Ginny went to report her arrival and introduce herself to a burly redheaded Englishman with a huge mustache. He was sitting at a makeshift desk in the main tent with butane heaters around him. At night, they slept in tents, or in the trucks. The man in charge of the camp was ex–British military, and his name was Rupert MacIntosh. He was new since she’d been there, but he had been working in the field for years and was well known for his competence. Ginny was delighted to meet him.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said to Ginny when he shook her hand. “You have quite a reputation as something of a daredevil. I want no accidents here, I warn you. We do all we can to avoid them. I’d like to keep it that way.” He looked at her sternly and then grinned. “Fetching outfit, I must say.” She laughed at that, too, with her burqa over her heavy clothes, with hiking boots. He had also been told that she was very pretty, but it was hard to tell with everything she had on. She was even wearing a wool cap under the burqa. They dressed for the weather there and the heavy work they did, and nothing else.
He described the missions they had been concentrating on so far. A number of women and children had found their way to the camp, and the locals didn’t like it when they refused to return home, to be mistreated again. But sooner or later they would have to. He told Ginny there had been a stoning in a nearby village two days before, of a woman who had been raped. She had been blamed for the rape, by “tempting” her attacker, and killed. The man had gone free, to return to his home. It was typical of the situations they had all encountered many times.
“Do you ride?” he asked her, and she nodded. She had noticed horses and mules tethered in a roped-off area, for when they went into parts of the mountains where there were no roads. She had also ridden while on assignment in similar places.
“Well enough.”
“That’ll do.”
When she joined the others in the mess tent later, she noticed how many nationalities there were—French, British, Italian, Canadian, German, American—all human rights workers from organizations that were combining their efforts. The mix of nationalities made it more interesting to be in the camp, although everyone spoke English, and she spoke a little French.
The food was as bad and scarce as she had expected it to be, and she was nearly falling asleep in her plate, at the end of the meal after the long trip.
“Get some sleep,” Rupert said, patting her on the shoulder, and a German woman led her to their tent, where she was assigned a cot, one of six, just like Blue at Houston Street. Ginny found it comforting to be down to basics and living in such a rudimentary way. It put everything else into perspective, and one’s problems ceased to exist. She had discovered that the first time she came here, on her first assignment. She was too tired to take off her clothes that night, and fell asleep as soon as she crawled into her heavy sleeping bag on the cot, and didn’t wake up until dawn.
The next day she went to work in the tent she’d been assigned to, taking case histories of the children, with the help of a translator. They never got involved in local politics and had strict orders not to, and none of the insurgents had bothered them in the past year, although that could change at any time, as they all knew.
She’d been there for a week when they went up into the mountains on mules, snaking on narrow paths along a cliff, to find out if anyone needed their assistance, or to be brought down for medical care. They brought two unridden mules for that purpose, and brought a six-year-old boy back with them, and his nineteen-year-old mother. The boy had been badly burned in a fire and was disfigured but had survived. The girl left five other children in their hut with her own mother. Her husband and father hadn’t wanted her to leave their village, but had finally agreed for the sake of the child. Her face was heavily veiled, and she spoke to no one on the way, and kept her eyes downcast. And she was quickly absorbed into the group of local women when they returned to the camp.
Ginny was busy from dawn to nearly midnight every day, but she never had a sense of danger. The people in the area weren’t hostile to them, and the number of women and children in the camp kept growing. It was another month or so before she went to Asadabad, the capital city of Kunar Province, in one of the trucks with one of the German women, an Italian man, and a French nun. Rupert had asked her to send several e-mails from Asadabad, where they had Internet reception, since at the camp they had none. There was a Red Cross office that they were allowed to use. She walked in with Rupert’s list of communications and reports to send. They gave her a desk and a computer to work at, while the others walked around town. After she sent Rupert’s messages, she decided to check her own e-mail, rather than join the others for lunch.
She had three messages from Becky, reporting on their father’s deteriorating condition, and asking her to call when she could. She had been in Afghanistan for six weeks by then, and Becky’s last message was two weeks old. She had finally given up trying to reach Ginny, and sounded exasperated by her silence since Ginny couldn’t receive e-mails, a fact Ginny had warned her of before she left. And there was an e-mail from Julio Fernandez at the Houston Street Shelter, and one from Blue that was only three days old. She decided to read Blue’s first and opened it quickly. She had thought of him since she’d been there, but most of the time she had had more pressing things on her mind. Her days were very full.
Blue’s e-mail began with an apology, and as soon as she saw it, she could guess the rest. He said that the people at Houston Street were very nice, but he hated all the rules. He wasn’t crazy about the other kids, either. Some were okay, but one of his roommates had tried to steal his laptop, and it was so noisy at night he couldn’t sleep. He said it was like living in a zoo, so he had written to tell her he had left. He didn’t know where he was going, but he told her he’d be fine, and said he hoped that she was safe and would be back soon, in one piece.
