That was when an awful realisation hit Jasper. He’d suspected it all along but dreaded knowing for sure. For if he were right, it would mean danger for them all. There was no other explanation in his mind for Sonya’s weird behaviour: she must be some sort of political agent!
15
Jaime
A few days after Mr Kumar arrived, Mrs Kumar took us girls out to the servants’ quarters.
‘She has a job for us,’ Sonya explained. When we approached the meagre dwellings with rooms opening onto the courtyard, kids swarmed out like rabbits from a burrow at dusk.
‘They don’t have that many servants, do they? Look at all these kids.’
Sonya heard me. ‘Many are orphans from camps set up nearby or from other villages. Some are relatives of people who have not yet returned from refugee camps in Pakistan, so the Kumars are offering shelter. So many are fatherless because of the conflict.’ She sighed. ‘There is a sick child Mrs Kumar wants us to see.’
‘Why is it everyone thinks we know what to do just because we’re from the West?’
Liana looked back at me. ‘We most probably do know more than them. We can at least remember what our mothers did with us when we were sick.’
The child was lying on a charpai, a woven string bed, so tired-looking, she didn’t seem to have the energy to cry. After much questioning on Sonya’s part, we discovered the child had severe diarrhoea. Even I could see if she wasn’t treated soon, she’d die.
‘They have stopped all food and drink so that she won’t vomit any more,’ Sonya stated.
‘That doesn’t sound right.’ Liana sat on the bed and held the little girl’s hand.
‘Mum used to keep me drinking when I was sick like this,’ I said. ‘She gave me that oral dehydration stuff.’
‘They won’t have anything like that here.’ Liana stroked the little girl’s forehead.
I grabbed Liana’s arm. ‘Then we’ll make some: water, sugar and salt. That’s what it tasted like. And tell them to give her sips all day long.’
Sonya translated the recipe and soon the little girl was sipping from a chipped cup that an older girl held for her to drink. On the floor I noticed a piece of paper—a pencil drawing of a girl flying a kite, and where trees would have been, there were tanks. A hard lump rose in my throat. What had these kids been through? They had lost their parents, and only recently could they do ordinary kid-things like fly kites and dance or watch TV. Just then I felt a little hand creep into mine and I looked down to see a face grinning up at me. It was the little boy with the orange who had smiled the first day we came. He’d lost a tooth since then.
‘Hello, how are you?’ he said in English and giggled from behind his other hand.
Intrigued, I bent down beside him. ‘You speak English?’ His nod was probably just politeness for I couldn’t get another word out of him. Sonya spoke to him in Pakhtu. Then I heard his reply, ‘Harris Sahib.’
‘Harris Sahib?’ I exclaimed. ‘Does he mean Jon Harris, the aid worker? Did he teach him those words? Has he been here?’
‘I do not know. This boy comes from another village. Maybe he met the man there.’
‘Ask Mrs Kumar. Please.’
Sonya hardly hesitated; she was more willing than she’d ever been. The longer we were in the village, the more humane she became. Soon she was back.
‘Mrs Kumar said no Harris Sahib has been here. A different man came and taught the village to dig latrines and how to stay healthy. He brought the oven. But it was not Mr Harris. She doesn’t know about the other village.’
It was weird. I had been happy enough up to that point, but hearing Uncle Jon’s name like that (if it had been him) unsettled me, as though the rest of the world wasn’t so far away after all, and maybe we should be doing more than sitting back, waiting to be set free. Maybe if I hadn’t met that little boy, I wouldn’t have been sucked in by Jasper’s ideas.
Jasper found us there soon after. Apparently he’d been pacing around the kitchen door, waiting for permission to be let in to see us, when finally the cook had told him where we were.
‘These Muslim households make it so difficult to get anything done,’ was Jasper’s first comment. He looked so irritable that I quickly asked him what was wrong.
‘I want to talk to you both without Sonya, nor that snake, Nazira. She wouldn’t let me in this morning.’
