“This is a good plan,” Ron responded.
“We will dress both of you in newlywed clothing and you will ride to Mazar-e-Sharaif in the back of his pickup truck. He has a canvass top, and we will fill the back bed with baskets of clothing, food, and other articles of equipment. You two will sit in the back, and if you happen to come upon a checkpoint along the way, you can hide within the items if necessary.”
Ron listened while sipping tea. Sarah squatted down and leaned into him, causing him to spill his tea.
“What do you think about all of this?” Ron asked her.
“I believe it will work. We can go all the way to Mazar-e-Sharaif like this. I know a few young couples who begin what you call a 'honeymoon' this way—a bumpy ride in the back of a truck on their way to some fragment of paradise.”
“I bet.”
20
Several relatives and friends came pouring into the long mud house belonging to Akhund Amar. The few women came covered with blue burkhas. Tea and Uzbek bread loaves came with them.
Ron found a quiet place to sit and contemplate the whirlwind that had swept him into a bliss. Sarah sat beside him. “What are you thinking about now?”
“Right now—I'm thinking about how I'm going to explain your presence with me when I return to my team.”
Sarah looked worried. “They will be happy?” she wondered.
Ron chuckled. “Um, they will be very surprised.”
Akhund Amar's brother Rashad arrived with his family, bringing lamb, gifts, and clothing. His twelve-year-old daughter entered the room with an iron tray filled with burning herbs used to chase away spirits.
Because of the cold climate the men wore practical cotton-padded shirts and pants. They also sported a small barrel-like cap lined with black lambskin. The lower brim of each hat rolled up revealing the decorative fur lining. Each man wore an embroidered scarf around his waist, called a rumol. Their neck openings wrapped around the shoulder with a wool fabric, which covered a high collar.
Ron took note with slight concern about the security aspect of this event—the amount of people arriving to the house. He kept his concerns to himself.
Sarah departed with other women to bathe and change her clothes. When she emerged thirty minutes later, she had on a white traditional Pamiri dress that narrowed at the waist. The collar contained an array of green-and-red colorful designs similar to a peacock. She also had on high boots of dyed Moroccan soft leather beneath her dress.
Ron studied her. When she walked up to him he whispered, “You look beautiful princess.”
Sarah blushed. Dr. Rajiv appeared and stood to the left of Sarah facing Akhund Amar. Ron stood to her right side. Amar's oldest son stood next to Ron. His wife, younger son, and two daughters sat behind them, along with Rashad and his family. Ron lost count but was aware of several others in the room.
Ron had removed his military jacket and replaced it with a fitted shirt that had narrow black-and-blue cloth sleeves. He also wore a distinctive conical shaped blue cap with a black oval-shaped ornament that Dr. Rajiv had given him.
Dr. Rajiv wore a silk outfit embroidered with gold. Nobody wore any sort of linen. He had an overgarment girded with a long narrow sash with embroidered corners.
Akhund Amar read some verses from the Koran, and then looked at Ron. “Do you have something from your Bible you would like me to share?”
Ron, astonished by the question, said, “Sure.”
He reached into his shirt pocket, flipped the pages to Matthew 19:4 and read. “From the beginning, God made them male and female. This explains why a man leaves his—his father and his mother, then joins with his wife—where the two are united into one. Since they are no longer two but one, let no one split apart what God has joined together.”
Ron held the Bible back to his side and waited, not sure what to expect next. Akhund Amar, Dr. Rajiv, and Sarah were all silent and looking at Ron, who felt a little nervous.
“Amen!” Akhund Amar blurted. “That is very special, Sergeant Hawkins. Thank you.”
Sarah moved her hand up to her eyes in a swift motion to wipe away what Ron assumed were tears. He looked over at her but she looked straight ahead at Akhund Amar and tried to restrain her joy.
“Sergeant Hawkins,” Akhund Amar began, “is there anything you wish to say to Dr. Rajiv before you accept his gift of presenting his beloved daughter to you?”
