‘I don’t know, Jaime. Maybe for their own use. Yuck. I feel sick. This road is worse than the one up the mountain to the school.’
Talk about the power of suggestion. It wasn’t long before I felt like chucking too. I tried to hold it down but soon had to lift my burqa and take a dive for the window, whether Sohail liked it or not. Surprisingly, the young Pakhtun motioned for the driver to stop, then swung out, rifle in one hand, as he pulled open the side door with the other. Both Liana and I tumbled out, pulling in shuddering breaths of cold mountain air. It seemed ages before the ground stilled and I could walk steadily again.
Jasper climbed out too and as he passed Sohail, he turned back to face the Pakhtun. ‘Those burqas are stifling in the van. Can’t they leave them off?’
‘Not until we reach the safety of my home. It is not far, our village is on the next ridge.’
I looked up to find the view breathtaking and heart-rending all at the same time. Snow-topped mountains loomed ahead, and nestled in front was a village. Even from that distance I could see the dots that meant animals and shepherds, but I could also see that all was not well with the village and the land about it. Dad said Afghanistan was once called the Land of Orchards, but now there was hardly a tree in sight. Entire fields around the village were uncultivated and in some places, where I presumed houses should have been, there was just rubble.
I walked closer to the edge of the road and Sohail followed me. I looked back and saw Jasper watching us. It was easy to imagine what he was thinking—suspicion was written all over his face. Sonya stepped out of the van then. She was weird, didn’t seem worried at all; just looked around as though she was on a Sunday afternoon drive.
Sohail was close enough now for me to be aware of him standing there and I wasn’t sure whether to ignore him or not. I’d thrown back the burqa and the cold wind was making my nose run, so I rummaged in my pockets for a tissue. Sohail shifted the Kalashnikov to his shoulder but paused when I drew out his newly washed handkerchief. I knew he was staring at me; I could feel the weight of his gaze resting on my head. I glanced up and gaped. He was smiling at me!
‘You seem to make a habit of being ill, little sister.’ The shock of his addressing me like that after all the fuss in the van made my annoyance disappear. I was sure he wasn’t supposed to talk to me so personally. Maybe I should have walked away but I took another look at him instead. He didn’t seem mean at all with that smile on his face; it reached right up to his green eyes. I bent my head, ashamed of myself. What was I doing? The smile was most probably more dangerous than his gun.
In an effort to act normal I blew my nose, then remembered it was bad manners to blow your nose in front of an Afghan. Couldn’t I do anything right? I sneaked another look at him and I could see the scar where I’d ripped his cheek that other night. He was gazing up at the village. He didn’t look offended, just proud and noble. Shareef, Pakistanis would say. Then I felt stupid as I imagined Jasper’s disgust if he could read my thoughts.
Liana came over and addressed Sohail. ‘There was fighting in your village?’ I was thankful for the diversion.
He turned back to regard us both. ‘There has always been fighting and still is. Now some people are returning. From Pakistan, Iran. We are rebuilding. Planting new trees.’ He saw me staring at a field beyond him where a man was leading a pair of oxen around, pulling a plough. ‘The people from my village have always tried to sow their crops, even during the fighting. But with no rain, they starve.’ There was nothing I could say.
Liana had been scrutinising the mountains behind us. ‘There’s a fort up there.’ She pointed it out as I shaded my eyes, following her gaze. There was a long stone wall snaking along the high rocky ridge. A shelled-out tank sat halfway up, looking like a trophy on a mantelshelf. ‘The fort looks hundreds of years old. It would be fun to explore it.’
Sohail’s amiable expression switched off as quickly as electricity in a Pakistani power failure. ‘You will never go there. It is a dangerous place.’
‘Why?’ I plucked up the courage to ask, even though he looked like the old Sohail in the van.
‘The people there are terrorists. They lose their tempers over the least thing and shoot at anything that moves for no reason at all.’ And suddenly, as if to prove his point, he threw up the machine gun and with both hands, let off a round of ammunition into the air. The sound ricocheted off the rocky mountain wall and reverberated round the valley. No one spoke as the sound died away. Even Sonya looked startled.
