Captive- Veiled Desires (8 page)

“Adam.” The heavy, bass voice broke through his thoughts. Adam froze briefly. Hafiz Sajadi. He was one of the oldest members of Darul-Ilhaam. And perhaps one of the slyest. Under his religious garb, he had overseen a number of brutal killings. Women and children made no difference to him if they stood in the way of his cause.

“Hafiz,” he acknowledged as he continued to work at the engine under the car bonnet.

“When are you taking your vows?”

“I’ve spoken to Mullah Wahidi and arranged it for tomorrow evening.”

The man made a noise in his throat. Adam gave him a quiet side-glance. What was the bastard thinking?

“I don’t understand why you think there is a need to marry her,” Hafiz muttered. “Why not just get rid of the bitch?”

He tensed and then straightened-up with as much normality as possible without trying to punch the weasel in the face.

“That would spoil the fun,” he mumbled, wiping his greasy hands on an oil-stained rag. “It’s easy to put a bullet in a whore. It’s harder to keep her faithful.”

“Well, she’s making a lot of noise. Quiet her down or I’ll have to.”

Adam ambled up to the man so he stood nose to nose with him. “I respect that you’ve been in the organization for a long time. But the last man who dared to challenge my authority had his tongue ripped out of his mouth.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Adam smirked. He turned away and slammed the bonnet shut. “No. I’m merely stating the facts.”

The older man leaned against another car, observing him. His fingers slowly rotated a necklace of prayer breads as he silently recited his religious verses.

“The Zawahiris are closing in on their negotiations with the poppy farmers. They’re offering them better deals. And those refusing to make a deal with them are getting their crops destroyed. Shouldn’t you be addressing this matter rather than the foreign bitch in your room?” Hafiz asked with curiosity.

“Are you teaching me how to do my job?” Adam asked nonchalantly.

Hafiz sneered. “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear you’re in authority. As an advisor of Darul-Ilhaam, I am though very concerned about your recent lack of judgments regarding your obsession with this woman.”

Adam tossed the towel casually onto a shelf. “She’s a toy, Hafiz. That’s all she is. Every boy has one. I’ll get rid of her once I’m done with her.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m quite possessive about my toys. And I can get pretty irrational when I find they’re lost or been tampered with.”

Hafiz fixed his scarf about his shoulders. “Get the Zawahiris off our opium, Adam. You may have most of Darul-Ilhaam on your side at the moment. But there is no guarantee that is how it will stay. After all, when it comes to the crucial moments, our brothers would prefer investing their loyalty on those born on Afghan soil.”

HAPTER
6

Nora rose up slowly and strolled tiredly over to the small table by the window. In her rage, she had tipped over the plate of food that had been left there for her. It lay scattered about the table and the floor. The
naan
bread had fallen onto the floor by the leg of a chair.

She squatted to pick it up, dusting the dirt off it. Rising up again, she placed it on her plate and salvaged the little she could of the
qorma.
She tore her bread and dipped it into the sauce of the stewed chicken. She took two bites before realizing that there was more bread than sauce. She looked down at the puddle of sauce on the floor and squatted back down. She swiped a piece of bread into the puddle and put it into her mouth.

Her tears ran down her face as she chewed through her bread. The door opened and his footsteps came rushing towards her, hard and heavy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He jerked her away from the mess on the floor.

She shook him away stubbornly and squatted back on the floor.

He tried pulling her away again. “Stop it! I’ll get you another plate.”

“Let me go!” She flailed her arms at him.

He grabbed them and she screamed, “Aaaahhhh! Aaaahhh!”

He dropped her arms and she scrambled towards the food again, eating off the floor.

He sat beside her quietly on the cold and hard floor. His legs grew numb but he continued to wait patiently for her to finish.

He wrapped an arm around one knee as he watched her. She was traumatized. She had been bound and gagged all the way from Kashmir to Paktika, and then relocated here to Kandahar. She never would have imagined she’d be experiencing this side of life. If she felt like she needed to abase herself for the guilt she was feeling for putting herself in this position, then she should be allowed to do so. It was the kindest hand he could offer her at the moment. After this, she had to pick herself up. She had survived all this while. He was certain she could endure what was coming as well.

Her hands were stained with food as they sat dangling over her knees. Her eyes were withdrawn and spacey, completely incognizant of the fact that he was with her.

He reached out and picked up the now empty plate, keeping an eye on her as he did. Would she fight back just as she had done earlier? But her arms hung loose by her side, her face absent of any reaction or emotion.

He stood up and placed the plate back on the table. He gave her one last glance before stepping outside the room.

