Jasper tried to grin. I felt sorry for him having to eat humble pie like that. ‘You did your best, Jas. There’s no need to do any more.’ No one else would have understood the clumsy words I was saying, but I think Jasper did, for he seemed to relax.
Another explosion from the tank caused more stone from the fort to fall.
‘Now! Let us go!’ Sohail cut in suddenly. No one from the fighting seemed to notice our dash to the wall, nor our creeping along in single file to the gaping hole that once held an ancient gate. Jasper carried the empty Kalashnikov for appearances’ sake, while Sohail brought up the rear more slowly, carrying Liana.
Sonya’s father saw his daughter first and, with evident relief, folded her in his arms and murmured endearments that only she could understand. Sohail took Liana to the limousine and laid her on the back seat. He stood and greeted Sonya’s father formally.
I was just wondering when they would start rushing Liana and Jasper to the hospital when suddenly Sohail staggered backwards as a body launched itself at him. I screamed as I recognised the shalwar qameez of one of the militants. Before anyone could move, the bigger man had Sohail by the scruff of the neck and pulled him up, face-to-face, his turban knocked off in the scuffle. Too late, I remembered the rifle Jasper had won in the tunnel was empty.
Then my eyes watered as the bearded man spoke. ‘What do you think you’re doing, mate?’
I couldn’t contain myself a moment longer. I sobbed as I hurled myself at the man. All I wanted was to be safe in his arms.
‘Dad! I thought you were a militant.’ Then I remembered Sohail. ‘Let him go, Dad, it’s okay—this is Sohail. He helped us and he’s our friend.’
When I said those words, Sohail glanced down at me and in that moment, I knew I’d spoken the truth.
Dad was confused as he took his hands off Sohail. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but you must know how it looked. And I’ve been so worried.’ He reached for me then, and hugged me so hard I thought my ribs might pop. ‘I didn’t recognise you either, sunshine.’
Sohail grinned through the dirt on his face. ‘I am not offended, sahib. We are just happy to be alive.’
Then I saw Uncle Jon—so that was how Dad got there.
‘It’s all over.’ He came striding over. ‘The fort has surrendered and negotiations are in process for a calmer relationship between the villages in this area. I might see the buildings that I helped build stay up from now on.’
‘I must show myself to my father,’ Sohail said. ‘It may make some difference to the proceedings.’ His eyes twinkled at us and I watched him go with a heaviness that wasn’t only because of Liana. Sohail made me think of honour and strength in the face of insurmountable obstacles. Maybe if there were more guys like him, Afghanistan would find true freedom.
Dad was bending over Liana then, asking how she was.
‘She’s still alive,’ was all Dr Pembley said.
At the words, Dad swung round. ‘Stagger me! I know that voice—Joe, Joe Pembley! Heard you were dead, mate.’ He grasped Dr Pembley to himself. ‘So you were holed up here—all this time?’
Dr Pembley stepped back and grinned. ‘Yeah, and I have Jasper to thank for my escape. If he hadn’t stepped in the path of a bullet, I would never have known the kids were even in the fort.’
Dad was standing in front of Jasper then. He was looking at the wounded shoulder, still bleeding, and the fatigue etched into Jasper’s dirt-streaked face.
‘No doubt I have you to thank for the safety of my daughter, Jasper.’ He didn’t say any more, and he glanced at Liana, lying in the back of the car. It was as though he was saying, ‘Thanks, I didn’t expect any of you alive and well’; as if Jasper’s shoulder and Liana’s head wound were good odds.
It was small consolation to me.
n
Getting Liana out of Afghanistan to Peshawar took longer than our trip into the country did. All the check posts that we had missed going in suddenly sprang up like rabbit traps on our way out. Fortunately, Uncle Jon was there. Everyone seemed to know him, unless he was just very clever with his Pakhtu.
The Peshawar Public Hospital didn’t look promising. The waiting line was very long, even though it was well into the evening. Uncle Jon and Dr Pembley kept trying to get the man at the front desk to let us through. ‘Emergency, emergency,’ they kept saying. Weird how the most important words are the same in every language. Dr Pembley even shouted at people; he knew more than us, knew the danger of head wounds and how long people could survive being unconscious like that. Uncle Jon produced money, lots of it.
