Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again

by Rose Fox

  “What about them, those Mojahedin?” Karma heard, but because he was far away from them he was unable to hear the answer that so interested him.

  The inquisitive boy could not resist approaching them openly. He placed the tray on a nearby table and, with courage and audacity he did not know he could muster, he went and stood beside their table.

  “Tell me, please let me in on this,” He begged, looking at the two of them with wide open eyes.

  “I want to know more about the Mojahedin. Like, how can I reach them?”

  Dugar extended his arm and pushed Karma and at that same moment Hamis appeared with a tiny teapot and crystal glasses and Karma retreated. His bottom lip trembled and tears welled up in his eyes. Through his tears, he saw Dugar signaling something that wasn’t clear to him, but he heard Hamis’ answer very clearly.

  “Yes, you can trust him,”

  He almost hollered for joy because he knew they were referring to him.

  They invited him to join them and although nothing more was said on that occasion, Karma remembered the name of the organization. He didn’t give up and tried to learn more details.

  Late that night, after he finished washing the last glass and switched off the light, he stood at the door to Hamis’ room and peered inside. Hamis looked up at him with his little eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” he inquired angrily but his face expressed his love for the boy.

  “Where do the people who belong to the Mojahedin Organization live?” And he saw Hamis’ mouth drop open in alarm.

  “Come here, where did you hear their name?

  Karma approached him and Hamis slapped the back of his neck, pretending to be angry, but Karma threw back his shoulders and stared at Hamis with eyes wide open.

  “Okay, you’re too smart to be a ‘Noodle.' Listen,” he began as he pulled Karma by the hand and made him sit on the side of his bed.

  “They are far away, in the Nevada Desert in a secret training camp under the authority of the American Ministry of Energy.”

  “Why are they there?”

  “They’re there because the Americans are training them.”

  Karma’s lips drooped. He had no idea where that desert was nor was he familiar with America but the details he had just heard weakened his spirit and pinched at his heart. He realized he had no way of getting there and would never be able to join the Mojahedin.

  “What now?” Hamis inquired when he noticed Karma’s disappointment and heard him respond with a question:

  “Where is the Nevada desert?”

  Hamis screwed up his eyes, scratched his chest like a great big gorilla and yawned aloud.

  “In the United States of America,” he announced and knew full well that this would not be the end of the interrogation.

  “Yes, I heard, but where is that desert?”

  “It’s more than one hundred kilometers from Las Vegas.”

  Karma was silent. He was deep in thought and after a moment, asked:

  “Why there, of all places?”

  “Because the conditions in that desert are similar to those in the mountains of Northern Iran: do you understand now? Ya’allah (come on), stop keeping your feeble mind busy with nonsense,” he teased him and slapped him on the back again.

  Karma stood up and went to his corner at the rear of the kitchen. A minute later, Hamis arrived and lit the bedside lamp. He stared at Karma with feigned severity like a father scolding his prying son and reprimanded him.

  “You don’t intend telling anyone what I talked to you about, right?

  “Can you give me some information about Dugar?” Karma answered with a question.

  Hamis sat on the edge of Karma’s bed, a smile crossing his fleshy lips.

  “Ah, Dugar,” he replied and his admiration for the man was palpable.

  “Yes, he fought in many battles,” He laughed. “He always knew how to exploit his small stature and mislead all the people, who treated him like a child.”

  “Did he succeed?”

  “And how, he succeeded! He succeeded where more courageous men never dreamed of trying.”

  The following day, Dugar blew into the bar like a whirlwind. A small and agile figure, he leaned on the greasy counter and shared a secret with Hamis, who looked up, unconsciously following Karma with his eyes. At the time, Karma was clearing away dishes and beverage bottles, cleaning tables and he also understood that he was the subject of their discussion. He approached the counter and heard:

  “Sit!”

  He immediately sat down beside them, his childish face wearing a serious expression that made him appear almost adult.

  “Here, take it, read,” Dugar ordered and slid a section of the newspaper on the counter in his direction. Karma nodded his head at him and Hamis murmured:

  “He doesn’t read, read it to him.”

  “Come over there,” Dugar told him.

  When they moved to the back room, Abdul rose from where he had been lying and barked at Dugar. He raised his leg to kick the dog, but Karma stood between them and separated the shoe from the dog. Dugar let loose with a juicy profanity and spat on the floor. He hated dogs and was insulted when this dog dared to bark at him. He stared at Karma and inquired:

  “Yours?” and continued without hearing the answer.

  When they sat down, Dugar briefly glanced up at Karma and began reading in a quiet voice.

  “Members of the Organization, associated with the murder of six Americans, participated in the uprising that deposed Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran.”

  He looked up again at Karma and asked:

  “Does that shock you? Are you still interested?”

  Karma nodded in the affirmative and glanced at the newspaper cutting. He thought how he would like to be able to read the piece by himself but immediately pushed the idea aside. He gazed at the little man, whom he now admired with all his heart and listened to what he read to him.

  “The Organization was put on the American list of terrorist organizations, but its members quickly turned it into a bitter rival of the Khomeini regime.”

