Green on Blue (21 page)

I climbed off the boulder, bounded down the mountainside, and set out to make contact the only way I knew how, by knocking on Atal’s front door. Mumtaz would have to wait.

–

I stood next to Atal’s HiLux. Aside from Haji Jan’s death, the damage from last month’s mortar attack was slight. Two sides of the compound’s outer wall had been destroyed as well as a small shed that held a generator, but the main house remained. From the rubbled gap in the wall, I could see the generator. It sat inert in the shed like a fat man collapsed from a heart attack, everything intact but lifeless. The red gate Mortaza and I came to on our first visit was also undamaged. Though I could’ve entered the compound through the broken cinder blocks of the old wall, I knocked and waited. I could see Atal cross the courtyard through the gap but pretended I couldn’t, lest he feel shame for his crumbling home.

I wondered how long you’d wait with that old man, he said, throwing open the gate’s steel latch. Before I could reply, he turned and walked
toward the main house. I followed close behind. The air around him seemed heavy and stale. The scent of his perfume was missing.

Inside we entered the room where he’d entertained me before, when I was a soldier. We sat across from one another on plush leather sofas that could’ve seated nearly fifteen in better times. In the room’s center was an empty glass table.

Atal called to the back of the house: Fareeda, we have a guest!

The girl floated between rooms, her steps quick and small, as she prepared whatever hospitality would be given.

Atal said nothing. He wouldn’t be the first to speak. Instead, he offered me an uncomfortable stare that questioned why I’d sought him out.

I’m looking for work, I said.

Atal had on the same powder-blue shalwar kameez and gold turban he’d worn the first time we’d met, but the hem of both were now soiled with grime. The gold turban’s running end draped over his shoulder and down his front. He picked at a stain on its edge with his thumbnail and spoke without looking up: You killed a man, yes?

I nodded.

I heard this, he said. You killed a man at the madrassa when you tried to kill me. Atal shook his head and spoke softly, asking: Sabir fired you for this?

The man I killed had a brother in the Special Lashkar, I answered. His badal
wouldn’t allow me to stay.

I see, he said. So what is it you want?

You’re being hunted, I told him. I don’t know or understand why, but you are. You need help.

Atal shrugged. Hanging from his neck was the opal on the silver chain. He rolled it between his index finger and thumb and gazed around his plush but diminished room. Since his generator had died, he’d bought a wood-burning stove. There was no electric light in his
house, and a paleness dusted the sofas, table, and Hitachi with its flat but empty screen.

And who says you’re not my hunter? he asked.

There is a blood feud against me, I explained. I’m a dead man in the Special Lashkar. I need to make a new livelihood, that’s why I’m here. And you, you need help.

Fareeda entered, balancing a plain silver platter between her good arm and body. Stacked on it was a teakettle and a dish half full of pine nuts. She rested it along the glass table.

Atal’s phone rang. He pulled it from the pocket of his shalwar kameez and his face livened when he saw the number. Excuse me, he said, and rushed into the courtyard.

Fareeda and I were alone. She set small silver plates across the table. Her eyes were downcast but purposeful as she worked. Then, without looking up, she spoke: I’ve seen you in a dream.

A dream? I asked.

Yes, she said. I’ve seen you in one.

You are a part of this dream? I replied.

Sometimes, she said. The dream is always the same, but whether or not I am part of it is all that changes.

What is the dream? I asked.

In it, she began, I watch you from above and you are walking through the mountains and the pines. At first, I can’t see where you are going, only that you are traveling upward and in a very straight way. You start in the low ground and you struggle against the rocks and the dirt. Soon you reach the high mountains, where there is snow, and as you step on it, it crunches very loudly under your feet and I am worried that you make too much noise. The higher you climb, the louder you become. Soon you are pulling against branches and their snow is falling on you and you are no longer walking straight, but thrashing in circles.

Then what happens? I said.

It depends, she answered, and looked at me with great care. Sometimes you tear through the mountains and disappear into them. I strain to see you but I can’t. You are swallowed by the trees and the snow.

And other times? I asked.

