Saving Kabul Corner

by N. H. Senzai

  “This is unbelievable,” said Uncle Habib.

  “There’s more, sir,” said Wali. He pointed to the blueprints. “This is Ronald’s design for a new shopping and apartment complex. Part of it is built over Wong Plaza.”

  Ariana pointed to the building behind Wong Plaza. “This is the auto parts warehouse that now has a ‘Sold’ sign on it.”

  “You should find out who bought it,” piped in Fadi, standing at the door, intrigued.

  “Hold on,” said Uncle Habib, grabbing the phone. He put his finger to his lips for them to keep quiet, flipped on the speakerphone, and dialed. “Hello,” he said when someone picked up.

  “Kabul Corner. How can I help you?” came Uncle Shams’s booming voice.

  “Salaam, Shams. It’s me, Habib.”

  “Walaikum a’salaam, Professor Habib. How can I help you?”

  “Shams, I need a favor. Can you look out the window? Do you see the ‘Sold’ sign on the warehouse behind the plaza?”

  “Uh, yes, I do. Why?”

  “Never mind that now. Can you give me the phone number for the Realtor listed on the sign?”

  “Yes. It says ‘Samuelson Realty,’ and the number is 510-555-0922.”

  “Thanks so much. Insha’Allah, we’ll have your family over for dinner soon.”

  “That would be lovely. No one makes a chicken kebob quite like you do.”

  With that they hung up. “Okay,” said Uncle Habib, cracking his knuckles. “Keep your fingers crossed.” He dialed the number for the Realtor, with the phone still on speaker.

  “Hello. This is Samuelson Realty,” replied a ­woman’s voice.

  “Hello. I’m interested in the auto parts warehouse off Thornton Avenue that you have listed.”

  “Let me look that up, sir,” said the woman. A moment later she responded, “I’m sorry, but that property has been sold.”

  “Well, actually, I own the adjoining parcel of land and want to talk to the new owner to discuss some maintenance issues on the boundary fence,” said Uncle Habib, winking at the kids for his white lie.

  Aha, thought Ariana, feeling self-righteous. Grown-ups bend the truth sometimes too, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.

  “Oh,” said the woman. “Let me check my files.” The group huddled around the phone, every second seeming like a year, until the woman came back on. “The new owners are listed as New Vistas Development Corporation.”

  “Thank you so much for your help,” said Habib, and hung up.

  “It’s him,” whispered Ariana, a mixture of relief, fear, and excitement coursing through her.

  “That’s Ronald’s company,” Wali said with a whoop, not able to hold in his excitement.

  “What do we do now?” asked Ariana after everyone finished high-fiving.

  “You leave that to me,” said Uncle Habib, a shrewd look on his face.

  ARIANA’S STOMACH GRUMBLED as she inhaled the aroma of chicken kebob wafting through the kitchen. She’d been so nervous that she hadn’t eaten a bite all day, and now as she eyed the dishes that Mariam’s mom had prepared—the eggplant and yogurt dip, mantu dumplings, chicken pulao, lamb and potato stew, salad, and homemade bread—she felt ravenous and nauseous at the same time. Praying that what they were about to do would work, she finished putting the forks on the serving tray while Mariam and Laila arranged cut melon in a crystal bowl. Ariana and Laila had come early to help Uncle Habib put his plan into action. The Ghilzais and Shinwaris were having dinner together, but neither family knew the other one was coming.

  “Don’t worry, Ari,” whispered Fadi as he carried lemons in from the backyard to make lemonade. “It’ll go okay.”

  Ariana nodded, not able to put words into a logical sentence. She focused on remembering Uncle Habib’s instructions. The key to his plan lay in timing. He’d invited the Shinwari brothers over for six-thirty p.m. At seven p.m. Gulbadin would arrive with his family. Wali had made sure Tofan Baba knew the plan as well.

