamir Market were locked when the fire department got there.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Wali. “The fire marshal explained that to my dad, and that’s why he doesn’t know whether to be mad at you guys or not. There’s no proof someone broke in and started the fire. Supposedly one of the ovens shorted, causing a spark.”

  “I know, but then Officer Nguyen used the same words he’d written in the break-in report for Kabul Corner. He said there was no sign of forced entry.”

  “But why is that so strange?” asked Wali, rubbing his eyes as if his head hurt. “Only my dad and Tofan Baba have keys to the store, and they locked up before they left. No one else could have gotten in without a key, or locked up after.”

  “Well, what if someone wanted to make it look like an accident?” pondered Ariana, pacing next to their bikes. “Whoever got into Kabul Corner didn’t have a key either—only my dad and Uncle Shams did. Maybe someone got into Pamir Market the same way, without using force, set the fire, and locked the doors behind them when they came out, covering their tracks.”

  “But who would go to so much trouble?” said Wali.

  “That’s what we need to find out,” said Ariana, her fist clenched.

  Wali paused a moment as he opened the door for her. “You know, we wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for you,” he murmured.

  “It’s just that I . . . well, I pay attention to details,” said Ariana, her cheeks reddening.

  “Yeah, well, we’re darn lucky that you do,” he said, allowing her to pass through.

  With the two flyers safely in a folder, she practically ran into the brightly lit store, which thankfully didn’t have too long a line at the counter.

  “Hi. My name is Melody. How can I help you today?” asked the petite clerk with long, frizzy brown hair. Her bright green shirt had a leaf stenciled on the pocket.

  Ariana pulled out Ronald’s campaign flyer and placed it on the counter. “Mr. Hammersmith’s staff mentioned that they had these printed here.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said with a white toothy smile. “We designed and printed these up for them. They spared no expense, only wanted the best. They have a lot of their printing done here. They say we’re the best in town.”

  “It’s really very nice,” said Wali, causing the girl to smile wider.

  Ariana pulled out the bright yellow horse meat flyer and placed it beside the other one. “Was this printed here too?”

  Melody frowned, picking up the flyer. “We didn’t design this,” she said, causing Ariana’s heart to plummet. “But yes, we did print them.”

  Wali and Ariana exchanged a triumphant look.

  “Who was it?” they asked in unison.

  “Huh?” asked Melody.

  “We mean, who placed the order?” asked Wali, his excitement coursing toward Ariana like an electric current.

  Melody frowned. “Well, it’s against our company policy to share customer information.”

  Disappointment left a bitter taste in Ariana’s mouth. We’ve come so close to finding out!

  “Look,” said Wali, giving her his most charming smile. “I realize you don’t want to break any rules or anything, but this is really important. Mr. Hammersmith wouldn’t have sent us to you if it weren’t.”

  Ariana blinked at the white lie, and caught on to what Wali was trying to do. Ronald hadn’t exactly sent them personally; his secretary had just given them their printer’s name. But the fib seemed to have gotten Melody’s attention, and she stared at the flyer, biting her
lower lip.

  “Ronald said you would totally help us out,” ­Ariana jumped in.

  “Oh,” said Melody, looking a little confused as ­Ariana apologized to God for yet another white lie.

  “Yup, that’s what he said,” emphasized Wali.

  “Okay. It’s a little odd he’d say that, but I guess I can tell you who it is, since you already kind of know,” said Melody.

  Ariana shared a confused look with Wali, who asked, “We already know?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Melody. “It was his assistant.”

  “Whose assistant?” asked Ariana, perplexed.

  Melody’s friendly smile faded as she stared at them with uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Oh, that assistant,” said Wali with a fake laugh. “There are so many of them.”

  Ariana looked at Wali like he’d lost his marbles.

  Melody shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Mr. Hammersmith has a lot of people who work for him. They’re always coming in and out of here, but I’m talking about Paige, the tall girl with the long blond hair.”

  Ariana stood tongue-tied, not quite believing what she’d heard, but Wali kept his cool. “So you’re sure it’s Paige, the one from his campaign staff?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Melody. “I remember her because she’s so nice and recommended her hair stylist to me.”