‘Everything is emergency here.’ The man at the desk sounded harassed, as if he really needed the money but there was truly nothing he could do. ‘Please understand. Here, everyone is shot. You must wait.’
Then there were the forms and the proof of identification. Do you think any of us had any? Jasper sat with his good arm around me, calm for once, and looking as miserable as I felt.
Finally, a doctor came to give Liana a preliminary examination. We’d been there three hours. After a cursory check, the inevitable showed in his features. ‘We cannot help,’ he said. Just like that. No ‘sorry’, no explaining, just ‘we cannot help’.
‘Don’t you have any facilities at all for surgery like this?’ Dr Pembley’s face was grey and I glanced away from the fear showing so naked on his face.
‘We have no facilities—not for this. These cases always die. They never regain consciousness, you understand.’
‘But if the pressure is released …’
‘We must help those who have the best chance. We don’t have time to waste—maybe a hospital in Islamabad?’
Another three-and-a-half-hour drive? That was when I truly despaired. Even a plane would take too long to hire, haggling over the price, the getting from the airport to the hospital. I buried my head in Jasper’s shirt and felt Dad’s hand on my arm.
‘We’ll take the embassy car,’ Dr Pembley said suddenly, brisk again, once he’d realised nothing could be done. Sonya’s father had stayed in the village with Mr Kumar but he’d allowed us to take Aslam and the car with written authority, in case we were stopped. I was never so glad of Aslam’s fast driving as I was then, while I sat in the back with Liana’s head in my lap. I talked to her as if she could hear me. I told her all sorts of things—what it’s like in Australia now, since she hadn’t seen it for years; about Danny, how I made friends with him last year at school; and Blake. I even tried to tell her how hilarious Kate Sample was when she thought I was acting like a nerd, except I couldn’t make anything sound funny. That was when I decided that however hard it was, I’d write Liana’s story—the one she told me in the village just before we escaped. I was the only one who knew it all, besides Mr Kimberley.
The hospital in Islamabad was an improvement but no one rushed out to help with a stretcher and oxygen. And there was also the inevitable red tape and waiting line, though not as long.
Dad and I took a room in a hotel nearby (one with a TV for Dad to watch the cricket). I could never concentrate long enough to get interested. Dad was impressed with David Warner and Steve Smith: ‘What a display of powerful hitting, perfect timing’. He was trying to take my mind off Liana but, even when Dad said the series was finished and the match was a tie, I was unmoved, and just thought how pleased Sohail would be that we hadn’t won.
Every afternoon Dad took me to see Liana. When Mr Kimberley wasn’t there, I sat and held her hand and told her about dancing in the woods and the fun we’d had all through school but there was never any change. Her olive skin was pale; her eyelids transparent as though she had already left. When the hospital rang us on the sixth morning to come in, I knew.
I’d dealt with the possibility that Jasper could die in the fort—all of us really, but not Liana. I had hoped she was safe with in the village. Maybe she was the one out of all of us most at peace to die, but I didn�
�t want to accept that then. All I could see was how things didn’t turn out the way I wanted. Maybe unrealistic expectations make an outcome hurt so much. Was it so naïve to hope we’d all survive?
Mr Kimberley was a mess, yet he managed to spend some time with me, and still managed to whisper, ‘Don’t give up hope, don’t despair.’ Maybe it was because he was older, had been through more, which enabled him to say that; or was it because he was so like Liana? She would have believed his words. It shocked me enough to think what he must have been feeling, and enough to remember that the enchantment that was Liana would never die. I think he felt it too, for that was when he began talking of her; about that time of crisis during the terrorist attack years ago when I was taken hostage with the others, when he and Liana saved our lives.
It helped, a little.