‘Jasper, keep your voice down.’ Liana and I led him to our part of the courtyard where we could be private. I braced myself inwardly for he looked more agitated than usual.‘Fire away,’ I offered with a show of confidence I didn’t feel.
‘Last night, I couldn’t sleep …’ I relaxed and gave Liana a glance. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. ‘And I saw Sonya, outside the walls, meeting a European, maybe even a Russian.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ But he was, very, and he told us everything, from his time in the war lord’s office to seeing Sonya.
‘Anyway it boils down to this—Sonya must be a spy.’
‘She can’t be,’ broke in Liana. ‘I’ve told you before, that problem with Russia is over.’
‘Maybe she’s a spy for the Afghan government. Maybe there’s still some Russian influence that no one knows about. Maybe Afghanistan is trying to unite the central Asian states like Tajikistan to become part of Afghanistan, and Russia wouldn’t want that to happen, would they? Who knows, maybe the Moscow government wishes they had those states back. And the pathway to a warm port.’
‘Jasper, be reasonable, she’s not much older than you. How—?’
‘I tell you, she’s up to something,’ Jasper urged. ‘I’ve suspected it for ages. All that business with the carpet shop in Islamabad, and then Peshawar. People believed the leadership for most of the Afghan resistance was based in Pakistan. Her father works for the embassy; she’s got a perfect way to discover information and to pass it on. That must be why they kidnapped her, to stop her, and now that the commander’s back, they’ll be deciding what to do with her. And us.’
‘Then how come they’re so nice to us?’ I asked.
‘Jaime! Open your eyes.’
I wished he wouldn’t get so annoyed, and so fast. He made me jump when he burst into flames like that.
‘That’s so you won’t suspect anything, or so we won’t escape. They might even have other ideas. They’re probably negotiating now about Sonya. And what about us? Perhaps they’ve already asked for money from an aid agency. These political groups always need money for their ammunition and weapons.’
I could tell Liana didn’t believe him. She was pouting with scepticism. I wasn’t so sure any more. Why had Sonya seemed so eager to find out if Jon Harris had been there?
‘We have to escape—it’s imperative—especially for your safety. Kumar may want Sonya alive but I’m sure they don’t care a hoot about us—we just got in the way. If we don’t do something soon, we’ll just disappear off the face of the earth and no one will ever know what happened to us.’ Jasper paused, emotion making his breath short and raspy.
‘Jasper.’ Liana moved closer to him. ‘You don’t have to be in control of everything. We will be looked after.’ I stared at her; she had a point. I’d heard grief does strange things to your mind; I wondered if his near fanatical protection of us was connected to his dad’s death. Liana was gentle, trying to stop him from worrying, so there was no warning of his reaction.
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ And he slammed his hand hard against the wall, then turned to face her. ‘Don’t give me any of that crap of yours, Li, about a gracious Creator in control. There’s no one in control of all this except ourselves. Yeah, I know this whole country believes in a merciful God, someone looking after things—well, they don’t know much. A God that can let a man like Dad get blown up when he’d never done anything wrong, only good—’
Then he stopped like a steam train
with an empty coal shuttle. He wiped his hand over his forehead and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
His voice grew soft and that was when I cried. I knew it would make him more determined to save us, but I could see an image of him dying inside. If only he could overcome the bitterness and hurt, maybe he’d see the world differently. I hugged him then. I hadn’t done that since we were in Year 10 and I was leaving for Australia. I think he thought he was comforting me, but right then, he seemed like a child I had to cradle back to health.
He stood away from me and grasped both my hands; his eyes were too bright, like they’d been when he first spoke to me in the carpet shop in Peshawar. ‘I’m sorry we’re in this mess. But I’ll make a plan and let you know what we can do.’
‘Jas, when we go—we must take Sonya.’
‘No!’ He dropped my hands and I shut my eyes. I didn’t think I could take it if he shouted again. ‘She got us into this,’ he added, more quietly.
Liana agreed with me. ‘Please, Jas, she’s just a girl, like us. She seems different now, and if what you say is true, then they’ll get angry when we go, won’t they? They might hurt her.’
