Same Day

Having slept for the first time in three days, Leo sat up awkwardly, his muscles aching. The cramps were still painful. His hands trembled from dehydration, lack of food, exhaustion. His lips were cracked, his skin broken. His nails were black with dirt. His hair was wild. Without the aid of a mirror, he began to tidy himself up. He used a splintered match to scrape the dirt from his nails, one by one, a thick line of grime accumulating on the match, wiped on the ground. Using a cup of cold water he made an attempt at washing his face, picking the patches of dry skin from his lips and straightening his hair.

The voice inside him demanding opium was a constant nagging rather than a deafening demand, now quieter – more like a distant whisper. He felt strong enough to ignore it. Another voice had returned, his own, and it demanded he concentrate on the matter at hand, escape, not into an opium seclusion, but escape from their predicament. First, he needed to assess his situation: he was not sure how many soldiers there were in this base. He was not even sure where they were located.

As his thoughts turned to the possibility of escape a question arose: to where and to what end? For so many years his life had been directionless, it was hard to remember a time when he was driven by dreams and ambitions of his own. He could no longer drift through days and weeks, in a haze of opium smoke. There were decisions to be made. He had a new family to look after. The plans of the Soviet defector returned to his thoughts, the aspiration of crossing the border into Pakistan and taking asylum with the Americans, seeking their protection in exchange for the information he had about the occupation of Afghanistan. It would serve two ends: survival and an opportunity to reach New York. Yet while that option would protect Nara and Zabi, there would be grave risks to his daughters in Moscow if he defected. His mind had grown slack with opiate-laziness and was unaccustomed to such dilemmas. Sensing the enormity of the journey ahead, Leo felt hungry, a sensation one that yesterday he would’ve sworn he’d never experience again.

Nara and Zabi were sitting at the mouth of the cave. He joined them, discreetly noting his surroundings and the number of soldiers. The girls were eating shlombeh, milk curd with flat bread studded with spices. Though he felt better, he decided against milk curd, instead ripping pieces of the warm flat bread. He ate slowly, chewing carefully. The dough was dense and pungently seasoned with crushed cardamom seeds. He ripped another fragment, the oil turning his fingertips yellow. Watching him eat, the young girl said:

—Are you better now?

Leo finished chewing before replying.

—Much better.

—What was wrong with you?

—I was sick.

Nara said to Zabi:

—Let him eat.

But Zabi continued her questioning.

—What were you sick with?

—Sometimes a person can become sick from giving up. They’re not suffering from a disease. They have no sense of purpose, or direction, despair can make a person sick.

Zabi concentrated on everything he said as carefully as if it was the wisdom of an ancient professor. She noted:

—You speak my language very well for an invader.

Zabi was forthright, blunt in her observations and fearless for a girl without a family, so far from home, a home that she’d witnessed being destroyed. Leo answered:

—When I arrived in this country I was a guest. There was no Soviet army. No military garrisons. And I set about learning your language. But you are right. Now that my country has invaded, I am no longer a guest.

—Is Len-In your god?

Leo smiled at the way in which she pronounced the name. He gently shook his head.

—No, Lenin is not my god. How did you know that name?

Zabi took another spoonful of the milk curd.

—A friend told me. He was going to compose a poem. He’s dead now. He died in the attack. My family is dead too.

—I know.

Zabi made no more mention of her family or the attack that had killed them. She ate the milk curd without any showing any outward display of grief. She possessed a degree of introspection unusual in a young child, perhaps a form of retreat from the horror of the events she’d witnessed. She would need help. She was in shock. At the moment, she was behaving as though events unfolding were quite normal. Unsure what to say to her, he noted the burns on Zabi’s hands and arms and head – they’d been freshly covered with an ointment. He asked:

—May I?

He took her arm and smelled the ointment.

—What is it?

Zabi said:

—It stops the burns from itching. So I don’t scratch them and they can heal, that’s what Nara says.

—Where did you find the ointment? Did the soldiers give it to you?

Nara answered:

—We made it, while you were sleeping. From almond oil, boiled juniper berries and some flowers we found outside. The soldiers gave us the oil. We found the rest of the ingredients. Zabi insisted on the flowers.

Zabi added:

—We didn’t know what kind of flowers they were. I’ve never seen them before. I’ve never been this high up before. This is the first mountain I’ve climbed.

Nara stroked back Zabi’s hair.

—I tried to explain that just because something is pretty, it doesn’t make it harmless.

Zabi replied:

—Before I could use it in the medicine, she ate a flower, just to test to see if it was harmful. I watched her put it on her tongue and then swallow it. The petals were blue.

Zabi paused, looking at her fingers.

—Did you know that the colour red tastes bitter?

Without any preamble, apparently for no reason at all, she began to cry, unable to stop. Nara put an arm around her, careful to avoid her burns. Whatever Leo planned to do, he would have to do it with them. They would come with him. He would not leave them behind.