Refugees

by Catherine Stine

  Daq's lids fluttered open. He stared at Johar with surprise, as if viewing him for the first time. Then he turned to the guard. “Yes, take a break. I will handle this matter.” The guard glared back with suspicion as he strode toward the road.

  “So, what do you want?” demanded Daq.

  “I came for our stolen supplies.”

  “Your tainted American merchandise!” Daq snarled.

  “Let me by.” Johar started for the door. Daq stumbled after him. He seized Johar's shalwar, but Johar pushed him off and barreled inside. A rat's nest of syringes, spent ammunition, and candle wax littered the dirt floor.

  Daq lunged at him a second time. Johar caught his brother and pushed him backwards, knocking him to the floor and scattering debris.

  Johar was surprised at his own strength and Daq's flimsiness. He swung open the interior door. There it lay in a pile—the computer, the phones, medical supplies. “Have you no respect?” Johar shouted.

  A surge of Daq's old strength seemed to return as he hurtled toward Johar for a third time and slapped him against the mud wall. “It is you, brother, who have no respect,” shouted Daq. “You spend your time with infidels who order us to perform like slaves, who bomb us, and then retreat like cowards.”

  Johar's resolve faltered. Americans had raided the country. It was true their bombing raids did not always hit the right targets. He'd seen the wounds that proved it. And there would be chaos if they left before order was restored. But that didn't change what Daq had done—to Dr. Garland, to the patients who waited for her help.

  Johar stood facing his brother, whose hands still gripped Johar's garment. “Would you rather Aunt Maryam starve in her house because the Taliban decree she cannot teach?” Daq's eyelids lifted, then slid closed. His grip on Johar loosened. Johar jerked away. “You're sick, brother. Let's talk. Let me help you.”

  Daq wavered like a drunk. “I don't need your help. You'll not talk me into your weakling ways.” He reached into his vest, pulled out a knife, and held it to Johar's neck.

  Johar froze. His breath caught in his throat. Talk was all Johar had. He refused to be poisoned by the gun in his pack. Even though Daq held a knife, he was still Johar's brother. “Remember Mother?” asked Johar, “her songs pure as a flute? Remember Father? The way he held us in his strong arms? You remind me of him, Daq. You could be strong too, if you stopped this insanity. Warlords who ruined the lives of their own people killed Father. It's crazy, Daq—killing your own. How are you different? And the Taliban?” Daq's blade scraped the soft flesh of Johar's throat. Terror and adrenaline surged through him. Slowing his breath so the knife wouldn't pierce him, Johar experienced a moment of strange calm, as if he were floating above his own fear. He said, “Brother, fight your hate. Fight your anger. It's killing you as surely as this gun has tried to poison me.”

  “What gun?” Daq eased up on the blade and regarded it with glazed eyes.

  Johar inched his hand toward the pistol in his pack. He remembered Dawn's words: if you have a weapon, a criminal can use it against you. The gun's weight disgusted him. “Daq,” he exclaimed, “I'll never escape the fact that I like poems and weavings and flowers.” Johar rested the gun just inside the opening of the pack.

  “Little weakling, what does that have to do with it?” Daq's eyes shot open again as if a spark had taken hold. He wavered forward on his heels, the knife swinging wildly.

  “Brother, you are lost,” exclaimed Johar. “We all know your strength, your bravery, your ferocity, but it's not your rage that makes you alive. It's your love, your joy like Father's. Like when you shear the sheep or dance to your music. Why do you hide that away? Do you want to be just a hard, bitter shell?”

  “You lie.” Daq began to whimper. He spotted the gun in Johar's hand, and his yellowed eyes glittered with terror. “You're going to shoot me!”

  “No, never. This gun is poison!” Johar thrust it onto the dirt floor by Daq's feet. “Take it. Kill me if you want. But you need to know one thing. I am no coward, and I have never been a coward!” Johar watched as his brother gaped at the gun. “I won't fight back with vengeance,” Johar continued. “For me that is the weakling's way.”