My hands were on my ears. The noise had been deafening and the fifteen seconds or so that it had taken to empty the magazine seemed like minutes. They were terrorists? What about him? I didn’t want to meet anyone with a bigger gun or more passion than he had. I glanced over at Jasper and realised with a jolt that he’d been ready to move towards us, and in that brief instant, I thought I’d caught something else in his expression: the urge to protect a girl he cared for.
The moment passed and Sohail strode over to the van, motioning us all to follow.
‘He’s crazy,’ Jasper muttered as I got within earshot. ‘That’s all we need—a crazy guy with an AK 47.’
Sohail directed us all into the van as if a horde of terrorists were swarming down the hill. There weren’t any—I checked. As we girls were climbing in, Sohail said in a softer tone to us, ‘You must veil yourselves with the burqas for your safety. Please, until we arrive at my home.’
I was thinking about that ‘please’ for quite a while afterwards. Who had ever heard of an abductor saying please?
12
Jaime
Sohail’s house was nothing like I’d imagined. I was expecting a small village home, rough and dark like the carpet shop in Peshawar; yet there, in the heart of a remote mountain village, was a rambling whitewashed mud-brick house. It was tin-roofed with a spacious courtyard decorated with potted plants, all surrounded by the usual four-metre wall. It was remarkably well preserved, considering the amount of time war had raged in the country.
I was still eyeing the height of the wall when servants appeared from all directions to take the carpets and other luggage (which seemed to consist of bags of wheat and food, plus long canvas-covered bundles). Children wrapped in blankets stood around, shyly curious. One was on crutches; he had only one leg. I smiled at them, presuming they’d be servants’ kids. One returned me a sticky grin, his hand clutching a sucked orange.
Soon we were being shown into a room with exquisite Turkmen rugs scattered on the floor as if it were the most normal thing in the world to have such treasure walked on. I recognised some of the patterns that Dad used to drool over in carpet shops, saying they weren’t for the likes of us.
Sohail motioned for us to sit on carpet cushions while sweet green tea was brought. I used the time to take off the heavy burqa.
‘I’m sure glad to get out of this at last,’ I murmured to Liana, but she didn’t answer. She seemed too engrossed in what was happening, as Sohail suddenly stood in delight to greet a middle-aged, plump lady who had hurried into the room. She clasped both his hands and turned her smooth cheeks from side to side so he could kiss her. After the greeting, Sohail let his eyes sweep from her dark hair down to her tiny gold-slippered feet; then he poured out a torrent of Pakhtu.
The look of pleasure on her face faded slightly as she looked in surprise at us, but then she gave such an infectious smile that I had to smile back. Even Sonya did, I noticed. Only Jasper seemed unmoved by the lady’s beauty and charm. I was close enough to him to risk a quick whisper.
‘Don’t you think she’s nice?’
The look he turned on me frightened me as much as Sohail had in the van. ‘We haven’t just dropped in for chai. We’re kidnapped. In Afghanistan! A conflict zone. Doesn’t anybody remember?’ He looked past me at Liana, who seemed totally enthralled by the picture of Sohail and the woman. The force of Jasper’s whisper shocked
me; the anger and sarcasm hurt too. It made me want to justify myself.
‘But, Jas, we haven’t been hurt …’
His whisper shot back fast. ‘If you can be taken in so easily, how can we ever hope to get out of here? Wake up, Jaime. We’re not in fairyland. These people can be dangerous—the Taliban haven’t disappeared. This village might be working with them.’
I turned to study Sohail and the lady who must have been his mother. She didn’t look like a terrorist, though it did seem Sohail was persuading her about something.
Sohail finally faced us all. ‘My mother only speaks Pakhtu and Persian. But my cousin, Nazira, is here and will help you in any way. Nazira!’
A girl appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t much older than me and she didn’t look as if she wanted to help in any way whatsoever. ‘How do you do?’ she finally said in grammar-book-English after much nonverbal prompting from her cousin.
‘Fine, thank you,’ I answered. I caught Jasper’s exasperated look to the ceiling.