‘She’d get what she deserved, the little bitch.’ He stood there staring at us. ‘Oh, all right. But if she causes trouble, we dump her. I must be crazy, but seeing you smile like that is worth anything, I guess.’ He was looking only at me then, and when he moved to go, his final words did the opposite of what he must have intended. ‘I promise to get you out of this.’
Jasper’s promise only made me uneasy, and I hoped with a passion almost matching his that the trembling in my middle was simply the fear of the unknown.
16
Jasper
Jasper wasted no time in thinking of a plan. He was sure he could get the girls out of the house at night. Sonya and Jaime looked much alike; Liana was taller and thinner, but he thought his plan would work. It was once they were outside the walls that the problems would begin. He decided a stroll in the bazaar might produce a few more ideas.
The village bazaar reminded him of the old parts of Peshawar with its noise and crowdedness. Little dingy shops sold almost everything from bicycle parts to eggs and buffalo milk. There wasn’t as much food available as in the Peshawar shops, though, and in this bazaar, more space seemed to be given to copies of foreign weapons than to the staples of life. He watched the men making little round balls of dough in the hot tandoor shop and recognised the same kind of wheat bag that had been in the van all those weeks ago when they’d first arrived.
Next door was the hakim’s surgery. Jasper hoped he never had to visit such a man. Half-baked doctors, they were called in Pakistan, giving out folk remedies that often didn’t work when surgery would have been a better option. When all else failed, words from the Qur’an were written on little pieces of paper and put in a taveez, a type of locket around the patient’s neck. Sometimes the paper was crushed up and swallowed.
A chai vendor offered Jasper a cup of his best. Jasper took in the rough-hewn tables filled with dented samovars and blue enamel teapots, and the shelves of little chipped teacups, upside down to dry. Men were already sitting on the raised carpeted platforms that took the place of Western tables, sipping chai and good-naturedly arguing. He liked teashops and their ‘matey’ atmosphere, and accepted thankfully, wondering if anyone knew who he was. The village wasn’t so big that the men wouldn’t notice a new face. He imagined they thought he was a guest of the Kumars. If only they knew.
He felt the tea seller’s curious gaze on him but Jasper didn’t want to tell anyone his fears, in case everyone supported whatever the commander did. He’d heard of villages just like this one where the khan or commander’s word was law. Here, too, loyalty to Kumar seemed evident; he was what the American media would have called a war lord, yet Jasper hadn’t heard a bad comment about him or his family in all the time he’d been there. It made him feel so alone, as though everything was closing in on him like dungeon walls in a video game. How could he possibly organise an escape? No one would be sympathetic.
He wandered on and paused at the opening to a primitive factory. Rows of young boys and a few older men sat on benches tying knots at the back of rugs stretched on huge wooden looms. Curious, yet knowing the answer, Jasper asked the nearest boy what he was making.
‘A rug, of course,’ one little boy answered with a ‘don’t you have eyes?’ edge to his tone. Apparently it was thanks to Mr Kumar’s goodwill that the factory was started, to create job opportunities for the villagers and for those from surroundings areas who had lost their families. There were more such projects, Jasper was told. The commander was a good man; he thought of his people. He let the boys in the rug factory have exercise during the day and time off to study. He even provided the patterns for the carpets, one boy told him, and that saved much time. Jasper couldn’t stomach hearing more about the commander’s good works. The people were brainwashed, he was sure of it. Most of the war lords he’d heard about were siphoning off the aid from the West into their own pockets.
Deep in thought while crossing the street, Jasper was startled by the sound of close rifle fire. A Pakhtun horseman rode recklessly past him, rifle in the air, shouting like a madman. He reined in his horse in a stone-scattering skid at the hakim’s surgery and struggled to pull a man-sized bundle from the front of his saddle. Soon a crowd formed, and many hands helped to lift the wounded man down. Other spectators were quick with questions and advice. Jasper joined the mob, trying to hear what had happened. He only caught snatches but it was enough.