  “Brother?” Daq muttered, as if emerging from a dream. He stared at the knife in his fist, then looked up at Johar. Tears swam in Daq's eyes, and he was trembling.

  “Why are you crying?” Johar asked.

  Daq lurched forward. He hurled the blade onto the floor. It clattered against Johar's gun. “Nothing. It's nothing,” he muttered, roughly brushing away his tears.

  Johar touched Daq's shoulder. “Tell me. Are you sick from drugs?” Daq spun away. His shoulders shook. “I have no doubt you were a great soldier,” whispered Johar. “I only mean that one can find other ways to fight; not from hatred, not for vengeance.”

  “Aunt Maryam is dead,” Daq cried. “She was killed by American bombs that fell on the Taliban jail.”

  Johar felt the life drain from his body. “Is it true, brother?”

  “It is true.” Daq crumpled to the ground, sobbing. “The Taliban, they should not have put her in jail. They should never have stopped her teaching.”

  Johar fell on top of Daq among the needles and the trash. He strained to listen for Maryam's voice whispering poetry in a deep, soft corner of his mind. But there was only silence. Johar began to weep.

  fly

  New York City and in flight toward Asia,

  late December 2001

  Dawn lunged onto Susie's futon for the satellite phone. “Hello?”

  “Dawn!” Louise cried out.

  “Louise, you're all right!” Dawn yelled.

  “I'm fine. It's just that the clinic…” She sounded exhausted. “Nils said you called.”

  “He told me you were gone,” Dawn said. “Where were you? I've been calling the whole day. I was scared you were hurt, or…I didn't know.”

  “I went to visit some families outside the camp in the morning, then to get supplies. I didn't find out what happened until this evening. It's so depressing.”

  “Yes, but at least you're okay. What about Johar? Is he…” Dawn could hardly speak the words.

  “Johar is unhurt.”

  “Thank God you're both all right. Who robbed the place?”

  “Johar's brother,” replied Louise. “He came to Suryast a couple of days ago. He was furious at Johar for working with an American. I guess he decided to get his revenge by robbing the clinic.” She paused. “Heroin has almost destroyed him.”

  “It's lucky you weren't there. Was Johar there when it happened?”

  “No. Johar discovered the robbery the next day. He went to where Daq was staying and confronted him. It must have taken every shred of nerve. Daq was so deranged he was violent.”

  Dawn swept away all other emotions. “Is Johar in shock?”

  “No, but he's grieving. His aunt was killed.”

  Dawn inhaled sharply. “How?”

  “In a prison near Baghlan. An American bombing of a Taliban compound. Daq gave him the dreadful news.”

  “God, that's really awful. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him to call me when he can.” Dawn's heart was aching and racing all at once. “Louise, I want you to know that I feel terrible for the stuff I've put you through.”

  There was a pause, then Dawn heard sniffling. “That's good to know.”

  “I'm sorry for being mean, for running away.

  #x201D; Louise's sniffles turned to sobs. “You had me so upset! Especially with all that's going on in New York.”

  Dawn's tears slid down too, warm on her cheeks. “At first it was terrifying. Who knew if a bridge would get blown up, or some nut would spray anthrax in the subway.” She paused, then continued warily. “But I'm not sorry I came. I've learned so much. And I feel like—I feel like I've done so much too.”

  “I can't imagine what you might have learned that was worth all that.”

  Dawn gazed at her garnet ring. She vowed that this conversation would st
ay kind. “Remember that memory I started to have about a car trip? I finally remembered it all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was my birth mother. She was taking me to Epiphany. I remembered her yanking me from the car so hard that my hands had red marks, and refusing to talk to me. I remembered her pushing my hands off her coat and leaving without looking back.”

  “Nobody should have to go through that.”

  “True,” Dawn sighed. “But I'm so relieved to get it out. Get it behind me.”

  “But that's so hard.”

