The pain in my leg had almost subsided from the workout I gave myself the day before. I had every intention of repeating it, as often as necessary until I was strong enough to walk off the mountain, as Mary Beth had so eloquently stated. Not wanting to take any more pain medication unless I had to and knowing she had probably given me what was left of her supply, I had held out as long as possible before swallowing the last one she had given me, taking it just after Abraham had kicked my butt in chess.
Breakfast was the usual nuts and berries, with a little yogurt for which I was, again, very grateful. Abraham disappeared while I was eating, but when he returned, he held in his hands what would be my legs until I could walk on my own.
He beamed ear to ear as he handed me two carved makeshift wooden crutches. They were old and worn, but sturdy enough to hold my weight. However, they’d been augmented. Each crutch was set in, for lack of a better description, sleeves of longer pieces of wood that were laced with leather straps on either side and held in place by a wooden grommet that was slipped through a hole cut into the thick sticks. Extenders, so to speak. It was ingenious. The extensions were newly carved; the lighter wood was not even weathered—fashioned to fit over the original ends of the four-foot crutches, held in place by the sleeves; thereby meeting my six-foot stature.
“Thank you,” I said, looking up at him. “They are beautiful.”
“When Miss Mary Beth gave them to me, I knew they would not work. You are big.”
I grinned. “That I am.”
Carefully, we gripped hands, and he braced himself to pull me up. I stood quickly, and waited for the dizziness, which didn’t come. My legs were somewhat wobbly, but that was to be expected. Abraham assisted in getting the crutches under my arms, and for the first time in a week, I was standing on my own. Sort of. I’ve used crutches before, so I slowly began hobbling around the abode, favoring my right leg. My left shoulder was still tender, but not so much that I couldn’t do this. When I looked up again, Abraham was smiling proudly.
“Good?” he asked.
“Magnificent,” I replied.
As I maneuvered toward the door, he walked ahead and opened it. Carefully, I stepped outside onto the snow-covered ground. There to greet me was a cold wind and several townsfolk as they went about their business. The women pulled their winter clothing tighter and looked down as they walked by. However, the men stopped to bow and nod before continuing to their destinations, their eyes remaining on me until they were out of sight. The fresh air felt and smelled wonderful. I stood ankle-deep in the snow, the chill creeping into my thinly clad shoes. God, I missed my boots. They were more than likely on the feet of a grateful villager, hopefully, traded for a month’s worth of rice or beans for Abraham’s family.
When I turned the corner, to the open-air latrine on the hillside, I nearly ran into the mullah. Word travels fast in a small town, and he was on his way to us when we met. He bowed slightly and nodded, which I repeated. He admired Abraham’s handiwork and complimented him extensively on his inventiveness. Again, I was invited to dinner when I was able, to which I promised him would be soon. He turned, hands clasped firmly behind his back, almost pensively, and walked away.
I hobbled to the hillside and peed standing for the first time since arriving. That was about all I could handle on my first excursion outside. I motioned to Abraham with my head that I was ready to go home. As I rounded the corner, I saw Denice standing in the doorway to her quaint shack.
“Well, well! Your first adventure out.”
“I’ll be walking on my own before you know it.”
“God willing.”
I nodded. “Where’s Mary Beth?”
“She and one of the locals went to the next village over to check on a young mother.” Her smile faded. “She’s been going there every day. Yesterday she helped deliver a baby girl.”
I grinned.
“The baby was breech. She didn’t make it.”
My smile faded as I shook my head.
“That happens more than I’d like to say, over here.” She looked around the village. “A lot more.”
I rested shakily on the crutches as she spoke.
“Get inside before you freeze. I’ll tell Mary Beth I saw you, and you were doing well,” Denice said as she turned away. Then she suddenly looked back. “Don’t overdo it,” she instructed. “I wouldn’t put it past her to cut off your leg just out of spite.”
“Duly noted.”
I watched her step back inside her home, when a young man caught my eye, and suddenly I froze. He must have been only a year or so older than Abraham, his facial hair just filling in around his dark features. His eyes held mine, if only for a moment. But that moment was telling. There wasn’t fear or even hate, but there was defiance in them. I looked away. Maybe I was mistaken. However, something in my gut told me I wasn’t.
Abraham helped me inside and to my toshak, before taking my crutches and assisting me as I sat down. I leaned my head against the wall and then watched him lay the crutches beside my toshak.
“Who was that?” When he looked at me confused, I continued. “The young man outside. Who is he?”
Abraham brushed the snow from my feet as he spoke. “That’s the mullah’s son, Rafi.”
“He doesn’t seem to like me much.”
“He doesn’t like anyone.”
“Do you trust him?” When he turned, confused, I added. “Would he turn me in?”
Abraham hesitated. “When the village met, to discuss you, he spoke against you staying.”
I pursed my lips and nodded. That was telling in itself. “Were there many that cast their vote against me staying?”
He tilted his head upward from his task. “Some.”
I closed my eyes and rolled my head to rid myself of the tension. How much longer would I be safe here? “Would any of them turn me over to the Taliban?”
