Under an Afghan Sky

by Mellissa Fung

  “No stop!” Shafirgullah yelled at me.

  I tried to get up but my chain was caught under the edge of a boulder. I stumbled again and didn’t get up.

  “I can’t go any farther,” I protested. “I can’t.”

  Shafirgullah prodded me with the barrel of his Kalashnikov.

  “Don’t do that!” I told him. “It’s not nice.”

  He looked at Khalid, who looked down at me and sighed.

  “Come, we stop a little little up there.” Khalid pointed farther up the hill. I followed his finger and saw nothing but a big mother of a mountain.

  “We’re going up there?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Come.” He came down and held out his hand to help me up. A small glimpse of the Khalid I knew. I took his hand, and he hauled me to my feet.

  We continued hiking for at least an hour, straight toward the mountain. After a while, we came to an open area, where there was a creek. Khalid stopped, and he and Shafirgullah said a few words in Pashto before setting down their sacks. Shafirgullah opened his to reveal three blankets—two like the kind he had used in the hole, and one like my softer blue duvet. He gave one to Khalid, who was already wearing a jacket, and one to me. I laid mine out and sat on it, wondering if this was where we were going to spend the night.

  Khalid brought out three boxes of juice from his pack and handed one to each of us. I hadn’t even realized that I was thirsty. I drank the contents in one big gulp and wiped my mouth with the dirty sleeve of my kameez.

  “Sit,” Khalid told me, even though I was already sitting. He had spread out his blanket and was lying down, one hand on the other end of the chain that was fastened to me.

  Shafirgullah had wandered away, and I could see he was washing his face in the creek. He spread his blanket in front of himself and got on his knees to pray.

  Khalid’s eyes were closed, and soon I could hear his deep breathing. Was he going to sleep for the night or was he just taking a nap? I looked over at Shafirgullah. He was still praying. I tried to lie down, but I couldn’t get comfortable. The blanket was too thin to stop the rocks from poking into my back. And I was shivering. It was very cold, and I didn’t have a coat. I looked down in the direction from which we came, and I could see the faint glow of the town kilometres away.

  Then I looked up, and for the first time in three weeks I saw the night sky. It was clear and the stars were in the millions, like little pinpricks through which you could see the bright light of heaven. I could make out the Big Dipper, but it looked upside down to how I was used to seeing it back home. I thought I could also see the Milky Way, a hazy band of white light against the black sky.

  Then I saw a shooting star, whooshing across the darkness, and just as I was about to make a wish, another one shot through my line of vision.

  God, if you’re up there, please help me. I don’t know where they’re taking me, but I’m scared, and I need you to keep me safe. I know you’re up there. Please watch over me tonight. Please.

  After about half an hour, Shafirgullah came over and roused his friend. Khalid woke up and rubbed his eyes. Shafirgullah motioned toward the mountain and Khalid told me to get up. I did, watching as the Afghans packed the blankets back into the hobo sack. We started hiking again, with only the moonlight to guide us. Rocks gave out beneath my feet. We kept climbing—higher and higher, until we came to the face of the mountain. The Afghans stopped, unsure of which way to go. I sat down and waited as they pointed to either side of the rock face. I must have been shivering because Khalid took off his scarf and put it around my shoulders, and I thought I saw another glimpse of the young man I had come to know. I was happy for the warm scarf. It was dark in colour and made of thick wool, and so big that I was able to wrap it around myself twice, layers of warmth I welcomed as the temperature continued to drop.

  We hiked on for a long time, stopping once to smoke, although Khalid made us put out our cigarettes after only a couple of drags when he heard an airplane—he was afraid we’d be given away by their glowing orange ends. We kept climbing and climbing, and made it over the ridge through a small opening in the mountain wall.