  Dawn said, “I never would have left a kid with strangers. I would have loved my child, no matter what. Maybe my mother was sick; maybe she needed a shrink. Maybe I'll forgive her someday. But Louise?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I had already made up my mind, I mean before that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wasn't the one who fed me. She wasn't the one who was there….” Dawn felt shy, and shifted her train of thought. “At the site, when I played, I started to feel other people's pain. I wasn't the only one hurting anymore. Helping them made me strong. Maybe I had to get away to quit blaming you.”

  “I'm proud of you,” Louise said softly. They were quiet for a time.

  “It's not to say that you haven't hurt me,” said Dawn.

  “I'm sorry that I hurt you,” said Louise. “I'm learning things about myself too.”

  Dawn recalled the note Jude had found. “Have you heard from Victor?”

  “He left,” said Louise. “He got in touch with me about a week ago and tried to explain. But there's no excuse for him not calling the police when he knew you were gone. And no excuse for not telling me! You should know that I plan to file for divorce.”

  “What did you see in him?” Dawn's anger swelled.

  “That's a hard one,” Louise admitted. “I married late, so maybe I didn't take the time to know what I was getting into. I was desperate for a child, and then we couldn't have one. Victor definitely had his moments, but he wasn't cut out for children. Truth is, I should never have married him.”

  Dawn was suddenly alarmed. “If you get a divorce, does that mean you can't keep me? You won't get rid of me? You won't send me back to Epiphany House?”

  “Never!” Louise's words came in jerks. “I couldn't imagine giving you up.”

  There was more silence. Dawn's emotions played havoc, veering from fear to panic to fury. “It will be hard enough to convince social services that you can handle me without another parent. But they'll never let me stay if you keep traveling all the time.” Heat flared through her. “I hate it when you leave!”

  “Dawn, I'm so sorry about that. After those towers fell I imagined that happening in San Francisco….” She paused, and Dawn heard more sniffling. “Being so far away, I've missed you—truly missed you, and missed all I want for us. I've made a decision to only take local assignments in the future. I've been distant and, well, just plain avoiding you.” She sighed. “Getting close to people is damn scary!”

  Dawn realized that fear hid behind Louise's harsh shell, behind her sense of duty, even behind her pity. Dawn would never have guessed that when she first saw her standing like a dour general in Epiphany's halls. “But what's so scary for you, Louise? I mean, I know relationships can be scary, but I just figured I was messed up from moving all the time, from not having parents.”

  “You're not messed up, dear. Or maybe we both are.” Louise was silent for a moment, then said, “My parents were missionaries who were constantly traveling, teaching languages, building medical centers, showing tribes the ins and outs of irrigation and things like that. I got used to them being far away even when we traveled together.” She sighed. “They taught me how to be the classic type who can save the world but can't deal with her own family.”

  “Why did you want a kid, then?” asked Dawn.

  “Maybe it's selfish, but I wanted someone to connect to. Then I didn't know how.”

  Dawn chuckled ruefully. “I was good at disconnecting too. I was so out of it.”

  “In what way?”

  “All this time when I was searching for my mother—or wishing I was with her—I imagined there was some mystical blood bond, that we'd have some instant understanding. I even fantasized that she might be a musician.” Dawn laughed. “Sometimes connections form when your head is turned a hundred and eighty degrees the other way. You and I, it's surreal how alike we are.”

  “You're right,” said Louise.

  “We're both trying to help people. We're both runners.” They laughed together. Then Dawn said, “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to keep doing what I've been doing with flute playing—maybe join a band and play music for sick people, maybe in hospitals, cheer them up, connect with them. I've sort of figured out a way to help people. I'm actually good at it! I know it's idealistic, but…”

  “Hey, you're talking to the queen of idealism here. And who could complain about another healer in the family? But when I come for you in New York and we go home to California, you'll need to make up all the school that you missed. You'll also be grounded for a couple of months. Running away is no small thing.”

  “Ground me?” Dawn couldn't remember Louise ever punishing her.

  “Dawn, I've been thinking about your idea to bring Johar to the States.”

  Dawn felt a wave of apprehension, recalling Johar's anger, but she was nervous about spoiling the mood. “Yeah?”

