Words in the Dust (9 page)

My tired father put his arms around me. His head rolled back as he almost shouted with laughter. He laughed so hard, he had to dab at tears in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Wah wah, Zulaikha.” He patted my back. “Didn’t I tell you your baba would take care of everything?” He tilted my chin up again and looked at me. Then he spoke to me very quietly, just to me. “You’ll be so pretty.”

I didn’t want the moment to end.

Though of course she never showed it, Malehkah must have been happy with me through the whole next week. I rushed to milk Torran, to wash the clothes, to water the garden, to do any work that possibly needed doing. I had most of the chores completed before she even asked. I didn’t want to upset anyone or do anything that might risk my chance at getting my mouth fixed.

Finally, the longest week of my life was over, and after a sleepless night, I was up first the next morning. After good-byes and good wishes from everyone, even from Malehkah, Baba and I were on our way to Farah in the white Toyota.

This was my first trip out of An Daral, and my first ride in a car. I sat in a cushioned seat in what seemed like a little moving room and felt the vibrations from the motor shake through me. As we bounced down the road, I steadied in my lap the cloth-wrapped bundle of naan that Malehkah had given me before we left. I held on even tighter to the plastic handle in the door, trying to brace myself against every bump.

Baba saw me and smiled. “Don’t worry. The road will smooth out when we get to the open desert. I’ll show you how fast your father’s Toyota can go!” He slapped a button in the middle of the steering wheel and the car beeped. “Now give
your Baba a piece of naan. This adventure is making me hungry already.”

I tore off a strip of bread and handed it to my father. He shook his head, leaned over, and growled playfully as he bit into the bigger piece of naan instead. I had to pull the loaf away to tear off the piece he had his mouth on. He laughed and then spoke while chewing. “Tashakor.”

“You’re welcome.” I giggled.

Soon enough, we came to open land, and the road leveled out as promised. I’d never seen the world beyond the mountains that surrounded An Daral before. Barren grayness stretched out as far as I could see. Baba-jan sped up, humming an old tune. Once he looked at me quickly, then turned forward again. Then he looked back at me. He took a deep breath, but then pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. Finally, he spoke. “I’m glad you have the chance to have this operation, Zulaikha, even if we have to endure that American woman. You …” He trailed off and busied himself scraping a speck of dirt off the steering wheel. “You remind me very much of your mother. With your mouth all better, you’ll look like her. More than Zeynab even. You’re a good daughter. I’ll always take care of you. So don’t be frightened today.”

All morning, I’d tried not to appear scared, but Baba-jan knew me too well. I hoped he also knew how happy his kind words made me feel.

I watched the rocky flats of the empty desert and wondered at the changing view of the mountains for a long
time. After the car settled into a rhythm of rises and dips on the smooth ground, my eyelids felt droopy. The quiet rumbling of the car, the soft seat, and my father’s reassuring presence made me feel safe. Safe and sleepy.

Baba-jan woke me up as we pulled into Farah. I looked in amazement at an endless row of shops that lined both sides of a long, paved road and sold everything, including lots of items that were unavailable in An Daral. We even passed a bookstore! Meena would have loved that. Following Hajji Abdullah’s directions, we went through a police checkpoint and turned down the dirt track that was supposed to lead to the American base.

“We’re almost there, Zulaikha!” Baba slapped the steering wheel with a grin. “Ha! And as soon as I’ve finished my work on the school, I’ll be coming this way all the time to work on the American base.”

Baba’s excitement mirrored my own. It wouldn’t be long before my smile was just as good as anyone else’s. He saw me grin, and laughed, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

But as he drove on for a while, he grew more and more tense. “Now where is that base?” he said, leaning down and looking intently out the windshield. “Hajji Abdullah said to turn left at the police checkpoint after the bazaar. He said it was impossible to miss.”

