Refuge (28 page)

Elma had noticed the terror on her face and asked her in English what was troubling her. From then on Elma had spoken at a more deliberate pace, repeating sentences over until Noor understood them, and by the end of the night while Noor was hardly confident in her meager grasp of Dutch, she could at least see a path forward. Elma had insisted on increasing the number of lessons from one night a week to three, and in turn Noor had set herself the goal of studying every night until eleven o’clock.

If he is sleeping with a woman he has to be leaving her bed well before dawn.

When she’d spoken with Mukhtar that morning he’d insisted he’d made Charlie breakfast every day that week.

Noor throws her book down.

This is ridiculous, I’m beginning to act like the wife of a philandering husband.

She walks out onto the verandah and stares up at the tree.

“I’m not scared of you, Tariq,” she says. “I never have been and never will be.”

Then why are you hiding from me?
she hears him reply.

She shivers. Strange as it may sound, she misses the camp, especially the graveyard and her nightly runs. They always allowed her to clear her head.

Then do something about it.

She tucks her kameez inside her shalwar pants and walks onto the lawn. She slips off her sandals and starts doing jumping jacks until she feels her heart beating fast. She gets down onto the grass and does fifteen push ups followed by thirty sit ups. She does this three times until she can no longer push her body up. She sits there gulping for air.

Keep going.

She stands and does squats and after that a set of lunges around the lawn. By now her face is bathed in sweat. In the graveyard there was an abandoned swing set from which she could do pull-ups. She looks up at the great oak.

Surely there must be a branch up there that can carry my weight
.

She clambers up the trunk and hops onto the lowest bough. Above her, she sees an L shaped branch so sturdy that a gale couldn’t break it loose. Noor grabs a hold of it and starts on her pull-ups. Golden leaves fall all around her as the branch shakes. By her ninth pull up, her legs are jerking like those of a convict at the end of a noose. She forces herself up one last time. Her chin touches the branch, and she drops back down onto the bough, her head light, her muscles aching in the most wondrous way.

Finally, you’re relaxed.

She hears the growl of an approaching motorcycle.

Charlie.

She wonders whether she should go down and greet him.

No it’s late.
And besides, what is there to talk about?

She hears the front door slam shut and can’t help but feel a visceral thrill.

Maybe he’ll come out onto the verandah and I can spy on him.

She peers down at the darkened porch and waits. Across the way the lights of his room burst on, and through the fragmented canopy she sees Charlie throw his satchel on his bed. He heads over to his desk and selects a CD. Moments later the melodic strumming of a guitar drifts in her direction. Charlie throws open the doors to his balcony and disappears out of view. Noor strains to hear the words of the song. It seems to be about a stranger, battling through a storm, who is given shelter by a woman. Noor can’t help but think that shelter is what Charlie has given them.

He’s not only given us shelter. He’s the only person to have ever given us shelter.

The thought startles her. The song continues. The singer sings about a place where it’s always safe and warm. Noor imagines what that place would be for her.

Holland. Only there will I truly be safe.

Noor wonders what her lodgings would look like, what it’d feel like to be sitting surrounded by fellow students in a lecture hall, what friends she’d make.

The song ends and Charlie passes by the open balcony doors. It takes Noor a moment to register he’s naked. She gasps, and claps her hands over her eyes. After what seems like an eternity, she decides she can pull them away.

Surely it is safe now.

She has to fling one out so as not to fall off the bough. Charlie is standing on the balcony, a cigarette between his lips. Noor wants to turn away but finds it impossible to. She’s never seen a naked man before.

She stares at him; at his toweled, disheveled hair, the scar on his cheek, his robust chest, his slender waist, his vigorous thighs, his circumcised penis topped by a thatch of curly hair. Her face burns. Yet the longer she stares the more entranced she becomes. Charlie’s brow furrows, and he looks up into the night sky as if pondering the immensity, or perhaps even the insignificance, of the human condition.

He is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

It’s as if God is proclaiming the nobility of man in his purest form.

Charlie heads back inside and pulls the drapes shut.

