Green on Blue (10 page)

Inside the mess hall, Naseeb stood rigidly next to the door. He watched over the food. This was his penalty for losing track of the rice and rifles we’d found with Gazan’s fighters. The total punishment was nearly six hours standing each day. On his right side, he also wore a swollen and bluish jaw, the result of a separate and more private conversation with Commander Sabir.

As I passed through the breakfast line, I nodded to Naseeb. Despite his burdens, he offered me a broad grin that strained his tender jaw and caused a dribble to leak from the right side of his mouth. He winced and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. He smiled at me again and winced again. He learned slowly and suffered for it.

I took my time, and ate a tray of naan and a korma
of leeks and potatoes. Then I wandered to the motor pool. Three days patrolling through the rugged mountains had pummeled our trucks, taking its toll. Since our return the entire Special Lashkar had spent long hours replacing tires, brake pads, and even a couple blown transmissions.

When I arrived, Mortaza, Tawas, and Yar were already pulling one of our dented rims out of an otherwise good tire. With a grunt, Mortaza slammed a jack into the space between the rubber and the metal. He stood and said: Aziz, very kind of you to join us.

I’ve saved you a special job, added Yar. You get to drain and replace our oil.

This was a miserable task and likely to give me a hot oil bath when I pulled the plug from the pan beneath our HiLux. I lay on my back and walked my shoulders under the chassis. Above me the chatter continued.

Whose truck is that parked next to the American’s? asked Tawas.

Atal’s, answered Mortaza. The man with the large house in Gomal.

Beneath our HiLux, I slowly untwisted the warm plug and shouted
up to my friends: I can’t see what good comes from Atal meeting with the American.

None, replied Mortaza. Issaq says the American pays him well for information. Do you think this is true?

It must be, I said. How else can you explain his expensive home or important business the morning of the shura?

Yar kicked my feet, which stuck out from beneath the chassis and flopped open at the ankles. What is any of that to any of you? he asked. Are your stomachs full? Do you have a warm place to sleep? And Aziz, is your brother treated in the hospital? With all this cared for, what the American or Atal does is no matter for us—it is not even a matter for Commander Sabir.

Our talk ended and we continued to work.

A proverb I learned in the madrassa reads:
When the friendless man passes beyond the deep place, what is his fear?
Yar had passed
the
deep place
long ago. He’d left his questions and doubts there, and wouldn’t abide any of ours.

We turned wrenches until our shadows were made long by the late-afternoon sun. All right, that’s enough, called Yar, and we began to put our tools away. Then he grabbed me. Not quite, Aziz, he said. You were late, you clean up. We’ll see you at dinner.

Mortaza and Tawas laughed as they threw their wrenches, wire brushes, and paper towels at my feet. I gathered the tools and clutched them to my chest. As I did, I saw Atal. He strolled across the motor pool, his head raised in friendly contempt of the soldiers and military equipment around him. While he walked, he stroked the running end of a clean white turban. His expression was all confidence. Trailing behind him was the girl Fareeda and the spingari
Haji Jan. Fareeda’s hijab was pulled tightly against her cheeks. I could see none of her black hair and her expression was clamped with pain. She followed arm in arm with
Haji Jan, whose legs were bowed as wishbones. He waddled and picked at the earth in front of him with a cane that looked to be no more than a piece of root cleaved from a pine. As the two walked I couldn’t tell who was helping the other along.

I stood in front of their HiLux, frozen, holding my tools. Seeing the three of them felt like an indecency, but why I couldn’t say. I watched their approach, and as I did, Atal’s perfume spiked the air.

Ah, salaam alaikum. It is Aziz, yes? asked Atal.

I nodded.

Fareeda, he called back to the girl, you remember our friend.

She glanced toward me, her eyes lifting through a grimace.

Poor child, said Atal. I’ve come to get medicine for her condition. Her pain is often very bad.

It will ease soon, she said, and I saw the bottle of pills in her hand.

Haji Jan spoke to Atal, but loud enough for me to hear: If it means we avoid this place, she is better off with the old remedy.

He spat a copper jet of tobacco juice through two missing teeth.

Atal placed his hand on my shoulder. And how have you been? he asked. I understand Sabir’s shura did not go well. I am sorry for that.

