Lipstick in Afghanistan

by Roberta Gately

  But only a week after she’d been to the clinic, true to her word, Parween arrived at the clinic and announced that dinner would be served that evening once Elsa was finished with her work. When she left, Elsa rushed to find Hamid.

  “She has come, Hamid. I’m invited to dinner tonight. Will you go to my house and tell Amina that I’ll be home later?”

  Once his surprise had passed, Hamid smiled. “I’m glad for you, Elsa. Have a good night. I will tell Amina, and I will see you in the morning.”

  Elsa finished up her duties at the clinic and joined Parween, who’d been sitting just beyond the gate. “I’m ready,” Elsa announced, and the two headed up the dusty old road to Parween’s home.

  Uncle Abdullah’s compound, though home to many, was small. Similar to Elsa’s, it was hidden by a large outer wall and contained several small rooms off the main courtyard. Each family shared one small room and the courtyard. They also shared a well and latrine, which Elsa noticed were precariously close to each other. She reminded herself not to drink the water as she was ushered to Uncle Abdullah’s home, accepting the plentiful greetings of neighbors and family, shaking hands, salaaming, bowing, and finally entering the room.

  A bright red vinyl tablecloth had been placed on the floor over the rug. It reminded her of the one her mother had kept on their kitchen table.

  Parween made the introductions.

  “This lady is Uncle Abdullah’s wife, Noorem.” A small lady smiled shyly before hurrying off. She returned with dishes and another woman.

  “This is my mother, Rahima.” Parween nudged Rahima, who smiled broadly and took Elsa’s hands.

  “Well-kum.” She stretched out the sounds and spoke slowly.

  “She’s been practicing all day.” Parween laughed and ushered Elsa to a pad that had been pulled out for seating.

  Uncle Abdullah entered the room and bowed his head to Elsa. “Salaam alaikum, chetore asti? Khoob asti? Jona jurast?”

  She smiled and returned the greeting. He whispered to Parween and she turned to Elsa.

  “He says he is very happy that you have come to share dinner with us.”

  “Tell him, please, that I am very happy to be here. It is my first visit to a home here in Bamiyan.” When Parween translated, Abdullah beamed.

  They sat around the tablecloth, and Rahima and Noorem brought out full platters of food and placed them before Elsa.

  “Please, please,” Parween said, pointing to the food. “Eat.”

  Elsa leaned forward and dipped her fingers and bread into the bowls of rice, goat, beans, and yogurt. There was little conversation; her hosts were busy watching her. Elsa ate heartily with her fingers until finally, she’d eaten her fill. She leaned forward and waved her hand.

  “Bas, enough for me.” She tried to push her plate away but Uncle Abdullah slid it back and spoke to her.

  “No, no, you must eat more,” Parween translated.

  Elsa ate a little more and tried again to say she’d had enough, but still Abdullah insisted.

  “You must eat,” Parween urged her. “It is impolite to turn it away.”

  Elsa took smaller and smaller bites and finally, she sat back and patted her stomach to emphasize her words. “Bas, enough,” she said through a mouthful of rice.

  Her host laughed. “You eat like a bird,” Uncle Abdullah said.

  Elsa tried to broach the subject of Abdullah’s illness but he would have none of it.

  “Inshallah, I will recover,” he said.

  Parween sat forward. “He is a stubborn man. Inshallah, he will change his mind.”

  Inshallah, God willing. Everyone here left everything up to God. It made Elsa crazy. God wants you to help yourselves, she wanted to shout. But there was no use. They believed it would all work out as God willed and there was no use in thinking otherwise. She decided not to try to sway Abdullah; it was his decision after all.

  As they sat back, satisfied with the meal, Parween leaned forward and, pointing to Elsa’s mouth, said, “Leepstik of you is beautiful. From Amrika?”

  Elsa smiled and remembered the little tube of lipstick that had identified Mariam for her friend. She wondered if Parween had the same craving for the glossy colored wax that had claimed her own attention since childhood. She reached into her pocket and produced a shiny new tube of lipstick and handed it to Parween.