‘She is making an effort,’ I hissed to him. He was so annoying. Nazira wasn’t any part of this; why take it out on her? He gestured towards Sonya and I was just in time to see a sharp look cast in Nazira’s direction. It was the most emotion I’d seen Sonya show all day.
‘She’s another problem,’ Jasper said.
‘Who? Sonya?’
‘At least she’s never boring.’
I stared at him with nothing to say. What on earth did he mean? He had certainly become more complicated than I remembered him to be when we were kids.
There wasn’t time to query him, as we girls were taken to a room where we would sleep at night. It too was covered in rugs and beautiful hand-woven wall hangings. Nazira also slept there and on occasions so would Mrs Kumar, Sohail’s mother. Nazira had just finished telling us that Sohail’s father was often referred to as a war lord or commander. So that was why Sohail’s father had that commanding presence. War lords never received good press in Western media and I tried not to show that she had frightened me.
She looked both proud and belligerent whenever she spoke to us, and I was sure she was even ruder to Sonya than to Liana or me. She always served Sonya last if she brought food and never asked her if she needed anything like she unwillingly did to Liana and me. I thought at the time it was because Sonya was Russian. Besides, Sonya wasn’t too friendly either, so what could one expect?
Later that first day, we girls sat on the floor, eating Kabuli pilau, rice with chunks of mutton, sweet carrot pieces and cooked raisins in it. Over the top had been sprinkled roasted almonds.
‘Excellent food.’ I raised my eyebrows at Liana for a response.
‘Sure is, but don’t get your sleeve in it.’
‘That’s another thing.’ I changed my position on the rug. ‘Can you believe Mrs Kumar gave us these outfits?’ I fingered the intricate embroidery on the bodice and smoothed out the gathers in the front. ‘The colours are so rich. I’ve always wanted a tribal Afghan dress like this.’ I got up and twirled around the others in a red and green cloud, the matching pants, gathered at the ankle, billowing out as I turned.
Liana watched me, peaceful for once with a contented smile on her face. ‘You’re right, you know. Mrs Kumar treats us like long-lost relatives come home.’
Sonya suddenly spluttered and dropped her spoon as she coughed.
‘You okay, Sonya?’ I stopped prancing. ‘Here, have some water.’ I leaned down to the tray and handed Sonya a glass.
‘I am all right.’ She took a sip. ‘Some rice went the wrong way.’ She even gave one of her rare smiles. With her coughing fit subsided, Sonya surveyed us with more interest than she’d done since that first day at the American school.
‘You like it here, do you not?’ she finally asked.
‘Sure,’ I answered. ‘Mrs Kumar is great, and even Sohail seems kinder now as if he’s apologising for what’s happened.’
Sonya raised her eyebrows as if she thought that was a childish revelation, but didn’t comment.
‘You know what?’ Liana said. ‘I don’t think Mrs Kumar knows we’re abducted. Do you, Sonya?’
Sonya hesitated, then sighed almost wearily. ‘No, I do not think she knows. I believe she thinks that you are my friends and Jasper is your brother.’
‘She thinks we’re sisters?’ I thought of Liana’s hair and skin so much darker than mine.
‘Why not? You have the same accent and Liana is three years older than you, is she not?’
I nodded.
‘I don’t understand.’ Liana’s forehead screwed up, causing little furrow marks between her eyes. ‘What do you mean “friends of yours”? Does she know you?’
‘No, she does not—but she was expecting me one day.’ Then Sonya’s voice became softer so that I had to lean closer. ‘Although not at this time.’
I was itching to ask what she meant but just then Nazira padded in with green tea on a tray, and Sonya shook her head slightly, warning us not to say anything else.
We didn’t get another chance to speak to Sonya alone that day. I was glad they thought Jasper was our brother because it meant he was allowed to visit.
The next afternoon he was let in and we were left alone, as it was considered ‘unseemly’ for Sonya or Nazira to be in the same room with him since he wasn’t their relative and was old enough to be married. I grinned to myself thinking of Jasper in that light, but in those villages the people marry young: boys seventeen and girls only fourteen.
