A Far Away Home (12 page)

Ali was torn about what to do. “Let's go see if there even is a way to go back to
Iran.” They heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance, heading for Sharidure.
“It might be the Taliban,” Ali said out loud. They didn't want to be seen
if it was.
Ali led Homyoon up above the town to wait and see what it was that came into town.
It turned out to be a truck, loaded with bags of wheat and a few passengers. Ali
motioned for Homyoon to stay there and went down toward the truck to get a closer
look. Some of the older women of Sharidure went out to see the truck. Ali waited
inside his father's shop, staying out of sight.

The truck stopped on the main street, and Ali could hear the driver talking to the
women. The women were asking about buying wheat. The driver looked and sounded Tajik,
speaking Dari. Ali felt safer. Taliban would be speaking Pushtu. He wished he had
a weapon. He looked around the shop. In the back he found something he used a long
time ago, his slingshot. It was one he had used, one his father made for him. It
felt good in his hand. Placing it in his waistband inside his long shirt, he went
out to talk to the driver.

The women stepped back when he approached. Ali knew them. He wasn't sure they would
know him. “Hello, how are you? May you not be tired.”

The driver returned the greeting. He asked if Ali lived here, and what his name was.

“Ali, son of Hassan.” Ali noticed the women move a bit closer when he said his name.
“Would you sell me some wheat? How much is a bag?” After some bargaining, the driver
told one of his assistants to throw down a bag, a big one. Ali tested its weight.
It seemed the right weight, the one they had agreed on, so he gave the driver the
money. The driver looked at the Iranian notes. Ali wondered if he would take them,
but the driver nodded and accepted them. He said he was going to Herat and could
exchange the money there, or just use it. There was plenty of Iranian money in Herat.
Ali ventured, “Would you take a passenger to Herat?”

“Maybe. Are you going all the way to Herat?”

Ali didn't want to tell him too much. “Yes. Actually, it's my Iranian friend who
wants to go. Your truck looks new and in great shape. I think he would be glad to
ride with you. How much to have him ride in the cab?” The bargaining began again.
Ali didn't know how much it should cost, but he was sure this was the best way for
Homyoon to get to Iran. Buses went daily from Herat to Muhshed. Ali hinted that there
might be a bonus if the driver got Homyoon to Herat safely. The driver said he was
leaving in ten minutes.

Ali bought one more bag of wheat, then went to get Homyoon, who was a bit worried
about going on the truck. Ali assured him it was a safe way to get to Herat, and
that buses went every day to Muhshed from Herat. They hurried down to the truck.
Ali made his own decision. He was staying. This was his real home so he had to stay.
As the truck rumbled up the road west, he knew he made the right decision. He sent
a hurriedly written note to Nafisa and his children, explaining why he had to stay,
at least for now.

He carried one of the wheat bags to his house, after carrying the other into his
father's shop. When he carried the bag inside, Shireen started crying. He could tell
she was very happy to see him stay. There was a lot to do in Sharidure.

***

First, there was the garden to plant so they would have vegetables in the summer
and winter, but where could he get seeds? It turned out Shireen had kept some hidden
in the house. She had corn, tomatoes, eggplant, carrots, potatoes, and lettuce. Ali
went to work planting them in their field. He thought about wheat, but they didn't
have enough land to grow enough to feed them. He asked Shireen if anyone she
knew
had land to plant wheat. She did. One of her friends who lived on the edge of town
had several jereebs (about four acres) of land. Two other friends had cows to pull
the plow to soften the ground for planting. That is how, the first week he was back
home, Ali became a farmer during the day.

Plowing With Oxen • By Unknown

Shireen negotiated a deal with the landowner and the owners of the cows to share
the wheat crop.

At night, Ali was a carpenter, first repairing, later making furniture for the women
in Sharidure. He wouldn't take money but agreed to take eggs, vegetables, milk, and
other food for pay.

***

About two weeks later, a truck coming from the west arrived with a letter for Ali
from Nafisa, his wife. The letter was full of joy and news about their children.
Everything was fine. He didn't have to worry about them, but they would like to see
him when he could come.

The letter was delivered by Reza, the Iranian pilot. “Ali, the Iranian government
wants me to fly the plane back to Muhshed. They are worried the Taliban might hear
about the plane and claim Iran is interfering in Afghanistan. Actually, they aren't
worried about them thinking that. The Taliban know Iran is helping the Shia in Afghanistan.
It's just that they can't prove it. There is also some concern that your town might
be punished if the plane is found here.”

“I am worried about that, too. Our town has suffered enough, and I don't want to
bring danger to Shireen or anyone else. Can we fly the plane out?”

“Let's go see it. Homyoon told me to bring a propeller and a wing-tip. I also brought
fuel and some tools.” Reza sounded encouraging. They walked up to the airfield to
see the plane. Except for the propeller and wing-tip, the plane seemed completely
damage free. Reza climbed down from
the cockpit and nodded his approval to Ali. “It
seems like it could fly. This airfield seems a little short, though. How long is
it?”