We passed a cemetery, a rocky field with hundreds of stone mounds, each about the size of a person. There were many short mounds for children and babies. Then came a big field
where the ground was slick with what must have been spilled gasoline or oil as men filled huge drums from trucks. Hundreds, maybe thousands of these fuel and oil drums were stacked up all over. One man puffed on a cigarette while he worked a hand crank to pump fuel from one big metal drum to another.

“Look at that ignorant slob.” Baba shook his head. “Smoking away and everywhere gas and oil. Someday he will blow up the whole place!”

I folded my hands tightly in my lap at the irritation in my father’s voice. Baba was a wonderful man, but when he became upset, he could explode too. In my heart, I asked Allah to let the rest of our trip go smoothly and well, to let nothing go wrong on this day of my dreams. Baba gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his hands shook.

We followed the road out into the flats, where the people of Farah must have dumped everything they could not use or at least burn. Flies buzzed everywhere, and despite the heat, Baba closed the vents against the dusty rotting smell.

“If the base is out here, the Americans need to rethink where they build,” said Baba.

We passed fields of brick fragments, piles of scrap metal, and bits of broken glass shining in the sun. I felt a twinge of unwanted, out-of-place sadness, being in this depressing, forgotten area on such a wonderful day.

The Toyota whined as it struggled up a hill. And there it was. In the distance, rising up from the garbage, was an enormous compound.

“Finally,”
said Baba.

The white, windowless walls of the American base rose into a square, standing just a little higher than our compound walls at home. A big red gate was in the middle of one of the walls. Four square white towers with windows formed each corner. As we approached, I could see a coiled wire fence looped around the entire fortress, set far away from its walls. Just inside the fence, the Americans had dug a deep ditch.

“Baba, look!” I pointed. “The Afghan and American flags together.” The two flags flapping in the wind on tall poles above the middle of the base had to be a good sign. I felt my heart lift a bit.

“Quiet, Zulaikha! We have to be serious now.” Baba squinted his eyes as he turned the car onto the track that led to the gate. “From now on, you will be quiet and do exactly as I say.”

“Bale, Baba.”

We drove alongside the razor-wire fence until we came to a gate, where Afghan police guards in gray uniforms stopped us. One of these men walked up to Baba’s window with his gun slung easily at his side.

“Salaam. May I help you?” The guard spoke with a heavy Pashto accent. He couldn’t have been much older than Najib.

“We …” Baba’s voice almost squeaked. He licked his dry lips and started again. “We’ve come to see the female doctor. She came to An Daral and told us that the Americans could help my daughter.” I turned away while the guard leaned in to look at me. “Tahir Abdullah spoke to the Americans about this last week,” Baba added in a rush.

The guard smiled, nodded, and stood upright. He pulled a small radio from his pocket. “Interpreter, interpreter, this is front gate.”

After a short burst of static a man answered,
“Go ahead.”

The guard told our story to the man on the radio.

“One minute. I’ll ask the soldiers.”

The guard with the radio beckoned for another soldier to join him. Then he bent down to speak to my father again. “They will probably let you in, but you’ll have to leave your car out here.”

Baba’s eyes widened and he looked ahead at the base in the distance.

Radio Guard laughed. “I know it’s a long walk. Sorry. I have my orders.”

Baba parked the Toyota and we both climbed out. We waited in the hot sun for a few minutes. Baba looked at Radio Guard, who shrugged. Finally, his radio squawked.

“Let them come up. Tell them the captain is on her way out,”
said the man on the other end of the radio.
“Tell them the Americans are very happy they have come.”

“Bale,” said Radio Guard.

“I heard him,” said Baba.

Radio Guard chuckled and motioned for his comrade to pull the small coil of wire out of the way. He waved us through the gate. “Welcome to Farah Base.”

To get to the base, we had to walk down a long, narrow lane between two coils of razor wire. The wind whipped up the dust, and I covered my face and closed my eyes against
the grit. My father sighed and then licked his lips. “Stay close to me,” he said quietly. “Stay close to me and do not speak unless I tell you to.” I wanted to tell him that it was all right, that I didn’t mind the walk. I would have walked all the way from An Daral for a chance to have a normal face.

