Naveed Page 10

  So a word of appreciation would be nice, Naveed thinks. But he bites his tongue. He knows only too well that Akmed has reasons for being the way he is – dark reasons that cut to his very soul, reasons that made him run away to Pakistan and bury himself in a madrasa for all that time.

  Anoosheh stirs and huffs. Naveed can see that she is still upset. And perhaps Akmed feels the tension as well, for in the very next moment he speaks again.

  ‘What am I saying? How rude of me. Bebakhshid – sorry. It is you three I should be thanking. I’d forgotten how good food can taste. Ah, such memories.’

  Naveed hears the sadness in his cousin’s voice. He glances at him and is surprised to see that Akmed is staring straight back. As far as he can recall, his cousin has not once looked directly at any of them for more than a moment. Even when laying down the law about hip hopping, he didn’t look Anoosheh in the eye, or anyone else for that matter. But now he is definitely peering into Naveed’s eyes, searching them as he continues talking.

  ‘You have been most kind and made me feel very welcome. I know I am a burden and that you do not really want me here, but—’

  ‘No, Akmed,’ Naveed interrupts. ‘We—’

  ‘Please allow me to finish, cousin. I have wanted to say this all evening, and cannot rest until I have.’ Akmed puts down the Quran. ‘I want you to understand that you need not worry. I will not trouble you for long. As I said, I ask for only a few days. Then I will be gone, I promise.’

  For the first time Naveed actually senses a real person in his cousin. It’s as if there’s someone trapped behind the eyes staring back at him. But he doesn’t know how to reply. It is his mother who speaks.

  ‘You must not say such things, nephew, let alone think them. You will always be welcome under our roof, however humble it might be. You will always be welcome to eat with us, however meagre our food. You will always be in our thoughts and hearts, for you are the son of my husband’s brother. You are family, Akmed.’

  Naveed feels proud of his mother, and ashamed of his own negative thoughts towards his cousin.

  ‘Thank you, aunty,’ Akmed replies. ‘Your kindness is great, may Allah bless you. May Allah bless all of you. I am not worthy of such kindness.’ He stands, the Quran in his hand again. ‘And now, if you do not mind, I will take a walk in the night.’

  ‘Do you wish me to come as well?’ asks Naveed, getting to his feet.

  ‘Please, no.’ Akmed shakes his head. ‘It is not necessary, cousin. And I will not be good company, anyway, for I wish to speak with God.’ He makes his way awkwardly towards the door. ‘Do not wait up for me. I will be some time.’ He bows his head and leaves the room.

  Chapter 25

  As soon as Akmed has gone Anoosheh utters a long sigh and pretends to tear out her hair.

  ‘Ayee! He’s awful. Please make him not return. I don’t think I can take another second of him.’

  ‘That’s enough, daughter,’ her mother whispers, pressing a finger to her lips.

  ‘Don’t worry, Madar, he won’t hear me. He’ll be too busy talking to God.’

  ‘Stop it, Anoosheh, this moment!’

  ‘Why? Why should we have to put up with—’

  ‘There are many reasons. Because he is family. Because he was not always like this. And because he has suffered. Believe me, daughter, Akmed has suffered.’

  Anoosheh lets out a bitter laugh. ‘What? And I haven’t, Madar?’

  ‘Of course you have, my darling. But your suffering is not an excuse to ignore the suffering of others. Indeed, it should make you more sympathetic to their plight.’

  Anoosheh’s mother sits down next to her daughter.

  ‘You didn’t know the other Akmed. Naveed did, though only briefly. He was a wonderful boy, so full of life and fun. That Akmed would have hip hopped with you all night. He only had to open his mouth and he made us all laugh. Your father loved him greatly.’

  ‘Impossible, Madar. He—’

  ‘Shush, child. It was the accident that changed him. That’s what the Americans called it – an unfortunate accident. His sister’s wedding was mistakenly targeted as a Taliban gathering by one of their drones. Akmed’s three sisters, one brother and both parents were all killed – his entire family. There was nothing left. Only Akmed survived, barely. There was a big gash across his neck where a piece of shrapnel almost decapitated him. It is just a scar now, but a much bigger wound inside hasn’t even begun to heal. Perhaps it never will.’

