A Far Away Home (11 page)

As it turned out, the Iranians decided to continue the support flights, to help the
Shiites in the Hazarajat get back to normal. Ali continued flying with them, and
so he had the chance to drop another note, really a letter. This time he signed it,
“Ali, son of Hassan.” When he returned to Muhshed, he waited for a letter in return,
because he included his address in Muhshed. He wasn't sure how soon the mail service
in Afghanistan would take to get up and running. After a month, he got a letter from
Shireen. She told him all the news, they were well, and they would be so happy to
see him and his family.

He finally decided to go by bus, at least for as much of the trip as they could.
He would get his family to Sharidure, then return to Muhshed to move their belongings
by truck.

Just before they were to leave Muhshed, the news came about the Taliban gradually
taking over Afghanistan. A note from Shireen also warned Ali not to come, because
it was becoming a dangerous place again. The Iranians continued their flights to
help the people of the Hazarajat. Like the
Russians before them, part of the Taliban
strategy for taking over was to starve out the people who resisted. Sharidure and
the other towns in the Hazarajat were soon under great pressure. No more letters
came.

Chapter Ten

A Surprise Landing

The flight began like all the others, except that Reza couldn't fly that day. He
was home ill. His replacement was a young pilot, Homyoon, who made several flights
with them as copilot. This was no problem, but the weather in the mountains is always
a concern. There was a sudden change, and the pilot called Iran about whether to
fly on or return to Iran. It was decided that since they were already more than halfway,
they should continue their mission.

The weather continued to deteriorate. The winds and clouds increased and it began
to rain. Visibility worsened as they went, so the pilot decided to fly lower, to
see if the weather would improve at lower altitudes. It didn't. He asked Ali if he
could recommend a place to land. Ali began watching the ground to see if he could
recognize any landmarks. He
knew they had passed Chaghcharan, where there was an
airfield with a good runway. He was looking for a road. He also was watching the
pilot, who was sweating and holding his stomach. Ali asked if he was sick. The pilot
looked at him and nodded. He also said he was very nervous about attempting a landing
in Afghanistan. The Taliban wouldn't be welcoming any intruders from Iran. There
had been rumors about the Taliban taking over the area where they were flying.

The pilot asked Ali to take the controls for a bit. He needed to use one of the little
bags they had on board for motion sickness. Ali took the controls and continued to
look for a place to land. After a minute or so he looked back for the pilot. He saw
him curled up, moaning, holding his stomach. Now, Ali started to sweat.

He thought back to the days of his flying with Dan, of loving the feel of the plane,
of seeing the world from a new perspective. As he flew, he found he could control
this plane, although somewhat larger, and having two engines rather than one, not
so dissimilar from Dan's little plane. He focused on the land below. He was following
a river, still looking for a road, when he began to recognize landmarks, mountains,
side valleys. They were near Sharidure.

As they swept past the town, he shouted for joy. He turned to tell the sick pilot
they were at Sharidure, and there was a small airfield where they could land. He
didn't tell him that he had landed there before. Anyway, the pilot wasn't responding.
Ali's mind raced, trying to remember what Dan told him about larger planes, and how
much room they would need to land. He turned the plane in a long circle, gaining
altitude for a flyover of the little airfield. The rain and wind continued to fight
the plane. He tried out the flaps, trying to feel how to control a landing. He started
watching the altitude. He knew the exact altitude of the airfield, and he knew about
the cliff at the far end. He also knew the mountains and the valley approaching the
field. He could do this. He just didn't know how long it would take to stop.

© Don Beiter

He did the flyover, high enough to be above the hill at the high end, low enough
to see the runway. As he approached
what he knew should be the end, he could see
the runway, and he could see the hill at the high end.

He saw the little wind indicator just where he placed it. The wind was coming mostly
down the runway, and it would help him land. It gave him some hope.

The plane roared over the small field. He banked to the left to fly over the town
and come down the valley again to try the landing. The plane responded to his hands.
It flew very much like the little red and white plane he learned in. If only Dan
were beside him. He could hear Dan talking about the landing, how fast to fly, how
high to be, when to drop down to the ground. So, he did. He flew the plane down to
the end of the runway, concentrating on the ground and feeling for the runway. He
had it just right. The end of the little field came up quickly, and Ali saw he needed
more room.

He remembered Dan telling him about a time when he had faced this situation and how
he ground-looped the plane, doing a hard left to spin and stop the plane before running
into what was ahead. So again, he heard Dan talking and did just that. The plane
pivoted on the end of the left wing and the left side wheel, and spun around 180
degrees to face back
down the runway. It also shuddered to a stop and plopped back
onto all of the landing gear.

Ali just sat at the controls, shaking, gripping the wheel. They were down, safely.
The pilot had missed a great landing. Just where was the pilot? When the plane lurched
violently around in the ground loop, the pilot had been thrown against the side of
the cockpit, where he now lay unconscious. At least now he wasn't moaning or holding
his stomach.

Ali's next thought was that he was home, home to see his parents and his sister.
He started to exit the plane, when he had a second thought. Were the Taliban going
to be outside, waiting for him? Surely someone saw or heard the plane. Maybe not,
with the howling wind and the rain, maybe no one saw or heard anything. He heard
moaning coming from the pilot, who was waking up. Ali went to him, asking him if
he was all right.

“Yes, I think so. Where are we? Did we crash? Where are we?”

“We're in Sharidure, my far away home. We didn't crash. I landed the plane.”

“How did you land it? How did you know how?”