“Yes, there is.” Looking at Dr. Rajiv, Ron gave a heartfelt speech. “Sir, I promise to love your daughter, Sarah, with my heart, soul, and mind, all the days of my life. I believe that she is a direct gift from God, and it is my honor and pleasure to become one in mind, body, and spirit with Sarah, my beautiful bride.”
Sarah, again fought back tears—tears of sheer joy bursting from within a soul stemming from a redemptive release of abundant life!
Ron heard more sniffles from behind him but decided against looking back. Dr. Rajiv gave Ron a hug that threw him off guard but not enough to return the hug.
“I have something for you, Dr. Rajiv.” Ron bent over to dig through his DCU pants' cargo pocket and lifted a silver studded belt. Handing it to Dr. Rajiv, he said, “For you, sir.”
Dr. Rajiv received it with much gratitude and beamed with joy. Sarah looked at Ron puzzled. Ron volunteered, “In a secret place. It is for an Afghan patriot who helped us with our mission. We all have something like it. I cannot think of anyone better to give it to besides you, Dr. Rajiv.”
“This, this is so wonderful, Sergeant Hawkins! A very nice gift, indeed.”
Ron had paid Akhund Amar earlier with cash and a little silver that he had hidden in his medical kit bag. Ron added, “I have something for my precious bride, a unique gift that is dear to my heart.” Ron reached into his cargo pocket once again, and pulled out his journal. Handing it to Sarah, Ron said, “Now you can read everything and see my pictures.”
Sarah held onto it with both hands. “You have given me your heart,” she bawled.
“Yes, all of it. Forever.”
Amar said, “There is nothing more to say. I have pronounced you two to be husband and wife!”
Sarah still held onto the journal and brought it to her bosom with her left hand. With her right hand, she reached over toward Ron and wrapped it around behind Ron's neck as she leaned forward to kiss him on both cheeks, very close to his lips, and then shrieked with joy!
The other women in the home joined her in celebration with joyful yelling. Dr. Rajiv and Akhund Amar grabbed Ron's shoulders and gave him a kiss on both cheeks in rapid succession.
“Welcome to the family, my son,” Dr. Rajiv exclaimed. Ron watched as Sarah, Akhund Amar's wife, his two daughters, and two nieces danced around the room as if they were playing Ring around the Rosy. Ron observed it all with interest.
Sarah ran to Ron, grabbed his hand, and led him into a dance procession with the others in tow. All of them, except Akhund Amar, skipped through the room. Amar pulled out a drum-like instrument made of pottery, called a Zirbhagali, and banged a quick rhythm.
Worn out from the dancing and celebration, the participants sat down to eat. Ron sat next to Sarah, crossed-legged on a large Persian rug. By tradition, Ron and Sarah drank a cup of water and ate a piece of meat, cake, and salt to seal the marriage. Although he did not recognize much of the food that laid before them, he devoured everything placed in front of him the best he could.
The women brought in some traditional Tajik food with Halwa and tea. Then, they progressed to soups and meat. Ron looked at the soup and could see eyeballs looking back at him.
Without asking where they came from, he swallowed them whole and downed it with the drink they had served him.
21
After the festivities, a family member brought a horse to the front door and announced, “We are ready.”
“Ready for what?” Ron asked in surprise.
Sarah explained. “It is customary for us as bride and groom to ride away on a horse.”
�
��Oh, it is? Where will we go?”
“Leave that to me,” Sarah replied. “Come on my prince. We have a date with the stars.”
Ron hopped up onto a white horse, no longer concerned with the threat surrounding him, and then reached down to lift Sarah up with him. A family member steadied the horse as she grabbed the reins from behind Ron's back and leaned forward up against him. Leading the horse to a preselected, secluded spot, they crossed the Khulm River valley.
Other family members had prepared the designated location with an elaborate tent, surrounded by two other smaller tents, each with men armed with a variety of weapons standing in front.
“I always knew you were a prince. You ride very well. Where did you learn to ride?”
“In Tennessee. The very first time, though, the horse bounced up and I was not ready, so when I came back down, I missed his back and went straight to the ground. My left foot got caught in the stirrup and the horse kept walking, dragging me behind.”