A young woman rushed into Adam’s bed room, clicking her tongue with disappointment. She rambled something in her language and then knelt down beside Nora.

“Come. We go. Clean,” she said, dramatizing with her hands.

Nora glanced up at her through her tear-glistened eyes, barely registering what the woman was saying.

“We go,” the woman repeated. “Bathroom. Clean.”

She picked Nora up by her underarms and helped her to her feet. Another woman bustled in, carrying two buckets of water and headed directly into Adam’s bathroom. They shouted directions at each other as they passed by.

“My name, Husna,” the young woman said. “She…” She indicated at the other woman in the bathroom. “She name, Saba. What your name?”

Nora didn’t answer, preferring not to hear them. She walked robotically into the bathroom, obeying them in silence as they stripped her off her clothes. Husna sat her down on a short-legged stool while Saba poured water over her head. They chatted wildly with each other as they lathered and then washed her.

Drying her to the best they could, Husna pulled a colorful, beautifully embroidered
[10]
perahaan
over her. The dress fell luxuriously below her knees.

The young woman then held up a pair of pants. “
[11]
Tunbaan
. You wear.”

Nora glanced at the beige pants and then walked out of the bathroom in an automated daze. The women stared after her in disbelief. Obviously, they had never seen a woman dare walk around in a
perahaan
without its pants. Her feet and ankles were exposed to every lustful man in the house. If she walked out as she was, even the great Adam might not be able to save her.

They raced after her, begging her to wear her pants. But she sat on a chair by the window, tucking her feet under her, staring out of it instead. Finally, after long lengths of failed coaxing, they decided that she would be safe in Adam’s bedroom and began cleaning up the food stains on the furnishings and the floor.

They soon left her alone again, locking the door behind them. Nora laid her head on her knees, watching the stars fill the night sky. It had been a week since she could see the sky so clearly again. She never would have known how much she would miss it. The moon was in its fullest form. It shone like an illuminated cheese wheel in the dark.

But she didn’t enjoy the small freedom she received since her imprisonment in Pakitika; since her attempted rape by a mad man. Perhaps, the threat of marriage to Adam Afridi had something to do with it.

Her heart stabbed with pain. Had Freba betrayed her? When would she learn to stop investing her trust in the women around her? Freba had promised her help. Instead, she was now being held captive to marry a man she knew nothing about.  Except that people feared him, women obeyed him and a fucking psycho like Mateen, silently submitted to. This certainly made him more dangerous. Probably, more than she could ever imagine.

Adam kept to the garage for most of the day. When darkness fell, he retreated to the common room where the men of Darul-Ilhaam ate, conversed and then slept.

He pulled out a sleeping mat and placed it in a corner of the room with a good view of the night sky. It was only seven o’clock and already majority of the men had retired for the night. Being a terrorist and a smuggler wasn’t as exciting as the West made it out to be. In truth, this was life. Boring, dull nights where men spent most of their lives with other men rather than in the company of women- except of course when they were needed.

Now it seemed he too would be joining the league of married men with wives who were never meant to be seen or heard but expected to perform in subservience to their demands. He sighed. Unbeknownst to his colleagues, he had never wanted admission into that club and he had successfully evaded it… until Nora.

He shook his head and lay back on his mat, his hands tucked neatly under his head. He was avoiding Nora. He didn’t like to admit it though. Not even to himself. He wasn’t afraid of her, then why did he not want to face her? There was little that could shake him. He had already witnessed how brutal men could become. However, seeing Nora self-humiliate herself by eating off the floor had more than just rattled his principles.

For some reason, her self-inflicted degradation had questioned his standing as a man. He ran a palm over his face and turned up to look at the sky. Stars twinkled, lighting up the darkness hovering around it. He closed his eyes, imagining it tinkling in that vast universe. 

Why Nora? She was not the first woman he’d seen victimized in this dry, savage land. Then why did he let her affect him?

She’s business. The faster I get done with her, the better.

Morning broke, bringing with it a cool, fresh breeze into the room and driving out the staleness from the past night. Adam sat up, glancing at the other twelve men occupying the room.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping here,” Basel complained as he sat down beside him. “It isn’t fair that you take up whatever little space left in the room when you got a room all to yourself.” He groaned, stretching out his arms. “Do you know that this here is the best spot in the room? To think you were sleeping so snugly when the rest of us were all cramped in that corner.”

Adam chuckled at the shorter man’s light-hearted grumblings. Basel Kohistani was a good man at heart. But like most Afghan men, poverty had forced him into smuggling so he could provide for his large extended family.