Allure of Deceit (21 page)

“The others are not so careful,” he noted about the work of other villagers.

“They don't remember hunger,” she responded.

His parents were planners, but also flexible. They planned ahead for the fields, the markets, their children's education and marriages. For his parents, contentment meant respecting traditions and following rules, blending in and avoiding any behavior that might distinguish them among the villagers. Yet his parents were open and considered new ways. It was why his father gathered the opinions of others on how to protect the village and listened more than talked about politics. It was why his mother experimented with new techniques in the fields and why she was so excited about the occasional deliveries of books from the other side of the world.

It was why his mother cared for Komal in a loving way when they were alone.

Saddiq loved his parents. He agreed with his father that the world around them was changing rapidly, and Saddiq wished he didn't have to hide so much, especially his opinions about Thara and her sisters. He was like his parents, with the constant urge to make plans and control his own life.

Best to keep his thoughts a secret.

His mother smiled, noting that they had finished the work quickly. She thanked him for his help and giving her more time at the village's tiny library that afternoon, and Saddiq smiled, too, though for another reason. He reminded his mother that he had promised his father to start gathering goats from the higher pasture and gradually move them to the lower pastures, closer to the village center, for the winter.

The move took days because the goats could not handle an abrupt change in diet. With each gradual shift, the boys arranged rocks and branches as temporary blockades to prevent the animals from roaming.

“Your brothers should help,” she chided. He shrugged, explaining he had started the project and the younger boys could attend her lessons.

With a small frown, his mother handed over a small pack that contained bread, fruit, and yogurt mixed with honey, and Saddiq waited until his mother was out of sight. She didn't know, but he had already moved the goats earlier in the morning—and so instead of climbing the hill, he dashed toward the meadows near a narrow section of the river. The banks were steep, lined with trees, and the place promised privacy.

Saddiq kept away from the path, instead walking in and out of the mottled shadows of trees and brush lining the river's edge. It didn't take long before he spotted Thara near the river. He paused, watching her kneel on the riverbank, her hands never stopping in collecting stems and organizing them in a basket.

Anyone could be watching, and he held back from calling out her name.

Their meetings could not appear planned. They had agreed on a signal so both could look around, ensuring they were alone, before speaking. She hung an empty basket among the branches if other girls worked in the area. He ducked behind a tree and gave a soft dove call. Thara looked up and down the river before heading toward the trees, too.

Then they waited, each listening for intruders as they took a slow, twisting path through a stand of noble pines.

Saddiq could not forget the news of Leila's baby. Rather than feel ashamed, he was energized and proud. He was an uncle, and his parents had no clue. That made the child his responsibility, though Saddiq didn't understand why he cared so much about an infant he had never met. Even Thara did not seem to care as much. She was puzzled by his curiosity, insisting that his parents and others in Laashekoh would be furious about the child.

For Saddiq, the village was broken if he could not care for his brother's child.

The child belonged in Laashekoh, and Saddiq wanted to plan a rescue. Thara told him the name of the prison where her sister was held, but he assumed that Leila would refuse to see him. Not that he wanted to see Leila after she had pointed a gun at his head and threatened to send him off to work in Pakistan along with other children tricked into leaving their homes. Thara agreed that Leila would still be furious with his entire family for ruining the scheme and sending her to prison.

Leila might be willing to hand the child over to her sister if she didn't know that Saddiq was behind the plan. At night, he envisioned the steps, leaving Laashekoh for Kandahar after sunset, traveling all night, inventing some errand for the next morning. Other villagers would not realize he was gone for hours.

But he needed Thara and a head start. Saddiq's father and the other men would waste no time tracking the two of them down. But surely his parents' fury would subside once they knew the baby belonged to his brother Ali. Saddiq had to elude the trackers just long enough to retrieve the baby. He needed no more than a day or two away from Laashekoh. He had saved money by helping his father sell goods at the market over the years.

Paying for a few meals was the easy part, and perhaps they could catch a ride to the city. He had to find a way to bring Thara along. Once out of Laashekoh, the two could pretend to be brother and sister and behave accordingly. Allah wouldn't mind, he convinced himself.

Sighing, Saddiq wondered if this was how his brother Ali had thought of Leila before falling to his death. He had heard his parents whispering about Ali and Leila meeting alone at night without supervision. They sounded puzzled and old.

But there was no talk about a child.

Since those events, the parents of Laashekoh had repeatedly warned the boys, even the youngest, against spending time alone with the village girls. “You can play as a group,” his mother had warned. “But never alone.”

He had once resented his mother for forbidding him to speak with Leila's sister. But Thara's news of a baby added to his understanding. Secrets could be dangerous. He wanted to tell his parents about the baby, but Thara was terrified. She insisted no one in Laashekoh would want the baby, including his parents, and made him promise not to tell. Saddiq didn't argue. He could not forgive his parents if they refused to accept Ali's baby.

