Veil of Silence

by K'Anne Meinel

  Reluctant, but curious, the little girl asked, “No, what?”

  “It means hayfield,” she smiled, watching the astonishment on her little girl’s face. She was laying in the fresh cut grass. One of the neighbor’s sons had been helping cut the lawn for Heather since they didn’t own a working lawn mower.

  “Hayfield!” she wrinkled her nose.

  “When you were born…” Marsha began speaking in story-telling mode, which she knew the little girl adored. She glanced up at her wife who was sitting in a chair on their back lawn, watching as the other two slid down the slide. Bahir came over to listen to the story and Amir followed along behind, ever the shadow of his sister. “When you were born your hair was as blonde as a hayfield. Your mom commented on that as soon as they cleaned you up. It was long and blonde and we decided to call you Hayley.”

  The little girl, whose blonde hair had fallen out by year one and grown back in thick and luxurious and black like her mother’s, smiled at the story. “Was Bahir’s hair the color of a hayfield?” she glanced almost jealously at her little sister.

  Marsha shook her head, laying back and looking up at the clouds as she remembered Bahir’s birth. She’d barely seen the child when Malekah had taken her away to show her off. She’d been lucky to establish a relationship with either of her children with the proprietorial air that Malekah had towards them. The child was brought to her for feeding, but that was almost all for a long time. “No, Bahir’s hair was a soft brown that grew darker every day. She had more curls than I remember you having,” she teased a little since Hayley’s hair was very curly now, much like Marsha’s as a child. That was another reason she had kept it short in the army…easier to maintain without the thick, luxurious curls she had now.

  “What does Bahir’s name mean?”

  Marsha smiled, knowing curiosity would bring her daughter closer to her, more than anything else. She hadn’t forced it in the time she had been home and that had been good. Both Bahir and Amir came to her freely since Malekah wasn’t around to thwart them. The change in them had been very welcome. “It means spring,” she answered simply. She waited for the youngster to ask the next question, not volunteering anything. She wasn’t disappointed.

  “Why spring?” she asked eagerly.

  “Because she was born in spring,” she answered readily and glanced at Heather. She could see her doing the calculation of time that they had been apart. She was sorry for that and hoped meeting with the psychologists would help her deal with any problems that might arise.

  “What about Amir?” the youngster continued.

  “His name means king,” she made it sound regal and the little girl giggled.

  “But he’s not a king!”

  “Ah, but his father was a leader of a tribe, so yes, in their culture he could be a king,” she explained carefully. She was afraid that the little girl would figure out that they had different fathers far too soon and she didn’t want to explain about Zabi, whose name meant sacrificed or slaughtered person.

  Heather saw her expression of anticipation. It was almost painful so she distracted the children. “Who is going to help Mommy off the ground?” she asked, playfully. The children pulled and pushed and laughed as Heather went over and offered Marsha a hand. Only by rolling onto her hands and knees could she slowly bring her feet under her unbalanced self. It was a good thing Heather was there to help her as she nearly fell over. They all laughed at her ungainly body as they went in to fix dinner.

  * * * * *

  That night, as the children were in their makeshift tent, Heather went in search of Marsha and found her outside in front of the house. The last rays of sunshine were slowly fading over the horizon, or what they could see of the horizon within the housing development they lived in. “What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

  “I was thinking about how beautiful the sunsets were in Afghanistan,” she said just as quietly.

  “Is there anything you miss about that country?” Some of her fears were that something kept her wife over there besides being a prisoner.

  “It was beautiful there. Sometimes we would camp in a meadow and I knew no one was around for miles. Even the deserts and the infernal sand and dust and dirt were beautiful at the time, the sunsets and the sunrises so intense. You don’t get that here with the city blocking the views. I mean, look at that,” she pointed towards the sky. “You can’t even see all the stars because of the city lights.”

  “I love looking at the stars. Remember when we fell asleep along the lake looking at them?”

