Fear of Beauty

by Susan Froetschel

  As I turned to offer Saddiq more bread—the door to our home burst open. Jahangir stood in the doorway, followed by two of his men. He didn’t remove his shoes, and he stared hard at me. Where is it?

  The boys paused in the dipping of their bread and Parsaa stood. When he spoke, his voice was flat. What brings you to this home?

  Where is it? Jahangir screamed and came closer, staring down only at me.

  Parsaa did not answer and slowly pointed to the door. The younger boys looked terrified. Saddiq’s hands were on the floor, ready to leap to his feet and follow his father’s orders. You are not to address my wife. We can discuss this matter later, after this meal is finished.

  Jahangir bent down and swept the nearest bowl of stew against the wall. The bowl broke into pieces. The thick broth oozed down, as if our wall had a wound. Our youngest started crying. There’s no waiting. She has a paper, and I want it now.

  I kept my head down, horrified that Leila had mentioned the document to him and glanced at Saddiq. But he didn’t take his eyes off Jahangir, waiting for a signal from his father.

  The document was still tucked in my perahaan, within easy reach. Without thinking, my hand went for it. To defuse the tension, to see Jahangir’s reaction, I flattened the paper and placed it near Parsaa’s feet. Surprise crossed my husband’s face, whether because I had the paper or because of what it meant, I wasn’t sure. He didn’t reach for it.

  It’s something I found, I said defensively.

  Taking advantage of Parsaa’s surprise, Jahangir pounced and snatched the paper, staring at it for a long time. I was sure he had no idea what the words on the paper said—and I almost smiled. As the intruder glared at my entire family, I could sense that Parsaa’s fury was directed at me for giving Jahangir a reason to enter our home. Of course, I should have waited to show Parsaa the document.

  Both men stared hard at me. Are there more? Jahangir pressed.

  This conversation can wait. Parsaa’s voice was cold.

  This has nothing to do with you, Jahangir retorted. These documents come from those who work with the Americans. How well do you know your wife?

  We’ll talk later, Parsaa replied stiffly.

  Yes, we’ll talk later. Jahangir tucked the document away into a pocket. Before then, figure out how to keep her under control—not meddling with matters that none of you understand.

  He glanced my way. If you find more papers, bring them to me. Otherwise, I’ll search this house until not one wall is left standing.

  He stormed away, leaving the door open. The doors and walls of our home no longer secured us, and I shuddered to think of Leila married to this monster, trying to bend all of us to his will.

  I found it today, I murmured nervously. Leila . . .

  Waving his arm, my husband cut me off. I will take care of him. And we will talk about this later. He sharply told Saddiq to finish eating. The two drained their bowls and left our home in silence.

  My arms shook as I pressed my own bowl tightly, no longer hungry. Leila must have run straight to Jahangir. Complaining about a villager to an outsider—it meant that she couldn’t be trusted by any of us. I should not have been so stunned. A woman’s alliance with her husband should be stronger than other relationships or friendships, even if she stayed in her village home. Women had little choice but to depend on their husbands for survival.

  Frightened, I could do little to cheer up my sons who worried about parents who couldn’t secure their home. It was wrong of Jahangir to bring terror into our home, and I wondered what could make our lives normal again. Was normality simply the lack of problems—daily routines, conversations, meals, and work? Was it wise to avoid any contacts with strangers? I pretended to smile and chat, trying to distract the children. But they sensed my fear.

  Your father will handle this, I promised the boys. But would he?

  A beautiful meal, a pleasant night with my family, was lost forever. Our religion calls on us to submit, but we must be wary about identifying the authorities to whom we must submit. Every man claims to know the word of Allah. Rather than encourage others to find their own meaning, too many men twist the message, simply trying to impose their will on us for their own devious ends. In the end, we must remain the authority over our own decisions. Blindly following another’s authority, without assessing the worthiness or purpose, is cowardice that leads to self-destruction.

  Chapter 25

  Before the firefight and her long absence, Joey had been amazed at how Mita, the tiniest person on base, could charge a room. Optimism and a command of details motivated team members to work on her projects. But enthusiasm had waned since she returned to the outpost. Mita was quiet, distracted. Doubts overshadowed any conversations about projects.

  Joey saw her sitting alone in the dining area, eating mechanically. “What’s bothering you?” he asked gently.

  “Can’t talk here,” she said with a small shake of the head and a wan smile. “Not now. Meet me in the garden when you’re done?”

  She hurried away, shoving her cardboard bowl and utensils into the bin for composting material, not stopping to chat with others. Joey collected lunch and carried it with him, leaving the tray behind. He glanced at the others in the room. The mood was hard and impatient. Initial attitudes of setting out on an adventure and accomplishment had long vanished.

  Joey headed into the cool, dry air outside and the garden where Mita and others grew tomatoes, squash, and other vegetables that went into outpost meals. Rain had not fallen since they arrived. To grow the few vegetables, staff took turns lugging river water to the garden.

  He looked around, wondering if she had changed her mind about the meeting. Then he spotted her under a small overhang that protected a compost pile from the sun’s glare.