Sarah erupted in laughter. “I would like to have seen this.”
“Yes, all of my friends who were watching thought it very humorous.”
The black sky made the perfect canvas for the brilliant intergalactic lights, a spectacle to behold. Dismounting, he placed his right arm beneath Sarah's legs and his left toward her shoulder, he said, “Grab onto my shoulder and fall into my arms, princess.”
As she did, Ron carried her through the entrance of the tent, letting the canvass flap shut behind them. “I will carry you over the threshold now.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
After laying her down onto the pile of blankets and soft linen bedding, he lay down next to her and turned on his penlight, shining it on her face, careful to keep the light out of her eyes.
“I seem to remember when on the trail, we began something we could not finish at the time.”
“I remember it well,” Sarah responded. “So shall we finish now?”
“Of course, my princess. With much pleasure!”
There was no hesitation for their lips to connect this time and no threatening voices to stop them. Throughout the night, Ron and Sarah were able to express their love without any further inhibition before they fell asleep in each other's arms.
The following morning, Sarah looked perplexed.
“What's the matter princess?”
“In all of the excitement, I must have left my journal you gave to me back at the house. I cannot find it.”
“We'll find it later. Maybe you can have somebody bring it here before we leave.”
Sarah looked worried. “I brought it with me, for sure. I could not have left it there, but it is missing now.”
“Maybe it somehow got packed with our things. We'll find it.”
“I was not able to see everything yet and I wanted to write in it this morning.” She added with a tone of sadness.
“I'm sorry princess; I'll pray we find it.”
Ron was not certain how he would explain everything to Master Sergeant Talbot or Captain Carter whenever they would meet up again. He wondered how they might react about a married couple…whether or not it was against the rules.
For the moment, he savored every moment as they prepared to travel together to Mazar-e-Sharaif…through the heart of Taliban territory.
Wednesday, October 31, 2001
Outside the tent, Ron breathed in fresh air as the sun peeked from behind the Hindu Kush. Akhund Amar's brother-in-law, Rashad, arrived with his white pickup truck, equipped with a makeshift canvass top. Dr. Rajiv pulled up beside him in his old car, along with Amar.
“Looks like an old western wagon train on wheels,” Ron remarked to Sarah as they dismounted.
She gave him a puzzled look. Ron decided not to go into the definition of the old American trails west with a convoy of covered wagons loaded with supplies. Moreover, he could tell that she was still bothered about not finding the journal.
Sarah asked anybody in earshot, “Has anybody seen my wedding gift—my journal?”
“You had it with you when you left,” Amar said.
Dr. Rajiv added, “We will find it and make sure you get it. But for now, you must be going.”
Sarah wrapped her arms around Dr. Rajiv and wept.
“Do not cry my child. We will see each other again soon, God willing!” Pushing her away he held her at arm's length, hands on both shoulders, looking into her tear-filled eyes. “Princess, go live your dream now and may God go with you wherever to walk.”
“Oh, Papa!” Sarah cried. “You will always be my father forever.”
Ron stood back and waited for the emotional farewell to finish.
“Sir, you have my word that I will do everything in my power and by the grace of God to watch over Sarah for the rest of my life.”
Dr. Rajiv watched Ron for a moment, broke into tears, and beamed while reaching out to Ron and giving him a bear hug. “I believe you, my son. Go with God.”
The two climbed into the back of the truck. Sarah wore a green straight dress that widened at the bottom. Sprinklings of silver beads and amulets were sewn into her dress in various places. She had khaki-colored trousers underneath. The sleeves of the dress were long and tight at her wrists. The collar was short and narrow.
As she waited inside the back of the truck with the tailgate lowered, she gave Dr. Rajiv one more glance and then turned away. Ron placed his hand on her shoulder, with his free hand, closed the tailgate.
