Words in the Dust (15 page)

“
Salaam,
Zulaikha,” said Captain. Najib looked at me. I shrugged and we stepped out of our car. “
Salaaaaaaam!
” she repeated and reached out to my brother. Najib hesitated for a moment and then finally shook the woman’s hand.
“What name?”
Captain Mindy was still trying to speak in her crazy-sounding Dari. Najib looked at me again.

“This is Captain Mindy,” I said quietly. “I think she wants to know your name.”

My brother looked at the ground when he spoke. “Najibullah.”

Captain smiled. “Najibullah?” Then she said something in English.

Shiaraqa spoke. “She says she is happy you understood her when she asked for your name.” Najibullah shrugged. Shiaraqa translated again. “She welcomes you to Farah Base.”

Captain smiled, crouched in front of me, and then reached to shake my hand. I did as she expected. At least she’d paid attention to my brother first. Maybe she was learning.
“Tashakor!”
She sounded like she was talking to a baby.

Shiaraqa translated for Captain. “She says all the soldiers here on the base have been looking forward to this day.” He smiled, but looked like he was having trouble keeping up with everything the excited American was saying. He turned to my brother. “Your car will be safe here at the outer checkpoint. We’ll ride in our truck. You two can sit in back. The Captain and I will ride up front.”

“Bale” was all Najib said. He sounded like I usually did after Malehkah shouted at me.

We rode right up through the gate. This time there were no soldiers to search us the way they’d searched Baba-jan on our first visit. Shiaraqa explained that it was too early in the morning for soldiers to be on gate duty. He added that Captain Mindy was supposed to search us, but she trusted us and hated searching anyway. We stopped only so that Shiaraqa could get out and bolt the gate shut behind us.

Inside the base, we were led into a tan, one-story building. Captain spoke. “She says this is the nicest building on base,” Shiaraqa translated.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright light, but I was surprised to find myself in a space far different than the small medical room I’d seen before. This place looked much more Afghan, with pretty rugs on the floors and a red, green, and black Afghan flag on the wall, next to a framed photograph of President Hamid Karzai.

Captain Mindy motioned for us to have a seat on one of several padded wooden couches that surrounded a low wooden table. She pointed to a tray of different types of nuts, looking sad as she said something. I held my chador tight to my mouth, hoping she didn’t have bad news. Shiaraqa explained. “She asks Najibullah to please enjoy some nuts, but she says that Zulaikha must not eat before the surgery. It is what the doctor commands.”

I put my hands over my stomach, feeling it rumble. How long would it be until the surgery? I sat down close to my brother, keeping my chador across my face. Captain leaned toward me and spoke in a high-pitched voice with a smile
that wrinkled her freckled nose. Shiaraqa looked at her once before speaking. “She asks if you are excited.”

I shifted in my seat. I said softly, “Bale.”

Captain Mindy smiled again and told us through Shiaraqa that the weather was good and so far the flight was still coming. Apparently, nobody at Farah knew when the helicopter was supposed to arrive. Sometimes they were early. Sometimes they were late. She only hoped the flight wouldn’t be canceled.

As soon as Shiaraqa translated the words, my nerves mixed with my hunger and I worried I would be sick. This was the second time Baba and Hajji Abdullah had been troubled with my surgery. If the flight were canceled now, there would be no other chances. I prayed over and over, the same prayer.

Great Allah, the most merciful, please let the helicopter come. Please let the helicopter come.

We waited. They brought a hot meal for my brother, who only ate some of the potatoes. I stared at the food. I was grateful for my chador when my mouth watered.

We waited. More and more soldiers came and went, all of them very happy, many of them bringing me toys and candy of all kinds. More small metal cars. Some fuzzy animal toys. A plastic doll with blonde hair and very long legs. I didn’t know how to react. I’d never been given so many presents in my life, so I simply thanked them as Captain Mindy put their gifts into a plastic bag for me. All the while, Najib said nothing, but kept looking down. He spoke only when he was
asked a direct question. Sitting so close to him, I could feel his legs shaking. Our past had made us both very nervous about people with guns.