  Karma was startled and exclaimed excitedly:

  “So, if they oppose the Iranian regime than they are, as it were, actually cooperating with the Americans.”

  Dugar glanced at him quickly and when he looked at Hamis, his lips stretched into a thin smile and Hamis knew that the intelligent boy had earned a place of importance for himself. He was familiar with Dugar and knew that it was rare to see a smile on the face of this small man.

  “Correct,” Dugar confirmed, “The Americans agreed with you. They also understood that the enemy of the Iranian regime was their friend and they also made deals with them that included clandestine operations.”

  Karma paid attention to what he was saying but at that moment he was rattling his brain to think of a way to get to the United States. It seemed like trying to reach the moon. He thought that the most pressing thing was to learn to read for it would be very hard to get ahead if remained illiterate.

  That same evening, Karma began putting sounds to the symbols that Hamis wrote on a page. At the end of his workday, when the larger lights went out, he would sit by the light of a single bulb and memorize them, trace them with a pencil and draw them repeatedly. By the middle of the night, his eyes wobbling with fatigue, he already knew how to write many letters and recognize their sound but he still had to join them into words. His eyes closed and the pencil slipped from his fingers and rolled on the floor. That night, he dreamed that he could read the newspaper and woke up in fright when he felt a slap and sat up in his bed. He heard Hamis shouting:

  “What happened? Why are you sobbing like a girl? Shut up and let me sleep!”

  Hamis stared at him and then Karma saw he was holding a glass of water.

  Apparently Karma had mumbled and recited letters, repeatedly shouting them out loud in his sleep till Hamis got up and came to him.

  “Take this glass of water. Perhaps you would prefer me to pour
it over you on your bed! Here, drink, and calm down!!” he urged and sat down beside him.

  He watched Karma drink the water and his concern for the knowledge-thirsty boy he had grown so fond of during the time he had been with him, was clearly visible on his face.

  “Instead of working tomorrow morning, continue writing the letters and then, in the afternoon, we’ll sit together and combine them into words, Okay? Are you ‘mabsut’? (pleased)”

  One day, Karma heard more stories about the Organization that was so far away.

  “The leader of the Organization is Maryam Rajavi,” Abdurobin informed him.

  He was fat and short and a large roll of fat surrounded his double chin. In recent days he had accompanied Dugar in his activities and having heard so much about the youth, he regarded him with mounting curiosity now.

  “A woman?” Karma was amazed. “How is that possible?”

  “What are you talking about? She is ‘kebira’ (huge)! She has been running the Organization for years and supervises everything. There is no one like her!” Dugar declared.

  Karma tried to create an image of Maryam in his mind’s eye and he laughed. He imagined her dressed in a long spotted camouflage galabiya of similar fabric to that of military fatigues, brandishing a rifle with her heroic men marching behind her. He laughed out loud but immediately covered his mouth with his hand.

  “Imagine that even the Israeli ‘Mossad’ has ties to that Organization,” Abdurobin added and Dugar glanced at Karma quickly and roared at Abdurobin:

  “Shhhh, shut up, that was quite unnecessary!”

  It was the first time that Karma heard the name of another country and organization called the ‘Mossad.'

  “Who is this ‘Mossad’?” he asked.

  “It’s the Organization of the State of ‘Yisrail’ (Israel).”

  “Ah, is that close to the United States?” he asked at once and was insulted when the two men burst out laughing.

  “Definitely not, it’s near the Mediterranean,” Dugar said and Karma did not understand that either.

  Abdurobin added with a chuckle:

  “Israel is a little enemy that is stuck there, like a thorn in the side of her neighbors.”

  The three laughed once more and Karma stared at them again, not understanding what was amusing them.

  All that had transpired in the two last days before he left Hamis’ tavern.

  If only Karma had known what fate awaited him, he might have thought again before he set out on the path he chose.

  Towards evening, unfamiliar people arrived at the tavern. They carried packages wrapped in brown paper and entered the back room quickly and secretly. Hamis turned to Karma and told him:

  “Keep watch and shut up,” and disappeared with the men into the room. Karma twisted his mouth enviously as he choked back tears of disappointment.

  He heard the rustling of paper as they opened the packages. He cupped his ears, straining to listen to what they were saying but didn’t succeed in making out a word of it. The people came out of the room after quite a long time and disappeared into the dark, one after another.

  Later, Karma entered the room to clean it. He collected all the papers and crumpled notes that littered the tables and the floor, unfolded them and studied them at length. Karma understood that an attack on the Turkish army had been planned here and that its objectives and goals as well as who would be targeted and who would participate in the assault had been decided. His soul burned within him.

  He did not say a word to Hamis, but he could not fall asleep that night and presumed that he would learn more details the next day.

  In the morning, he restrained himself and waited but Hamis remained silent. The hours passed slowly and suddenly he saw Hamis standing behind the counter, wiping his flushed face. Karma understood that he was crying and approached him immediately and stood beside him. He wanted to help him or be supportive, but Hamis raised his hand and Karma stopped.

