Refuge (45 page)

Tariq.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tariq walks over to the far chair and sits down. He lets his shawl fall away to reveal a pearl handled pistol and gestures for Charlie to sit across from him. A retainer enters with a tray and pours each of them a cup of tea. Tariq takes a sip.

“I’m afraid to say my father had few friends in these parts, in fact I wasn’t aware until now that he had any.”

“Your father was a good man.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I appreciate your intentions in saying so at a time like this, but let’s be frank, he was a fool and a heretic, two qualities I fear won’t serve him well in the life to come.”

“He prayed five times a day.”

“To a god I’m unfamiliar with. His understanding of Islam was so warped he might as well have been a kafir.”

Tariq plays with a set of prayer.

Stay calm.

“How’s Afghanistan?” Charlie says.

“You tell me, I heard you were there recently.”

What else has Ivor told you?

“It’s a beautiful country,” Charlie says.

“I’d say beautiful is a stretch; harsh would be a more appropriate description.”

“Once the war’s over there’s going to be a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, mines to be dug up, roads rebuilt, homes restored, just not by organizations like yours.”

“We cleared a whole village.”

“And I commend you for that, but Afghanistan’s going to be an Islamic republic, inshallah, and it’ll be Muslims who rebuild it not kafirs.”

“We want to help.”

“Of course you do, it keeps us weak and dependent.”

Charlie fumbles for his cup unsure how the conversation has gotten so antagonistic so quickly. He searches for something conciliatory to say.

“I want you to know I respect Islam,” he says.

“Ah, I had no idea you’d converted.”

“You misunderstand—”

“Oh, then you must be considering doing so?”

“No, that’s not what—”

“Because at its core Islam is very simple, it’s most important tenet being that there’s no God but Allah and Mohammad, peace be upon him, is his messenger. Now logically if you don’t believe Mohammad, peace be upon him, is Allah’s messenger then you must believe that he either lied about receiving the Quran or he was crazy. I trust you’re someone who respects neither liars nor lunatics?”

Charlie stays quiet. Rather than heading to safer ground he’s somehow walked straight into a minefield.

“So here we are,” Tariq says, “two men, one a devout Muslim, the other someone who denigrates that which the other holds most dear. You must understand that leaves us with nothing to talk about.”

Tariq puts his cup down and stands.

“Goodbye, Mr. Matthews.”

“I will pay you,” Charlie says.

“I assume you’re talking about my sister.”

“Your father gave me his blessing.”

“Sarosh told me you’d said that.”

“In Pashtun culture a father’s word is—”

“Nothing if it contradicts the Quran; it’s forbidden for a Muslim woman to marry a kafir.”

“Just tell me how much money you want, and I’ll get it.”

Tariq shakes his head.

“Oh Mr. Matthews, even if I were so inclined, there’s no sum you could give me. You see, my sister’s already married.”

Charlie tries to say something but finds it impossible.

“Did Noor ever tell you about her friend Ameena, how they used to fantasize about a couple of princes coming to the camp and whisking them away? Unfortunately for Ameena a fantasy is all it remained, but for Noor her fantasy’s finally come true. It’s a miracle, don’t you think?”

Charlie’s surprised to discover how calm he feels.

So it has come to this after all
.

He stands up and whips out the pen gun.

“Take me to her now,” he says.

Tariq laughs.

“Do you really think you’ll hit me with that thing?”

Charlie sees Tariq’s hand inch towards his gun.

“Touch that gun and you’ll find out.”

Tariq’s hand wavers.

“You forget,” Charlie says, “I’m the one who has nothing to lose here.”

“Apart from your life.”

“Without Noor my life means nothing.”

Tariq’s eyes flicker as if he’s only now fully aware of the fanatic standing in front of him. Charlie edges closer.

“Where is she?”

Tariq hesitates and Charlie straightens his arm.

“Upstairs,” Tariq says.

Charlie glances at the ceiling.

I was right.

“Turn around,” he says.

Tariq complies, and Charlie edges up to him. With the pen gun up against the back of Tariq’s head, he reaches around and withdraws Tariq’s gun from its holster. He checks it’s loaded and lets the pen gun drop to the floor. Tariq twists around, realizing the pen gun never was. Charlie points the gun at his forehead.