  I was exhausted but forced myself to keep up. Khalid and Shafirgullah had traded places, so now I was following Shafirgullah, and Khalid was behind me. I thought about running away—breaking from them and just running. It didn’t matter where to, maybe back to the town we had come from. Or maybe this side of the mountain—there had to be another town not far away. I wondered what they would do if I suddenly darted. Would they chase me? Shoot me? Should I try? Maybe three weeks ago, I could have outrun them, but now I wasn’t so sure. My legs felt thin and weak, my lungs congested, like I couldn’t get enough air down to them. I concluded after a few minutes that I wasn’t going to be able to outrun either of the two Afghans. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to face the consequences of a failed attempt at escape. So I continued to follow them. We kept hiking, into a valley, on either side two tall mountains, both taller than the one we had just scaled.

  We headed for the mountain on the right and started up its slate slope. The shale was loose, and our steps were triggering minor rockslides. My legs were shaking, threatening to collapse underneath me, as I followed Shafirgullah’s nimble footsteps from rock to boulder to rock. I slipped and fell some more, and was pretty sure I had bruised my left shin. I was more worried about my right knee, which isn’t so good after years of wear and tear from running and skating. I should wear a knee brace while exercising, but I hadn’t been, and I’d felt it after the Army Ten-Miler that Paul and I had run a few weeks earlier. Still, going up the mountain was better than coming down, and I tried to favour my left leg while we climbed.

  I was now sweating underneath the thick wool scarf, so I took it off and stuffed it into the plastic bag filled with my belongings. The cold mountain air cooled me off immediately, and the sweat running down my back felt like rivers of cool water. It was getting harder and harder to breathe—the air had become cold and thin with the elevation. Khalid and Shafirgullah must have been in pretty good shape. They continued to scamper uphill, breathing almost normally, while I was—uncharacteristically—huffing and puffing.

  The adrenaline from several hours before was now starting to wear off, and I was feeling more confident that I hadn’t been marched out of the hole to be executed. Still, I’d have felt better if I’d known what was going on, and Khalid wasn’t telling me much. I’d stopped asking, knowing I wouldn’t get an answer. At least not that night. As we reached the top of the mountain, Shafirgullah pointed to an alcove in the rocks. I followed him as he clambered up the loose shale at a great speed.

  “Here,” Khalid said. “We stop.”

  As I put down my plastic bag, my foot dislodged another rock. I watched it tumble about five metres down into a gulley. I’ve never really liked heights, and although I don’t have a great fear of them like some people do, it suddenly seemed like a long way down.

  Khalid and Shafirgullah were unpacking their sacks and spreading out the blankets. The space was small, too small for all three of us, so Shafirgullah climbed a little higher to where the rock jutted out, just a bit behind us but where we could still see him. He laid his blanket down and sat on it.

  Khalid reached into his pocket and took out the small alarm clock that had been in the hole. I hadn’t noticed that he’d taken it with him. I looked at the clock: it was almost one o’clock in the morning. We’d been hiking up this mountain for more than five hours, with a few rest stops.

  I sat down, but the rock was so hard on my tailbone, it was hard to get comfortable. Shafirgullah lit a cigarette and tossed the package down to us. I was surprised at how relieved I was to have a smoke. After that hike, I needed something to calm myself. How strange that I had come to rely on cigarettes in such a short period. I could feel the addiction taking root again and it frightened me a little. I took a deep drag and vowed that I would stop the moment I was released.

  “You like here?” Khalid asked
me. I nodded, and told him I was happy to be out of the hole. He agreed. “That is not good place,” he conceded. “But here—is not safe.”

  “What do you mean it’s not safe?”

  He waved his hand around and gestured at the scenery. “Look, anyone can see us here.”

  “But it’s so much better to be out of that hole.”

  “That is safer place,” he told me. “We no stay here long.”

  “How long will we stay?” I asked. “And where will we go if we do not stay here?” He didn’t answer that, telling me only that he was waiting for a phone call the next day from Abdulrahman. I didn’t want to assume anything, but I had a faint hope that the phone call meant we could be on the way to Kabul.

  I looked around the large black boulder that shielded the alcove. The village from where we’d come was now a distant glowing patch of dim light. We had to be miles and miles away from the hole. I was amazed that from there, my kidnappers knew how to get to this spot, through the hills and the valleys and the mountains. I sensed it was a route they had taken before.