  “Try it.” Parween took the tube excitedly and ran the soft plum tint across her lips. She jumped up and took Elsa’s hand and they ran to Parween’s little room, where she took out her tiny looking glass and admired her reflection.

  “Ohh,” Parween exclaimed. “It is beautiful.” And she rolled the glossy tube in her hand.

  Elsa reached out and curled Parween’s fingers over the tube.

  “For you,” she said, smiling.

  “No, no,” Parween replied, but at Elsa’s insistence she finally dropped the tube into her own pocket. “I have not worn lipstick since my own wedding. Thank you,” she said, and for the first time since Elsa had met her, she smiled with what seemed to be genuine happiness.

  Parween’s mother arrived in the doorway with Parween’s two babies. The girl held back shyly for a moment but then toddled forward cheerfully on her chubby little legs. Parween took Mariam’s baby into her arms. Pushing her daughter forward, she announced, “This is my first, Zahra.” As if on cue, Zahra giggled and fell to the floor in a heap.

  Parween held her arms out to Elsa and uncovered the baby’s face. “This is my baby Raziq, named for his father,” she said, smiling coyly.

  “Ohh, is this—” Elsa hesitated, realizing others might hear her.

  Parween nodded. “He is my son.”

  “May I hold him?” she asked, and Parween gently passed her the little form swaddled in old veils and pieces of fabric. Elsa cooed and cuddled the baby.

  “So you are married?” she asked.

  “I was married for almost seven years. My husband, Raziq, was a good man, a hero.” She paused. “The Taliban murdered him.” Tears appeared in her eyes, ready to fall, but she used her veil to wipe them away and collected herself.

  “It was Raziq who taught me to speak Inglisi and to read and write. I miss him every day but he taught me much and he will live forever in his children—and perhaps in other children, as well. Someday, I hope to teach the children of Bamiyan.”

  She paused and pointed to a little pile of books in the corner. “Those are mine. I have borrowed them so that I may learn more.”

  Elsa stared at the pile of books. “Do you know whether the UN plans to open schools in Afghanistan?”

  “We have heard rumors but they are only that. The people are still too afraid of the Taliban to build a school here.”

  Elsa looked down at the tiny, sleeping baby she still held in her arms. “He looks so well. It’s hard to believe now how he came into the world.” She paused. “So the girl… Mariam… she was your friend?”

  Parween sighed and her eyes welled up again. “Mariam was like my sister. There was no one like her in the world. We grew up together in Bamiyan, and we dreamed that one day we would marry and live close to each other. But it was not to be.”

  Elsa sat forward. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”

  “No, it is better that Mariam’s story be told, for if you know her story and pass it on, she will not be dead. She will live in the hearts of those who speak of her.”

  Parween shared the haunting story of Mariam’s short life.

  “I was not certain that Mariam would come home. There had been no word but I hoped that she was coming, and I checked the bus from Mashaal every day for any sign of her.”

  “Oh, Parween, I don’t even know what to say. I am so sorry. You and your friend have endured so much.”

  Parween heaved a sigh. Then she seemed to brighten.

  “Tell me about yourself, about your life in Amrika. You have a husband?”

  Elsa laughed. “No, no husband, not yet. Inshallah, someday. No real family
either.” She told Parween about Diana and Margaret. She hadn’t spoken of Diana in years and just sharing those memories felt like releasing her own ghosts.

  “Diana,” Elsa explained, “was a beautiful and delicate baby, too delicate, my mom said once, for this world.” She blinked away her own tears. “My mother worked every single day of her life. She was unselfish and unfailingly kind, but I almost feel as though I never really knew her. She worked so much, she just wasn’t around.”

  “She sounds like a good woman, as though she could be the sister of my own mother,” Parween said. “I think that Allah meant for us to be sisters.”

  Elsa smiled. They both lingered long after dinner, reluctant to break the unexpected bond of friendship they’d forged there in the little mud house.

  Finally, as the last of the day’s light started to fade, Parween walked Elsa home. They walked just beyond Elsa’s house and Parween paused at a desolate patch of land. “There.” She pointed to the end of the UN airstrip. “That is where the Taliban executed the villagers and where they buried them. That is the place where my beloved Raziq was buried; others too are buried there.” Parween dropped her gaze and paused, remembering.