Noor takes a moment to collect herself and then begins edging down the trunk. Near the bottom she loses her grip and falls to the ground. She winces, not daring to cry out.
She struggles to her feet and limps inside. In her bedroom, she lays down her prayer rug and begs Allah’s forgiveness for not turning her face away. And yet, despite this, when she lies in bed, she continues to see him naked. She feels something stirring deep within.

THIRTY-TWO

CHARLIE AND AAMIR
Khan enter Wali’s hospital room to find Wali writing in his notepad. Wali flashes them a broad smile.

“Ah, so this is the famous Aamir Khan,” he says.

“And you must be the legendary Wali,” Aamir Khan says.

“How about that, Mr. Matthews, a more intelligent and handsome man than I imagined.”

Charlie looks over at Aamir Khan.

“Get used to this, it never stops.”

“And I hope it never does, pronouncements like that only brighten my day.”

Wali grins. Aamir Khan drags a chair over to Wali’s bedside and opens the binder he’s carrying.

“I had the good fortune of meeting with your doctor earlier,” Aamir Khan says, “and he is confident that you will be in a position to leave the hospital in a couple of weeks. Now I have taken the liberty of developing a rehabilitation program—”

“You know what,” Charlie says, “I’m out of here. Aamir, you okay getting a rickshaw back to the house?”

“Why, most certainly.”

Charlie makes for the door.

“Oh, Charlie, a word if I may?” Aamir Khan says.

“What’s up?”

Aamir Khan comes over and lowers his voice.

“I am not sure if I mentioned this, but my son, Tariq, is a member of a mujahideen group, Hezb-e-Inqilab-Islami. Well, as you might imagine I am worried for his safety, and I was wondering if you could ascertain whether his group is still in Peshawar, or whether it has already headed to the front lines?”

“You mind writing that down for me, I’m not good with names, especially Arabic ones.”

“I took the liberty of doing so already.”

Aamir Khan hands Charlie a piece of paper.

“Let me see what I can do,” Charlie says.

Charlie drives over to Mine Aware and finds the recruits checking their equipment. He’s elated to see that not one has absconded with theirs. He walks over and the men form into two straight lines.

“Okay behind me are fifteen lanes. In each are eight dummy mines at differing depths. You’ll be working in teams of two today, fifteen on, fifteen off, and it’s your job not only to detect the mines but to excavate them. Once you’ve cleared the earth away from a mine, you’ll shout out ‘mine’ and I’ll come over and take it away. So far so good?”

The recruits all nod. Charlie picks up a dummy mine.

“Now to make it a little harder, I’ve applied a latex coating to every mine. This is what we call a witness plate. When you’re probing if you pierce this coating that’s evidence you applied too much pressure. Now what would that mean if this was a real mine?”

A bevy of hands go up. Charlie points at Yunus.

“Boom,” Yunus grins.

“Exactly, boom. So go easy, you hear.”

The recruits pair off and begin excavating the mines. The air is filled with shouts of encouragement, and every ten minutes or so an excited yell of ‘mine’ goes up, and Charlie heads over and retrieves it. After two hours only one latex coating has been pierced.

Charlie hears a vehicle pull up and turns to see Shamsurahman and Jurgen getting out of a UN Land Cruiser.

“Thought we’d pay a surprise visit,” Jurgen says.

“Must be a slow day at the office for you to be coming out to this far flung outpost.”

“We’d heard reports so fantastical we felt compelled to investigate them personally.”

“Well here they are, Mine Aware’s first class of recruits.”

Jurgen and Shamsurahman observe them in silence. From down the way Obaidullah yells out ‘mine’.

“Right back,” Charlie says.

Charlie goes over to Obaidullah.

Please, don’t be scratched.

He picks up the mine. It’s clean. Looking as nonchalant as possible, Charlie returns to where Jurgen and Shamsurahman are standing. He tosses the dummy mine to Shamsurahman. From the corner of his eye, he sees Shamsurahman inspecting the witness plate.

“Skeppar just called to tell me Stephen Adams was in a car accident in Mozambique,” Jurgen says.

“You kidding me?” Charlie says. “It serious?”

“If shattering your left femur is serious then yes.”