As sunlight began to shine in through the windows from outside, I realized that I’d missed the morning prayer. I hadn’t even heard the muezzin. The Americans really were infidels if they couldn’t even hear the call to prayer from their base. I went back to my silent prayers, rocking just a little as I asked Allah for His forgiveness and His help.

Finally, after Captain Mindy had repeatedly sent soldiers to check to see if the flight would still happen, her radio squawked with someone speaking in English. Shiaraqa suddenly stood up and stretched. Captain smiled. I did not need to wait for Shiaraqa’s translation. The helicopter was coming.

Once again we rode in a truck across the base, but this time we were taken to a different metal gate on the opposite side of the compound. When we got out of the truck, I couldn’t see the helicopter yet, but I could hear it in the distance, perhaps on the other side of the closest mountain. It was a faint but growing
whoo, whoo, whoo
sound. Six or seven American soldiers were gathered near us with their guns and some big green bags.

Then at last we could see the helicopter, the size of a large truck, with two whirling blades, one on each end. As it approached, the roar from its spinning rotors grew. It hovered a moment, then lowered itself down onto a cement platform well outside the compound gate. A great wave of dust blew
toward us. Everyone closed their eyes, bent their heads, and did their best to shield themselves from the flying grit.

Almost as soon as the helicopter landed, Captain Mindy grabbed my arm and pulled me forward while Shiaraqa led my brother. If I had lost my nerve and changed my mind about taking a ride in this big machine, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was pulled quickly through the chaos under the spinning blades and then lifted up a big step onto a ramp that led through the back hatch to the floor of the aircraft. Soldiers ran in and out, loading and unloading bags and boxes.

On the outside, the helicopter was graceful and futuristic. Inside, there were exposed cables and metal tubes. I didn’t have long to look around, though. Everyone sat down on cloth seats with their backs against the wall, four to each side. Captain reached over and clicked a strap into place over my lap.

Then I felt like I was being pushed down into my seat as the aircraft rose. It was like nothing I’d ever known before. I had to lean forward to see around Najib, who himself leaned forward to see around the Americans. Out the back hatch, the view of the ground transformed. The four white walls that formed the gigantic square of the American compound shrank until the big trucks inside it looked even smaller than my brothers’ toy metal cars. The aircraft tilted, and I felt like I was swinging on a rope.

The highest I’d ever been before was atop the walls at the Citadel, and then I was, for the most part, solidly connected
to the earth. Now I was soaring far above the ground in this enormous machine. How did anyone make something so large and heavy fly through the sky? Below, tiny farms and villages were islands in a sea of fields and dust, until gradually there were no more fields. There was only dust, and then the red-brown crags of mountains.

Shiaraqa shouted something to Captain Mindy over the engine noise. When she nodded, he got up out of his seat and moved about the aircraft. Najib watched him eagerly until Shiaraqa came and unbuckled my brother’s seat strap. Then both of them walked around, cautiously in the beginning, and then more relaxed, delightedly pointing out interesting sights through the open back hatch. I was scared for them at first. The soldier sitting on the deck behind the machine gun, with his legs dangling out the hatch, was tethered in with a long strap. Nothing was holding Shiaraqa and Najib. But Shiaraqa took picture after picture with a small camera in his hand, so it must have been safe enough.

Captain Mindy laughed at their excitement. She and I exchanged a look, and then we both laughed at the two dewana Afghan men.

After that, Captain Mindy laid her head back and rode peacefully with her eyes closed. Most of the soldiers slept, but Najib and I stayed awake the entire time, watching our country from the sky all the way. The deep, dark reds of the high rocky mountaintops and the lighter browns of the valleys and dry plains looked like Allah’s beautiful painting from up here. It was Afghanistan, my home.

When we had flown for a long time, we could see roads and buildings again, and I could feel the helicopter begin to descend. My stomach felt tight and there was a light burning in my throat. My brother nodded his head toward the view out the hatch and I knew — I knew we were approaching Kandahar. We were close to the time for my surgery.

