Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series) (3 page)

Mark zipped his bag shut and glanced over his shoulder to make sure the cousins weren’t within hearing distance and was satisfied that they were filling water bottles at the well.

“Why did you bring me if I can’t photograph women? I mean, you’re from here, right?” He couldn’t help the spark of anger. While the trip itself was amazing, his real excitement had been the thrill of participating in an effort to make a difference in the women’s lives. He hadn’t expected to effect any real change, but buried beneath all the doubt and rationality had been a scrap of hope that maybe, just maybe, the book would help in some small way.

Mohommad pulled back, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, I was born here, but I was just a child when I left. I’ve only been back a few times since then. You saw the bullet holes and the ruined buildings in Kandahar. It isn’t high on anyone’s list of vacation destinations, including
my
family’s.  Given the choice, my father took us to Disney World.”

Mark broke eye contact and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look…I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

Shrugging, Mohommad waved off the apology. “No problem. You’ll get your chance. Besides, I also need photos of the homes and conditions here, not just the women. Those photos will help set the tone of the book and give it context.”

Mark nodded, but he wasn’t completely satisfied. Mo took fantastic landscapes and certainly didn’t need any help in that regard.

The drive was bone-jarring and Faisal drove like a colony of bats were chasing them out of the depths of hell.  Mark swiped his arm across his forehead. Maybe the hell association stemmed from the heat. He was used to hot, humid Chicago summers, but this was like a blast furnace. His teeth felt like they were going to rattle right out of his head. The ride would take about forty-five minutes, which had surprised him when Mo relayed the news. This was the definition of a neighboring village?

With all the bumps and jolts, Mark soon gave up all attempts at conversation and instead settled back to observe the scenery. The raw beauty of the landscape made him forget the heat. The air had a quality he couldn’t define—it was as though he had been looking through a dusty window his whole life and suddenly, it had been wiped clean. Everything was so crisp, despite the dust. Distance was deceptive and Mark was sure he could have thrown a baseball and it would reach the mountains, but he chuckled at the idea even as it crossed his mind. The mountains were miles away. Growing up in Wisconsin, he wasn’t used to mountains, only rolling hills, but he had traveled a bit and gone skiing in Colorado a few times. His dad had also taken the family on vacation to the Grand Canyon one year. Maybe Afghanistan looked so different because there was less pollution.

He sipped from his canteen of water. Despite the insulated cover, the water was already warm, but dust coated the inside of his mouth so he took another sip. He’d have to get used to it for the next few weeks because in the dry heat, it would be easy to get dehydrated. At least his Cubs baseball hat would provide him some protection from the sun. He had a month or so to acquire a tan in Chicago before the trip, but he had a feeling it might not make much difference and was glad for the loose long-sleeved cotton shirt Mo had recommended instead of the simple t-shirt Mark had been planning to wear.

At the first village, he stepped from the vehicle and stretched, working some kinks out of his neck as he swept his tongue over his teeth, half-expecting to discover a few loose fillings. Finding everything still secure, he forgot his minor discomfort from the drive as he took in his surroundings.  The mouth-watering scent of roasting meat vied for dominance over the pungent scent of sheep and the vague smell of something rotten. High-walled compounds surrounded the center of the village with a spot of green nearby where Mo had explained the village shared a large common vegetable garden. It surprised him to find it in the middle of the village, but he guessed it needed to be near the water source. From doing some of his own studying, he knew that the compounds usually housed three or four related families.

The men of the village were eager to show them around, proudly showing their herds of sheep. It seemed the women were always just out of sight. A few ventured out in their burqas, but the only other glimpse he had was a flash of movement in a few doorways when he would turn. He had the feeling of being watched, but it wasn’t an ominous feeling of being spied upon, it was more one of curiosity. He just wished one woman would pause for a second so he could snap her picture. Faisal tugged on Mark’s arm and pointed to some children playing near the well. They kicked a clod of dirt back and forth as though it was a soccer ball and it soon become apparent that the goal of the game was to destroy the clod, but only through kicking it. When one boy inadvertently stepped on it, the others shouted and shoving ensued. Faisal laughed and said something to the other men. Smiles and chuckles lit their faces even though the guilty clod smasher was beneath the pile of other boys. Mark took a step towards them. He didn’t have a plan, but the unfairness of the other boys piling on compelled him to try to break up the fight, but Mo blocked him with an outstretched arm.

“Don’t interfere. This is how it is with children. They learn to defend themselves at an early age here.”

“But it’s five against one,” Mark said, keeping his voice as even as he could, not wanting to cause a scene. “What if he gets hurt?”

Mo laughed. “Then he’ll learn to either fight harder next time, or become more nimble on his feet so that he doesn’t ruin the game.”

At that moment, the boy emerged from beneath the pile, having somehow wiggled out. Instead of running, he laughed, wiped a trickle of blood from his nose, and shouted something to the others. Mark couldn’t understand the words, but he needed no translation for the tone. The boy was clearly saying the Pashto equivalent of ‘Suckers!’

Embarrassed, Mark shrugged. “I guess you were right.”

Mo nodded as his face split into a grin. “You know I always am.”