  Anoosheh’s mother stands.

  ‘That was the day the happy Akmed died. If only you’d known him, little Noosh. If only.’

  The three of them clean up in silence, washing and drying the dishes in the outside alcove. Nasera sits in the lane, watching them, aware of the change in the family.

  Later, as they lie on their toshaks, Anoosheh breaks the silence.

  ‘You know the saddest thing about our country?’ Her question hangs in the dark for a while. ‘There is nothing special about Akmed’s story. It is everywhere.’

  Naveed falls asleep clutching his own good news deep in his heart, a little beacon of hope.

  Don’t worry, Padar, I’ll tell them soon enough. When the time is right.

  Naveed sits up, shaken from his deep sleep by a noise. A scream, he thinks, and listens intently in the dark. Almost immediately it’s there again, a shriek of fear. Outside.

  ‘Komak!’

  It’s his cousin yelling for help. Naveed scrambles to his feet, rushes across the room and out into the night. Akmed is on the ground in the lane, cringing against a wall, blubbering like a terrified child.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ The ghostly shape of Nasera stands beside him. ‘Gom shoo – go away!’

  Nasera is not harming Akmed in any way. She’s not even growling. In fact as far as Naveed can see all she’s doing is sniffing him. He calls her off at once.

  ‘Come,’ he snaps, slapping the side of his leg. ‘Here to me.’

  Nasera immediately pulls back and joins Naveed.

  Akmed stands. ‘I thought she would tear me to pieces.’

  ‘I’m sorry, cousin, but she was only protecting us. And she wouldn’t have harmed you unless you tried to harm us.’ Naveed steps towards Akmed. ‘Please, don’t be frightened. She won’t hurt you, not with me here.’

  Akmed relaxes a little but still watches the dog warily. Nasera is stretching her neck towards him, her nose testing the air.

  ‘Why is she doing that?’

  Naveed laughs. ‘She likes you, that’s all. And a lot, by the look of it.’ He pats the dog and pulls her away. ‘Enough, girl. Go to bed.’

  Nasera eyes Akmed for a moment, then does as she’s told, curling up next to her ragdoll.

  ‘Come, cousin,’ Naveed adds. ‘You need to sleep as well. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘I am indeed,’ Akmed says with a yawn. ‘More than you can know.’

  They enter the house and bid each other goodnight. But although it is late and Akmed claims to be exhausted, he doesn’t fall asleep immediately, Naveed can tell by his breathing. And he can see his cousin’s outline in the dark, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, hands crossed over his chest.

  It is almost an hour before Naveed’s cousin sighs, rolls onto his side and falls asleep.

  When Naveed wakes in the morning, Akmed has already gone. There is no sign of him, his toshak gone. It’s as if yesterday and last night never happened.

  ‘Do you think he’s gone for good?’ Anoosheh asks over breakfast.

  ‘I hope not,’ her mother replies. ‘He’s such a troubled soul. I hope we can help him.’

  Naveed says nothing. He can’t decide how he feels about his cousin. One part of Akmed upsets Naveed, even angers him. Another part makes him feel great pity. And the shadow he has left in the house prevents Naveed from revealing the good news he has. He longs to tell his mother and Anoosheh all about what he’s been doing at Bagram with Nasera, what an amazing dog she is, and how he could hav
e a proper job from it all, one that he would feel really proud of.

  Perhaps this afternoon, or this evening, he tells himself as he finishes breakfast and stands.

  ‘Come on, little sister,’ he says. ‘Time for school.’

  Chapter 26

  The traffic is much busier than usual on the road that leads past Anoosheh’s school. The vehicles seem more edgy and aggressive. Naveed makes his sister stay with him as they negotiate their way on the narrow side-strip meant for pedestrians but often used by impatient drivers. And there are plenty of those today. More than once they have to flatten themselves against a building or fence as a vehicle roars past, horn blaring, dust and gravel whipped up behind it.

  ‘I’ve never seen it so busy,’ Naveed says. ‘There must be something big on in town today.’

  When they reach the school, people are standing about talking excitedly. The principal, Mr Farzin, is near the front gate speaking to a large group.