Before I could answer, Haji Jan planted his cane between my feet. He wagged his finger in my face and said: That dog Sabir and great men like him cause all the suffering in this world with their ideas.

I’m just a soldier, I answered.

I turned away and put some tools into a bin. Atal kissed his teeth at Haji Jan, who stepped back from me. Come, Atal said to us both, this is not the way to speak. A soldier wishes for peace more than any. But Aziz, you should know it has gotten very bad now. It is not even safe for me to leave Fareeda alone.

None are safe in the village now, said Haji Jan. Not me, not Atal, and most certainly not the girl.

I am in pain, not helpless, said Fareeda. Her breath strained against her voice.

Haji Jan shook his head with contempt for us all. Atal took Fareeda’s good hand in his, and kissed it. Always a brave girl, he said. She looked at me and her eyes were black on black, swallowed by her pupils, and I thought of her rolling the ball of opium in her fingers and the contrast of her white eyes and black pupils now gripped me just as when I’d seen her robes lifted, and the contrast there, between her soft naked skin and the hard flesh of her deformity. Again I wanted her in a very savage way. I think she knew it because she wrapped her good arm around her uncle’s. But she wasn’t afraid. She held him as if she’d started to say good-bye.

Atal laughed a little as she clasped onto him. Come, dear, enough of that, he said. We must get on our way. Then he turned to me and said: I hope you’ll finish those repairs so you can visit us again. He offered his hand in friendship. I raised my grease-stained palms to the sky as if in prayer and was glad for an excuse to avoid his manicured grip. Ah, I see, he said, well, all the best to you, Aziz.

He climbed into the driver’s side of his HiLux and Fareeda climbed in on the far side. I ran around and shut the door behind her. As I did, I brushed against her dead arm and felt its hard ridges underneath her shawl. She took no note of it. She couldn’t feel it and I stole this touch from her.

They sped out of the motor pool in a race with the late-afternoon sun. It was no longer safe to be on the north road at night.

–

I finished putting our tools in the large plywood bins and crossed the firebase toward the barracks. When I arrived, it was empty. Everyone was at dinner. There were no plans for work that night, so I took
my time cleaning up. When I went into the shower, I scrubbed my hands until the rims of my fingernails frayed beneath the hot water. Despite my scrubbing, grease still stained my steamed palms a faded black. I put on a fresh uniform and went to the mess hall. Walking alone under a shroud of night was a pleasure that surpassed a good meal.

I took the long route so I might bump into Commander Sabir. I was anxious to hear when Taqbir would visit and perhaps bring some news of Ali. In the months since winter I hoped some of Ali’s strength had returned, that the hardships I endured allowed his suffering to ease in the hospital. I was also anxious to learn when we’d next travel to Gomal so I might see Fareeda again. It’d been some weeks since our last trip. Although my days were filled with soldier’s work, my thoughts never wandered far from my brother, or from her. When I thought of them, I thought of their suffering and felt a desperate need to save them. This became very tiring, and loving them was difficult, but then I wondered if it was possible to love something you weren’t trying to save.

I crossed the helicopter landing zone and walked by the HESCO-walled barracks we stayed in as recruits. Our ranks wouldn’t be added to until winter. There was no time in the fighting season to train new soldiers. Naseeb now used the old barracks as a storage locker. A resupply flight had arrived while we were on patrol and pallets of rice, ammunition, and gasoline sat in the open. The cargo hadn’t made it into storage. It remained untouched by the overworked and tortured Naseeb, but with such sloppy accounting, it seemed little wonder our supplies had fallen into Gazan’s hands. It would be nothing to hide a couple bags of rice or a crate of ammunition in one of the binjos or trucks that passed out our front gate on business each day.

At the far corner of the firebase, Mr. Jack had moved his truck from
the motor pool and parked it next to the shack where he held his meetings. The moon reflected off the black HiLux, and inside the shack, Mr. Jack paced, his shadow crossing the lit doorway. The idea of the sandy-haired American in that room, scheming after his meeting with Atal, exhausted me.

I entered the wide double doors of the mess hall and squinted against the glare inside. Naseeb still stood by the entrance. I got into line next to him. Most of the other soldiers had finished eating. They sat full and in a stupor on row after row of benches. The cooks spooned out my portion of greasy rice and sinewy beef and handed me an orange Fanta. I would’ve preferred to sit by myself, but Yar waved me over to where the rest of the squad took its meal.