“I have flown before, a long time ago. I even took off and landed at this exact airfield.
That's how I knew where to land, and how to land.” Ali tried to sound confident,
but not to brag. It turned out he didn't have to. The pilot did it for him.

“I still don't know how you did it, no runway markers, no air traffic control, nothing.
It's amazing. I'm glad I was unconscious, because I would have been scared stiff.
Let's get out to see this home of yours.”

They climbed down. The rain kept on. Ali was thankful now for the wind. It must have
helped them land and shortened their landing enough to keep them on the runway. He
looked over at the little wind indicator and laughed out loud, remembering putting
it up. He wondered who replaced the original one and kept it working for all these
years. Maybe some little boy like he had been, or maybe Shireen. It was only a stick
and some cloth, nothing much, yet enough to help him land and save his life.

“Have you seen any sign of people?” The pilot was probably wondering too about the
Taliban.

“No, but the storm is probably keeping them inside and kept them from hearing or
seeing this plane. Let's walk down
to the village to find them.” Ali didn't say anything
about the Taliban. He was hoping they might not have ever come to Sharidure.

***

The first house they came to was that of Askgar, the leader of the local Mujahadeen,
the leader of the group that Ali had helped drop the Russian UAZs into the canal.
No answer came from the house and Ali was a bit surprised. He couldn't imagine that
nobody was there. They walked further into town, but still didn't see anyone. The
next house they came to was Ali's home. He couldn't wait to see his family. He knocked,
and knocked again. There was no answer. He began to worry. He called his father.
“Father, I'm home. It's Ali, your son.” He thought he heard someone inside. “Shireen,
it's Ali, your brother. Are you there?”

The voice that answered was Shireen, his sister. “If you are Ali, where did our mother
hide the candy?”

It was a question only Ali could answer. Even their mother didn't know they knew.
What was making her so afraid of answering the door? “Behind the curtain, in the
window of the kitchen.”

The door opened slowly. Shireen peeked timidly out, knowing it must be Ali, but still
afraid. “Ali, it is you!” Now she was the old, unafraid of anything Shireen. She
stopped when she saw the other man, the Iranian pilot. Ali introduced them and reassured
her it was all right. All the while they were standing in the rain. Shireen laughed
and said they might want to come in out of the rain. Ali laughed, too, and stepped
into his home.

“Is Dad at his shop? Where's Mom? Sorry, how are you? I don't know where to start.”

Shireen waited for him to finish, then asked him and the pilot to please sit down.
“Would you like some tea? You must be tired. I'm sorry I kept you outside and didn't
answer the door.” She brought them some green tea and some warm bread. They sat on
the floor cushions, placing their cups and plates in front of them.

“Ali, mother died last month, mostly of sadness and fear, I think. She left a letter
for you. She told me what to write. It's a wonderful letter, full of love. She said
she knew you would come back. She wasn't sick, just so sad. She suffered a lot when
father died. He was killed by the Taliban when they
came to Sharidure. They brought
all of the men in and lined them up and shot them all. I can't tell you how terrible
it was. If you had been here, they would have killed you, too. They came back several
times, though not lately. That's why I was afraid to open the door.”

Ali began weeping. He was overcome by his parents being gone. The only sound was
his sobbing.

Finally he stood. “Could I see the letter?” Shireen went to get it. It was folded
once. Ali opened it and read it, silently. It sounded just like his mother, full
of love and quietness. He could see her, sitting, telling Shireen what to write.
It told of her joy in seeing his plane, waving its wings, knowing it was him, and
how proud she was that he could be bringing food to them. There were hints of her
sadness, of how afraid she was of the Taliban, but mostly, it was words of hope,
saying she knew a better day was coming. He refolded the letter and tucked it into
his felt vest, the one she had made before he left.

***

That afternoon, the rain stopped, the wind died down, and the sun came out. The pilot
wanted to go see the plane
and the damage, if any was done in the landing. Really
he wanted to leave the brother and sister to themselves, to talk more without an
outsider there to hear. Ali and Shireen appreciated it. Ali showed him the path up
to the airfield.

Ali wanted to go into his old town. He went first to his father's carpentry shop.
Inside, it was just like he remembered, with various projects left to be finished.
On a table was a toy truck, partially painted. His dad must have been making it for
some child. He sat down at the table the truck was on. The paint jars were there,
and so was a small brush. The truck was a model of the local trucks, a “loree,” the
same kind he and his father rode in the back of to Kabul, the same kind he rode on
his way to Iran. He sat a while, then decided to complete the painting. Just before
the daylight faded, he had finished. He set it aside to dry. It felt so good to be
there, in his father's shop, in his hometown. He began to think about his family,
far away in Iran. They must be worried by now, wondering why he wasn't back.

He walked up to the plane, hoping the radio might work to call Iran. The pilot was
in the plane, checking out the systems. He said the radio worked, but that he was
hesitant
to try to call because some unfriendly ears might hear and get a fix on
where they were. He showed Ali the broken propeller on the wing that had been the
pivot for the ground loop landing. The end of the wing was also damaged. They wouldn't
be flying out of Sharidure, at least not today.

Ali and Homyoon talked about what to do next. They decided that a telephone call
was the best way to let someone in Iran know what happened, so they walked back down
to the town to try the local telephone office. It wasn't open and looked deserted,
so they went back to Ali's home. Shireen told them the operator was killed with all
of the other men, and since then, no one could make a phone call. Homyoon wanted
to leave right away, maybe taking a truck back to Iran. Ali didn't know what to do.
Shireen thought he should go back with the pilot. “Ali, you have your own family
to take care of. You should go back. I'll be OK here.” Her words said that, but her
eyes spoke of fear and uncertainty.