Refuge (43 page)

Charlie clicks away.

FIFTY-FOUR

TARIQ SITS AT
his father-in-law’s desk eating a breakfast of eggs and naan. It’s still dark outside, the Khyber mountains a ghostly black. He goes over the conversation he knows he must have with the Prince today. He’s decided to stick with the story that Noor has hepatitis. It’s simple, and something he can’t be blamed for.

The Prince won’t be happy, but, unlike before, I’ll survive this.

He thinks about his father and sister with poisonous hatred. His father, especially; a weak, insidious man who’s given him nothing in this life; a man who pretends to have the righteousness of a Sufi saint but who has the morals of a brothel owner; a spineless fraud who preferred to let his wife die surrounded by infidels rather than risk his own life trying to save her. His only comfort is his father’s assured eternal damnation.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Tariq says.

Badia steps into the room. She is wearing a black shalwar kameez. Tariq’s mood brightens; he was hoping it was her. He gestures Badia over, and she comes and stands in front of the desk. Tariq’s eyes travel up her teenage body, drinking in the curve of her hips, the thinness of her waist, the swell of her breasts, her full lips and lustrous hair.

“You can look at me,” he says. “It’s allowed.”

She raises her chin, and looks him in the eye. He detects a spirit he hadn’t sensed before.

What is it?
Do you hate me?

“I’m sure you’re aware that I’m head of this family now, at least until one of your other brothers comes of age, and so it’s up to me to decide whom you should marry.”

“I trust you will make the correct choice.”

“I have. It’s going to be me.”

Badia’s eyes flicker.

You weren’t expecting that, now were you?

“It’s forbidden for a man to be married to two sisters,” Badia says.

“True, but since I divorced your sister last night it’s no longer an issue.”

Badia holds his gaze.

Were you holding out hope for the Prince?
Not if you know his reputation. Are you sorry for your sister? Unlikely, you have different mothers. What is it?

“You’re going to be a good wife, Badia, and I promise to be a good husband. This won’t be your home for long, we’ll be moving to Saudi Arabia soon. You’ll dress in the finest clothes, shop in the best stores, have servants waiting on you.”

“I will serve you faithfully,” she says.

He detects a glint in Badia’s eye.

No,
you’re happy
, he rejoices
. Relieved to be marrying a man your age, a man of increasing stature and power.

There’s a knock on the door.

“What?” he shouts.

Sarosh, the young clerk from the Prince’s office, sticks his head in. Badia turns away so Sarosh won’t see her face.

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something,” Tariq says.

“I apologize, but you insisted I find you if the American called.”

Sarosh holds out a piece of paper.

“He said you should meet him at this address.”

Tariq walks over and snatches it from him.

“That’s it?” Tariq says.

“Nothing more.”

Tariq nods, and Sarosh retreats from the room. Tariq turns towards Badia, his interest in her over for now.

“Go and take off those dreadful clothes. No amount of mourning is going to bring back your father and brothers.”

Badia hastens away.

Could Gardener really have found Noor?
Why else would he call?

Tariq hurries out of the room and shouts for Yousef to join him. By the time he arrives at the front of the house his SUV is waiting for him. He surveys the courtyard with satisfaction; it’s now devoid of its barnyard animals and rusting farm equipment. Yousef, his hair still wet from showering, hobbles out the front door.

“What’s all the bother?” he says.

“He’s found her.”

Yousef grins. Tariq hands him the piece of paper.

“You know where this is?” Tariq says.

Yousef reads the address.

“Sure.”

“Then let’s go.”

FIFTY-FIVE

NOOR LIES WIDE
awake in bed.

Mrs. Matthews, Mrs. Noor Matthews
.

It sounds so ridiculous yet so right at the same time that she can’t help but laugh.

Down the corridor Noor hears Charlie’s alarm go off. She slips out of bed and changes. When she reaches the kitchen she finds Mukhtar making an omelet.

“It’s alright, Mukhtar. I can finish this. Why don’t you take the day off.”