I joined them, but leaned into my food to avoid conversation and to continue my solitude and rest. Although not part of the Tomahawks, Qiam sat with us. Tawas had his arm draped over his brother’s shoulder. They exchanged rumors of the operations to come.

Batoor has told the Comanches that we’ll avoid Gomal for a time, whispered Qiam. He says we’ll let the villagers see how they enjoy Gazan’s protection.

What will we do instead of building the outpost? asked Mortaza.

Batoor says we’ll set up checkpoints along the north road and starve the villagers to their senses, said Qiam. Then we’ll have our outpost.

Yar kissed his teeth and spoke: We will do the checkpoints. This I’ve heard, but not to starve innocents. Through the checkpoints, we’ll find who’s been smuggling our supplies to Gazan.

Everyone nodded at this idea.

Maybe Atal was here today to discuss the checkpoints, I said.

Yar fixed his gaze on me.

Atal is no concern of ours, he replied. Some things are not for knowing and those who try become fools. Everyone nodded, not necessarily
in agreement, but in acknowledgment of Yar’s authority. He added: Atal is a dog, and Mr. Jack is his handler. You only have to tug his collar to make him look the right way.

Yar rubbed together the three fingers of his cleft rooster hand, suggesting Atal’s financial itch. If it was money Atal wanted, it made sense he sold information to Mr. Jack. He had the money. Mr. Jack funded the Special Lashkar, too, and by that measure also owned us. As we ate our food paid for by the Americans, none of us seemed that different from Atal. And the suspicion we had for him, or the loyalty we had for each other, or the hatred we had for Gazan, all of it seemed of much less concern than the meal in front of us, and tomorrow’s.

The group would sit in the mess hall and idly talk until sleep overcame them. Then they’d stagger back to the barracks. I excused myself and took my tray and dishes to the kitchen window where Naseeb now worked in a grease-stained apron behind a sink. I handed him the scraps of my meal and thanked him.

You are quite welcome, he said.

You have to do all the cleanup? I asked. This is a tough punishment.

It is not mine to question, he replied.

It is a dangerous thing Gazan’s men have done, turning our supplies and guns against us, I said.

It is just the way of it, Naseeb answered. We take from them. They take from us.

This way has not worked out well for you, I told him.

Yes, yes, but if I was not here, things would be worse for me, he replied. Just as it is with you.

Yes, I agreed quietly.

Naseeb again hunched over a tall stack of plates and scrubbed. Each stroke seemed to redden his eyes and pull the color from his fat face. The other cooks sat against the sinks and stoves, gossiping.

–

I stepped outside and sat atop a wooden picnic table that ran along the mess hall’s back wall. The night was cold, but I paid it no mind. I wanted to be alone and still. I put my feet on the bench and leaned into my legs to warm my body. With my feet off the earth, the cold couldn’t seep up through my boots. I buried my hands deep into my pockets and stared at a milky smudge across the night sky. I thought of my brother, far away and in the hospital, lying on his back, at the mercy of Taqbir and the supervisor with his fat paunch and sweaty bald head. The idea unnerved me, but, just like Atal, the supervisor was motivated by money, and that was a plain motivation, simple and, in its simplicity, reliable.

I also fought for money, so if men like Atal were corrupt, then so was I. As long as I stayed a soldier and my pay went to the hospital, my brother would be cared for. My war was as simple and honest as that. There was no cause in it except the cause of survival. Had I killed for money? Perhaps. Perhaps it was a round from my machine gun that had killed the man on the ridge a few days ago. I had no feud with him. If I killed him I did it for money. Atal sold information to Mr. Jack for money, too, the money to care for Fareeda. What could be corrupt in that? Yet that money also paid for his large house, generator, and HiLux. Still, the truly corrupt have unreliable motivations, and money is one of the most reliable.

My eyes adjusted in the night. Slowly the outline of the motor pool, the barracks, and Commander Sabir’s quarters revealed themselves. A trickle of soldiers left the mess hall. None of them noticed me sitting on the picnic table. Their eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, and they stumbled toward their beds.