Saying yes would be easier once his parents held the child. Thara might accompany him, but only if he had a sensible, organized plan.

The two certainly couldn't leave the village together. That would be disastrous. He could organize supplies in a cave nearby. She could leave first and wait for him. The village would organize a search party, and Saddiq would help, accompanying his father and brother for at least a day. And then Saddiq could get separated, meet with Thara, and head to the highway that led to Kandahar. He had heard that it was easy to catch rides to the city, especially if passengers could pay or were willing to do small errands.

Thara and Saddiq were young and strong, accustomed to the outdoors. They would wear the best shoes they could find and keep a steady pace. They would stay away from open roads and villages during the daylight hours. No one had to know they left for the city together.

They could return separately. Afterward, he could explain how he had retrieved the baby on his own. Thara could claim she was lost and then hid because she was frightened. Perhaps his mother and father would be overwhelmed at meeting Ali's child for the first time, and that would reduce their questions.

It was a plan. He enjoyed daydreaming about traveling with Thara to Kandahar and thought less about returning to Laashekoh.

Saddiq mimicked the soft coo of a dove once more, and she returned the call. He hurried, taking a winding path around the trees until they met. They sat on a slope underneath the twisted branches of a wild rose tree. They would see anyone approaching from a distance, giving them enough time to separate.

“I must hurry,” Thara whispered. “Karimah will scold me for not bringing back more materials for the baskets.”

Saddiq asked what happened when Karimah complained about a slow pace. “She assigns more chores and makes me work through the night,” Thara said. “And I would be miserable if they did not let me out alone anymore.”

She was firm. “I need the baskets for a good marriage.”

“I brought you something.” He placed the lunch from his mother between them, and then handed over another thick bundle. Opening it, Thara smiled at the strands of grasses in a range of pastels, perfect for fine weaving, along with a small, heart-shaped rock. Her voice broke as she thanked him. He explained how he had gathered the grass while tending the goats. “This way we have more time together and you return with plenty of material.”

And then they talked about the goats, the hills, and the coming winter. Thara asked about her sisters, and he gave her the little news he knew. And then they talked about Leila. “You're sure you know where Leila is at?” he questioned.

Thara nodded and wrapped her hands around her ankles.

“And the baby is there, too?” She nodded again. “Ali would not want his child in prison.”

“It's Allah's will,” she said solemnly.

He shook his head stubbornly. “We must help the baby. We will go to the city and get her together. That is Allah's will.”

Parsaa woke up late, long after his wife had already rounded up the younger children to help carry jugs of water back from the nearby spring. In the distance, he heard a particularly shrill
akak
. The insistent call came from downhill, along the trail leading to the village:
eeee-eeee-eeee-eeee
,
eeee-eeee-eeee
,
eeee-eeue
,
eeue
.

Then abrupt silence.

A magpie's song was more melodic and sustained, inviting response from a nearby partner. The odd call suggested unusual activity, and unannounced visitors could be dangerous. The boys watching the village had become careless and should have signaled first.

Parsaa issued his own warning for the village—no words, just two sharp claps—a signal repeated throughout the village. Villagers stopped beating rugs, cutting vegetables, whatever work they were doing. The women gathered children, hurrying them inside the nearest homes and warning them to remain quiet. Men and older boys retrieved weapons, ensuring each was loaded.

Ahmed came running from work in the fields. “Visitors?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

“Who was on watch?” Parsaa snapped.

The younger man shook his head and mentioned that the village had been quiet for too long. Parsaa was impatient, cutting him off and watching as villagers took their assigned places. Parsaa and Ahmed prepared to face the group without weapons, and a few men and women gathered in the courtyard with them, even as a few snipers waited behind the cover of trees and walls, watching for any sudden move or fingers that strayed too close to a trigger.

Four Afghan soldiers entered the gate, in sunglasses and dusty camouflage, their helmets tied to their packs. Three men fanned out against the wall, facing the villagers and holding M16s with both hands. The fourth, his weapon slung across his back, strode toward Parsaa and Ahmed waiting in the center courtyard.

Ahmed offered breakfast. But the men shook their heads and, with little introduction other than to state that they were members of the Afghan Special Forces, started in with questions. The leader tried Pashtun and was annoyed that the villagers spoke only Dari. “We are investigating a missing helicopter,” he said. “Three foreigners who work for an NGO.”

Ahmed explained that the three had visited the village. “The foreigners were not here long. The helicopter landed by the river and left the same day.”

The soldier stared at both men. Finally he spoke. “They were expected back in the city, but there's been no sign of them.” He asked about the purpose of the visit.

Ahmed briefly described how the women said they ran an orphanage. “They had heard about orphans found by this village. But the women were too late. The children were not orphans and already were returned to their parents.”

The man pressed. “And that was all? Did they make promises, offer money?”

The questions made Ahmed nervous, and Parsaa replied. “They provided toys for the children, and we sold potatoes and other produce to them. We explained that we take care of our own.”