“Let’s go,” Charlie says.

Tariq’s gaze switches ever so slightly. Charlie looks over his shoulder to see Sarosh, by the door, pointing a gun at him. A shot rings out, and he tumbles to the floor. Tariq’s boot stomps down on his wrist, and the gun skitters away. Charlie tries to push himself up but it feels like a thousand knives are piercing his shoulder.

“You bastard,” Tariq screams.

Charlie looks up. Tariq is pointing the trembling gun at his head.

So this is it.

He closes his eyes and does all he can to imagine Noor lying there beside him, cradling him in her arms.

I love you,
she says.

“I love you too.”

A phone rings. One ring, two rings, three. Sarosh answers it and says something in Pashtu. The only words Charlie can make out are ‘Ivor Gardener’.

Everything goes quiet.

Am I dead yet?

He opens his eyes to see Tariq’s boot arcing towards him.

It’s the last thing he remembers.

FIFTY-SEVEN

NOOR AWAKES. HER
head pounds, her throat is dry as sandpaper, and her hip throbs in pain. She keeps her eyes closed hoping what transpired the day before is but a dream. However deep down she knows it isn’t. The pain’s too real.

Keep it together,
her mother’s voice says.
You can outwit them, but only if you face reality.

Noor opens her eyes and winces. The light streaming through the window only makes her headache worse.

Good, that’s a start.

She looks past the bed. Tariq sits on a high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other.

“Good morning,” he says, “I trust you slept well.”

Noor catches a glimpse of her top sheet. Halfway down blood spots it like an ugly tea stain.

“I won’t marry him,” she says.

“That’s not your decision to make, dear sister.”

“I’ve slept with many men, thirty, maybe forty. How else do you think we made ends meet? I’ll tell the Prince that.”

“Now that’s a lie; you’re still intact.”

He indicates the blood stain on the sheet.

“The Prince had a woman check you.”

Noor shivers. She sits up and sees the bedroom door is open. She suspects she could get past Tariq.

But from there where would you go?

All of a sudden she remembers her father.

“How could you?” she says, tears welling in her eyes.

“I assume you’re referring to our father’s recent demise.”

“You murdered him.”

“I did what had to be done; for you, for this family. Generations from now you’ll be revered. A woman so beautiful she snagged a Prince.”

“He never stopped loving you.”

“He had a curious way of showing it.”

“You of all people must know that the Quran states that ‘if anyone kills a person, it will be as if he killed all the people.’”

“Except Baba wasn’t a person, he was an apostate.”

“He was the most religious man I’ve ever known.”

Tariq laughs as if that statement’s absurd.

Stop antagonizing him
, the voice says.
Buy time.

“I wanted to inform you,” Tariq says, “that your marriage ceremony is scheduled for eleven o’clock.”

Noor glances out the window; the sun is still low in the sky. She suspects that gives her two or three hours to find a way to escape.

“Are many people coming?” she says.

“You and Baba made it so hard to plan the joyous occasion that there’s been no time to invite anyone.”

“That’s good, the best wedding is that upon which the least trouble and expense is bestowed’.”

“I concur completely.”

Keep going.

“And the Prince,” she says, “is he a good man?”

“He is truly the most religious man I know.”

“Then I will submit to your judgment.”

Tariq wanders over to the window.

“Unfortunately past experience has taught me to doubt that,” he says.

“Things have changed. Like you said, you’re the head of the family now.”

Tariq turns back.

“This Charlie Matthews came by and saw me last night. I was curious to meet the man, attempt to see what you saw in him, and frankly I’m baffled.”

Noor feels the bed spin.

“You’re lying,” she says.

“He begged me to set you free, said he’d give me everything he had if I did, and when I told him you had alternate plans, he pulled a pen gun on me. It wasn’t loaded, I could tell that immediately, but nonetheless in the heat of the moment I wanted to kill the bastard. Now I’m thankful I didn’t, because now it’s up to you whether he lives or dies.”