After our helicopter landed, Najib and I followed Captain Mindy and Shiaraqa out of the machine. I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun. In front of us, waves of heat rose off an enormous paved road as wide as two or three rows of compounds and at least twice as long as An Daral’s bazaar road. Half a kilometer away sat a row of helicopters just like the one we had flown in on. I counted at least ten. In a row behind those were different helicopters, smaller ones with only one big propeller on top. But on the bottoms of these were big guns and tube things that might have been bombs.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around. Najib tilted his head toward Captain and Shiaraqa, who waited a few paces away. Stupid! Shiaraqa had told us to follow him, and here I was counting helicopters. It was just that yesterday I’d never even seen a helicopter, except for once or twice on a television in the bazaar. Today I had ridden on one and seen dozens more. I pulled my chador over my face.

Najib took my hand and we followed Captain Mindy and Shiaraqa down a different, much narrower paved street. Only cars, trucks, and American gun trucks drove on this road. Wooden buildings, tents, and parked vehicles lined either side of the street.

As we walked, I was confused to see soldier after soldier snapping their right hand up to the edge of their hats with their palms down. As they did this they would say something in English, and then Captain Mindy would make the same gesture. Finally, after more than thirty soldiers had done this, Captain Mindy began the exchange with an older-looking man she was about to pass.

Shiaraqa dropped back from Captain’s side and quietly explained to my brother. “They do this thing with their hand to show respect to whoever has more rank, to whoever is more important. They say good afternoon, or good evening, or whatever time of day it is when they salute in this way.”

Najib’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “Should we do this too?”

Shiaraqa laughed. “No. It is just something the Americans do. Captain Edmanton says most soldiers don’t even like to do it.” He shrugged. “But that is the rule for the base.”

We rounded a corner, crossed the street, and passed the end of a row of dusty tents, and that is when I saw it. “Najib,” I whispered, and tugged at my brother’s sleeve. But of course he saw it too. It was too large to miss. And too beautiful.

A mosque. But not just any mosque. It was easily twice as large as the mud-brick mosque back in An Daral. Red, blue, green, and black tiles shone on the tall columns in front. The windows had glass and were framed in pretty blue. The towering minaret had little blue-trimmed window holes with a blue dome on top, and I could see huge speakers inside. Nobody could fail to hear the call to prayer from this mosque.

It gleamed in the sun as an omen from Allah. The day I had prayed for my whole life was here. Inshallah, all would be well.

Finally, we reached a large two-story cement building. Bumps rose on my skin and a shiver crawled up my back into my neck the moment I stepped inside and out of the bright sun. We’d been led into a room with a smooth cement floor, white walls, and long tubes of electric lights suspended from the high ceiling. I pulled my chador tighter around me and looked at Najib. He folded his arms around himself and shrugged. Captain Mindy motioned for us to stay where we were while she went down the hall.

“They have air-conditioning.” Shiaraqa took off his black sunglasses. “The Americans don’t like it so hot. And they have to keep their computers cool.” He shook the dust from his thick black hair, wiping his hands on his jeans afterward.

Soon Captain returned and led us around a corner to where soldiers were busy working at their desks. “In here,” Shiaraqa said. We entered a small room with white walls and a big desk covered in papers. A soldier was at the desk, pressing buttons on what must have been his computer. I sat down next to Najib in one of the two plastic chairs. Captain and Shiaraqa sat next to the other wall. The man looked up from his work.

Shiaraqa translated for Captain Mindy. “Zulaikha, Najibullah, this is Dr. Akamura. He will be the one conducting your surgery.”

“
Salaam
,” said the doctor. He was a compact Chinese man, dressed in a tan uniform just like the rest of the
soldiers, but he was older than most Americans I had seen. His close-cropped black hair was flecked with gray, especially at the sides of his head. When he smiled he almost closed his eyes.

Shiaraqa translated Doctor Akamura’s words. “He says he is very happy to meet you both, Najibullah, Zulaikha.” He addressed my brother first, which was at least somewhat closer to Afghan custom than I was used to with Americans. “He will be the one taking care of Zulaikha’s cleft lip. He wants to tell you both a little about the procedure, and then both of you can ask any questions you wish.”