  ‘There is a big demonstration at Bagram Airfield,’ he explains.

  ‘What about?’ someone asks.

  ‘I cannot say for sure. All I know is that people are angry, and the Americans are very nervous. My advice to all of you is to stay away. The situation could become dangerous.’

  Naveed doesn’t take the principal’s advice. He decides to find out for himself what’s going on, and so makes his way into town. Before he is even close to Bagram Airfield he can hear the chanting and yelling. Cries of ‘Allahu Akbar – God is greater’ echo across town, mixed with shouts of ‘Die, foreigners, die!’ and ‘Burn the blasphemers!’

  When he eventually reaches the base Naveed is shocked by the size of the crowd, and glad that he has left Nasera at home. There are thousands of people, mainly men – especially young ones – but boys as well, many younger than Naveed. People line the streets and roads. They stand on the rickety roofs of shacks and shanties, cram onto verandas and staircases, shaking their fists and howling abuse at the soldiers. Others press against rolls of razor wire and the mesh fences around the base, screaming their anger and hatred.

  A black pall of acrid smoke rises from a pile of flaming tyres onto which the protestors throw anything that will burn. They hurl rocks and petrol bombs at the base; they fire slingshots, catapults and antiquated hunting rifles. They strike at the security fence with farming implements, lumps of wood, lengths of metal pipe, anything they can find.

  Guards in the watchtowers respond with rubber bullets, but this does nothing to quell the rising tide of violence; it only infuriates the demonstrators even more. Groups hide behind concrete blast blocks and Hesco bags to fire their makeshift weapons; they squat behind market stalls, overturned tables and vehicles.

  A life-size scarecrow figure is held high on a wooden pole, arms and legs flopping about, an American flag hanging from its neck. The crowd cheers as the figure is plunged into the bonfire and catches alight. As it burns it is paraded through the street to even louder cheers before being thrown to the ground and stamped upon in a frenzy.

  A young man leaps onto the back of a truck; Naveed guesses he’s Taliban, but can’t be sure. An older man whose hands and arms are bandaged to the elbow is helped up as well. He weeps, pressing his bandaged hands to his face. The younger man comforts him and then steps forward cradling a copy of the Quran that has been partially burned, its cover and many of its pages blackened and charred. His face taut with fury, he raises the book to his lips and kisses it. Then he turns to the crowd.

  ‘They have done it again, these foreign serpents that have slithered into our land and poisoned us with their evil ways.’ He holds the book high. ‘See! They have defiled the sacred word of Allah yet again.’

  ‘Allahu Akbar!’ the crowd roars in reply. Naveed glances about and sees anger and hate on the faces all around him.

  ‘Two years ago they were caught burning God’s word. Now we have caught them again. For all we know they have been doing it all the time in there, behind those walls. Truly their evil knows no bounds. We must visit Allah’s wrath upon them.’

  ‘Allahu Akbar!’ The crowd roars again, louder, their voices pushing in on Naveed. He moves closer to the truck, his eyes fixed on the young man.

  ‘This is only one of many holy books they have desecrated. Last night, under the cover of darkness, like the cowards they are, they threw untold numbers of the sacred book into a pit and turned their foul fires upon them.’

  ‘Death to the foreign devils,’ the crowd chants until the young man holds up his hands.

  ‘And they would have got away with their evil crime had it not been for our brother here.’ He draws the older man forward and has him raise his arms in the air. ‘This brave man leaped into that pit of fire to save Allah’s holy words. See how he weeps? That is because there were many books he could not pull from the flames. His hands would have been burned away. Do not torture yourself, brother. Allah knows you did your best, and blesses you.’

  He embraces the older man and then presents him to the cheering crowd. A group lifts the bandaged man from the back of the truck and carries him off on their shoulders, singing his praises and cursing the foreigners. Their curses swarm around Naveed, forcing their way into his head. Into his heart.

  ‘But that is still not all these dogs have done to despoil our holiest of books,’ the young man goes on, his voice louder than ever. ‘Oh no. They have torn out pages. They have ripped them to pieces. They have trampled them into the dirt. And then—’ The young man stops. He closes his eyes and his face trembles. ‘It so sickens me to think on this that I cannot even utter the exact words. But believe me when I tell you – they have committed the foulest of acts upon Allah’s words.’ He takes a deep breath and screams: ‘The foulest of acts!’