  Marsha smiled as she nodded. She leaned over and hugged her wife closer, one-armed. “I remember waking up cold and damp from the fog that rolled in over us.”

  “Well, you warmed me up nicely as I recall.”

  “Someday we’ll have all of that again,” she promised. She leaned in for a kiss and afterwards saw that they were being watched from across the street. Not everyone appreciated same-sex couples or open displays of affection. “All I wanted was to get home to you.” She took Heather inside so they could at least cuddle on their sofa.

  * * * * *

  It took weeks and then the psychologists were ready to release not only their findings, but their patient. She was doing well and she could always talk to anyone on the SERE staff. The debriefings with the psychologists dealt with the overall experience of her captivity and they were pleased that she related the stories of tribe life and that it wasn’t all tainted by the harsh and brutal treatment that she had sustained. Her medical records, showing the scar tissue on her back, buttocks, and thighs, attested to her testimony about the beatings.

  They advised her to follow up in the coming year, possibly years, regarding everything that had happened to her. “It’s not a quick fix, Captain. The things that have happened to you can sneak up on you at the oddest times,” he advised. “Don’t be brave. It could adversely affect your relationship with your wife,” he’d noted how well they got along. “It could also affect your career as PTSD comes up when you least expect it.”

  Marsha understood that, but at the moment she really didn’t care. She was nervous about the resumed interrogation she was going to have to undergo the following day now that the reports were in.

  The SERE representative had offered her the services of a chaplain as well.

  “Oh, hell no,” she told him succinctly. “They didn’t want to marry us. They won’t acknowledge my marriage. I want nothing to do with them.” That ended that.

  “Do we know why a processing team chief was not assigned?” the psychologist directed this question to Lance.

  “No, we don’t. We also don’t know why the army disregarded a lot of the steps of processing Captain Gagliano.”

  The psychologist made notes in his report. He was very unhappy with the apparent disregard for protocol that this case had engendered. Something wasn’t right. “I suppose we could call you the escort officer in this case.”

  “I’m also her liaison officer and legal defense, but I was sent by Jag and more precisely by General Biggins.”

  “General Biggins?” his eyebrows rose at the name. “That is impressive.” He turned to Marsha and asked, “And how do you know General Biggins?”

  “I don’t,” she admitted.

  “Yes, she told me back in Kabul that she didn’t know him. Colonel…” he began and then something clicked into place for him. Colonel Kodel hadn’t wanted him to go to Kabul to help Captain Gagliano and Biggins had insisted.

  “Yes, Colonel, what?” the psychologist asked.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, lost my train of thought,” he lied. “Could I also be considered her processing team chief as I’ve been looking into things for her?” he asked to distract the man who was looking at him suspiciously.

  Nodding, the man added some more things in his notes.

  “Since they skirted Phase I and Phase II of Operation Yellow Ribbon, is it possible during Phase III that you or your staff could be present for the rest of
the debriefing?” Lance asked.

  Nodding, the man looked up. “Try to keep me away.” He was very disturbed about this whole thing. Captain Gagliano had not been handled correctly, not at all. Captain McKellan was keeping something from him and the rest of the people anxiously waiting for his and his staff’s evaluation reports were keeping something from them all. He too was anxious to get to the bottom of this. He watched as Lance got on his cell phone as soon as he left his office.

  The much-anticipated debriefing scheduled for the following day was going to have to wait. Captain Marsha Gagliano went into labor that night.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Marsha had reluctantly called her parents the week before. She knew that letting them know of her situation was only fair. They were grieving and they didn’t even know she was alive. She debated on it long and hard though. She was so angry about what they had pulled on her wife, she wanted to shut them out, let them suffer. It was the psychologist who pointed out that she wasn’t thinking clearly or rationally. Finally, taking a deep breath, and with Heather looking on, she called after the children had gone to bed so they wouldn’t interrupt.

  “Hello?” the familiar voice felt warm and friendly. She was actually relieved to hear it. She had expected another voice to answer the phone, had in fact braced herself for it.