  It was clear to Karma that something had gone awry and was upsetting Hamis. Suddenly, he was conscious that here, at moments of import, no one confided in him or allowed him to be a party to secret information. The recognition of this and the disappointment he felt tore at his boyish soul.

  Karma left that same day, taking his dog with him. He understood that there was nothing more for him at this tavern and if he wanted to join the rebels, he would have to go after them and reach them by himself.

  He returned to the room at the back where the people had held their meeting the day before. The wrappers they had brought there the day before littered the corner of the room and he tore a piece of paper from one of them. He sat there and made an effort to record his thoughts in a note. He read what he wrote and became angry with himself. He crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. The ball of paper rolled near his feet and he picked it up again and looked at it. He had written:

  “I am leaving because no one is prepared to share their secrets with me.

  I am a real Kurd and it is important to me to participate in the Kurdish struggle.

  I have left to seek out and join the genuine rebels.”

  This time, he cut the paper into tiny pieces and discarded them. He thought he should mention his appreciation of Hamis, show that he loved him but also understood that he would not get the opportunity to join the planning and fighting as long as he remained there. Then, he wrote:

  “I always wanted to join in your plans but never succeeded.

  When I was a child, people told me that I was saved thanks to Abdul the Kurd and there, in the tent, I heard stories about the Kurdish heroes from Nana Kahit.

  Today, I am going out to find the freedom fighters and join them.

  I, Karma, your loving pupil

  And you, Hamis, my teacher forever.”

  He put the note on the serving counter, weighted it down with a fork to prevent it flying away and quietly left the tavern.

  If Karma had only known what fate had in store for him, he might have thought again before setting out on this path.

  Hours after Karma left, Hamis awakened to discover the fork and the note.

  Karma did not see how Hamis read what he had written to him and burst out crying again.

  He was doubly sorry for not having allowed him to participate because he could have guided him and not lost the boy he loved.

  * * *

  Karma was almost sixteen when he secretly left Hamis’ tavern.

  It was cold and a light mist blurred everything. The sun’s rays came out and began to disperse the haze. Abdul, his dog, who ran close on his heels, tried to chase them, wagged his tail and barked gleefully, apparently surprised at being allowed to join in the outing.

  Karma looked around, attempting to decide what direction to take. All he wanted for the moment was to become one of the heroes of Nana Kahit’s tales but, he didn’t know where to start.

  He tried to recall where the great Wan River flowed, that same river that was the place where he had stopped after leaving his family. He remembered how he roamed around with homeless boys and met many characters while he spent days and nights searching for food with and decided to return to the previous point in his life.

  He walked for over an hour and still saw no sign of the river, which he estimated he should have met up with a long time ago.

  Ahead of him he saw a man riding a bicycle. He balanced a pole with buckets hanging on either side of his shoulders.

  “Hi ho!” he called out to him and made wavy movements with his hands that resembled the movement of water and turned the palm of his hand up in a questioning gesture.

  The cyclist stopped, spread his legs and signaled the opposite direction. Karma raised his arm in thanks and turned to walk in the opposite direction. And, indeed, after walking for a few more minutes, he heard the sound of rushing water coming from the thick undergrowth and bushes. A minute later, the river appeared ahead, its murky waters kicking up a thick froth as they flowed and carried vast amounts of floa
ting garbage.

  All at once, Abdul, his dog barked in the direction of the water and Karma noticed a large boat and people standing in line. They passed packages from hand to hand, along the line to the last man in the line. That man stood in water up to his chest and threw the boxes to another man standing on the deck of the boat.

  Karma hushed his dog and approached the men, but they continued working and ignored him.

  “Do you need help?” He shouted to them and even before they answered, he girded his loins and joined the line. He took a plastic cube from the hands of a scrawny man and passed it to the man ahead of him. Afterward heavy cartons were transferred as well as packages wrapped in brown paper.

  The goods passed along a human chain that led from a man standing on the back of an old pickup truck that emitted puffs of smoke and ended on the boat. A man with a mustache stood on the deck. He wore a T-shirt and the muscles of his brawny arms undulated as he worked. Suddenly, Karma noticed that the muscular man caught the large packages he received and laid them down especially carefully.

  They worked in silence for a considerable time and the scrawny man signaled and the passing of the packages halted. He turned aside and spoke on the telephone, covering his mouth with his hand and whispering into it.

  The truth was that he knew Karma, who had joined in their work but was just surprised that he had turned up there that day.

  The man was Jalal and he was one of the American CIA agents. In the course of his wandering among the people, he would visit cafés and bars to gather information in the field. He looked for signs of surreptitious organization and reported what he found suspicious or of interest to his superiors.

  From the moment Jalal had set eyes on Karma, with his beautiful smile and large honey-colored eyes, he was impressed with him and considered enlisting him. He had also noticed his dog with its sheep-like ears that lay for hours in the corner of the tavern, wagging its tail each time its master passed by.

  Now, he called Bill, the intelligence officer of the crew of the American merchant ship, “Oratorio.”