‘—no horse. Not a hope.’
‘Mujahideen from the fort … may Allah in his wisdom cut off their—’
Jasper watched, mesmerised, as the blood dripped to the ground, making a trail from the horse to the hakim’s room. How could he ensure that his own escape party wouldn’t run into a bigger danger once they were away from the village? The idea came to him then. Horses! He had to get horses. But how? There were hardly any left—they’d been conscripted by fighters. Even if he could find some, they couldn’t ride the same animals all the way to Peshawar. Kabul wasn’t so far away, but that was too dangerous; even the UN couldn’t always get relief through the area because of renewed militant activity. He knew he had to think of a plan and how to do it without anyone telling Sohail or Kumar.
n
When he returned to the house, Sohail had an invitation for him. ‘There is a betrothal party in the village tonight, my friend. Come with me.’
Jasper bit back a retort that he wasn’t Sohail’s friend. He didn’t want to go anywhere with Sohail, nor was he fooled by the invitation. No doubt it was an easy way for Sohail to keep an eye on him. Even though he didn’t like the young Pakhtun, he tried to be civil. He had enough sense to realise that while he was being cooperative he would be allowed more freedom, and freedom was what he needed if he were to organise an escape.
The party was for men only and although alcohol was forbidden the men had as much fun as guys do at drunken bucks’ parties in Australia. As usual, they had their firearms with them and discharged them into the air, whooping as if they were totally off their faces.
‘All in fun,’ Sohail explained, smiling at them like an indulgent schoolteacher with a group of restless boys. ‘See that boy sitting over there? That’s the groom.’
Jasper noticed the boy’s youth and nervousness with compassion, the same age as himself. ‘He looks young for marriage.’
Sohail laughed. ‘Boys are born men in Afghanistan.’ Then he sobered as he faced Jasper. ‘Here, we fight, even though the rest of the world is sick of hearing about us, hoping that if they do not know, then the fighting will be finished. It is good to marry young because as boys fight, they become men quickly. Here, they don’t grow old—they die young.’
Jasper remembered the scene in the village that day. ‘This morning I saw …’ he began.
‘That
boy was the same age as you, Jasper. I saw him too. Was he not a man? If he was old enough to die for his people, was he not old enough for a woman?’
All at once the noise grew louder as men milled around Sohail, drawing him into a dance. One man played a rabaab, his fingers racing and jumping on the strings. Another played the beat on the tablas. The other men were joking and Sohail laughingly joined in, his earlier intensity apparently forgotten. The men beckoned to Jasper too. ‘Come, we can dance again,’ they said. But he was not in the mood for dancing and moved away from the revelry, closer to the shadows. He just wanted to think.
Suddenly he felt a hand grip his shoulder. Instinctively he turned, but the fingers dug in so that he stood still. ‘Don’t move!’ came a low order in English. ‘Act normal.’ Jasper dropped slowly back into the dark.
‘Who are you?’ Jasper tried to keep his head to the front as if he were watching the dancing.
‘I am a journalist from CNN,’ the voice replied. ‘I have come to get you out. It took an age for me to find you.’
‘How did you know who I was?’ Jasper wasn’t sure if he should trust the man. His accent was vaguely familiar.
‘Don’t be stupid, kid. Your face is all over the papers in the subcontinent. Do you still have the Russian girl with you?’
‘Yeah, and the Australian girls too.’
The man swore under his breath, as if he were calculating a situation he hadn’t expected. ‘Okay, I suppose we should take you all at once.’
Jasper tried to breathe normally. If this was the escape route he was hoping for, it seemed too easy.
‘You will need to get out of the village by yourselves. Two kilometres down the road, there is a waterfall. I will wait for you with a jeep at two each morning. Then we shall get you out of this godforsaken hole.’
Jasper thought a journalist should be a little more encouraging; he didn’t sound sympathetic at all, but then maybe the man was just tired from tracking them down. How did he find them anyway?
The War Within Page 9