“Are you sure?” he says.

“Absolutely.”

Mukhtar smiles and leaves. Noor looks at the omelet bubbling away and realizes she’s never made one before.

It can’t be that hard.

She tries her best to flip it, and it breaks apart.

Unbelievable,
I can’t even do this.

“I didn’t expect to see you up.”

Noor turns to find Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Are you disappointed to see me?” she says.

“Are you crazy? You’re the greatest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on this early in the morning.”

Noor can’t help but smile.

“Sit and eat,” she says, “you’ve a long journey ahead of you.”

“A hundred miles is hardly a long journey.”

“Alright, you’ve an important journey ahead of you.”

Charlie sits down at the kitchen table, and Noor places the broken omelet in front of him.

“So you always going to cook me breakfast?” he says.

“If you’re fine with me being a stereotypical Afghan wife.”

Charlie takes a bite.

“If you cook me an omelet this good maybe that won’t be such a bad thing.”

“So you want a fat, ignorant nag, is that it?”

Charlie takes another bite.

“It’s a really good omelet,” he grins.

“And you don’t deserve it.”

Noor goes to swipe the plate away. Charlie sweeps his arm around her waist and pulls her down onto his lap.

“Charlie,” Noor shrieks.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise.”

“You already are.”

“Fine, anything more.”

Noor gives Charlie a searching look before allowing her body to relax into his. She gazes into his eyes and traces the scar on his cheek with her finger.

“You’ll be safe, won’t you?” she says.

“It’s not like I’m going into Afghanistan.”

“I know, but everyone says how dangerous that road is.”

“I promise to be extra safe.”

“I wish you’d drive Wali’s car.”

“The bike’s quicker.”

“That bike will make a widow of me before I’m married.”

“Okay, I’ll go by Mine Aware and pick it up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Charlie leans in and kisses her gently.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to do anything?” she says.

“You bewitched me, what can I say?”

“So it’s my fault is it?” she says kissing him back.

“Totally and utterly.”

If only this could go on forever.

Noor hears someone in the hall and pulls away.

“Baba found a suitcase in the attic last night,” she says. “I don’t know what he was thinking, it’s got far more space than I need.”

“Then we’ll have to get you some Western clothes at Heathrow. It’s high time we got you in a pair of figure-hugging jeans.”

Noor blushes and extricates herself from his arms.

“Go, before I report you to the local imam for indecency.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be shocked, he already has a file on me this thick.”

“Away with you,” she giggles.

Charlie leans in and gives her one final kiss.

“Back before you know it.”

He winks at her and heads out the door. Noor looks at the clock. Quarter to seven. If everything goes to plan Charlie should be back by dinner. She goes out onto the verandah and prays, doing everything in her power to focus on God. Afterwards she sits down and allows thoughts of Charlie to overwhelm her. She senses someone and opens her eyes. Rasul is staring right at her from the lawn below. She’s convinced he’s read every one of her lurid thoughts. She scurries inside and finds her father engrossed in a book.

“I did not realize you were up so early,” he says.

“I was seeing Charlie off. You?”

“I just returned from taking Wali to the hospital.”

“This early?”

“I’m afraid you have to get there before seven if you want to salvage any hope of seeing a doctor. I told him I would wait but he was having none of it.”

“Can I make you breakfast?”

“No thank you, I am most content.”

Noor spies the cover of his book
—Anna Karenina.

“Surely you’ve read that before?” she says.

“Of course, but when I was perusing the shelves just now I couldn’t find anything I hadn’t read.”

“So you picked the longest book instead?”

“No, just the best,” he smiles.

“Well I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”

Noor heads to go upstairs.

“Noor,” her father says.

She turns back.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he says.

“Every day of my life.”

Aamir Khan smiles and returns to his book.

In her bedroom, Noor finds Bushra asleep. She begins packing her meager possessions into the case her father found
;
photos Charlie has taken of Aamir Khan and Bushra; her collection of threadbare shalwar kameez; her books; the essay her father made her write all those years earlier.