The doctor went on talking about what he planned to do, pausing every now and then to allow Shiaraqa to catch up and translate. The doctor seemed nice, but why was he bothering to explain all of this? He was, after all, the doctor. He was the one who was going to be doing the work. What difference did it make if I knew how he was going to do it?

Finally, Shiaraqa asked if we had any questions. Najib was back to staring at the floor. After a moment of quiet, Shiaraqa translated for the doctor again. “This operation will not hurt very much. Soon you will have a good smile and you will not need to cover your face.”

Captain Mindy spoke, the doctor answered, and Shiaraqa translated for them both. “She asks him how long it will take you to recover and when you can go home. He says you can go home in one or two days.”

At this news, I glanced at my brother. He looked up just enough so that his wide eyes met mine. They had told us
before that this wouldn’t be a long trip, but it still didn’t seem real. How could they fix my mouth and have me back home in so short a time?

I clenched my fist in my lap and remembered the sun glinting off the mosque outside. I had to have patience. Patience and faith.

“He says that you can wait in the room down the hall. They will be ready to start in an hour or two,” Shiaraqa said.

We were led to a small room where Shiaraqa started a movie on a television. He explained that all the characters were cartoons made on a computer. Then he translated the first part of the show for us until he and Captain Mindy went to eat. Najib was invited along, but he shook his head and stayed with me. I was very hungry, but of course I wasn’t allowed to eat or do anything that might interfere with the operation. Instead, I watched this program about how a rich American boy’s toys come to life when nobody is looking and have adventures all around his giant house.

“Khalid and Habib would like to watch these toy army men.” It was only the second thing Najib had said to me since we left Farah.

I laughed. “Bale, Najib. But Habib might be afraid of the little, fat brown rock man. The way his stick-on eyes and ears keep falling off.”

My brother shrugged. “Rock man? I thought he was supposed to be donkey poop.”

We both laughed at this. I couldn’t remember a time I had seen Najib laugh that hard. It was good to see him so happy.

The laughter helped me relax. I didn’t know if the surgery would work, but the Americans were going to give it a try. This was my chance to be normal, to maybe one day be a happy bride, smiling at the reflection of my husband in the mirror, the way my beautiful sister had smiled at her wedding. It was really going to happen.

Finally, Captain Mindy returned with Shiaraqa. “She says the doctor is ready.”

I followed them down the hall. My brother gently touched my shoulder. I turned to him and he bent down to whisper to me. “I will pray for you, Zulaikha. You are a good sister.” He squeezed my shoulder.

Captain Mindy took my right hand in hers. She smiled down at me. “Don’t be afraid.” Shiaraqa translated her soft words, some of the warmth in her English also coming through in his Dari. “You won’t feel a thing, and we’ll all be right here with you when you wake up.”

I walked into a cold room with bright lights over a table in its center. Dr. Akamura wore a green uniform with a little mask hanging from his neck.

I was asked to go behind a curtain to change into a funny dress that tied in the back. I was very careful to keep my backside hidden away from everyone. Captain Mindy must have understood what I was nervous about, because she helped to hold the dress closed while I slid up on the table. I was cold, and I felt scared and naked in that tiny dress. This was true. But if I had to wear that stupid thing for the Americans to fix me, it was something I’d have to live with.

I looked for Najib and found him standing next to Shiaraqa at the edge of the room. An American woman who was wearing the same blue-green outfit as the doctor gently pushed me back on the table. Shiaraqa told me that the doctor wanted me to lie down, breathe deeply, and relax. Were they crazy? How could I relax at this moment?

The rest happened quickly. A little cold wet cloth was rubbed in a circle on my arm. Shiaraqa warned me I would feel a little pinch, and then I sucked in a breath as a needle was pushed into my arm. Captain Mindy spoke in English. I couldn’t understand her words, but the soft sounds she made helped me calm down. She slowly breathed in and out, and I did the same.

A plastic mask was placed over my face. Shiaraqa said again that Dr. Akamura wanted me to breathe deep, relax, and go to sleep. So I breathed deep. I tried to relax. But as excited as I was, I knew I would never sleep.