30
Jaime
We buried Liana in the little garden near the school with all the kids and babies who had died from cholera and typhoid during the British Raj, and with Jeremy, Carolyn’s brother. If you stood right where Liana’s grave was, you could see the Kashmir Mountains and the Hindu Kush through the pines, rolling into one huge mountain range. It was like a 360-degree panoramic photograph; so beautiful, it didn’t seem real. Liana would have loved it but I knew she wasn’t there any more. The view was just for us and for her memory.
Dad and I packed that afternoon, ready to catch a flight in a few days. He said there wasn’t a great deal of urgency since I was already late to start Year 12; I may as well get myself together first. He meant the reaction to the kidnapping and Liana, but that afternoon I felt fine—I guessed I was numb.
The day before Dad and I were to leave, Mr Kumar came to the school. When Carolyn rushed into the room to let me know Dad and I had a visitor, I felt the stirrings of the same childish excitement I’d have before a trip to the mountains as a kid. I was surprised as I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that again. I didn’t dare hope it was Sohail or his father for that would be too unusual, but who else could it be? I hurried down the two flights of stairs, pulled my long top over my jeans and knocked on the staffroom door.
Dad and Dr Pembley were already in there, and I knew that Mr Kumar was, too, before I saw him. He had a kind of presence that you could almost touch; the whole staffroom was filled with him and once you saw him, there was nowhere else to look.
‘Assalamu Alaikum, May God’s peace be upon you,’ I greeted formally.
‘Wa Alaikum Assalam,’ he returned, bowing his turbaned head slightly, his arm across his chest in a humble gesture of greeting. ‘It is good to see the daughter of Wayne Sahib again.’ Then he smiled, managing not to look at me directly, yet I knew the smile was just for me. ‘I am very sorry to hear of Misahiba Liana’s passing and bring affsos from my whole family. We feel the heavy responsibility of her death.’
‘Shukriya, thank you.’
‘I was very impressed with her noble ways. You must have loved her greatly.’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, I have brought you an invitation and a gift.’
‘How kind.’ Even though I kept my voice sounding formal and subdued, I could feel a stirring inside me again. How like the people of that part of the world—condolences for a death in one breath, an invitation to life in the next.
‘But first, I want to see the son of the Doctor Sahib. Is this possible?’
I rang the boys’ hostel, and in the meantime, tea arrived for the Mr Kumar from the dining room. I tried to serve him in the style he would be used to.Soon Jasper arrived, puffing slightly, his dark hair ruffled and his left arm in a sling. He greeted the great man properly and with obvious pleasure. I couldn’t help thinking what a change it was from the first time we were imprisoned in the carpet shop in Peshawar.
The Pakhtun stood and, after the customary hug that only occurred between members of the same sex, held Jasper at arm’s length, scrutinising him. Then he sighed as if what he saw pleased him. ‘I see you have come to terms with yourself and life at last, beta. Peace is written on your face where before it was not.’
Jasper nodded. ‘Yes, sir—and I want to say thank you for all you tried to do for me—Sohail too. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise your … position.’ Jasper’s voice faltered and died away but the Pakhtun’s smile was huge.
‘You truly are the son of your father. There was a time I wasn’t so sure, but a man who can admit his wrongs is a great one indeed.’
Dr Pembley coughed and I felt sorry for Jasper. How embarrassing for him having all those things said when we were within earshot.
‘Come.’ Mr Kumar moved to where some long bundles lay on the carpet. Swiftly, expertly, he unrolled two large prayer rugs. The third he left rolled. He was pleased with himself in a contained sort of way, and I tried to enter into his mood. I didn’t have to pretend for the rugs were excellent. I looked down on the bottom border of one. The pattern was lovely, perfect, except for—there it was again. I bent down for a closer look.
‘Ahh,’ exclaimed Mr Kumar and he didn’t sound displeased. ‘Your daughter is very intelligent,’ he offered to Dad. Then he turned to me. ‘Well, what do you see, beti? Tell me.’
I felt I needed to be careful. These were a gift, they might have been his best, and what if I were wrong about the patterns being changed? To say a carpet was badly made would be a terrible insult. Mr Kumar was watching me. ‘Your “brother” also saw something that night in my office.’ I looked across at Jasper. It just seemed too much of a coincidence for them all to be the result of poor workmanship.