  Ariana and Wali stared at each other, stunned. Someone named Paige in Ronald’s office had printed up the horse meat flyers. They now knew who had printed up the flyers, but now they needed to find out why.

  WHEN ARIANA GOT HOME, the entire house was in chaos, crammed with people running around, sitting, standing, talking, shouting, and weeping. Her heart lodged in her throat, Ariana’s first thought was that something terrible had happened. As she held her backpack in a death grip, she noticed that even though Sara Khala had tears rolling down her plump cheeks, she was also laughing. Next to her, Hava Bibi gave a great whooping laugh and hugged Zainab Khala, who dabbed her eyes with a tissue, looking worn out.

  Laila bounded over to Ariana and gave her a huge hug. “They found him,” she cried, her tiny nose red.

  “What?” said Ariana, still not fully processing what was happening, but she was over her initial fright.

  “They found my father,” said Laila, dragging her over to the sofa.

  “Oh my gosh,” cried Ariana, her trip to Leaf Designs momentarily forgotten. “That’s amazing news!”

  “He was hiding in a farmer’s field,” explained Laila. “He’d dug a hole under a tree and lay there for ten days.”

  “How did he end up there?”

  “After he got separated from his unit, he left the village, since he was still in Taliban territory and wearing a uniform, so he couldn’t trust anyone. First he hid in the outlying forest, but there was no food or shelter, so he found a farm, managed to steal some bread, and hid under the tree. In the end the farmer’s son found him, and it turned out that the farmer was a kind man, and he helped him out.”

  “Is he okay?” asked Ariana, horrified at the conditions her uncle had endured.

  “He’s lost weight and has frostbite on his toes, but he’s alive.”

  “C’mon, girls. We have a lot of cooking to do,” said Nasreen, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “We’ve invited friends and family to come over, including Mariam. It’s a celebration!”

  Ariana’s heart sank as she remembered that she’d told Wali that they’d meet up later that afternoon, along with Laila and Mariam. But now that was impossible. She grabbed Laila’s hand and pulled her aside. “We found out who had the horse meat flyers printed up.”

  “Who?” Laila gasped.

  “It was someone from Ronald Hammersmith’s office—one of his assistants.”

  “WHAT?” cried Laila, her eyes widening in shock.

  Ariana gripped her arm. “Shhh. . . . I know—we couldn’t believe it either. Why would Ronald or his assistant want to ruin Pamir Market’s reputation?”

  “It makes no sense,” whispered Laila.

  “We need to make sense out of it,” said Ariana. “Wali wants us to meet later.”

  “We can’t leave right now,” said Laila, eyeing her mother and Sara Khala planning the menu.

  Ariana nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Silence greeted Ariana as she slipped into the garage. Perfect. She had privacy to call Wali and Mariam and coordinate when and where they were going to meet up. Stepping toward the desk, she spotted her calendar; a stretch of white boxes sat empty, abandoned like the house she’d never live in. Surprisingly, instead of hot, pulsating anger, she felt cold resolve. Yes, she was disappointed, hurt, and resentful, but honestly, there were bigger things in life to worry about than not having a room of her own. She ripped the calendar off the wall, crumpling Snoopy’s head with a satisfying crunch just as the garage door opened. Ariana whirled around and saw her father.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said, looking more relaxed than she’d seen him in weeks.

  “Salaam, Dad,” she said, taking a deep, calming breath.

  “Isn’t it wonderful news about Hamza?” he asked.

  “Amazing,” said Ariana. “It’s such a relief that he’s okay.”

  “I know. We got the call a few hours ago,” said Jamil. “We all needed that, a bit of good news for a change.”

  Ariana looked at her father, the shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion lining his face, and nodded.

  “What do you have there?” he asked, staring quizzically at her calendar.

  “Uh, it’s nothing,” said Ariana, hiding the calendar behind her back.

  Her father gave her a shrewd look. “Come here,” he said softly.

  As Ariana came close, he enveloped her in a huge bear hug. Warmed to the bones, Ariana inhaled his familiar scent—aftershave and a hint of cardamom from his habit of drinking green tea. “You’ve been a great help to me these past few weeks, Ariana jaan,” her father whispered into her hair.