  I thought it was further proof of why Afghanistan is sometimes referred to as the graveyard of empires. No one—no ISAF soldier, or US marine, or Canadian Van Doo—can navigate this terrain as well as a local. Afghans know this land like the back of their hands, and they know how to get around it without the use of a compass or a GPS. If my amateur gang of kidnappers could traverse the mountains like we had that night, think about what the Taliban could do. Knowing this terrain helped them to drive out the Soviets. And it was how they were going to fight back against the NATO coalition.

  Shafirgullah reached into the white plastic bag and took out a box of juice and a piece of bread, which he ate hungrily. He downed the juice, and lay down.

  “Sleep,” Khalid said to me. “Sleep coming to me.” He wrapped himself in his blanket and settled next to me, resting his head on a large flat rock. Shafirgullah got up and reached down for the end of the chain. He said something to Khalid, then fastened it to Khalid’s wrist with a padlock. There would be no escape for me while my captors slept. The thought was vanquished before I was even aware of it.

  “Good night,” Khalid said and turned his back to me.

  I shuffled around, but the rocks kept digging into my spine and tailbone. Every position I tried was uncomfortable. The rocks were hard against my head; there was a boulder digging into my shoulder; my knee was throbbing with pain. I finally gave up and just looked out at my surroundings. The sky was still a wondrous canvas of millions of points of light. Across from us was another mountaintop, backlit by the almost-full moon. I saw a small blinking red light—a satellite, perhaps—thousands of kilometres up in the sky. And then a flurry of shooting stars, one after another, their tails streaking across the dark curtain of night. It was possibly the most beautiful nightscape I had ever seen in my life. I was awestruck by the majesty of the hills, and the mystery of the night sky. I stared up into that sky for what seemed like hours.

  I drifted off several times, only to be jolted awake by a rock digging into me when I shifted even slightly. I couldn’t feel my fingers and tucked myself in even tighter under the scarf and blanket. My feet felt frozen. I must have been shivering as well, because at one point Khalid, half asleep, put half of his blanket over me. But I was happy to have the sky to look up at instead of the ceiling in the hole. I felt strangely at peace, like I was at one with nature and creation. I reached into my pocket for my rosary.

  Dear God, I prayed silently, only you could create such a beautiful sky, and all these stars. Thank you for giving me a glimpse of your amazing place. You who could create something so amazing are the only one who can free me from my captors. Please make this ordeal come to an end soon. But I just want to tell you that I’m thankful for tonight. Thankful that I’m not in the hole, and thankful that I am still alive. The rest is up to you.

  Thank you, God, for this moment I’ve had with you. It will stay with me forever.

  Dearest M,

  It’s not even eight o’clock and I’ve already done the rounds of emails and have no idea how I’m going to fill the rest of the day. I hate to think of how much weight you’ve lost, knowing you can’t afford to lose any. I think I’m down about five pounds. I also hope you’re able to keep a diary, so that I will one day know what you’re going through. Mostly I’m sure you’ve found comfort and inner peace in talking to God. I wish I could.

  Poor Vanessa is really suffering today. I can tell by her overnight email. Her stomach is in knots, and I think she’s drinking and smoking a lot. She says she sits in her office at work with the door closed and doesn’t really care what people think. I’m beginning to rely on her notes for company, and the same goes for the rest of your friends.

  By the way, the Canucks just came off a six-game road trip with two wins and four losses. Even Columbus beat them!

  Miss you, darling.

  xx

  The birds were chasing each other down the slopes of the valley and over the hills, calling out to each other and anyone else within earshot.

  I opened my eyes. It was barely dawn. The dark, star-speckled sky was now hued in bands of light blue, a soft orange glow at the horizon. Two large birds danced over the valley.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes, forgetting for a moment that I was still chained to my captor. My wrist felt like it was sprained. The chain had cut into my skin, which was red and raw. Khalid stirred but didn’t wake. Shafirgullah was also still asleep, just above us. The alarm clock told me it was just after five o’clock. It was still extremely cold. I tucked my legs back under the blanket and stared out from the alcove. The jagged mountains jutted into the sky, huge shards of dark granite. Wisps of thin white clouds floated overhead. In the distance, a town was just waking up. From my obscured vantage point, it seemed like a fairy-tale town. I imagined it was already bustling with people starting their day: women preparing bread, children chasing each other through the mud streets.