  “When your soldiers fluttered down from the sky, they fell right there as well.” Parween recalled the sight fondly. “With their white robes billowing out above them, we were sure that they were angels of light sent from Allah.” She smiled and looked at the sky. “Some of us believe that still.”

  18

  A few days later, as Elsa sorted supplies at the hospital, several rugged-looking Special Forces soldiers pulled up in their jeeps, walked purposefully into the hospital in their heavily booted feet, and politely asked to speak with her. An Afghan nurse summoned Elsa and pointed toward the soldiers.

  Wondering what might be wrong, she hurried outside, but she could see that Lieutenant Martin—Dave—was smiling. He took off his cap as she approached.

  “The other evening, you missed seeing someone I wanted you to meet,” he said. “He’s seen you cutting through the fields, and he’s been hoping for an introduction ever since. We all caught hell for having you to dinner when he was in Bagram.” Dave grinned and moved slightly, and a smiling soldier—her mystery soldier—stepped into her view. Elsa held her breath.

  “This crummy-looking fella’s Mike, Lieutenant Michael Young, our tactician.” Mike gave her an embarrassed grin.

  “Like Lieutenant Martin said, I been wanting to meet you,” Mike said. He was another Southerner and had a thick drawl not unlike his friend’s. His sparkling, deep-blue eyes were even more alluring up close, and Elsa found herself paralyzed by his gaze.

  Mike stood six feet tall and his coffee-colored hair was tangled and windswept. He sported a growth of scruffy beard and wore army-issue camouflage pants and a tan T-shirt. He had a pistol strapped to his thigh, his boots were dusty from his recent trip, and he exuded an easy self-confidence that mesmerized her. She could have stared at him all day.

  Suddenly, she realized she was doing just that, and as she glanced away, she realized he’d been staring at her too.

  When she got hold of herself, she stuck out her hand and stammered, “I-I’m Elsa Murphy. It’s good to meet you.” She was so nervous she couldn’t believe she’d actually spoken.

  “I’m sorry that I couldn’t meet you when you came to dinner,” Mike said, seeming anxious to fill the awkward silence and very aware of the watching soldiers. “I know that we can’t talk right now, what with you being at work and all, but can we meet later? This evening maybe?”

  She was flustered by his question. His voice was so unexpectedly soft that she wavered for an instant.

  “I… I managed to get out last week, but I’m afraid I can’t do it again, at least not this soon. It would look odd.” As it was, she thought, people were probably wondering what she was doing out here for so long. She needed to get back.

  “You’re right, you’re right,” he said in a voice tinged with disappointment. “I’ll be in touch later this week, then?”

  “It’s a deal.” Elsa paused and reached out to shake his hand again. She realized then that her own palms were clammy and her heart was pounding.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Murphy.” Mike smiled as he turned to leave.

  “Please call me Elsa,” she said in a voice that had more of a squeak than she would have liked.

  “I’ll do that, Elsa,” he said. “And call me Mike.” He waved as he joined the others, jumping into his jeep and driving off. She stood in the grimy dust cloud but didn’t notice it. She wiped her damp hands over her dress, took a deep satisfying breath, and headed back to the hospital.

  An hour afterward, her heart was still pounding.

  * * *

  Several days later, as Elsa was walking through the clinic gate, she heard someone calling her name.

  She turned and saw Mike Young standing there, and she almost fainted with surprise. He stepped to her side and spoke, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

  “Dave and I were wondering if maybe you could come over for supper tonight,” he said. “He’s gonna fry some chicken.”

  Elsa’s heart fluttered, and she could feel the color rising in her face.

  “Oh, I’d love to,” she said as calmly as she could. “Should I wait at the same place?”

  Mike grinned broadly. “I don’t know where that is but I’ll ask Dave, and we’ll see you at six.”

  “That would be nice,” she said. Once he’d gone, she sighed and went back to work, having to force herself to concentrate. Fortunately, the workload was relatively light, and she rushed through the rest of her day. Then she hurried home to take a bath even though it had been only three days since her last one.