  “Dad?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Dad, it’s Marsha.”

  There was a pause and then he got angry. “I don’t know who this is, but if this is some kind of sick joke…”

  “No, Dad, it really is me. I’m home. I’m with Heather.” She didn’t know if she wanted to mention the children, not yet. The silence was long and she thought she had lost the connection for a moment. “Hello? Dad are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” he answered, but Marsha could hear something strange in his voice. It sounded like emotion.

  “It’s really me. I finally escaped and made my way to Kabul.”

  “How long have you been home?”

  Marsha debated on whether she should lie or not. She suspected he was asking because he wanted something to say rather than a true desire to know the timeline. “A couple of weeks,” she hedged.

  “Why didn’t you call sooner? Why didn’t the army call us? We could have come and picked you up! We could have brought you home.”

  “Dad, I am home.” She glanced up to see Heather rolling her eyes and turning away in annoyance. She nearly laughed at her wife’s reaction to the one-sided conversation.

  “Who is it, Lawrence?” she heard her mother’s voice in the background and almost cringed.

  “It’s Marsha,” he said and Marsha could hear something that sounded suspiciously like tears in his voice.

  “That’s not funny, Lawrence! Who is it?” Her mother’s angry voice came clearly through the line.

  “I’m not kidding, MaryBeth. It’s really Marsha,” he protested and Marsha could hear something was going on.

  “Dad? What’s going on?” she asked, only to hear her mother come on the line. It was then she realized her mother must have taken the phone away from her dad.

  “Hello? Who is this?” the voice grated on Marsha’s nerves immediately.

  “Hi, Mom. It’s Marsha. I’m back.” She tried to sound chipper and happy to hear her mother’s voice, but she really felt tense. The baby moved, sensing her anxiety. Heather reached out and took her free hand in her own and started caressing it, squeezing it to let Marsha know that she was there for her through this.

  “Marsha? Oh, my gawd! Where are you? Are you at the base? Are you in Afghanistan? Where are you? We’ll come and get you. We’ll bring you home.” She didn’t pause and said it all in one breath.

  Marsha waited for her mother to pause and when it wasn’t forthcoming she interrupted, cringing as she did so. “I am home, Mom. I’m here with Heather.”

  “I meant we’d bring you here, home,” she stressed, ignoring the reference to Heather. “Is Hayley there with you?”

  Where else would her daughter be? “Of course, Mom. Heather and Hayley are both here,” she answered calmly. Some of the old smart aleck in her wanted to say they were out earning a living by hooking or something, but she knew the joke would fall flat on her mother’s ears and then she would have to deal with a lecture on her smart mouth.

  “Well, we’ll leave tomorrow and come get you,” she stated, as though it were a fact and no one would debate it. “Your father will gas up the car and I’ll pack….”

  “Mom, I can’t leave,” she interrupted, knowing that was a chancy thing to do. Her mother never liked to be interrupted, considering it rude. She didn’t, however, let anyone else speak, so it was hard not to interrupt her.

  “Are you okay? What did those monsters do to you? Did they lock you up? Are you hurt?”

  “Mom, I’m still being debriefed,” she told her the lesser of the evils as the baby kicked her, hard. She pulled her hand from Heather’s to rub and calm the upset baby. Heather watched her, concerned, knowing how stressful Marsha’s mom could be.

  “Oh, the army isn’t done with that nonsense yet?”

  Marsha realized her mother had no idea what was involved in being in the army. She thought they were just glorified guards and there to appear in parades. She admired that they were in perfect step or that their uniforms shined up so nicely, but she really had no clue what Marsha had done while in the service. “It can take a while,” she answered, trying to put it in terms that her mother would understand.

  “Well, we’ll come for a visit and see Hayley and take you out to…” she began as though Marsha hadn’t spoken.

  “Now is not a good time, Mom,” she quickly interrupted again, cringing, knowing one of these times her mother would notice the interruption and berate her for this breech of propriety. She looked around the small house, wondering where they would put them anyway. She wondered where they had stayed when they visited Heather and Hayley while she was gone. She needn’t have wondered as her mother seemed to have read her mind.