Noor leans over the side and vomits. Tariq shouts out a command, and an old woman hobbles into the room.

“Clean it up,” he says in Pashtu.

The woman hurries away.

“My patron, the Prince, is a deeply insecure man. So imagine how furious he’ll be if a mere refugee, even one as beautiful as yourself, is anything but enamored with the idea of marrying him.”

Noor vomits again, her throat burning from the bile.

“Sit up,” Tariq says.

Noor stares at the remnants of the feast they ate thirty-six hours earlier.

“I said sit up.”

The old woman returns.

“Should I wait?” the woman says.

“No, get on with it,” Tariq says.

Tariq grabs a hold of Noor’s hair and wrenches her into a sitting position.

“We return to the front today, and the Prince is eager to spend what little time he has left with you. Now if you please him, as a wife’s meant to, and by that I mean you smile, you compliment him, are what they call a giving wife, then I’ll let this Charlie Matthews go, unharmed‌—‌but if the Prince is in any way displeased, well you’re an intelligent girl…”

Tariq turns to the old woman.

“Get her ready,” he says.

He leaves.

Tears stream down Noor’s face as she realizes how close Charlie probably is. She imagines him, his face beaten, lying on a dirt floor, his hands and feet tied together, her brother dragging him outside into some desolate courtyard, putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

This can’t be happening.

The old woman comes back into the room. She hisses at Noor as though she were a barnyard animal. Noor edges off the bed. The old woman comes up behind her and pushes her. Noor staggers forward.

“That’s it, move.”

The old woman gives her another push, and Noor falls forward into the bathroom. The old woman hobbles in after her and starts running a bath. Noor sits on the toilet seat lost in her misery. She looks at her left hand and realizes the engagement ring is no longer on her finger.

Just one more thing that’s gone forever.

A few minutes later the old woman returns. She rips Noor’s nightgown off and leads her into the bath.

“I’ll be back,” the woman says.

Noor stares at the water and wonders how long it’d take to drown. Maybe a minute, two at the most. Didn’t the Prophet say that anyone who takes their own life will be denied entry to heaven?

But surely nothing can compare to the hell you find yourself in now.

She edges her body down the tub. Her nose slips below the surface.

He won’t have me
.

Noor’s throat constricts as her lungs beg for air.

And what about Charlie?
If you love him, you’ll do what Tariq asks.

Noor thrusts her head out of the water and sucks in a batch of desperate breaths. She realizes she was a fool for ever thinking her destiny would be any different from Ameena’s.

For his sake I must embrace it.

The old woman comes back in. She gets on her knees and picks up a bar of soap. Noor lays a hand on her wrist.

“I’ll do it,” Noor says.

The woman hands Noor the soap and stands.

“I’ll wait for you,” the woman says.

Noor washes herself and gets out of the bath. She finds a toothbrush and some toothpaste and brushes her teeth. Up above the sink she sees an assortment of European perfumes. She picks one and sprays it on her neck and down her body. She feels like she’s anointing a corpse. She walks into the bedroom and finds the old woman waiting for her with a younger, plumper woman. They take in her naked body.

“You’ll need to take care of that,” the old woman says pointing at Noor’s groin. The plump woman nods.

They lead her to the bed, and Noor lies down and stares at the ceiling.

Is this why men don’t run when they’re led to the gallows? The fight has left them.

The older woman shaves the hair underneath Noor’s arms while the plump one shaves between her legs. Noor thinks of Charlie, that final wink he gave her, so impetuous, so carefree, and a tear winds its way down her cheek.

Will I forget him the way I’ve forgotten Mamaan?

“Enough of that,” the old woman says, wiping away the tear with a tissue.

They sit her up, and the old woman puts make-up on her face while the plump one draws intricate henna designs on her hands. They stand her up and wrestle her into an embroidered red dress.

“I need a moment to pray,” Noor says.

The women retreat, locking the door behind them. Noor stands facing what she approximates to be the direction of Mecca and performs salat. Her breathing slows as she prostrates herself, and she focuses her thoughts on Allah and the belief that this life is but a trial for that to come. She almost finds peace. She hears the lock turn. She shivers.