  Again, I felt a sense of peace. It was good to be outside, breathing fresh air and seeing this stunning scenery. It rivalled the view from the villa in Umbria my girlfriends and I had rented just a few months before for Maureen’s wedding. Nestled in a hillside close to a tiny village, it had an infinity pool from which you could see the rolling green and gold hills and vineyards of the region. We’d spent our afternoons in the pool, a respite from the intense Italian sun. At the time, I thought it was the most beautiful landscape I’d ever see. Now, with the rugged Afghan countryside spread out in front of me, I was having second thoughts. How ironic, I thought. This is not a view I would ever have seen if I wasn’t here as a hostage.

  My captors were still sleeping soundly. I breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air and relishing just being out, out in the open—almost forgetting again for a brief moment that I was a chained captive. I wished I could take a picture, and I closed my eyes and tried to sear the scene in my memory.

  When I opened my eyes again and looked down, I blinked, because I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. They weren’t. At the bottom of the mountain opposite us was a man. He looked as tiny as an ant. And he was walking up the ridge of the massive hill. I followed him with my eyes for as long as I could. Sometimes he blended in with the rocks. He was wearing a hat, or maybe it was a headscarf, and he was making his way slowly up the mountain. I was fascinated. Where was he going? Where had he come from? Would he be able to hear me if I called out? But what would I say? Help? My kidnappers might kill him if he came over to us.

  Khalid woke up. It was early for him, but he yawned and said he couldn’t sleep because it wasn’t comfortable. He fished around in his pocket for the key to the padlock so he could unlock himself from the chain. I reminded him that Shafirgullah had had it the night before. He nodded and shook his friend’s leg to rouse him. Shafirgullah slept more and better than anyone I knew. My grandmother used to say that people who slept well were lucky because it meant they had few worries in life. I think she was r
ight. What worries did this young Afghan kid have? None. He had his toothbrush, his gun, and no real responsibilities other than to make sure his hostage didn’t try to escape. Shafirgullah opened his eyes and rubbed them with his grubby fingers, like he did every morning I’d seen him. It’s funny that I’d gotten to know their habits and routines. He was definitely more concerned about his appearance than any other Afghan man I’d met. Even here, in the middle of the mountains, he pulled a comb out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, he brushed his teeth with the stick contraption, and washed his face and forearms with the jug of water he’d carried up from the creek just below. After he finished, he offered me the jug. I put my arms out and he poured water into my cupped hands. I washed my face and scrubbed my hands. The cold water felt good. I felt like Pig-pen, the Charlie Brown character who is followed by a cloud of dirt. It had been forever since I’d washed. I didn’t even want to think of how dirty I was.

  Khalid motioned for Shafirgullah to hand over the key to the padlock, and he reached into his pocket, fishing around until he pulled out two. Khalid unlocked himself from me, and then took the other key to my wrist. He fiddled with it for a while and finally unlocked the chain from my wrist. It was a relief to have the chain off—a little more freedom than I’d had in a long time. Khalid got up and brushed off the dirt and some twigs that were clinging to his pants, then manoeuvred his way around the boulder. “Bathroom,” he said as he disappeared into a crevice. I nodded, wondering where I was going to go.

  Shafirgullah, having completed his ablutions, spread a blanket out and knelt down to pray. Khalid returned and splashed some of the water from the can on his face and hair. He sat down next to me and pulled out the package of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He lit one, handed it to me, and then lit another for himself. We smoked in silence for a while. I looked out at the ridge across from us again, squinting to see if the man was still walking. It took me a while to spot him, but I did eventually. He was almost over the peak. I pointed him out to Khalid. He couldn’t see him and interrupted Shafirgullah’s prayers to ask him if he could.