  “Well, we won’t stay there,” she said in a disparaging tone. “That woman wouldn’t let us anyway. We can stay in a hotel and Hayley can use the pool. Won’t she like that?”

  “Mom, now is not a good time. I’m dealing with a lot. I just called to let you know I was alive and well,” she rubbed her stomach as she said that and caught Heather’s eye. Her wife was looking at her apologetically, as though she understood exactly what her mother was saying.

  “Well, you should have your family around you at a time like this!”

  Marsha realized how many times her mother started a sentence with the word ‘well.’ It was annoying and she found herself focusing in on it, not the outrage of what she was saying. Thinking about the last thing her mother said had her annoyed. “I am surrounded by my family,” she pointed out, wondering what her mother would say about the additions she had made to it. Heather was her wife and Hayley her child. They were the only family she needed. For her mother to continue to disparage her wife angered her.

  “Yes, but we are the ones that love you,” she answered, perfectly content in her belief that no one could love her daughter like she could.

  “Mom, do you even hear yourself?” she exploded. “Heather is my wife. She loves me. And Hayley is OUR daughter. How dare you dismiss her as though she is merely Hayley’s caregiver? She is just as much Hayley’s mother as I am. Just because I gave birth to her doesn’t make me any more the child’s mother than Heather. Furthermore, I don’t want you here right now because I’m not only dealing with the army and my debriefing, but I also happen to be enormously pregnant and due any day. I don’t need you or your criticism of my life breathing down my neck. If you can’t learn to talk to me as an adult, or at least talk about my wife without sneering, we really have nothing more to say to each other!” She could hear her mother’s intake of breath at the revelations she had just spouted. She hadn’t meant to tell her like that, but really, how could she tell her sh
e was pregnant or had other children…not in the frame of mind her mother was already in. She wasn’t just happy that Marsha was alive, she wanted to take over and take her back to their home. She had a home. A home with Heather and their children.

  “You’re pregnant? Again? Who is the father? What did those monsters do to you? How long have you been back? Were you really away this long? Was this some trick to keep us away?”

  Heather could see the annoyance on Marsha’s face. She could only imagine what MaryBeth was saying. That woman could, and frequently did, annoy everyone around her. She wasn’t even aware of it and always denied it when it was pointed out to her. How Lawrence, who was a sweetie, put up with her, Heather couldn’t figure out. They were of a generation that you simply didn’t divorce, so maybe that was it.

  “Mom, I’m hanging up now. I won’t tolerate your verbal assaults. I’m in a delicate condition….”

  Heather nearly choked on her laughter as she snorted. Marsha had never been in a delicate condition in her life. She had handled her pregnancy with Hayley with no problems and she was sailing through this one from what she could see. The doctor had been impressed with how healthy she was despite having no pre-natal care and with everything she had been through.

  Marsha looked at the phone as she disconnected the call. It rang almost immediately and she picked it up, heard her mother’s voice, and disconnected it again, this time leaving the receiver off the hook. She studied the phone for a moment until Heather reached out and captured her hand. To her surprise, Marsha was shaking.

  “You okay, babe?” she asked, softly.

  Marsha looked up at her, deep brown eyes meeting cornflower blue ones. “I thought I could take her, but I suddenly felt like Malekah was berating me again.”

  Heather sat up imperceptivity, more alert whenever her spouse mentioned the people in Afghanistan who had imprisoned her for so long. The little she had gleaned from the disk was nothing compared to hearing Marsha talk about it firsthand. She had reported it on the video, but not with the nuance of feeling and emotion that was evident at this moment. Heather needed to hear that straight from Marsha as she battled her own need for acceptance of the situation. It had been good to talk to the psychologists and she suspected she would need to again, but meanwhile she thought she was coping well. “I’m sure she meant well…” she began, excusing that exasperating woman.