Ali knew exactly how long it was and went on to tell Reza the story of the little
field. He told Reza about Dan and the flying lessons he gave him. He also told Reza
about the wind lift at the end of the runway. He and Reza walked down to end of the
runway to look over the edge at the valley below. “It helps that the runway is downhill.
It helps the plane pick up speed for the takeoff. How much runway does this plane
need to take off?”

“About fifty meters more than this runway.” Reza was calm in his answer. “Did the
pilot have any other tricks for takeoff?”

“He did say you could start out uphill and get up some speed, then make a wide turn
to head down the hill. We never had to do that.”

As they walked back up to the plane, Ali could tell that Reza was trying to figure
out what to do. When they got to the plane, Reza seemed to have decided. “Ali, go
back to get the fuel. I'll run some preflight checks to be sure the engines
and other
systems work. When you get back, we'll decide about flying out of here.” Ali noticed
the word “we.” He felt honored that he was to help make the decision.

On the way back to his house to get the aviation fuel, Ali thought about how to get
the four fuel containers back up to the plane. Maybe two strong men could carry one
at a time, but there were no men here. Maybe two strong women could carry the containers.
How about a donkey? Were there any? Shireen would know.

His sister met him at the door. “Ali, someone just came from Bamiyan. There's been
a rumor that a plane landed in Sharidure. They are worried the Taliban might hear.
Is it possible to fly the plane away? Everyone is worried what might happen if the
Taliban came and found a plane. They would probably start searching homes for whoever
flew it here.” Her voice was trying to be calm, but Ali could tell she was afraid.

“Reza is testing it now, to see if it can fly. We need to replace one propeller and
try to fix a wing-tip. We also need to get the fuel up to the plane. Does anyone
have a donkey?”

Shireen thought a minute. “Yes, I know a family that has
two. Their children used
to come to our house. I'm sure we could use their donkeys. I'll go to ask. There's
also a gaudi
behind dad's shop. He was fixing it. See if it is usable.”

Gaudi • By Howard Faber

Ali hurried out to the shop. The old gaudi was there, right where Shireen said it
would be. He could see his dad had been working on it. It looked like one of the
shafts had been broken. It had been replaced, just not painted. A harness was on
the seat of the gaudi. He had never driven one, but he could try. He pulled it around
to the street and to their house.

Nobody was around to watch him. He was happy for that, so no one would know about
them bringing fuel or anything else to the plane. The Taliban could easily force
people to talk. He waited for Shireen.

In about a half hour, Shireen returned with one donkey. “They asked why I needed
two, and I could only think of
needing to carry water from the river, so they let
me use one.”

“The gaudi seems to be usable, so one will have to do. The shafts are for a horse.
The donkey isn't as big as a horse, but he looks strong. Let's see if the harness
will fit. Have you ever driven a gaudi or put on a harness?”

Shireen just looked at him. Obviously, she hadn't. “It didn't hurt to ask,” he thought.
“Well, it can't be that hard.” Inside their compound wall, they led the donkey up
to the gaudi. Ali got the harness and stretched it out on the ground. They figured
out which of the straps were the front, lifted it up and draped it on the back of
the donkey. They found one that seemed to want to go over the withers and around
the belly of the donkey. It had a buckle that seemed to fit a strap with holes on
the other side. It was a little long, so Ali ran to get a tool from the shop to make
new holes. It snugged up to hold the whole front of the harness in place. Next, they
found a thick strap with two long straps that seemed to be how the donkey would pull
the gaudi. It went around the front of his chest and back to the gaudi. Ali could
remember seeing this. It was held up by a strap over the neck. It seemed too long,
so he made some new holes and it fit high enough
on the chest for pulling. At the
end of the straps were slits that fit over the ends of a pivoting bar at the front
of the gaudi. It was going to work. “The bridle, have you seen one or reins?” Shireen
looked again on the gaudi.

“I don't see any. What could we use? Could we tie rope on the halter?” Shireen led
the donkey with a rope tied on its halter.

“That's a good idea, Shireen. I saw rope in dad's shop. I'll be right back.” He soon
returned with a long rope and a knife. He tied the ends of the rope on both sides
of the halter. He wished there was a real bridle with a bit, but there wasn't, so
they would just have to make it work.

When they loaded the back of the two-wheeled cart with the fuel containers, it tipped
back, almost lifting the donkey in the air. They looked at each other and quickly
took two containers off. It still tipped back, but not so much.

“Maybe if one of us sat in the front it would balance the load. Why don't you try
it,” she suggested. Ali got in the front. It was much better. Shireen opened the
gate of the compound and led the donkey out. Ali pulled on the right rein to turn
up the street. The donkey just stopped. Shireen
went up to him and led him in the
right direction. She looked at Ali and just shrugged and grinned. “It could be worse.
He's pulling the load.”

It turned out to be fun. They hadn't worked together on anything for such a long
time. When they got up to the airfield, Reza stepped down from the plane and directed
them around to the fuel tanks on one wing. Ali handed up the container, and Reza
poured it into a tank. He was careful to strain it through a cloth. They didn't need
any fuel problems. Ali handed up the second container, and he and Shireen turned
back down to the town to get the other containers. This trip Ali led, and Shireen
got to ride. It was only fair.