  “What if we bring Johar and his cousin to San Francisco to live with us, to be a family? I want us to be a real family; I've been thinking a lot about that.” Louise paused. “I asked Johar about it and he didn't say much, but you two seem to have formed quite a bond. We have the room, and at least Johar knows enough English to go to school.”

  How could Dawn tell her how wrong this was without hurting her feelings? How could she say it in nice words? “It's an awesome idea, Louise, but—” She broke off.

  “I thought you'd be thrilled.”

  “Well, actually I suggested it to him myself, but that's not what he wants. He wants to return to Baghlan and start a school.”

  “But he's only fifteen. Didn't he say that caring for Bija was too difficult?”

  “He gets overwhelmed sometimes, but he sees Bija as his responsibility. With his parents and Maryam gone, and Daq off as a soldier, Johar is the head of the family. He told me that in Afghanistan at fifteen, even at fourteen, a boy is considered a man,” Dawn explained. “Johar wants to stay and take care of things. He thinks that running off to another country would be like running away from his problems.”

  “Well, what about a visit to the States, at least until Afghanistan is stabilized?”

  “He doesn't want to leave at all, even for a visit,” Dawn replied. “To Johar that would be cowardly.”

  “He told you all this?”

  “Yes. I guess he was afraid to tell you. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful.” Dawn paused, then said, “I've got a great idea.”

  “What is it?” asked Louise.

  “Do you promise to keep an open mind about it—to really, really consider it?”

  “Maybe.” She paused. “What is it?”

  Dawn took a deep breath and began. “My roommate, Susie is a reporter. She writes features on cultural and political issues. She recently interviewed Muslims who worship at this controversial London mosque. And she's been angling for an unusual assignment on how Muslims interact with westerners. She's come up with a story idea.”

  “What's that?”

  “Interviewing the ICRC doctors and their patients in Peshawar!” Before Louise could react, Dawn plowed forward. “If she interviewed you guys, I could fly over with her. She travels with translators and security people and the whole nine yards, so it would be relatively safe. She'd do her interviews, and when she was done, we would all travel north to Baghlan to help Johar clear his compound and start his school. And the best thing, Lo
uise, is that you and I and Johar and Bija could all work together. It'd be like a family—this weird, crazy family. We'd have such a blast !”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Louise shouted “You are incorrigible!” She began to howl with laughter. It kind of shocked Dawn. She'd never heard Louise laugh like that. Ever!

  Dear Johar—

  It's really happening! As soon as I get my passport in a couple weeks, we're coming to Peshawar! Then we'll travel to Baghlan with you. My heart is so full it feels like it might pop. I'm sorry that I'll never meet your aunt. She sounded like a beautiful person. But I can't wait to meet Bija! I have a special dolly for her. My friend Susie made the doll's clothes. Bija will get a taste of American fashion. By the way, you must get used to Susie slowly. She's kind of over the top, but she's a sweetheart. How to explain “over the top”? Um, she's bubbly and perky and talks really fast. Speaking of fast talking, boy, did I ever have to do some fast talking to persuade Louise. Actually, Susie helped. She's hiring guards and translators and photographers. We'll be in a veritable caravan. I told Louise that she is my mentor as a risk-taking field doctor (all true). I never appreciated how organized Louise was until she and Susie arranged everything down to the airplane meal. She is starting to love the plan and has even arranged to get chalk and a blackboard up there for you. Johar, it will be an honor to help set up Maryam School. XOX Dawn P.S.—How is Daq?

  Dawn—

  I cannot beleev you come here! It best dream I have had! I sure I will like over the top Susie. I admit, have never talked to a girl like you so neer. But nothing in Quran says a guy cannot have a female frend. Anyway, the world is changes. I impatient for your arrivel each day. Maryam School will be way cool as you Americans say. And blackboard extra, extra cool! I will arm student warriors with books, not guns. Also armed with cleen socks. LOL!!! Thanks for kind words on Maryam. I miss her. And sorry I was so angry during last talk. Daq is OK. He recovers in my tent and Nils convinced him to see addiction Dr. in Kabul. Daq is considering this and actully speak to me today abot coming with us north for this.