The Secret Sky: A Novel of Forbidden Love in Afghanistan (15 page)

RASHID

As we board the motorbikes, I hear their screams. The wailing burns through my ears and into my stomach. I’m about to get on behind Azizullah, one of Latif’s gangsters who I noticed enjoyed the show, when I have to jump off. I hunch over and feel bile burning through my throat. The vomit tastes of the bread I had this morning. I continue to heave, gasping for air, my hands pressing against my knees. Something wants to escape from my body, but it’s stuck.

Azizullah sits on the bike and laughs at me. “The first time is always the hardest. But you’ll get used to it.”

I ignore him as my body contracts, trying to push it out. But all I get is burning bile.

“Come on, we have to go. Stop upsetting yourself over it. Besides, it was just a little Shia Hazara baby. She would have gone to hell anyway, with parents who can’t teach her real Islam. No one will miss her.”

I glance up and see Mohammad cradling his baby in his arms. He’s kneeling on the dirt floor holding her small corpse, swaying back and forth.

“Wake up, Afo. My Afo, wake up!” He’s yelling at her and then looking to the sky. “Why, God? Why? She’s innocent! Why?”

The mother is leaning against one of the mud walls, staring with vacant eyes, unblinking, her mouth open in shock. The two young boys are sitting behind their father, hugging each other and crying. The more their dad screams, the stronger their tears flow. The sight makes me cough up more bile before I force myself onto the bike. I straddle the back end of the seat and hold on to the sides as we speed off to my uncle’s house. The cold wind blowing on my face helps settle my stomach, but the bouncing on the gravelly fields knocks my brain around, making it harder to make sense of what just happened. Before I can figure it out, we’re at my family’s home.

“Get over here, Rashid,” Latif calls out before spitting on the ground. “Bring the men in your family out so we can talk. Tell them to bring Samiullah with them.” I nod to let him know I understand.

I approach our door and knock lightly on the cool metal surface. By afternoon, the sun will be heading east and will scorch the exterior, making it almost impossible to touch, but for now, the metal is almost soothing as I press my hand against it. I futilely hope that if my family can’t hear the tapping, no one will answer, and we can leave.

After what happened at Mohammad’s place, I don’t want to see any more, at least not for today. I didn’t expect anyone to be killed, let alone someone innocent. I keep searching for justification. Maybe Latif is right. Maybe the child had to die so she wouldn’t grow up like her sister. They already raised one sinner—who is to say their next daughter wouldn’t turn out the same or maybe worse? Maybe we did do her a favor by letting her die as an innocent. But if that’s the case, why do I feel sick again?

“Rashid!” Latif calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“No answer. I’ll try again,” I say as I thump on the door with my knuckles a slight bit louder this time, loud enough for Latif to hear. I listen as a pair of feet crunch the dirt and rapidly make their way to the door. Not long ago, this noise lifted my heart, but today it makes it sink. I hear the peephole slide open and see my aunt Gul Babo’s eyes.

“Rashid! My son, it’s you!” Her eyes brighten at the sight of me, which fills me with shame.

“
Salaam,
my dear aunt—” She closes the peephole and unlatches the lock to let me in. She embraces me before I can even attempt to kiss her hand.

“I’m so glad you’re home. We need you to help us.” Her eyes are filled with tears.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?” I feel a chill run through my body.

“No one is hurt, but Samiullah is missing.” She starts to sob. “We don’t know where he is.” She falls into my arms, and I hold her. I’m craving her embrace just as much as she’s craving mine right now. I cling to her for as long as I can before I peel myself away.

“Gul Babo, I have to go now.”

“But you just got here. You have to help us find him!” She’s clutching my arm, pulling me toward her, but I stay outside the house.

“The best way I can help you is by going right now.”

“Rashid—”

I yank my arm away. “Quickly lock the door,” I tell her. “You have to listen to me. Lock it now.”

“Rashid, you’re scaring me.” Her eyes are beginning to overflow again.