“Shut up.” Mark smiled and lifted his camera, snapping a succession of shots of the boys as they kicked a new clod to begin a new game.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement and pivoted, surprised to see a woman peering at him from an open gate to one of the compounds.  Years of photography had honed his ability to react to a good shot, and without thinking, he zoomed in and was able to squeeze off several frames of the young woman. Her eyes, wide and green, were unguarded for a split second before a veil of fear dropped down and she lowered her gaze and ducked back within the compound. It was too late. All Mark had required was that split second. He had the first of the photos for the book. Elated, he grinned at Mo. “Did you see that?”

It wasn’t Mo who answered, but rather Faisal as he gave Mark a shove. “What are you doing taking photographs of a woman?”

Stumbling sideways, Mark caught his balance and suppressed the impulse to shove the guy right back. It only took a second for his temper to cool and then he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Here he was, their guest, and he had already broken the rules.  “I…uh…I was taking a photo of the house and I didn’t see her until afterward. I apologize.” 

Faisal glared and Sayeed stood a step behind him, arms crossed.

Mo moved close, shooting Mark a dark look before he turned to his cousins, a smile replacing the scowl as he put a hand on Faisal’s chest. “It was an accident. I won’t use that photo. It’s just that Mark sometimes gets too focused on his work and doesn’t pay attention like he should.” Then he grinned. “Focused. Get it?” He gave his cousin’s shoulder a light slap. “Come on. I want to see the new well.”

Mark capped his camera in frustration. Sweat trickled down his back as he trudged after the small group and tried to work up the enthusiasm to marvel at the well. He appreciated the significance of it, especially for the women, as it made their lives easier, but he just wished he wasn’t hogtied in regards to his photography. As the day wore on and women scurried into their respective compounds when Mo’s group approached, his frustration mounted. Faisal and Sayeed never mentioned them, and Mo ignored them too.

How was he going to photograph ghosts? Because that is what the women seemed to be to him. Blue colored ghosts. Even their feet were almost impossible to see beneath the yards of cloth and it gave the impression that they floated over the ground.

As the day progressed, it was more of the same. The only women he saw served them food in bowls and retreated to another area to eat. At least, he assumed they ate. He took countless photos of the homes, sheep, gardens, a few young boys roughhousing, and the men of the village, but he never had an opportunity to take another photo of a woman in that village.

Mark lay on the pad and scratched his chin, cursing the beard Mo had suggested he grow to fit in better. It made sense to grow it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. In the ten days they had been in the country, he had acquired a deep tan and with his dark hair and green eyes, he could be mistaken for an Afghani. At least until he spoke, but he learned to keep his mouth shut and observe. He had picked up a few words and Mo translated when he could, so he wasn’t totally lost in the conversations, but after a while, he found that the other men forgot about him. This worked to his advantage and allowed him to occasionally catch a glimpse of the women.

With a last satisfying scratch, he turned onto his side and yawned. He pushed aside the worry that they wouldn’t obtain enough photos for the book. It had plagued him to the point he feared that his obsession with spotting the women would be noticed and misinterpreted, but Mo didn’t seem to have the same problem with the lack of opportunity. In fact, he had hardly taken any photos of anything the whole trip and when Mark had asked him about it, Mo had shrugged and said all in good time.

 
Other than Mo, the only people Mark could speak to directly were Faisal and Sayeed but neither man was the talkative type, moreover, they didn’t seem to like him, and he had no idea why. More than once, when he approached while the two had been deep in conversation with Mo, they had stopped speaking or switched to Pashto. If they were talking about him and had a complaint, he wished Mo would clue him in, but whenever he asked, his friend laughed and said the conversations had nothing to do with him. Mark wasn’t so sure, but he had to take Mo’s word for it. Besides, he couldn’t think of anything he had done that would cause the men to take offense except for the one incident when he had taken the woman’s photograph and the cousins had caught him. He just wished he had a little more freedom to explore. The villages had compounds and the women stayed within the walls most of the time except to come out and get water from the central well a few times a day. Even if he felt comfortable shooting those images, there was nothing inherently tragic about a woman drawing water from a well.

Mark exited the car, glad to stretch his legs after a few hours in the cramped vehicle that probably hadn’t ever had new shocks. They had stopped in front of mud fort on a hill overlooking a city. Squinting at the map, he picked out their location, Kunduz. Their travels had taken them to the northeast corner of the country. He folded the map and stuck it in his camera bag. Other than Kandahar, it was the biggest town he had seen. Beyond the rows of squat tan buildings interspersed with straw huts and even tents, he made out hazy hills.  Kabul was to their southwest and would be the next stop, before they completed the roughly triangular travels. They would spend their last few days in Afghanistan in Kandahar to give them a two day cushion to make their flight.

 Mo had another uncle who was some kind of leader in Kunduz, but Mark wasn’t quite sure what post he held.  He turned as Mo shut the door and moved up beside him.

As they were apparently within walking distance of their destination, Faisal and Sayeed drove off in the other direction with plans to meet them later. Mark breathed a sigh of relief. It was rare to be out of their sight, and Mark had felt a constant tension whenever they were around. He hoped they took their time doing whatever it was they were going to do.