Endorsements for The War Within
A challenging novel about war, politics and the Muslim world Teenagers mature during the course of dramatic events as they work through their grief, fears and need to belong. A most challenging novel.
Cecile Ferguson, Lollipops – What’s on for kids
Rosanne Hawke brings to life memorable characters and a colourful and exotic setting in this fast moving adventure story, a real page-turner that grabs you by the scruff of the neck and drags you through the action. Full of suspense and intrigue, it’s about faith, courage and friendship in the face of confusion, violence, grief and hostility. It’s realistic, yet refreshingly optimistic, and thoroughly readable. I found it a satisfying and rewarding novel.
Kate Graham, Youth Express
This book should be compulsory reading for students studying politics or society based subjects.
Lesley White, teacher, Fiction Focus
[The War Within] is more than an adventure. Besides the issues of grief, culture and war, it explores the need for third culture kids to return to the place where they grew up, in order to fully adjust in adult life…Rosanne’s observations of the TCK experience are profound.
Beth Wyse, TEAMworld
[All the elements of successful cinema are present in [The War Within]: the exotic location, a developing love story, a kidnap, death and fighting, even family reunion. A real breath of fresh air, another taste of the Aladdin story for me.
Lorraine Marwood, Alive Magazine
The War Within
Published by Rhiza Press
PO BOX 1519
Capalaba QLD 4157
Australia
© Rosanne Hawke, 2016
Cover Design by Production Works
Layout by Rhiza Press
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Creator:Hawke, Rosanne, author.
Title:The War Within / Rosanne Hawke.
ISBN:9781925139891 (ebook:epub)
Series:Hawke, Rosanne. Beyond borders ; 2
Target Audience:For young adults
Subjects:Australians--Pakistan--Fiction
Young adult fiction.
Pakistan--Social life and customs--Fiction.
Dewey Number: A823.3
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The War Within
Rosanne Hawke
To Lenore for making me write,
and the wolfchild for making it live.
1
Jaime
My seat belt snapped and I settled back with my iPad, barely listening to the flight attendant point out exit routes. I’d flown often as I’d lived overseas all my life. Instead, I flicked through my pictures on Facebook. A lot were photos Dad had taken when we lived in Pakistan. The ones of snow-topped mountains always tugged at my heart. So did pics of Chitral and the Kaghan Valley, so beautiful with flower fields, alpine lakes and rushing rivers. The pics of bazaars reminded me of how much fun they were. Dad had taken shots of multi-coloured spices lined up in hessian bags, shawls and carpets hanging outside for shoppers to admire. Then there were street vendors cooking tikkas, pakoras and curries my stomach craved for even now. I could feel Pakistan calling me home and I couldn’t wait to experience it all again.
Not everyone was as enthusiastic about my return to Pakistan, as I was. The image of Kate’s face when I told her where I was going in the holidays had been priceless. I wished I’d had my phone out ready to click. Her face had contorted into her favourite incredulous expression, her upper lip curling to the right and her teeth prominent like a horse’s, ready to bite. ‘How can you go back to Pakistan?’ she’d spluttered. ‘It won’t be the same. Your friends won’t remember you. Terrorists are bombing schools. You’re so weird, Jaime Richards.’
Her words no longer hurt me as they would have when I first arrived in Australia a year ago. Her ‘weird’ didn’t make me feel like I had a disease, just different, which I guess I was. Besides, she had only been put out because she’d wanted me to come to a beach party she was organising in the holidays.
‘Come over when you’re back,’ was all she’d said after her face returned to its normal shape.
During the flight over I hoped with a fervent passion that Kate was wrong, that even with the conflict my friends hadn’t changed. Jasper was still there in his last year of school. I paused, thinking about him. We had been good friends and yet he had never written. I couldn’t understand why. Then there was Liana, who had been like a big sister to me, always seeming to see further than the rest of us. She’d be meeting me at the airport. And as for Pakistan—deep down I didn’t believe a place like that could possibly change, not in a year, surely.
When I finally came to stand at the top of the flight deck ready to step down, the azan sounded from a hundred mosques, calling the faithful to worship and I realised what I’d missed the most about this place: that old magic, the unpredictable atmosphere that ancient lands of legend have. It wrapped around me, making me unable to think logically and I was lulled into believing everything was the same.
I breathed in a mixture of burning manure, curry spices, sandalwood and open drains. Even the air smelt as it always had. Then it struck me that I’d never really noticed these smells when I was living here. The thought gave me a twinge of uneasiness. What if things wouldn’t be all that I’d thought they’d be? But as I hesitated between memory and dream, the airport mosque took up the call to afternoon prayers. I grinned, surprised by the relief I felt at the familiar wail. Just like usual, all those taped voices were not quite in tune.
Getting through customs was more of an ordeal than I remembered. There were intimidating guys in blue with assault rifles slung over their shoulders, ordering me to open my bags. Their limited English made them sound suspicious, as if they thought I had bombs or drugs in my bag. I couldn’t help but be apprehensive: what if someone had sneaked a package into my carry-on while I was dozing?