‘The pattern is fine here—’ I pointed to the lower border ‘—and here. It’s like the ones in your home. We both noticed it. I don’t mean to be offensive but they always seem to have bigger differences than the usual mistake or two that can occur.’ There, I’d said it. I waited for the storm to break.
‘Look closer, beti.’
Surprised, I crouched on my hands and knees to examine the carpet. I thought he’d be upset, but here he was, inviting us to make a comment on his gift. Then suddenly, I gasped. ‘There’s something here … English letters! Between the flowers on the border.’ I tried to spell them out, ‘I-L-S-O-N-Y, no, SOHAIL—SONYA—March 17.’ I looked up. ‘That’s only next month.’ I was still forming the idea in my mind, hoping.
‘It is an invitation, beti.’
I was right. ‘To Sohail and Sonya’s wedding?’
‘Ji, a shadi invitation.’ The excitement I felt at being invited suddenly fizzled like a wet firecracker when I realised I wouldn’t be there. The next day I would leave. It’s strange how in such a short time you can feel so much a part of a person’s life that you want to share their special moments with them. Why is life so full of heartbreaking choices and decisions? I think in that second, if they’d begged me, I would have stayed and said, ‘stuff Year 12 and my university education’.
I caught Jasper’s glance on me, and I realised Mr Kumar was talking again. ‘And there is a special request, Jasper. Sohail wishes to pass over his distinguished blood relatives and have you as witness at his wedding.’
‘He—what?’ Jasper wasn’t the only one astonished. I’d never heard anything like that happening before. ‘Zarur, certainly I’d be honoured,’ Jasper managed to say.
Mr Kumar smiled through his beard. ‘I think this shadi will be somewhat different to others in our family of late.’
‘Mr Kumar? Is Sonya well?’ Believe it or not, during our time in the fort I became fond of Sonya. I realised she had the good of Afghanistan at heart and would do all she could to help a country that most of the world didn’t seem to care about. ‘We were worried what might happen to her.’
The commander moved to the couch and motioned for us also to sit. ‘Sonya is well, Allah be praised. Due to her youth, her father has managed to negotiate with the Russian intelligence to drop charges on the understanding that he resigns his post in
the embassy. Having their agent in our storeroom helped in this matter a great deal.’ His eyes twinkled under his bushy brows.
I was surprised that it really was a Russian agent who was after Sonya. I thought that sort of thing would have stopped years ago when the Union broke up. I guess there’d be many countries which didn’t want a unified government in Afghanistan and so the fighting and intrigue goes on, and the wall of silence rises higher.
‘They suggested also, in order to keep her out of trouble, to marry her to a handsome, young freedom fighter and leave her in the mountains. Which is exactly what will happen. Sohail and Sonya will live at the fort and Sohail will be its new commander.’
‘Wild!’ I whispered.
‘They have plans to rebuild and make it a village of social reform.’ He turned to Dad. ‘Sohail has already been talking to your English friend, Jon Harris, about these things.’
He turned back to Jasper and me. ‘I am sorry you cannot come to Afghanistan for a while. I have had much trouble with the authorities for taking you across the border in the first place, but most of the wedding festivities will be held in Peshawar, and we shall be honoured by your presence there.’
I tried to look as happy as Jasper. Then Mr Kumar gestured to the carpets spread on the floor. ‘These are a gift from us. You will each find your name woven on one.’ I knew then who the third one was for. ‘The English writing included in the weave was Sonya’s wish. She said you would appreciate it very much.’
I stared at Jasper. Was he thinking what I was? That this was Sonya’s way of telling us the secret at last? I had to know.
‘Mr Kumar?’ I appealed. ‘May I ask a question?’
‘Zarur, most certainly.’
‘Is this why the patterns on the carpets in your house were different? I mean, these have a story, a secret to tell just for us. Was that how you got messages back into Afghanistan after Sonya told you information? You had carpets on the looms in the camps all ready, except for the last few centimetres where you had the message woven in?’
The War Within Page 16