  Wielding a shovel, she stabbed deep into the pile. The pile didn’t have enough soil and wasn’t ready to turn. Her wrists had to ache.

  “Not my specialty, but it’s not the best time to turn that pile over,” Joey teased. Then, he noticed the tears in her eyes and reached out, covering her hand holding the shovel. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he pressed.

  “How do these villages survive out here?” Mita paused, waving her arm toward the hills. “Could we make it without all the air-drops of food and equipment? Yet they arrange plots in these hills, taking advantage of every microclimate. How dare we try to tell them how to raise crops?”

  He crossed his arms. “You’re right, but something else is bothering you.”

  She heaved a sigh and looked down. “You didn’t hear? I might be pulled off duty here. A legal team is coming this week to question me and anybody involved with my ‘unauthorized absence,’ as they call it.”

  Joey hadn’t received notification and wondered what was waiting in his e-mail. “When did you find out?”

  “A friend called this morning.” She sniffed. “My team members don’t know yet, but I needed to talk to someone.”

  He stepped into the compost pile, under the shelter and away from any prying eyes, and held her close, smoothing the tangle of short curls from her sweaty brow. “Someone here complained to a newspaper reporter, about my going AWOL and getting off light for being a retired general’s daughter. It’s quite the story—we weren’t getting projects up and running so I must have set up the abduction as a ruse, a way to get attention.” Her laugh was short. “Going AWOL in Afghanistan? You know that’s not what happened, Joey.”

  “Cameron, damn him.” Joey swore, upset about another disruption from a man who worried about anything except the mission at hand.

  “What will they ask me?” Mita asked. “How much trouble am I in?”

  “They’ll ask why you left the outpost without permission, how you survived that long without help from Afghans, and why you didn’t issue a thorough report on your return. We can handle it.” She wasn’t in trouble alone, but he didn’t mention that. He took a deep breath. “Look, you told me everything, the woman, the cave, as soon as you returned. I ord
ered you not to talk about the details with others. I did not want to endanger one, maybe two informants.”

  His assurances did little to relax her. “Sofi.” Mita revealed the woman’s name for the first time. “We can’t put her in danger.”

  “Are you sure about her name?” Joey was pointed.

  “You don’t think they’ll try to question people in Laashekoh?” She thought a moment. “We can’t mention that name to anyone. Promise me!”

  He nodded and, keeping his hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes. “Is there anything about your time away that I don’t know about and should?” Joey asked. “Anything? Tell me now.”

  “Joey, I probably stayed longer than necessary,” Mita admitted. “I could have left on my own, but I didn’t know the way back and was afraid of walking alone. Maybe I could have tried to signal for help from a plane. But I learned more from her about that village and Afghans in those two weeks than any of our visits. Look, she didn’t hold me against my will. And she kept warning me about a possible attack on the outpost—that the villages were troubled by my kidnapping and factions were blaming one another. And that’s why neither of us tried to signal the searchers.” She paused. “And she was desperate to learn how to read.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he thought as he hugged her tight. “Once you returned, we determined that there was no kidnapping. No one stepped forward to claim responsibility. You didn’t divulge security information?”

  “Never.”

  “You made no promises to her?”

  “None,” Mita replied.

  “The woman’s not a danger to us—she’s an informant who helped the mission. We just need to find a way to prove that without releasing her name.” He clapped his hand against a nearby post. “Damn, it would help to get our hands on that birth certificate.”

  “How would that help?”

  “You gathered information while you were away. Made an important contact.” He shook his head. “And Cameron, what the hell has he done to help?”

  “He’s upset that we’re not using his ideas. He can’t stand giving these villages time to find their own way.”

  “He’s a divider, that one. Any investigation of you is a waste of time. We never sought any publicity over your disappearance. Keeping a lid on abductions is SOP. Only families are notified.”

  “He’s going to tell them about us. . . .”

  Joey dismissed that concern. “Let them interrogate. You are the bravest woman I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I have a lot of work to do. We’re headed back to the village.”

  Joey and Mita walked into Laashekoh alone, determined to prove the village was not a security risk. A security detail waited outside the gate.

  The villagers were wary. Most men did not stop working; the others didn’t put down their weapons. Most of the women were inside, busy preparing for Leila’s wedding. Even the children held back from greeting the team.

  I waited in my doorway and stared. Mita did not look well, and I was worried. She was less confident, less in control than she had seemed back inside the cave. She looked more worried than me, a woman who had to live in a village stalked by Jahangir.

  I watched their approach, but dared not move about outside, not with Jahangir watching for any misstep. The man did not assume Gul’s duties, but he managed to cow an entire village. Still, he remained careful around a few men, including my husband.

  But Parsaa was not around. He had left early, and all we knew was that he had promised to return before the wedding meal.

  Ahmed was torn about a welcome Jahangir would criticize. But rudeness to visitors before Leila’s wedding could be a bad omen for the couple and the village. And none of us wanted the foreigners to see Jahangir bully the village. The young man stepped forward. We’re busy today, preparing for a celebration, and have no time to talk.