“When’s he going to get here now?”

“April at the earliest.”

“That’s cool, we’ll cope.”

Jurgen smiles and slaps Charlie on the back.

“That’s what I told Skeppar.”

Charlie walks them back to their SUV. He remembers Aamir Khan’s request and pulls out the piece of paper.

“Shit, while I’ve got you here, you ever heard of a mujahideen group called‌—‌Hezb‌—‌e—Inqilab‌—‌i—Islami? Friend of mine’s wondering if they’re in Afghanistan.”

Jurgen looks over at Shamsurahman.

“What do you hear?”

“I hear they not so far from Kabul itself,” Shamsurahman says.

“Fighting?” Charlie says.

“Waiting. Last time they attack big city not go well.”

“It going to be any different this time?”

“Maybe, the government’s low on supplies,” Jurgen says. “This group, you know it’s extremely radical. It’s run by a Saudi prince and full of Arabs.”

Shamsurahman spits on the ground.

“You got something against Arabs?” Charlie says.

“Just ones who come here,” Shamsurahman says.

“Tell him about the time you took those four Saudis into Afghanistan,” Jurgen says.

Shamsurahman sighs as if Jurgen’s forced him to tell this story a thousand times.

“Some years back we about to go into Afghanistan when four Saudis come and say they want to go with us. I do not want them, they Gucci soldiers, want Afghans do all work, like we take them on the safari. But one of them, his father give us much money so we have no choice. All the way they complain, it is too cold, no comfort, bad food. On third night, we meet more mujahideen, they camping, smoking the hashish. They say area has many new mines, they thinking what to do. So Arabs see this, they go crazy. Saying we need to trust Allah and cross minefield. Big argument, guns rise up. I step in and they walk away. Next we see they going into minefield. Believe me, men who smoke the hashish think they smoke too much. Soon mine goes off then three others. Three dead mens and one on ground screaming for mother.”

“You go in and get him?”

Shamsurahman looks at Charlie like he’s lost his mind.

“We wait for him to die.”

“How long did it take?”

“Four, five hours only.”

“Jesus.”

“After he stop, we say prayer and go back to Peshawar. We think the Saudis be angry to lose all four men, but they so happy, now men most glorious shaheeds.”

“You think they were martyrs?”

Shamsurahman shakes his head.

“It is glorious to give your life for Allah, not to waste it.

Jurgen and Shamsurahman drive off. Qasim comes out of the main building and hands Charlie a stiff envelope.

“This came for you,” he says.

Charlie rips it open and pulls out an invitation.

The Consul General cordially invites you to a holiday barbecue at 2 PM on Wednesday, December 18th, 1991.

“What’s the date today?” Charlie says.

“November twenty-seven,” Qasim says.

Jesus, time flies.

THIRTY-THREE

“YOU REALIZE
,”
THE
headmistress says, “that without Miss Kuyt’s intervention I’d have sacked you.”

“I understand,” Noor says.

“We all have problems, sick relatives, abusive husbands, my word, Mrs. Nasreen’s son was killed by a lorry last month, but three days later there she was back at school.”

“I apologize, they were exceptional circumstances.”

“Don’t you listen? There’s no such thing as exceptional circumstances at least if you want to continue teaching here. Now go, before I change my mind.”

Noor exits praying that the next time she enters it will be the day she informs the headmistress that she’s leaving for Holland. In the anteroom, Miss Suha sits back in her chair.

“Enjoy your flogging?” Miss Suha says.

Noor ignores her and opens the door.

“You know what people are saying, don’t you?”

Noor can’t help but look back.

“Here’s a Dutch woman, still unmarried despite being in her thirties, and here’s a poor Afghan girl who turns down every marriage proposal that comes her way. What could they possibly be doing when they get together?”

Noor’s face burns up.

“You know full well she’s helping me with my scholarship application.”

“So that’s what they call it nowadays, is it?”

Noor hurries down the corridor. She opens the door to her classroom, and the girls rush in her direction. Each of them has a question, and as a result Noor hears none of them. She shouts at them to sit down, and they retreat to their desks.