Suddenly, my chador pulled back off of my head. It had snagged in one of the sharp barbs on the coil of wire. Baba began to reach for it, but I quickly squeezed in between him and the wire. He’d pull too hard and rip my favorite chador. Besides my special white Eid chador, I only had two, and my other one was a drab dark blue. This pretty pink one was much better. The bright color drew people’s attention away from my mouth.

“Hurry!” Baba growled. “I told you to stay right by me!”

Moving as gently as I could, I pulled my shawl off the wire and wrapped it around my body. I walked beside Baba as we made our way up the narrow path, careful not to get snagged again by the sharp steel teeth. As we neared the base, the walls seemed to loom even higher, another spring of sharp razor wire perched on top. The voice on the radio had said they were happy we’d come. If that was so, I’d hate to be here if they were angry.

The path widened to nearly three meters when we were about ten meters from the gate. Finally, two Americans stood up from a bench in the shade of the wall.

“
Salaam, rafiq
!” It was the African soldier I’d seen before. He had a big smile and warm eyes on a face as dark as my other shawl. I was surprised by how much smaller he looked without
his body armor and helmet. He slung his rifle around his back and reached out to shake hands with Baba.

Shiaraqa, the interpreter, smiled next to him. “This is Corporal Andrews,” he said. Then he translated for Corporal. “He welcomes you to Farah. He says the captain is very happy you’re here.”

Corporal Andrews crouched down and held out his hand to me. I remembered what my father had said and I pulled close to Baba’s side. I felt him squeeze my shoulder and I looked up to see him nod in the direction of Corporal’s outstretched hand. I hoped the soldier didn’t notice me shaking as I reached out to him. He gently shook my hand and smiled again. It was the first time I had touched a man who was not a member of my family. I prayed I had understood Baba correctly and he wouldn’t be angry with me for accepting the handshake.

Shiaraqa watched as though my touching a strange man was completely normal. He must have been accustomed to outrageous American behavior.

A second soldier approached, this one wearing armor on his chest and back but without a helmet. He shook my father’s hand and then extended his hand to me. Again, I had to shake hands with a strange man. But this one was quiet, not like Corporal Andrews.

Shiaraqa translated for Corporal again. “Corporal Andrews says he is very sorry, but his friend must search people before they can enter the base. He says he does not like to do it, but his commanders force him to.”

My father said nothing but nodded as the light-skinned soldier motioned to a little cement wall. There were three bags of sand on the ground, and Baba-jan was asked to place his hands against the wall while he spread his legs with his feet between the bags. I watched as the second soldier began to touch him all over. He patted his hands on each side of both of Baba’s legs, up and up until his hands were too high. Why did they do this? Surely, no one would keep a weapon in that place. The soldier felt around Baba’s waist. I looked away. My hands and feet sweated. The Americans seemed to have no idea how to treat people, especially how to treat girls. If they insisted on shaking my hand, would they also want to search me like they were searching my father?

So much wire everywhere. There was exactly one way out, back the way we had come in, but if I ran, the guards at the outer fence would catch me anyway.

Finally, they finished the search. Baba stepped close and put his arm around me. It was my turn, but I didn’t care what was at stake. I absolutely would
not
allow this soldier to put his hands all over me.

“You can go in now,” said Shiaraqa.

Did that mean I didn’t have to be searched? Maybe I was too young. Maybe they’d forgotten. Maybe there was a shred of decency in them and they wouldn’t touch a girl all over the way they’d felt my father.

“You do not need to search my daughter?” Baba said. I looked at him. Why did he have to ask that?

“What did he say?”
Corporal Andrews asked in strange-sounding Dari.

The interpreter smiled and answered him in English. The American laughed and reached down to a pocket on the side of his pants. He pulled out two candies in shiny gold wrappers and held one out to my father and one to me, smiling as he said something. The Afghan translated Corporal’s words. “We do not search angels at the Farah base.”