The covered truck bed contained baskets loaded with loose clothing piled high, food, and Sarah's meager belongings. Rashad, the driver, had brought along his eldest son, fourteen-year-old, Rami. Both of them wore white woolen trousers, reaching just below the knee, and the long black leggings underneath.
Ron had his survival knife strapped in the usual place, along with his .9-mm handgun, and although he put his uniform back on, he covered it over with the traditional attire given to him the night before. He kept his M4 carbine next to him buried beneath some articles of clothing.
Despite the traditional festive wedding clothes Sarah had put on, she brought with her a Peshkabz knife that her father had given her as a wedding gift the night before. The twelve-inch, single-edged knife consisted of a tempered steel blade gripped by a thick spine designed for strength and rigidity. It tapered to a needle-like, triangular tip. Though used as a thrusting weapon, the wide hollow-ground blade was also a good slicing and slashing weapon. The knife came with a leather sheath that Sarah had tied to her thigh beneath her dress.
22
The truck pulled away with a jerk onto the rocky road leading first to Kholm and then to Mazar-e-Sharaif. Dr. Rajiv, Akhund Amar, and his family stood together and waved to the departing vehicle as the trail of dust kicked up into a small brownish-white cloud. Sarah and Ron both waved back, Sarah blowing a good-bye kiss in their direction.
The truck reached the bazaar at the main town square. Pictures of General Masood were on sale at most of the stalls, as if the people could sense an oncoming freedom. One street vendor played the dutar, a two-stringed lute.
Ron looked at Sarah and could see that she had somewhat of a gloomy countenance. He knew the emotions too well, feelings of the unknown; whether or not a special loved one would ever be seen again. He held her reassuring her with words he knew would not be adequate to sooth her feelings.
Sarah looked up at Ron with her gorgeous eyes full of tears. “I'm sorry baby,” he muttered while planting a soft kiss on her forehead. She wiped away the forming liquid with her hand, leaned against Ron's chest, and then closed her eyes.
Ron pulled her closer to his body, grabbed her right hand with his, held it and rested his cheek on top of her head, then closed his eyes. The truck rolled on, and despite the roller coaster–style ride with bumps, twists, and turns to coincide with the cold, heatless back, both of them fell asleep huddled in each other's arms.
An hour later, the truck jolted to an abrupt stop, waking them both. Rashad yelled back to the
m in Persian, “Checkpoint! The man is armed but he is alone.”
Ron sat up, placing a wind scarf over the lower part of his face, exposing his eyes and upper part of his nose between the scarf and turban he had put on for the trip. His M4 was already loaded as he slipped the selector switch off safe.
Sarah covered her whole face except for her eyes. She held the lower part of her shawl over her mouth up to her nose. They both could hear Rashad speaking with a man at the driver's window. The guard spoke Persian, and the conversation did not sound pleasant.
“Where are you going?”
“To Mazar-e-Sharaif,” Rashad answered.
“What are you carrying in back?”
“My cousin, her new husband, and their life belongings. They will live there.”
Ron heard the guard grunt and then footsteps moving toward the back. Suddenly, the back flap flew open and the guard, sporting a full black beard, peered inside. He wore a loose-fitting, long-tailed cotton shirt that reached to his knees, and his shirttail flapped outside his baggy white trousers. A black turban wrapped around his head.
Looking at Ron with squinty eyes, he shouted in Persian, “Where are you from?”
Ron answered in Persian, “I am a Tajik from Pol-i-Khomri.”
Sarah remained silent. The guard stared at her for more than a few seconds, and then sized up his odds against Ron. Ron stared him down causing him to pick up some of the loose clothing in the back of the truck and walk away. When he reached Rashad, the guard demanded a fee to pass through. Rashad negotiated and paid money given to him by Ron before the trip for such occasions.
The pickup lurched forward and continued to Kholm, bouncing Ron and Sarah against the cabin.
“I did not like the way that vagabond looked at me,” Sarah said in disgust.
Ron chuckled. “He is being a man who saw a beautiful woman.”
“Not so. I have seen his kind before. If you and Rashad were not here, he would have tried to have his way with me.”
Love In The House Of War Page 9