  Ariana glanced at the clock. It was almost time. Come on, Hava Bibi. We’re counting on you, she thought. The night before she had shared the plan with her grandmother and Laila after revealing the truth to Uncle Habib. A mix of emotions had crossed Hava Bibi’s face when they’d told her about Ronald and what he’d done. After getting over her initial surprise, she was furious, then relieved that the feud was truly over, and that her boys and Gulbadin were not involved. Amazed and impressed that Ariana and Laila had uncovered the truth, she’d promised to help any way she could. As the clock struck 6:38, the doorbell rang, and Ariana stiffened. Fadi opened the door, and Hava Bibi herded the Shinwari clan into the Nurzais’ cozy town house. Fadi quickly pulled Zayd into a corner and started whispering. Ariana saw her older brother’s mouth fall open as he stared in her direction, while the women kissed each other on the cheeks and headed into the family room. The kids escaped upstairs to play, and under normal circumstances Ariana, Mariam, and Laila would have done the same, but tonight they had work to do. The trio stood by the front window, watching the street while Uncle Habib cornered the brothers.

  “I was just on BBC’s news site,” said Uncle Habib. “They’re reporting that Afghan security forces just averted a suicide attack on a military bus carrying army trainers and staff members to Kabul.”

  “Yes, I saw it on the television at the store,” said Uncle Shams with a weary sigh. “A man wearing an explosive vest tried to climb aboard the bus.”

  Fadi frantically waved his phone at his father. This was the alert they were waiting for, Wali’s text that the Ghilzais were five minutes away.

  “Uh, Shams, Jamil,” said Uncle Habib, steering the brothers toward his den. “I need your help with something. . . .”

  “I’d be happy to help you too, Uncle Habib,” said Zayd, his voice oddly high-pitched. He took his father’s arm and steered them along.

  Ariana breathed a sigh of relief. Zayd was helping to keep her father and uncle busy in the den so they wouldn’t see the Ghilzais arrive. Within minutes Uncle Habib was back at the front door, glancing at his watch just as the doorbell rang.

  Ariana and Laila ducked into the dining room, just as Uncle Habib’s wife and older daughter, Noor, came out to greet the new visitors.

  “Insha’Allah, this will go well,” whispered Laila.

  “I really, really hope so,” replied Ariana, squeezing her cousin’s icy fingers.

  “Salaam alaikum, Professor Tofan,” said Habib, which was followed by greetings from various members of the Ghilzai family.

  “We very much appreciate your invitation,” said Gulbadin.

  “It is our pleasure,” said Uncle Habib.

  Ariana and Laila watched the women retreat to the back of the house while the Ghilzai men disappeared into the living room. Like a tennis ball going back and forth, Uncle Habib popped back into the den.

  “This is it,” whispered Mariam dramatically.

  A minute later Uncle Habib led Jamil and Uncle Shams out of the den, followed by Hava Bibi, her features tense. As the grown-ups walked down the hall, Ariana and Laila tagged behind. All of a sudden the entourage halted at the arch leading into the living room.

  Uncle Shams puffed up like a rooster. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “What are they doing here?” shouted Gulbadin, who Ariana could see had jumped up from the sofa.

  “Now, Gulbadin,” said Tofan Baba, his voice soothing. “Calm down. . . .”

  “What is the meaning of this?” shouted Shams, waving his arms like a windmill.

  “This is outrageous!” said Gulbadin, turning red beneath his beard. “I will not be in the same room as the criminals who burned down my store!”

  “We did not set fire to your store,” said Jamil as Shams took a threatening step forward, until Hava Bibi grabbed his elbow and gave him a look that said, Behave yourself.

&n
bsp; “Just because there was no sign of forced entry doesn’t mean that you didn’t start the fire,” shouted Gulbadin.

  Ariana’s stomach did a somersault, and she felt sick. She made eye contact with Wali, who looked as queasy as she felt. This is not going well.

  Before things got more heated, Habib jumped between the families, holding up his hands. “Brothers,” he said, “please don’t be upset. I didn’t invite you here to cause distress. On the contrary, I want to help you.” He looked at Jamil and Gulbadin with pleading eyes. “As my guests you will be treated only with respect, but you must be hospitable to one another, as my home is now neutral territory.”

  Shams, Jamil, and Gulbadin eyed one another warily as Ariana grabbed Laila’s arm, holding her breath. Mariam had run to get the women, as Uncle Habib had instructed her to do.

  Laila leaned over to whisper into Ariana’s ear, “In Pukhtunwali, according to the code of melmastia, they need to put aside hostilities out of respect for their host.”

  Ariana nodded, waiting to see what the men would do.