  The man named Joey stood back and was polite, but looked surprised. We are here for several reasons. It won’t take much time. He stumbled over his words, avoiding looking at the blank faces directed his way. He kept his eyes on Ahmed. First, we’re very sorry to learn about the death of Gul. We appreciated his vision.

  Gul told you that we would come to you if we needed help, Ahmed said tersely. We have not been to your camp to ask for help.

  Mita spoke quickly to Joey and he translated. My colleague wanted to come in person and thank the village for its understanding and efforts during the search.

  Tashakor, Mita added.

  Ahmed’s face softened, though he did not invite the pair to sit.

  Is it possible we could purchase more fruit?

  Jahangir stepped from the threshold of Mari’s home—and stared at Ahmed, waiting for his answer. That irritated Ahmed. You wait here, the young man quickly replied to Mita. We’ll send the children for the fruit and bring it to you. He slapped his hands, and two boys ran over. Enough to fill their packs, Ahmed ordered.

  Joey guided Mita toward a shady area and then he knelt on the ground and extracted pamphlets from his pack—offering them to Ahmed. We can leave these here, too—guides on predicting weather and planning harvests.

  We have no need for these. Ahmed sounded so nervous. As you have said, our products are as good as any grown around here.

  Then maybe you can pass them on to others. Joey awkwardly left some of the papers on the bench.

  Jahangir approached the group and looked at the pamphlets.

  Did you not hear? We have no need of these. He lifted his foot and knocked the pile to the ground. The only words we need are those from the Koran. We have no need for words of any other man. You do not trust in Allah?

  We are here. We want to buy food from you—we trust both. The village and Allah, Joey countered.

  You who must depend on a small village for your supplies? We are not fools and know you have other motives.

  Jahangir turned and spoke to the other men. They have plenty in storage and pretend they don’t know how to farm.

  Joey protested. We could get fruit shipped in, but if the village has extra to sell, we are willing buyers. It saves extra transport to the markets.

  Never satisfied, Jahangir raised his hand as if his patience were taxed. You do not need products from this village. You are here to spy on us.

  Suddenly he turned and studied the other men. And I suspect that you have help from this village.

  He stared at our men and they stared back. How does he know about Gul’s death? The Americans have not been here since that day.

  Mita looked surprised, too. Backing away, I pressed my back against the wall, trying to think. I had sent Mita on her way the day Gul died; she had not learned about the death from me. I don’t know, I was not involved, I repeated to myself like a prayer.

  No one responded, and he raised his voice. We understand your ways. It’s time for the intruders to move on.

  Joey turned to Ahmed. So, someone new is in charge of the village. Joey gave a curt nod before signaling to Mita that they should leave. I stepped out into the sunlight, grabbing a bucket as an excuse. She caught my eye, and I dipped my head twice in sad agreement. Catching myself, in case others were watching, I pressed my lips together to hide any hint of emotion.

  The American soldier’s comment, suggesting that the village had relinquished control to an outsider, startled the other villagers, and there was shame in hearing the words spoken aloud. It was as if the American had held up a big mirror that showed our fear. Most forgot Jahangir’s questions—and stared at Ahmed and the other men. Even Jahangir looked startled as the American man stalked toward the gate, with Mita trailing.

  I let out my breath slowly, doing all I could to hide how much I cared, how much I wanted to run after them.

  With the sun directly overhead, Mita and Joey trudged down the mountainside, with the security detail taking up the rear. Mita didn’t talk until they paused near the rocks where Sofi was supposed to leave the message. It was no surprise that nothing was there.
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br />   “You’re upset with me,” Joey spoke up.

  Her lips were tight. “That didn’t go well.”

  “That guy is trouble.” Joey had no other explanation.

  Mita turned to him, exasperated. “But storming off didn’t help, not after a comment that may have humiliated the entire village in front of him. These villages have enough pressure, and all we did was add to it today. Besides, he jumped on the fact that we had word of Gul’s death. He’ll be looking for who told us.”

  “It’s good for him to worry.”

  “I worry about the people who informed us,” Mita scolded.

  “Did you see the woman?”

  Mita nodded. “She smiled once, but otherwise she looks terrified and beaten down. Something is going on that she can’t even leave a note.”

  “She didn’t get caught or she wouldn’t be standing there,” Joey replied. “Someone should look into Gul’s sudden death. It’s not a coincidence.” Mita didn’t look convinced. “Look, I’m trying to goad Ahmed and the others into taking some control. They need to act like leaders.”

  She closed her eyes. The comment could have just as easily been directed at her. “Village leaders are not always apparent.”

  “They’re letting a bully get out of hand—and that’s not good during a transition.” She slowed her gait and he waited. “I want to fix this now, Mita,” he implored. “What can I do?”

  “I hate to walk away, insulting them,” she said. “That’s all we accomplished today. . . .”

  He balked at the idea of heading back to the village to make amends with Jahangir.

  “Not him, but the others,” Mita pressed. “We can’t abandon people who support us and depend on us. And it’s easier not to insult people in the first place.” She leaned against him and smiled. “We have to show the few villagers who do trust us that we’re different from Jahangir and the Taliban. We have to work with the Camerons and not walk away.”