He was thoughtful before he spoke. “I don’t believe so,” he replied. “Why?”
Why? If I were them, I would. I’d trade me in for a Klondike bar!
“I will not let anyone hurt you or take you from here.”
I scoffed. “I appreciate that.” But if it’s two against an army of Taliban, our odds aren’t good.
“I think you should rest.”
“I think I’ll move around some more,” I said, holding out my hands so that he could pull me up again. I remembered the boy’s eyes as they glared at me. No matter what Abraham promised, in the end, I was on my own. I needed to get the hell out of here. And soon.
Chapter Twenty-One
Over the next two days, I crutched my way around the whole village, up and down hills, into the woods, putting as much weight as I could bear on my leg, pushing the limits a little further each time. By day five, I was one-crutching it. It hurt like hell, but Kevan was still in my head, yelling in my ear. C’mon soldier. You can do it! You’re tougher than woodpecker lips. Only those who knew Kevan could appreciate his wry attempt at wit. And if that wasn’t enough, I began drawing strength from the villagers.
Every time I ventured out, I had a bigger audience. At first, there were occasional glances from passersby. Then people began to stop and stare, either from doorways or snow-covered ruts in the pathways. Soon they were congregating, muttering amongst themselves, gauging my progress. When I would glance their way, I was met with smiles and nods of approval.
Mary Beth was still gone, which concerned me somewhat. She’s a Western woman, practicing her profession in the middle of Afghanistan. It’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s up against, having lost her husband the year before to the very people they were helping. That being said, I somehow couldn’t bear the thought that Mary Beth was out there, taking such a foolish risk. It was maddening. She was maddening.
And yet it was her face I saw every night when I closed my eyes; and it was the first one I wanted to see when I woke. Several times I tried to envision Amanda, but somehow her picture had faded from my mind.
/> On my last trip around the village, Denice was standing in her doorway. She merely smiled and stepped aside, inviting Abraham and me in for tea. Her home was mud like Mary Beth’s, except hers had three rooms. Two rugs hung from the walls for decoration, doubling as insulation. Denice sat on one of the several pillows arranged around a small short-legged handmade table, already set with tea service and a variety of sweets.
“Thank you,” I offered, as I sat opposite her. Abraham sat beside me, cross-legged.
“You’re quite welcome,” she grinned. “I took pity on you.” Denice poured us each a cup of tea. “You look like you’re training for a marathon out there.”
I blew on then sipped my tea. “I feel like I’m training for a marathon.”
“How’s the leg?” she asked motioning to it with her cup.
“Sore. But nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m sure,” she replied, smugly.
I continued to look around as I sipped, assessing her life through trinkets and pictures set throughout her home, my eyes finally resting on an old, worn Bible. “Is it normal that she should be gone this long?”
Denice narrowed her eyes slightly. “Not normal.” She sipped her tea without blowing on it. “But these are not normal times.”
Now it was I who narrowed my eyes. “At what point do you get concerned?”
“Oh, Roark, Eddie, I was concerned the moment she packed her bag and walked out that door. “Mullah Akhssey’s wife is with her.” Denice must have sensed my worry. “She’s a big girl. She knows the risks. And the moment she left, she was in God’s hands, in His protection.”
I shook my head and scoffed. “Like Henry was?”
I caught her off-guard, but her demeanor softened, and she smiled. “Yes, much like Henry.”
I sipped my tea pensively, contemplating. “Some people would call it foolish, what you are risking out here.”
“Yes,” she said, setting down her cup. “Some people would.”
“And, yet, you still stay. Henry died. And you still stay.”
“Yes,” she smiled before glancing at Abraham. Her eyes returned to mine.
“You know, what you are doing here is—.”
She tilted her head and leaned in, whispering. “And what is it you think we’re doing here?”
I hesitated, and then drew in a deep breath. “I think you are trying to save a people that don’t want to be saved.”
“And what if they don’t know that?”
“And what makes you think it’s your job to show them?”
“What makes you think it’s not?”
I rubbed my face in frustration. The conversation was quickly becoming circular. “So, you are willing to die a martyr?”
“Hopefully, we won’t. At least that’s not the plan.”
“But you could.”
“Roark, Eddie,” she began with a big smile. “You are in the same place we are. And you are fighting to save the same people we are.” She slowly stood and went to heat the kettle once more. “We both believe in that for which we are fighting. Only you use bullets, and we use a Bible.” When she turned, she offered me the plate of sweets. “You are willing to die for what you believe in, are you not?” Her eyes met mine. “So are we.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t mean you should take unnecessary risks with your lives. What good are you if you are captured or killed?” I thought for a moment, adding, “What good did Henry dying do for your cause? For your faith?”
“He showed them what real love was. He showed those you call enemies, true, compassionate and merciful love to the end.”
I shook my head, trying to reason with her. “And yet, he died.”
“And yet, he died,” she repeated sadly. “As did your friends.”
Now, it was I who was caught off-guard. I looked down at my hands as they became clenched fists. Yes, they did. I closed my eyes. They died for what? To what end? I looked back at Denice. “Point taken.”