After she read it, she saw there was another one from his school. It advised her that Blue had dropped out two weeks after she left. And the last one from Julio Fernandez said that they had tried to convince Blue to stay, but he had been determined to leave. He said that Blue didn’t do well with their routine and was too used to doing what he wanted on the streets. He said it wasn’t unusual, but it was incompatible with what they expected of their residents. So Blue had done exactly what Charlene had said he would, he had run away from the shelter and dropped out of school. And now she had no idea where he was and couldn’t do anything about it. And she would be there for another six weeks. With so little communication available to them, and none at the camp, her hands were tied. And there was no way to track him down from here.
She answered Blue’s e-mail first, and told him that she hoped he was okay. She made a point of telling him that she was fine. And she begged him to go back to the shelter and the school. She reminded him she was planning to come back at the end of April, and told him that she expected to see him at the apartment as soon as she did. She tried to reassure herself, remembering he had managed without her for thirteen years, and she was sure that he would survive on the streets for another six weeks, although she wasn’t pleased with what he’d done. She was very disappointed that he hadn’t managed to stick with it, particularly at school. But she’d see what she could do when she went back. In the meantime, he was on his own, and would have to live by his wits, as he had before. And she knew that he knew life on the streets well.
After that, she thanked Julio Fernandez for his efforts and said she’d be in touch when she got back. She wrote to his school and asked if they would consider it a leave of absence, and promised that Blue would catch up on the work when he returned. It was all smoke and mirrors, but it was the best she could do for now. And then she wrote to Becky and told her they had no means of communication at the camp, except radios that were used only for emergencies and weren’t long range. She kept her e-mail to her sister short, then called her on the phone from the Red Cross office. Becky answered her cell on the second ring.
“Where the hel
l are you?” she asked, sounding worried.
“In Afghanistan. You know where I am. We don’t have e-mail from the camp. This is the first time I’ve come to town since I got here, and I probably won’t come in again. What’s up with Dad?” She was terrified to hear that he had died.
“Actually, he’s better. They’re trying a new medication, and it seems to work. He’s a little clearer, in the mornings at least. He’s always a mess at night. But we’re giving him a sleeping pill now, so I’m not as worried about his getting up at night and wandering out of the house while we’re asleep.” Her fear of that had kept her awake at night for months.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Ginny had been panicked for a minute but felt better when she heard what Becky said.
“I wish to hell you’d come back and lead a more reasonable life. This is just too crazy, especially now with Dad. I have no way to reach you if he gets really bad, or if he dies.”
“You have my emergency contact number at the local Red Cross. I gave it to you before I left,” she reminded her. “If it’s an emergency, they’ll send someone to the camp to find me. Otherwise, I’ll be home in six weeks.”
“You can’t keep doing this, Ginny. You’re thirty-six years old. You’re not some kid in the Peace Corps with no responsibilities, and I can’t make all the decisions all the time. You need to be part of this, too.”
“I told you, I’ll come to L.A. when I get back.”
“You’ve been saying that for almost three years.”
Ginny didn’t tell her sister that she was a lot more useful here than she would have been in L.A. And she felt as though this was where she was meant to be for now.
“I can’t stay on long. This is the local Red Cross phone. Give Dad a kiss from me.”
“Take care of yourself, Gin. Do us all a favor, don’t get shot or killed.”
“I’ll try not to. You’re a lot more likely to get shot in L.A. than I am here. It’s been peaceful at the camp.”
“Good. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ginny answered, although her sister drove her insane sometimes, and she couldn’t imagine herself leading a life like Becky’s, or even the one she’d had, ever again. That meant married, with kids, and living in Pasadena. Before, when Ginny had been married to Mark, Becky had thought their life was superficial and too glitzy. Now she thought her sister was insane. Their lives had never run parallel or been the same, or even remotely similar, and Becky had never approved of what she did. Knowing that took some of the sting out of what she said. But in Ginny’s mind, Becky was always the disapproving older sister, and had been since they were children.
After she made the call, Ginny printed out the incoming messages for Rupert, and went to find the others, finishing lunch at a restaurant nearby. The food looked and smelled awful, and she was glad she had skipped lunch to do her e-mails instead from the Red Cross office.
“What did you guys have? The typhoid special?” Ginny wrinkled her nose and made a face at whatever they were eating. She had a cup of tea with them at the end of the meal, and they walked around town for a while, then got back in the truck for the drive back to camp.
She brought Rupert his messages, and they sat and chatted for a while. It was still cold, and freezing at night, as it had been since she arrived. It was still winter there in early March. She and Rupert talked about some of the medical problems they’d been dealing with, and he said that they’d be going back up into the mountains in a few days. He asked her to come with him, as he liked the way she handled the locals, and she was especially good with the children. She had a warm, gentle way with them.
“You should have some of your own one of these days,” he said with a warm smile. He was married but was known to be something of a womanizer, with a wife in England he hardly ever saw. He knew nothing of Ginny’s history and was startled by the frozen look on her face in response to his comment.