Other times, I come down from above and I see your face and cheeks, and your hair tips dusted with the snow, and I stand next to you in the trees. But when you see me, I am not as I am now.

Fareeda looked down at her arm and then continued: And seeing my change, you are calmed and we walk together saying nothing.

This is a good dream, I said.

She untied her hijab and smoothed down her hair.

Sometimes it is, she replied. And now that you’ve found my uncle, what will you do?

He is in a difficult position. I can help.

She looked back, upset, as though my help were a lie, or as though she knew the difficulty of his position to be the truth.

Why does he need you? she asked.

I know and understand those who would harm him. Then I spoke more firmly: I can help.

And why would you do this?

I too need to survive, I said. You care for your uncle and he cares for you. If I help him, maybe he will help me.

Those who become too much involved with others destroy themselves by it, she said.

Perhaps this will be different, I replied.

Nothing is ever different.

And as she said it, I felt the great pain she carried. I reached toward her, slowly, lifting the shawl that hung over her knotted arm. She didn’t move away and she didn’t look at me, and, as I touched the one arm, I
could feel how her soft skin covered the hard flesh beneath, consuming her. Her eyes met mine, but I saw no love in them, they held only that mix of beauty and indifference that is in all nature. My love and appreciation of her beauty meant no more to her than did all of man’s to the forests and mountains that command us. I felt that indifference. It hurt and it is also what made her truly beautiful.

But still she stood, and I sat, and we shared our space for a long moment. Then Atal returned, and before he saw us, I let go of her.

His face was rutted by thought. He took a handful of pine nuts off the tray and spoke to Fareeda: Thank you, Gul, Flower.

She nodded, looked at me, and slipped into the back of the house.

Atal followed her with his gaze and only spoke once she was out of sight: I have a task for you, Aziz. If you perform it, we’ll go from there, agreed?

What is the task? I asked.

There is a man coming to see me tomorrow night, explained Atal. He, like you, is one I’m learning to trust. He plans to meet me on the footpath that runs toward the border, do you know it?

I do.

Good, he said. If you want to protect me, find him on the path. You will then call back here and I’ll give you further instructions. Once this is done, we’ll talk more about our work together.

And who should I tell him I am?

Just tell him you’re my friend, said Atal. He’s a simple man and shouldn’t give you any problems.

Write down your number for me, I said.

I would prefer you memorize it, he replied.

I nodded.

09973284643,
he told me. Shall I say it again?

I shook my head.

You are certain? he asked.

09973284643
, I answered.

He nodded.

Numbers are easy, I said.

–

I left Atal’s compound and returned to the high forest. I finished collecting wood for Mumtaz. I gathered branches along the same footpath that I’d travel the next night. As I did, the footpath cut through the trees like a scar I’d soon share with the mountains. If the man was so simple, why was Atal afraid to meet him alone? I wandered off the path and gathered more dry branches in the shade. My mind drifted to months earlier, when I’d first met Atal in the village, and how he now seemed worn down by violence and responsibility. I imagined him running out the madrassa’s back door on the night I killed Tawas and as I recalled that miserable part of my past, I understood his, and remembered the binjo parked next to his truck, and if I hadn’t known before, I knew now. The simple man I’d meet would be Gazan.

I
finished my work along the footpath and staggered out of the mountains, toward Mumtaz’s home, my arms filled with enough firewood to last several days. Gusts of wind blew down the narrow lanes of Gomal, whipping up swirls of dust that dissolved into a powdery haze. Looking over my bundle, I saw one of the grocers from the bazaar standing at Mumtaz’s gate. Against his ankle leaned a bag of rice. He bent his thin frame forward as he pointed a snuff-stained fingernail in Mumtaz’s face.

If I give it to you for seven hundred, I make no profit, said the grocer.

You gave it to me two weeks ago for seven hundred, said Mumtaz.

That was two weeks ago, replied the grocer. As long as the roads stay closed the cost of everything goes up. Now it is seven hundred fifty. In two more weeks likely eight hundred, and then, who can say?