‘What is in this bag?’ One of the guards was holding up my cosmetics purse. How embarrassing. There were all sorts of ‘unexplainables’ in there. I gulped down my fear, trying to answer all their questions in the Urdu I’d learnt as a kid, and suddenly they couldn’t do enough for me. I think the close-to-tears catch in my voice may have helped. Pakistani guys tend to fall into an over-helpful heap when they see women or children upset. Visible tears work better than a bribe every time.
‘So, you are growing up in Pakistan? Accha, this is good. You are missing Pakistan, ji? That is why you visit us again?’
I nodded left and right, trying to put on just the right smile; demure enough to satisfy them that I was respectable, yet polite enough to encourage them to let me through without any trouble. The line behind me grew longer.
‘Welcome home, missahiba.’ The official finally handed me my bag. I must have looked puzzled for he kept talking and tipping his head as I took it.
‘You are growing up in this country, this being your home now. Khush amdeed, welcome.’
I made for the exit. Was he right? I’d just spent the whole year making Australia my home. But I couldn’t think much about it then as the next problem loomed in view.
Outside were thousands of men. Maybe that’s a little exaggerated, but it felt like that many—and they all seemed to be staring at me as I emerged from the terminal. I ducked my head, wishing I had a burqa to cover all of me. I was wondering how I’d
get through the crowd when I heard my name.
‘Jaime!’ It was the closest I’d ever heard Liana come to a screech.
What a relief. Mr Kimberley, my music teacher, was there too. They’d been right in the front the whole time, but were lost to me in that ocean of faces. Mr Kimberley even hugged me while all those men watched our every move, open-mouthed. I tried not to feel embarrassed. Mr Kimberley had always been the super caring teacher, knowing what your problem was before you’d even worked out you had one.
All the way up the two-thousand-metre climb to the mountains, where the school was, we kept up a steady stream of questions and answers. Considering how quiet I remembered Liana to be, she kept up with me well.
‘What are you doing now, Li?’ I asked.
‘Teaching English for the moment at the Urdu speaking school for girls, near ours.’
‘You used to take me for walks down there. Remember?’
‘When I was your “big sister” in Year 6 and you were still in Year 3. You were cute, but you had a mind of your own.’
‘And you’d take me down to the woods and dance with me. With your dark hair and olive skin you looked like a Bollywood dancer. I thought you’d be world-famous.’
‘Funny how things turn out differently from what you think.’
‘Yeah.’
When we reached my favourite part of the road that gave the best view of the mountains, I asked Mr Kimberley to stop. He parked the van and we all piled out, while I wrapped my shawl around me to keep out the cold. I stood at the bent iron safety rail—that realistically wouldn’t have stopped a rusted bicycle from plunging over the edge—and soaked in the vision of the Kashmir Mountains. Snow covered their tops, blinking like quartz in the winter sun, and the mountains behind rolled back into each other like waves. It was unending and I felt as I had in childhood whenever we stopped there: forever secure, as though there were some things that would never change.
‘We used to call this “Richards’ Point”,’ I said. It was the sort of memory that drew tears; a bright spot of childhood tempered with the knowledge that those you had originally shared it with weren’t present. There was a silence, then I felt Liana’s arm come around me. ‘I’m jolly glad you’re here, Jaime.’
I grinned at her as we headed for the van. Since I had been in Australia a year, her way of talking, even though she, too, was Australian, seemed so outdated. Guess I must have sounded like that last year. No wonder I got teased.
Other than the snow and sculptured snowmen, the main thing I noticed at the school was the armed guards at the gate. Then I saw Ayesha. She’d spent hours teaching me and Liana local dances in the dorm after lights out when we were young, and she was already at the front door of the hostel as we pulled in. ‘It is so good to see you, Jaime!’ She was so excited she was squealing. I’d never seen her like that. She’d always been so demure and calm. I had no doubt that between her, Liana and Mr Kimberley, I had been missed.
‘Great to see you too, Ayesha,’ I managed to say before she squashed me in a hug that left me so breathless I wheezed. I could smell the scent of jasmine and mustard oil in her hair and it took me back more than the year I’d been away. She’d always smelt like that.
‘It’s great to be here.’
‘Come upstairs where it’s warm.’ Carolyn met me on the stairs. She was still as exuberant as I remembered, red pigtails flying as she made plans. ‘I’ve got a bed ready for you. Aunty Donna said you could sleep with Ayesha and me and the others in the dorm. Just like we used to. You can even come to school with us if you like.’
I almost said, ‘Hey, this is my holiday,’ but I thought it would be fun, being part of it all again. That must sound weird, but school there went on through January and finished in their summer, in July. We had studied at home during winter if the school was snowed in. Carolyn and Ayesha were only halfway through Year 11.
‘Yeah, that’d be cool. Count me in.’
Carolyn grinned but Ayesha made some comment about it being cool enough as it was.
‘Bet Jasper can’t wait to see you, either,’ Carolyn added. ‘He’s not here because of basketball practice. The inter-school tournament’s this week.’