  Jamil exhaled a pent-up breath and shrugged. “Okay, Habib. Because you are my good friend, I will do as you ask. But what is so important that you had to trick us?”

  “Yes, tell us,” said Gulbadin, his glower diminishing only slightly.

  Habib cracked a relieved smile just as a ­confused-looking Nasreen, Sara Khala, Zainab Khala and Wali’s mom arrived. “Sisters, please sit,” said Habib. “I apologize to have brought you together using deception, but I have critical news to share, news that affects both your families.”

  The room quieted, and all eyes focused on Uncle Habib. “Over the past few months both Kabul Corner and Pamir Market have suffered acts of vandalism, and somehow it has been assumed that the Shinwari and Ghilzai families have been perpetrating these acts against each other.” Uncle Shams glowered, and Gulbadin harrumphed as Uncle Habib continued. “But I have just seen evidence that these nefarious activities have been perpetrated by someone else entirely, a third party.”

  “What?” multiple voices cried in unison.

  “How can this be?” asked Jamil, rocking back in the recliner.

  “What are you talking about, Habib?” asked ­Gulbadin.

  “What do you mean, ‘a third party’?” boomed Uncle Shams.

  “Actually, it’s not my story to tell,” said Uncle Habib, turning toward the kids.

  Ariana, her folder of clues in a death grip, shared a nervous look with Wali, who had the blueprint clutched to his chest. As they stepped forward, Laila and Mariam joined them, the adults staring at them, dumbstruck.

  “Why are the kids standing there?” asked Uncle Shams, still looking confused.

  “Wali, what is the meaning of this?” asked his father.

  “Why has my poor son been dragged into this?” added Wali’s mother, causing Wali to wince in embarrassment.

  “I hope you didn’t get yourself into trouble, young lady,” said Nasreen, eyeing Ariana.

  Exasperated, Hava Bibi butted in. “Will everyone just be quiet and let the children speak?”

  Tofan Baba waved his cane in the air. “Yes, yes, let them talk.”

  As the room quieted, Ariana cleared her throat and started to speak. “Well, it all started when Pamir Market opened. . . .” When she reached the point when Haroon left, Gulbadin interrupted. “We did not steal the baker!”

  “We know,” said Ariana. “Wali told me that he showed up at your house.”

  “He just showed up?” exclaimed Uncle Shams.

  “Yes. I told you he came to us,” said Gulbadin with a grim smile.

  Tofan Baba waved his cane again, hushing them up.

  “Then the awful flyers appeared,” said Ariana.

  “Then someone broke into Kabul Corner,” said Wali.

  “And the more we thought about it, we knew that our families weren’t behind these terrible things,” said Ariana.

  “How could you know?” asked Jamil, leaning forward.

  “Well,” said Mariam, “I asked Wali to meet with us. We wanted to talk to him about our suspicions. We knew that neither you nor Uncle Shams had created the flyers in order to hurt Uncle Gulbadin. And Wali swore that Uncle Gulbadin hadn’t broken into Kabul Corner. So the more we talked about it, we realized someone else had to be behind all of it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us, bachay?” asked Gulbadin.

  “Dad, you had so many other things to worry about,” said Wali. “And even though we had our suspicions, we had no proof.”

  “Yes,” said Laila, her voice wavering a moment as Ariana gave her a reassuring glance. “To find proof we made a list of all the people who could benefit from the stores going out of business.”

  “Yes,” added Mariam. “We investigated all the other store owners, and even Mrs. Wong, but they were all dead ends.”

  “You investigated them?” interrupted Wali’s mother in a horrified voice.

  “Mom.” Wali sighed. “We promise, we didn’t do anything illegal. We just snooped around a little. We also analyzed all the clues Ariana’s been collecting.”

  “What kind of clues?” asked Gulbadin.

  Ariana spent the next few minutes talking about the horse meat flyer and its poor Farsi translation, which Mariam and Laila passed around. Their audience listened with rapt attention as Ariana showed them Ronald’s campaign flyer and told them how she’d noticed that both were printed on the same kind of paper, using identical smudgy ink.

  Then Wali dropped the bombshell. “We found out from the clerk at Leaf Designs that both flyers had been printed there, and the horse meat flyers had been ordered by Paige Jensen, Ronald’s assistant.”