Mumtaz shook his head. He seemed both amazed at the rise in prices and indignant that Gazan, Atal, and Commander Sabir could hold an entire village’s economy hostage.

Ah, Mumtaz, here comes your young friend, the old soldier, said the grocer as I approached. Perhaps he knows when a bag of rice won’t cost a month’s pay.

I set my pile of wood next to Mumtaz and told him: I’ll get more once we use this. Then I bowed gently, showing him, as my host, the
fullest respect I could. I said nothing to the grocer, but reached into my pocket and peeled three notes from the roll of money I’d left the Special Lashkar with. I pressed them into his hand.

Enough? I asked him.

The grocer gave a sly grin and slid the notes into his pocket without counting them. Then he reached into his mouth and hooked out a piece of snuff from under his lower lip. It sat dripping on his finger, green and furry as a caterpillar. He flung it at my feet and it crumbled in the dirt.

For a traveler looking for work, you have a great deal of money, he said.

I have work, I replied. I work for Atal and he works for this village.

I grabbed the bag of rice that leaned against the grocer’s ankle. I tossed it into the courtyard. Then I picked up the firewood and walked inside.

Mumtaz returned to the one room we shared as I stacked the firewood in the corner. So you’ve found your job? he asked, his voice quiet.

I nodded.

You’ve taken sides with Atal then.

I’ve chosen only to survive.

Mumtaz picked a handful of branches off the pile I’d stacked. He filled the stove with them, struck a match, and touched its flame to their ends. The dry wood cracked louder and louder as its heat spread. He left the stove’s door open so the air could feed into it.

Atal through his meddling has made even survival a side, he said.

He shut the door to the stove. The room warmed. He was right. I had taken a side, my second.

–

The next evening Mumtaz and I each ate a full plate of rice. Once we’d finished, he took the last scraps of our meal to the chicken coop and
fed them to Iskander. The old man figured that whatever work I did for Atal was night work, and he didn’t want to hear my lies as I left to do it.

From Mumtaz’s house, I walked quickly through the lanes of the village. They spilled out to the low open hills, which fed up into the forested mountains. The sun had just set by the time I reached the nearest of the pines. Behind me, day still glowed on the open ground. To my front the footpath ran into the shaded tree rows where night had already taken hold. Somewhere in that dark and sloping forest was Gazan.

The dirt path cut its way upward like a black ribbon, tracing the rise and fall of the mountain. At times, when darkness flooded the forest completely, I lost the path and only found it again by feeling for its loose dirt with my feet. Hours passed and my quick steps yielded to an exhausted march as I rose into the emptier air. Fear laid its grip on me. Would I accidentally follow the path too far and cross the border, or would I stop too short and miss my meeting? I buried my fists in my pockets, squeezing fear into the phone I clutched with my right hand and the fold of cash I clutched with my left. The night chilled as I climbed higher and cool traces of sweat beaded on my back. Suddenly, I rose from the dark forest and into a bare field along the highest ridgetop. Here patches of snow reflected the moonlight. I stood, exposed and afraid. I’d walked as far as I dared, finding no one.

I waited in the high snows long enough to feel my warm body turn cold, forcing me down from the summit. Traveling in reverse, my path twisted before me like something entirely new. I moved faster, and as the bald ridgetop blended into the forest’s shadow below, I felt a fresh commitment to find Gazan among the wilderness.

I entered the pine rows and walked slowly, my whole body straining as I gazed between the trunks, eager to discover him, instead of him, me. Then a warm hand grabbed my shoulder. A whisper: Am I what you’ve searched this whole path for?

Though he was a grown man, his body was meager as a boy’s. He seemed like one of those old trees in the forest that through lack of light and rain never rise taller than saplings. His hair grew into a thick beard that came to a point, sweeping to one side like a worn broom does. The beard was dark too, so dark it matched the path we stood on. He smiled widely. His grin reflected the moonlight just as the snow had been reflected atop the ridgeline. A bolt-action Lee-Enfield hung lazily from his shoulder and his clothing hung lazily from his body. A great uncertainty overtook me. I struggled to speak.