“Please just do it now,” I say, turning around. When I hear the door close and the lock latch back into place, I breathe out the air trapped inside me.

I walk to where Latif and the other men are waiting. Latif looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “So where are they?”

“Samiullah’s not there. It seems as though he’s run off as well. Likely with the girl.” I look around. “I say we don’t waste our time here and we head out to look for them. They couldn’t have gone too far.”

Latif starts to chuckle and walks over to me. “So is that what you think we should do?”

“I think we should go now so we don’t lose their tracks and—”

Latif grabs my shirt and pulls me toward him. He shoves his face into mine. “I don’t care what YOU think we should do,” he says. I feel his spit fly onto my skin, and I can taste his sour breath. “You are not in charge here. I am!”

He throws me hard onto the ground before he kicks me in the gut, knocking all the air out of my body. “We’re going in. You can come with us, or you can lie here. What’s your choice?”

I gather enough strength and push myself up.

“Good boy.” He pats my back. “Come on.”

Before we make it back to the door, it creaks open. Then I hear my uncle Ismail’s voice. “Rashid? Rashid, it
is
you!” he says and then takes a look around. “
As
alaam aleykum
 . . . ,” he greets Latif and the other men. His eyes search the group.

“
And peace be with you!
” Latif replies. “We’re so sorry to be intruding. I am Latif—”

“I know who you are,” my uncle says with an edge of contempt in his voice. I don’t think he’s ever met Latif, but he definitely knows of him and despises him. Latif’s men have come to take illegal taxes from my uncle’s shop in town on many occasions, and my uncle has never agreed to it lightly.

“Oh, good, then. You must be Ismail Khan. Yes?” My uncle nods. “Well, we are looking for your son, Samiullah.” My uncle’s eyes widen, and he shifts his gaze to me. I quickly avert my eyes; I can’t bear to look at him right now.

“What do you want with my son?” My uncle has closed the door behind him.

“Well, we have heard that he has shamed his family . . . your family. And we just want to help fix the situation.”

“This is a family matter, and we are taking care of it ourselves. You can leave.” My uncle waves his hand, gesturing for them to go.

“You see, Ismail Khan, we can’t do that. It’s not that easy.”

“It’s very easy. Get on your bikes and leave. This is our family and our tribe; we will handle this from within.” I don’t believe for one second that my uncle will punish his son. But after what happened earlier, I don’t blame him for not wanting Latif to be involved.

“That wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. Your son and your neighbor’s daughter have shamed the village. And as much as I respect that you want to handle this within the family and tribe, you can’t,” Latif says with mock sincerity. “It’s in our hands now, and it’s our job to take care of the situation.”

My uncle raises his right eyebrow, a gesture I’ve become familiar with, growing up in his house. He knows that his black beard, dark eyes and massive charcoal-gray turban can be intimidating, so he always works extrahard to put people at ease, primarily with his eyes. But every now and then, there is someone who causes his kind eyes to harden. And Latif has done just that.

“How, exactly, do you plan on taking care of the situation?” my uncle asks Latif.

“The proper way. As we both know, the Kabul government is useless here. We will take it to the shadow governor and let him decide the punishment. And if we can’t reach him,
we’ll
decide the punishment ourselves, and we’ll execute it in the village so everyone can learn from your son’s mistakes.” Latif adjusts the gun that is slung over his shoulder.

“So you are telling me you want to
kill
my son?”

Latif lets out a snort. “Look, since your son is one of ours, we’ll try to be more lenient. Maybe we can work out a way to save his life. There have been times where the punishment given was death, but it was reduced with a cash fine or land donations to lashes so the public could see some sort of chastisement. The girl, of course, will die. As you know, it’s necessary to save your honor and our people’s honor. A family that raises such filth can’t be forgiven.”

My uncle’s eyebrows have not shifted at all. He stares at Latif. “Get off my land.” He then looks at me. “All of you! And never come back!”

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I didn’t mean to upset you, and I’m sure you don’t mean to insult me.” Latif looks at my uncle but receives no reaction. “But, you see, we can’t leave. I have a funny feeling you are hiding your son inside your home. Meaning we need to take a look around.”