She hears a car drive up and wonders if Charlie’s forgotten something.

Two more pull in behind it.

Doors open and men get out, calling out to each other in Pashtu and Arabic. A chill passes through her.

The front door crashes open; it is enough to wake Bushra.

Noor rushes out of the room and down the corridor. She hears her father say something followed by a sickening crunch. Aamir Khan falls silent.

“Find her,” someone says.

She knows the voice well‌—‌it’s Tariq’s. The Devil’s couldn’t strike more dread in her.

A couple of men start up the staircase.

Noor sprints back towards her room. Bushra stands in their bedroom doorway, paralyzed.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Noor says.

Noor grabs Bushra’s hand and pulls her down the corridor towards Charlie’s room. The two of them slip inside it, and Noor locks the door behind them.

The men’s booted feet come thundering down the corridor. They kick in her bedroom door and then Aamir Khan’s.

“Come on,” Noor says.

She flings open the balcony doors and climbs onto the ledge. The tree bough hangs three feet away. She hauls Bushra up beside her.

“We’ve got to jump,” she says.

Bushra looks down at the drop and swallows. Back in the room, someone tries the door. When they discover it’s locked, they start kicking it.

“You can make it,” Noor says. “I promise.”

Bushra closes her eyes and leaps. Her feet fall either side of the bough and her hands flail for something to grab on to.

Just as it looks like Bushra might tumble to the ground, her right hand grabs a hold of a branch and she steadies herself. She looks back at Noor.

“Go,” Noor says.

Bushra crawls along the bough. Noor prepares to leap when she hears a clamor of voices below.

“You cannot do this,” Aamir Khan shouts.

Two mujahideen drag Aamir Khan by his arms onto the lawn and toss him down. He struggles up onto his knees, blood seeping from a cut to his forehead.

“As your father, I beg you, these are your sisters.”

One of the mujahideen kicks Aamir Khan over.

“Stop it,” Noor shouts.

Aamir Khan looks up, and for a moment they hold each other’s gaze. Another blow lands in the small of Aamir Khan’s back. He cries out in agony.

“By the grace of Allah, leave him alone,” she shouts.

Tariq comes out of the house and pulls out his pistol. Aamir Khan sees Tariq approaching.

“O Allah!” Aamir Khan says in a loud, clear voice, “Pardon my sins which are many and accept my deeds which—”

A shot rings out, and Aamir Khan’s body relaxes into the ground.

“No,” Noor screams.

The balcony doors fly open, and she twists around to see two mujahideen standing there. She recognizes them as two of the men from the camp.

Noor jumps only for a hand to grab a hold of the back of her pants. Her forward progress halts, and she finds herself hanging upside down. The younger of the two yanks her up and throws her over the ledge.

“Go easy,” the older man says.

He wraps his thick arms around her. Noor kicks him, but her blows have no effect. Hobbling, he carries her out of the room and down the corridor. Noor tries to free her arms only for him to tighten his grip even more. They reach the top of the staircase. At the bottom, Tariq gives her a nod as if to suggest that Noor’s now his.

Never
.

Noor reaches between her legs and twists the older man’s testicles. The man roars in pain. He loses his footing, and the two of them tumble down the staircase. She lands on top of him, the blow so stunning that for a moment Noor forgets where she is.

Then it all comes back. The one thing that doesn’t is her breath. She can’t get one out let alone take one in.

This is it, I’m dying.

“Yousef,” she hears Tariq shout over and over.

She looks at her brother, bent over her assailant, the man’s neck bent at an impossible angle. She closes her eyes and wills death to sweep her away too.

“You bitch,” Tariq says.

He yanks her up by her hair only to let go. She falls back onto the tiles and looks towards the front door. Mukhtar stands there with his mouth agape, a grocery bag in either hand. Tariq grabs Mukhtar by the collar and drags him whimpering through the hall and out towards the garden.

Noor raises her head.

Get out
, her mother’s voice screams. G
et out while you can.