  “Really?” said Ariana, thinking that he mainly thought that she got in the way all the time and was too nosy for her own good.

  “With all the challenges our family has faced, you have been there, helping both at home and at the store. You’ve been so kind and generous with your time, especially with Laila.”

  “Oh,” said Ariana, not realizing that he’d noticed. The calendar dropped from her fingers and she couldn’t help but finally ask. “Are we going to lose the house?”

  Jamil sighed and let her go. “Well, I’m not surprised, with all that’s been going on, that you found out about that.”

  “I overheard you and mom talking,” Ariana confessed. “And I know things haven’t been going well at the store.”

  Jamil nodded. “I came very close to forfeiting the deposit, but I didn’t.”

  Ariana’s heart leapt to her throat. “What?” she mumbled.

  “I was about to call and cancel the other day, but that morning we found out about the fire at Pamir Market and I forgot to do it,” he explained. “Then, that evening, Haroon called.”

  “Haroon called you?”

  “Yes.” Jamil sighed. “The damage at Pamir Market is extensive and he’s out of work. He wants his old job back.”

  “Did you hire him?”

  “Shams and I talked about it for a long time. We’ve decided to bring him back, based on a strict contract that he’s agreed to sign.”

  “Wow, we’ll have our bread back,” said Ariana, floored by the turn of events.

  “It’s a shame, though,” said Jamil with a grimace. “Our good fortune is coming at another’s expense.”

  Ariana nodded. With Pamir Market gone, they were back to being the only Afghan grocery store in town, with the best bread. All their old, and new, customers would come flooding back.

  “So I’ve decided we will move ahead
and get the house,” said Jamil. “If things keep improving, great. If not, I can always sell the house or rent it out.”

  “Okay, Dad,” said Ariana. Her feeling of happiness was tempered as she thought about Wali and his ­family. What would they do? Where would they go?

  “Enjoy the garage till your room is ready. I banned the boys from this room, since I consider this to be our special space,” he said, and grinned.

  As she stared into his warm hazel eyes, her thoughts shifted to everything they had learned in the past twenty-four hours, and pressure in her chest built to the point where she felt like bursting. She opened her mouth, desperate to share what she and Wali had learned about the Ronald and the fake feud. You still have no direct proof, a little voice inside her head reminded her. She pressed her lips together and gave her dad a kiss on the cheek instead.

  • • •

  It took another little lie to get Ariana and Laila dropped off at the entrance of Wong Plaza the following Saturday afternoon. Ariana told her mother that Jamil had called and asked that the girls be dropped off to help out at the store. With Pamir Market now closed, Kabul Corner was overflowing with customers, so it was a believable deception. The girls stood at the curb and waved good-bye as Nasreen drove off, turning left onto Magnolia Street. Instead of walking toward Kabul Corner, they headed in the opposite direction, toward the Daily Grind Café. On the way they passed Pamir Market, or what remained of it.

  “Oh, no,” whispered Laila, staring at the once sleek, brand-new grocery store.

  Ariana hadn’t been back to Wong Plaza since the night before Halloween, and she never could have imagined the horror laid out before her. Rage blossomed deep in her bones, sending sparks of fury through her as she stared at the burned and blackened shell of Pamir Market. The wind picked up flecks of ash, which floated toward them like the tiny snowflakes she’d seen while visiting the ski slopes in Lake Tahoe the winter before. Only the P in “Pamir” had survived the voracious flames. The rest of the sign was gone. Beyond the boarded up windows lay inky blackness.

  The roof had a hole where the fire had eaten through, then spread over the building, leaving a charred, broken skeleton of walls. The perimeter of the store was encircled by yellow police tape, warning people to stay away from the unstable structure. Traumatic memories of walking into Kabul Corner after the break-in came rushing back, flooding Ariana’s mind. It was ­impossible to think how devastating this had to be for Wali and his family—the utter destruction of their store, and ­livelihood. As she averted her gaze, thinking of how Ronald or his assistant could be involved in any of this, her eyes fell on the sold sign on the warehouse beyond the plaza.