I shuddered, imagining what might happen if they found out he was American, and not our brother. Even if they didn’t hurt him, our link with the outside would be gone, as well as the emotional support that—believe it or not—he managed to give. Still, Sonya was the only one who knew and she didn’t seem to think the secret worth telling.
Jasper also had on Afghan tribal clothes: the baggy trousers, a long shirt and a sheepskin vest, called a poshteen, with the fleece worn on the inside. When I first saw him like that and with a hand-embroidered colourful cap set back on his dark head, I couldn’t believe it was him—he could have passed as Sohail’s brother. I didn’t dare say so; that would have ruined the whole visit.
‘You both look fine,’ he said as he sat on the floor. ‘Are you really? No one hassling you or anything?’
We both shook our heads and I couldn’t help thinking that whatever changes of mood he tended to go through, he did genuinely care for us.
‘They let me go to the bazaar if I wear these clothes.’ He smiled ruefully, probably knowing it was because he was a guy. ‘I’m sorry you can’t go out.’
‘We have a courtyard.’ I tried to sound enthusiastic as I didn’t want him getting morose and angry again. ‘The sun comes in and it’s pretty. The walls are high though.’
‘Don’t worry about us, Jas,’ Liana said gently. ‘We’re being well treated, just like family.’
‘That’s what I can’t work out,’ Jasper said. ‘Nothing is ever what it seems here. They say one thing but mean another.’ He stood up abruptly and paced the room. I watched him with a sinking feeling in my middle. The calm had been short-lived.
‘Here we are—hostages! Everyone smiles, kills the fatted calf and gives us new clothes. Mrs Kumar—’
‘She doesn’t know,’ I interrupted, diving for the handkerchief. A sneeze was coming on.
‘No, I didn’t think so, but all the same, there’s something sinister going on. When people smile and carry on normally, it’s worse than if they point a gun at you. At least then you know where you—’ He stopped suddenly and I looked up. He was staring at me wiping my nose. I couldn’t believe what he did next. He strode over and snatched the handkerchief right out of my hands.
‘Hey, Jas. There’s no need to be so dramatic.’
He didn’t even hear me. ‘Where did you get this?’ was all he said, his voice
sounding so tightly stretched it might break.
‘From Sohail. I keep meaning to give it back. Why?’
Jasper ignored the question and spread the handkerchief out on a cushion. In one corner were embroidered the initials, ‘J P’.
‘I didn’t notice that.’ My voice came out slightly strangled. Liana traced the letters with her finger.
‘J P … Jasper Pembley. Is it yours?’ Her brow furrowed.
The spring finally stretched too tight and I heard the crack in his voice. ‘I remember when Mum was stitching this. I was eleven years old. I was home from school for the weekend at Peshawar. The next day was Father’s Day and I wanted something special to give him.
‘“J P” is for Joe Pembley—my father!’
13
Jaime
There was nothing Jasper could do about his father’s handkerchief except keep it to remind him of his dad. Those early days turned into a week, then two, three weeks, until I began to feel we’d always been in Mrs Kumar’s house. Sonya seemed to relax, although she still had that tensed attitude of a cat ready to spring at the first sign of trouble. At times I’d find her pacing the floor in our room or sitting in a pensive mood, staring out the window into the courtyard.
Once I climbed the wall and saw the fields beyond the mosque. It looked like whole families at work, ploughing with an implement that I later found had been made from the shell of an old armoured tank. There were fat-tailed sheep, donkeys and a horse grazing, a few men digging holes probably to plant trees when winter finished. I wondered if we could get away, but it seemed too dangerous. There were mines, for a start. Every so often we would hear the dull boom and feel the floor shudder as another one exploded. A few men in the village had been trained by someone like Uncle Jon to clear the area of mines. Sonya said there were over ten million mines in the country and at the speed of those men who were de-activating the Kumars’ village, it’d take four thousand years to clear all of Afghanistan. I had no idea how she knew all that stuff or even how she managed to sound genuinely concerned about it.
The War Within Page 7