  The crowd around the truck bursts into a frenzy of abuse. Some rush to the perimeter fence and join those pounding upon it. Others grab anything they can lay their hands on – stones, bricks, wood, anything – and hurl it at the military base in blind frustration and fury. Others still march off to spread the young man’s revelations.

  Naveed is stunned, sickened by what he’s heard. He wanders off, staring at the ground, body shaking, insides churning, mind a whirlpool. His tears make everything a blur – the base, the protestors, his whole world.

  All that unspeakable evil was probably going on while he was in there with Nasera throughout the week. And Mr Jake would have known. He must have known, that’s where he lives. And yet he said nothing. Naveed suddenly feels dirty, disgusted that he could ever have had anything to do with the military base.

  ‘Pit of filth!’ That’s what the young man on the back of the truck said. ‘Den of infidels!’ That’s what everyone yelled. What was he thinking, going in there and letting them fill his head with ideas? Blasphemers! He’s been cheated, that’s what’s happened. The hope that Mr Jake held out to him was nothing but a lie, a trick to lure him in and make him one of them.

  Tricked! Mr Jake was only pretending to be his friend. All along he was just part of the huge military monster ravaging their country in the name of freedom and democracy. Part of the great big lie.

  Naveed lifts his gaze and looks about. His tears have cleared a little and he sees that he’s near the front of a crowd in the narrow approach to Entry Control Point One. A temporary wall of Hesco bags and razor wire holds them back as they shout abuse and threats. About a hundred metres ahead is a heavily armed force of American soldiers, backed by a squad of turtleback Humvees, their weapons trained on the protestors.

  Naveed stares at the soldiers, anger and confusion stewing in him, stirred by the chanting all around. He opens his mouth to scream out loud like everyone else. But then he sees Mr Jake, and chokes on his own pain and fury.

  Chapter 27

  ‘I just want to know exactly what happened last night.’ Jake is standing with Private Horten at Entry Control Point One.

  Horten shrugs. ‘A few books got torched, that’s all.’

  ‘A few holy books, you mean. Qu
rans.’

  ‘Quran, Shmuran. What is it with these freakin’ hajis? It’s just a book, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘No, Horten. It’s much more than a book to Muslims. The Quran is a sacred object. It’s Allah’s word direct, you know, straight from the big dude’s mouth.’

  ‘Huh! I betcha half of them can’t even read.’

  ‘That’s beside the point. They know that burning the Quran is an outright insult to their God. It’s about the worst thing you can do. That’s why they’re so upset, mate. If a big part of this war is winning hearts and minds, we’ve just shot ourselves in the foot real bad.’

  ‘Okay, I grant you there are some people out there who are genuinely upset, and my heart bleeds for them. Boo hoo. But I also reckon there’s a damn sight more who just want an excuse to fight us. And we ain’t never gonna win their hearts and minds.’

  ‘Sure, but burning their holy book is just playing into the extremists’ hands, and they know how to whip the others up. Take a look. They’ve got the crowd pumped, mate.’

  ‘You’re not wrong.’ Horten nods, giving Jake a friendly thump. ‘But you know what? I couldn’t give a damn, ’cause in a couple of days I’m out of this hole. And I ain’t coming back.’ He whoops with delight. ‘Oooooeeee! Utah, here I come.’ He grabs Jake in a bear hug. ‘I’m going home, Aussie. Eat your heart out.’

  Jake laughs as Horten wrestles with him, but eventually breaks free and turns towards the mob of protestors.

  He sees a wall of shaking fists, a wall of faces contorted with fury, hurling abuse. Mostly young men, but there are kids as well; so many, he thinks, as he scans the scene. Too young to have such hate in their hearts.

  Suddenly one face catches his eye. He stops and stares hard.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Horten asks, readying his M16.

  ‘It’s Naveed.’

  ‘You mean that kid you’ve been helping out, the one with the dog? The one that sold me the D-30 shell?’