  “Ronald Hammersmith?” said Uncle Shams in a choked voice. “But he’s running for mayor!”

  “But why would someone like him do something like this?” blurted out Sara Khala, her round cheeks flushed.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t just a coincidence?” pondered Wali’s mother.

  “No, my dear,” said Gulbadin, looking at the flyers over Jamil’s shoulder. “That’s no coincidence.”

  Jamil looked at Gulbadin and nodded in agreement. “Definitely not a coincidence,” he said. “But it’s not direct proof either,” he added.

  “That’s where Mrs. Wong came in,” said Ariana with a triumphant smile.

  “Yes,” said Wali. “When Ariana and I visited Mrs. Wong, we learned a critical piece of information. She told us that Ronald had been after her to sell Wong Plaza to him.”

  “Oh my goodness,” said Sara Khala, twisting her magenta scarf in her hands.

  “Did you know this?” Jamil asked, sharing an incredulous look with Gulbadin and Shams.

  “No, I had no idea,” said Gulbadin.

  “Now we had a direct link to Ronald and his interest in the plaza,” said Laila. “He wanted to buy it, but Mrs. Wong wouldn’t sell.”

  “We suspect that Ronald started investigating Mrs. Wong and found out she was strapped financially, and dependent on the rent coming in from the plaza. If any of the stores suffered, or closed down, she might be pushed to sell,” Wali explained.

  A stillness came over the room as the adults tried to take everything in.

  “This all sounds very convincing, jaan,” said Jamil. “But there’s no direct link that Ronald did any of this.”

  “Wait, Jamil,” said Uncle Habib, a twinkle in his eye. “Let the kids continue.”

  “Well, that’s when Mariam had a brilliant idea,” said Ariana.

  Mariam explained the plan to collect the evidence they needed, based on the show Take That.

  “You confronted Ronald Hammersmith?” said Uncle Shams, incredulous.

  “What a terrible, dangerous idea!” exclaimed ­Nasreen, and Wali’s mother nodded wholeheartedly.

  “You children could ha
ve been arrested,” cried Gulbadin.

  “We actually didn’t end up meeting him,” said Wali, “but we got this.” He spread out the blueprint on the carpet, and the grown-ups huddled around to look.

  “That’s Wong Plaza,” murmured Jamil.

  “Yes,” said Uncle Habib, “and the plot of land behind it is that auto parts warehouse that was just sold.”

  “Hey, you called me for the Realtor’s number,” remembered Uncle Shams, turning to Habib.

  “Yes, and I called them. Guess who the new owner is,” said Uncle Habib.

  “Ronald Hammersmith,” said Uncle Shams in a small voice.

  “Yes,” said Uncle Habib. “All the clues the children dug up point to Ronald.”

  “I just can’t believe this . . . ,” said Nasreen, looking dazed.

  “I also think I know why there was no sign of forced entry at either store,” said Ariana, holding up Officer Nguyen’s report. “We know that the Ghilzais didn’t break into Kabul Corner, and the Shinwaris didn’t set a fire in Pamir Market.” She told them about ­Lucinda’s corkboard of labeled keys, and how Kabul Corner’s and Pamir Market’s keys had been switched.

  “Mrs. Wong mentioned that Ronald had come to her house to convince her to sell him Wong Plaza,” said Wali. “He could have taken the keys and made a copy of them.”

  “It’s my fault!” Uncle Shams groaned, holding his head in his hands.

  “What are you talking about, Shams?” asked his wife.

  “No, you don’t understand,” wailed Uncle Shams, popping up from his seat. “I went to that crook, ­Ronald, and told him that Pamir Market was opening and that we were very upset. It’s as if I gave Ronald the idea to do these terrible things.”

  “Don’t say that,” said Gulbadin, who rose to awkwardly pat Shams on the shoulder. “None of us could have foreseen that Ronald was behind this. Who could have predicted that Ronald would find out about our old family feud and use it to try to destroy us?”

  “I’m afraid I’m responsible for that,” said Tofan Baba, clearing his throat in embarrassment. “My old friend opened his big mouth at Kandahar Kebob House a few months ago and shared the story of that darn goat starting the old feud. Obviously the gossip reached Ronald.”