“I…actually I did have a little boy,” she said, hesitating. “He died in an accident with my husband.” Which was my fault, she thought, but didn’t say.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, looking mortified. “Stupid thing for me to say. I had no idea. I thought you were one of those American single women, who put off marriage and having children until they’re forty. There seem to be a lot of them these days.”
“It’s all right.” She smiled pleasantly at him. The words were always hard to say, and she hated how pathetic they made her sound, and the implication of tragedy that went with them. But it seemed wrong not to acknowledge Mark and Chris’s existence. It reminded both her and Rupert of how little they all knew of each other or what had led them to this kind of work. In his case, he had dropped out of medical school when he was young, and had a wife he was happy to see only a few times a year.
“I take it you have no other children?” He looked genuinely compassionate as she shook her head.
“That’s what got me into this kind of work. I can be useful to someone instead of sitting home and feeling sorry for myself.”
“You’re a brave woman,” he said admiringly.
The memory of looking into the East River on the anniversary of their deaths flashed instantly into her head. The only thing that had stopped her that night was meeting Blue, and she had felt differently about her life ever since. She felt more hopeful for the first time in a long time, and now she wanted to help him, too.
“Not always brave,” she said honestly. “There have been some pretty rocky moments, but I don’t have time to think about it here.”
He nodded and walked her back out into the center of the compound, well aware that even in her burqa and layers of warm clothes, she was a beautiful woman. He’d had his eye on her since she arrived, but having heard of his reputation from the others, she’d been careful not to encourage him, since he was married, and she didn’t want complications in her life. She was there to work.
The comings and goings in the camp kept things interesting, and occasionally brought in new people. There was a delegation from the Human Rights High Commission in Geneva, and a group of German doctors, who were very welcome while they were there. Ginny and a few of the others rode up into the mountains with them. They delivered a baby, and examined a number of sick children. They brought two of them back to the camp with their mothers for additional medical treatment.
Two weeks before she was scheduled to leave, she went back up to the mountains again with some other members of the medical team at camp. Everything had gone smoothly so far, and her replacement was due to arrive from the New York office in another week. She was relaxed and chatting with Enzo, a young Italian medic who had arrived the week before. As they rode up the steep, rocky path on horses and mules, she and Enzo were talking about everything they wanted to eat when they got home, since food was scarce and barely edible. They passed a tricky bend in the road and rode past one of the caves where they’d always been told rebels were hiding. She and Enzo were laughing about something he had said, when a shot rang out nearby, and her horse reared up.
Ginny clutched his mane, praying he wouldn’t go over the edge of the path into the steep ravine. She managed to calm him, and backed him away from it, but the horse was skittish. The Italian tried to grab the bridle and help her, just as another shot rang out closer still. Ginny looked instantly toward the leader of the group, who signaled to them to go back the way they came. And the moment he did, Enzo slumped forward on his horse with a bullet hole in the back of his head and his brain exploding from it. As soon as she looked at him, she saw that he was dead.
One of the Germans in their group swiftly grabbed his horse’s reins, and led the others back down the mountain, with the entire team in hot pursuit. No other shots were fired, but Enzo had become the first casualty they’d had in nearly a year. And they didn’t slow down until they reached the camp. One of the men pulled Enzo’s lifeless body from his horse. They had managed not to let him fall off on the way back, and all of them were in shock at his sudden d
eath.
The entire team met in Rupert’s tent shortly afterward to discuss what security measures they would take that night. None of them had the sense that they’d been followed on the way back, and their assessment was that it had been a random lucky shot, though not lucky at all for Enzo, whose body had been wrapped in a tarp and put on a truck, to be driven into town and sent back to Italy by the Red Cross.
Rupert warned them all to be especially careful, and he assigned the male members of the camp to stand watch that night. They had contacted the local authorities by radio, and the police had promised to come out. There was tension throughout the camp while Ginny and the others tried not to alarm the women and children. But the atmosphere had changed instantly, from easy confidence to vigilance and fear. It made Ginny realize again how dangerous their work was, and that the risks were not to be taken lightly.
Rupert called her into his tent after that. He looked somber as he sat at his makeshift desk.
“I’m sending you and some of the other women home next week. I’ve just been told that there was another sniper a few miles away last night. I think things may heat up here again.” Ginny knew that the worker replacing her was a man. And Rupert was very protective of all of them, male and female, and efficient and professional when he needed to be. “I’d just be more comfortable sending some of you girls home. You’ve been here for two and a half months, almost your full tour of duty for the assignment. You’ve done your job here, that’s long enough.” And the camp had been running smoothly for the past two months, more so than ever before, with Ginny’s help.
“I’m willing to stay on,” Ginny said quietly. “We just won’t go back up into the mountains.” The insurgents and soldiers of the opposition rarely came down from the caves.
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