Latif snaps his finger at one of his men. The man rifles through a bag before running to Latif and handing him a pair of handcuffs. Two other thugs grab my uncle throw him against the wooden donkey pole. They wrap his arms around the wood, and Latif cuffs him.

“Rashid, don’t you let them dishonor us and our women!” my uncle yells at me. Although clearly they have already dishonored my uncle and our entire tribe for how they have just treated him. But even my uncle knows what matters right now is the women.

I run up to Latif. “Please don’t do this. Our women are in there. It’s clear Samiullah isn’t here. Please!”

“How do I know he’s not in there? It sounds like this
khan
here is protecting his son. We are forced to go in there now,” Latif says. There is something in his eyes that unnerves me. I don’t want him near my aunts and cousins.

“Let me do it. I’ll search for him in there. We can’t have strange men in our home. Our women are in there.”

“You think I’m going to trust you?” he snorts. “I barely know you. And you proved your weakness when you couldn’t kill that stupid little
kafir
baby. I’ll allow you to come with us, but that’s all I’m giving you. Or you can stay here with your dear uncle.” He kicks dirt in my uncle’s direction.

I’m ashamed even to look at him. I keep my eyes on Latif and agree to his offer.

“Rashid!” my uncle screams in vain as I lead the men into our home. I’ve never felt this low in my life. I never thought I would be leading a group of strange men into my family’s home, where our women are sitting not properly draped.

The thought of these men looking at my women makes me feel dirty. It will pollute them to be seen by strange men. As we walk through the main gate and into the courtyard, I see two of my aunts and three of my female cousins standing, as if they’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on. As soon as they see us, they start to panic and quickly cover their faces. They run into the closest room, the room with the
tandoor.
Latif giggles, a high-pitched noise that sets my teeth on edge.

Soon my Gul Bashro’s voice comes from inside the mud room they ran to. “Rashid! Who are these people?” she is yelling. Then my male cousins and uncles come out of various rooms with looks of murder in their eyes, but they stop in their tracks as Latif’s men raise their weapons.

“Please don’t be afraid. I am the one they call Mullah Latif, and I’m here in search of your nephew and son Samiullah.” Latif looks around the grassy courtyard, empty of people but full of our roosters and chickens. He looks at the men standing to the side, still in attack-ready positions but frozen because of the weapons pointed in their direction. Latif holds his heart and bows to them in greeting. The men don’t return the greeting; they are waiting for their moment to pounce. “We apologize for coming in like this, but it’s necessary. We ask that you all come out to the grass so we can search the home.”

We wait in silence, and right when I think no one is ever going to move, Samiullah’s mother, my dear Gul Bibi, steps out of the room the other ladies ran into. Her face is partly covered by a white head scarf bordered with lace. The white makes the purple in her top pop out. It’s the first thing I see until I notice the rage in her eyes. “What do you want with my
zoy
?” She comes closer until she is face-to-face with both of us.

“
Asalaam aleykum,
” Latif says to my aunt, but his greeting is not reciprocated. Gul Bibi makes it clear she wants nothing to do with him . . . or us. “We just need to talk to your son, dear auntie.”

“I’m not your aunt. You!” She directs her attention to me now. “What kind of man are you, bringing strangers into our home, exposing your cousins and aunts? What is wrong with you?” She slaps the side of my head. The impact stings my ear. I can hear the blood rushing on the inside of my skin. “Have we not raised you to be a man? It seems as though we raised a donkey!” She continues to slap me. This makes Latif chuckle. “Is this funny to you? Do you have no honor? No honorable Pashtun man would walk into a stranger’s home like this.” It looks as though my aunt is about to slap him as well, but she holds back. This doesn’t stop Latif from putting his arms up in preparation to block any incoming assault. I have no doubt this isn’t the first time he has invaded someone’s home, but I think this is the first time he has been confronted by a woman in the home. He looks shaken.