Denice sighed. “I’m not implying that one person died for a more noble cause than the other. Henry and your friends—they all died believing they could make a difference, that they could change the world.” As the teakettle whistled, she reached over and took my hand. “Neither of them died for something less worthy than the other. Less noble than the other.”
When I looked up at her, her smile was calming; her face was like that of an angel.
At that moment, the door opened, and Mary Beth rushed in. She quickly pulled the scarves from her face and gasped, out of breath. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Would you like some tea?” Denice asked her friend.
Mary Beth reached for my arm and started to tug at it. “We need to get you out of here. Now!” she added excitedly.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
She gasped, pulling on my arms. “They are coming, and they aren’t far behind me.”
“Who’s coming, sweetie?” Denice asked, concern on her face.
“Taliban.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I quickly took their lead, mainly since my gun and my knife were under my toshak. When I reminded Mary Beth, she ran out of the building. She didn’t stop to tell me where she was going, and I didn’t stop her to ask. Abraham and Denice led me through the back door to a building just feet away. When we arrived inside, I knew immediately I was in the clinic. It was bigger and more run down than the two homes, with five rooms, the smallest of them being a surgical suite. They practically dragged me to the smaller room, before moving the makeshift gurney and the wood flooring beneath it. I was surprised to see a hole dug into the mountain below.
Abraham grabbed a small flashlight and turned it on. As it slowly grew to life, Denice pushed me down into the hole in the ground. My leg dragged as I took the small rungs two steps at a time with my good leg. She dropped the crutches down beside me and then Abraham handed me the flashlight. When I looked up, I saw them drag the wood back over the hole.
Now, I’ve never considered myself claustrophobic before—and I’ve been in some pretty tight places—yet, as I looked up, the small cylindrical flashlight in my hand felt almost like a Bic lighter. I felt panic; like I wouldn’t get out. Was this to be my grave? I closed my eyes to even out my breathing. I knew I wasn’t at the bottom of the ladder, however, as rudimentary as the hole was, I was concerned that this was it. When my breathing was steady, I began to descend into the darkness until my foot hit the ground below. I turned the light in my hand and found myself in a room—a reasonably large room.
Foregoing the crutches, I merely held the wall as I walked. Farther and farther I hopped and hobbled until I reached the end of the dirt walls, as they turned to rock. My hand followed the stones until I realized that I was now in a maze of caves. I didn’t dare venture further, for fear of what I might find, or who I might find. So, I turned back. I stopped and set my hand on a little table that had been more than likely assembled down here. It held medical supplies, some dried foods and plastic bottles of water. There were pillows and two toshaks and carpets on the floor. It looked like someone’s home.
I paced, limping in a circle, feeling antsy, before finally collapsing onto one of the toshaks, resting my head against the wall behind me. What the hell are you still doing here? I closed my eyes. What would they do now? Hide me down here until the snow thawed? I envisioned the village burned and everyone tortured as they hunted me, building to building. I thought about what they might do to Abraham. To the women.
I leaned against the wall and slowed my breathing, calming myself. And then I heard something, from deep in the tunnel. Slowly, I rose and turned off the light. I hugged the wall, moving as stealthily as a one-legged man could until I came to the large opening where the one tunnel forked into three. I stopped and listened for many moments. Just when I took a step away from the wall, a hand suddenly gripped my shoulder. I turned quickly, forgetting any pain I might be feeling, but remembering my training, and grabbed the arm and pulled
it down until I was straddled over my attacker, my hand on their throat.
When I felt the scarves and the small frame and knew instantly I was mistaken. I pulled the flashlight from my pocket and turned it on. “Jesus Christ!” I yelled in a loud whisper, as a startled Mary Beth looked up at me from where I had her pinned. “I could have killed you.” Her body trembled beneath mine. I stood, pulling her with me, before leaning against the wall for balance. “Where did you come from?”
She rubbed her neck with one hand, pointing toward the tunnels I had discovered earlier. I could see her studying me, nervously. Then she sighed, turned and became my crutch as we hobbled back to the large room beneath the clinic.
“Are they gone?”
“No, they are talking to the Shura.”
“How many?”
“Four,” she sighed.
I collapsed onto the toshak, and she sat beside me.
"Okay, let's take a look,” Mary Beth said. I'd hate to think we just undid ten days’ worth of progress."
I leaned on her to stand again, then dropped my pants, my tunic falling almost to my knees. She knelt beside me, slowly sliding the material upward until my wound was exposed. I stared down, watching her. As her hands slid over my thigh, she glanced up at me. Our eyes met, and she smiled.
"A little light would be helpful."
I focused the flashlight beam on my leg and looked away. Her touch was driving me mad. I tried to think about something else. Only, nothing else came to mind, as her fingers gingerly teased my bare skin.
"Looks okay," she said, rewrapping it.
Hurriedly, I leaned over and pulled up my pants, then slid back onto the toshak, using the wall to lower myself. I quickly pulled a pillow into my lap, resting my arm on it casually as Mary Beth sat beside me. After a pause she turned to me, a small smile creeping onto her lips.
The Missionary Page 11