‘How is Jasper?’ I wondered what he’d be like now. We’d always been close ever since we compared scabs in Year 1. Liana’s face suddenly closed as if she wished the topic of conversation would change, and Ayesha looked as if there was gossip to be told but didn’t want to be the one to do it.
Part of me wanted to sit still and think, and filter all the data coming in, but Carolyn was laughing and pulling me up the stairs. Maybe I imagined that expression on the others’ faces when Jasper’s name came up. The excited part of me took over and I scrambled up the two flights of stairs after Carolyn, puffing at the top.
‘Phew, they never knocked me out like this before.’
‘That’s because you haven’t done it for a year.’
Liana was behind me. ‘Actually, it’s most probably the altitude. Better take it easy for a day or two.’
Carolyn was still pulling at me. ‘Come on, here’s the dorm.’
From the speed Carolyn made it up the stairs, I should have guessed there’d be a surprise. Donna, the housemother, hugged me at the door. I couldn’t explain how good it was to see her, considering she helped bring me up, but I think she understood.
Then I noticed the other girls. They were standing in the centre of the room, expectant looks on their faces. In front of them on a table was a huge cake with ‘Welcome Home, Jamie’ scrawled over it in garish pink icing just as the head cook had always done whenever it was anyone’s birthday; just like he’d done for me every year since Year 1. I took a step forward to check the name; my eyes spelt out the incorrect word, J-a-m-i-e, , and in brackets, my Pakistani name, Jameela. A single sob escaped. I tried not to sniff and snuffle while I hugged all the girls.
‘It was Faisal’s writing on the cake that finally did it,’ I admitted afterwards to Ayesha as we changed for bed. ‘Ever since I was tiny, he’d always spelt my name as J-a-m-i-e, as if he thought my parents were the ones who got it wrong.’
‘It is just like old times, Jaime. We’re going to have so much fun. Does everything seem the same, like you have only been away a month?’
‘I don’t know. I feel weird. Some things have fitted, but everything’s still not in its right place. I spent so long getting used to Australia. I mean, Faisal’s cake really helped but at the airport today I was scared. And everybody in the waiting area looked like a mass of people with no identity. I don’t remember ever feeling like that when I was living here. There are military guys everywhere, and the workmen are building the school wall higher, aren’t they?’
Ayesha shrugged. ‘It is a precaution only, because of the bombings in Islamabad and Swat. Don’t worry. It will take a little time to get used to everything again.’
‘Guess so, but I don’t have much time to spare.’
n
‘Mum, is that you? It took me ages to get through and I could lose the connection any—’
‘Jaime, what a relief. Was it a good flight? Are you okay?’
‘Sure, though things seem strange.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. It seems changed from what I remember. It’s a bit scary. But I’ve probably imagined it. How’s everyone?’
‘Fine. Here’s Elly …’
‘Jammie? Hi! Guess what?
‘What?’
‘My mouse with the black spot on her ear had babies last night!’
‘That’s—really nice, Elly.’
‘And Blake Townsend sent you a postcard.’
‘Really? What’s it say?’
‘He said, “Have a good time”. He must have thought you’d get it before you left. Andrew said it came from the other side of the black tree.’
> ‘Stump, black stump.’
‘Here’s Dad. Hey, Jammie? Can I sleep in your room sometimes?’
‘I guess, but don’t let Basil sleep in there, his fur sticks to my cushions—’
There was a crackling.
‘Hello, sunshine.’
‘Dad. I miss you already.’
‘Me too, sweetheart. I wish I could have come with you.’
‘Yeah, we’d have fun.’
‘You bet. Did you get your money changed?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Jaime? On the news they said—’
‘The news is always worse at home than what’s happening here, you know that.’
‘Be care—’
I sighed as Dad’s voice broke up and disappeared. I couldn’t get him back. So much for Himalayan phone coverage.
2
Jaime
The next day, Ayesha invited me down to the bazaar. I waited for her in the garden and breathed in the fresh, chilled mountain air. Pine trees covered the hills like thick carpet. Beyond were the awesome Kashmir Mountains, and to the left, the Hindu Kush that blocked the way to Afghanistan. I let out a deep sigh but forced my eyes to stay open. I didn’t want to miss a second’s glimpse of Himalayan glory.
‘Magnificent, aren’t they?’ Ayesha sat beside me.
‘I missed this so much. There’s nothing like it in Australia. Not that I’ve seen, anyway.’
‘What is it like in Australia?’ We walked through the gates and past the armed guards.
‘In Australia?’ How could I describe it to someone like Ayesha who had lived here all her life?
‘Is it all kangaroos and jungle and beaches?’
‘N–no. Where I live, it’s like any other city, I guess. But it’s different from Pakistan—more orderly, clean. You can get fined for dropping rubbish.’
Ayesha made a face, the faint shadow of a grin showing.
‘I’m not kidding. There are laws against discrimination too. So they say. Not as much unemployment as here, although they think it’s bad. There are institutions for people with disabilities, as well as older people who have no one to look after them. No beggars. It’s just so different.’
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