  She hadn’t been this clean since she’d arrived in Bamiyan.

  As she walked through her little house, she found Amina cooking.

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary tonight. I’m sorry, Amina.” Struck by a combination of guilt and conspiratorial excitement, she decided to tell her about the soldiers. It didn’t seem right to deceive her again.

  Despite the time she’d spent preparing dinner, Amina smiled happily at the news.

  “He is handsome?” she asked. They’d learned to communicate in bits of Dari, English, and when all else failed, simple sign language.

  “Balay, he is the most handsome man I have ever seen.”

  Amina nodded her approval and helped Elsa to heat her bathwater and choose a clean dress. When she was washed and dressed, Elsa drew a soft pink gloss across her lips and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Don’t wait up for me,” she said as she opened the heavy gate and hurried to the outside corner to wait.

  Within minutes, the jeep pulled up, the door opened, and Elsa slipped in. They sped away.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have dinner with you tonight,” Mike said, and she noticed with interest that his uniform was spotlessly clean and newly ironed. “I saw you last month,” he said, “and I knew you were not an Afghan.”

  “Oh no.” Elsa laughed. “Did my lipstick give me away?”

  “Well,” he said, “that and the sunglasses. When I heard you speak, I knew you were an American.” His voice dripped with an easy Southern charm. They sped along the now familiar road over the wobbly old bridge and slipped once again into the small gap between the trees. When the jeep stopped, Mike jumped out, quickly opened her door, and leaned in to help her out. He held her hand as they stepped into the safe house, where Elsa heard music and caught the scent of dinner.

  Dave walked from the kitchen wiping his hands on the towel tucked into his belt. He reached out and kissed Elsa’s cheek and announced that dinner was ready when they were.

  “I’m not joining y’all,” he said. “I got letters to read and one important one to write.”

  “Letters?” Elsa asked.

  “Yeah, to my wife, Lisa. We’ve got a satellite dish set up here but she’s not crazy about the In
ternet. She likes getting letters and photos in the mail, something she can hold and touch. I take as many pictures as I can, and I make sure to write her at least once a week.”

  “That’s really sweet,” Elsa said.

  “Dave will do anything for his wife,” Mike joked. “Hell, she almost wouldn’t let him come here till I promised her I’d take care of him and send him home safely.”

  “Aww,” Dave said. “Mike just doesn’t know what it’s like to be madly in love—yet. He’s still a lonely bachelor.”

  Relishing the awkward moment his comment had created, Dave grinned and pulled the towel from his belt. “Enjoy dinner. I’m sure I’ll see y’all soon.” With that, he disappeared into one of the rooms.

  There was another awkward silence. Oh God, am I nervous. I don’t have much experience with dating. Mike, on the other hand, with his easy confidence, is surely more experienced.

  She took a deep breath and finally spoke. “So the safe house isn’t really like an army base then?” she asked.

  Mike smiled in reply. “It sure isn’t,” he answered as they walked to the kitchen. “The Special Forces do things a little bit differently. Even this safe house is really just a house. No barracks here—we share rooms, and we take turns cooking and cleaning. We live together sort of like a family and tonight, most of the family is out, which leaves you and me.” He paused and looked at her, as if wondering how she would react.

  Elsa laughed, let herself relax, and decided to change the subject.

  “So have you and Dave known each other for a long time?”

  “Seems like it. It’s been a few years at least. We met in the reserves, and then we both reenlisted in September. Felt like we had to do something after 9/11. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I do. I tried to volunteer in New York on 9/11. I called the number that they flashed on TV, but no one ever called me back. I just wanted to do something too.”

  “Have you seen it? Ground Zero, I mean?”

  “Only on television, and that was awful enough.”

  “Dave and I went up to New York before heading here. We just wanted to see what we were fighting for.” He looked away, then focused again and continued. “Television just doesn’t capture the scope of it. Thousands of people dead and buried right there, lost forever. It’s powerful to see it up close, to feel the immense horror of that day.” He shivered at the memory and busied himself gathering up forks, knives, and plates to set the table.