Flowers from Afghanistan Read online

  Travis studied the far “T” wall, a cement reinforced barrier that encircled the camp. “I don’t know. It’s making me think. I even sent Tricia an e-mail apologizing for her birthdays I’ve missed. I have to try harder, maybe send some flowers.”

  His earnestness almost disarmed me. I wished I could go back to that place in time where my relationship with Sophie could be fixed solely by a bouquet of flowers. But flowers were for funeral homes. Memories of the musty smell of a room overflowing with flowers filled my head. My temples pounded. My polo shirt clung to me like a sweaty second skin, and a dark tunnel of panic threatened to close in on me. Panic attacks were becoming a daily occurrence.

  Now it was my turn to contemplate the “T” wall. The cement blast protector shimmered in the heat. Chunks were missing in sections. Circular reminders of the impact of past rocket propelled grenades. “Flowers aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” I rose from the bench, turned sharply on my heels, and headed for the tent. Each crunch of gravel under my boots was a declaration. I shoved through the gritty door of our tent and stomped down the dark, narrow hallway to my room, such as it was.

  Seven by seven feet, if you rounded up. My cot hugged one canvas wall. If my arm happened to flop over the side of the mattress at night, the enemy would be able to spot me from the bulge. At least I wasn’t sleeping on the ground underneath some MRAP like many of my buddies. I settled down at my desk and fired up my laptop. Stupid, slow connection.

  A white U.S. Postal box poked out from under my cot and I retrieved it while waiting for the Internet to load. Sophie’s care package from home. I dug around in the box. My hand closed on the smooth stick of a grape sucker. She remembered. The wrapper crinkled under my fingers, and I shoved the lollipop in the corner of my mouth. Artificial tang puckered my lips. I rolled the candy around, savoring it.

  A video game was loading on my computer when Travis burst through my door. “Hey, I’m sorry if I upset you. I wasn’t making a comment on you and Sophie.”

  “Look, you didn’t upset me, but I work hard. That’s how I show her I love her,” I said. “We’re over here in tents, share a shower house with five hundred other men, toilets that back up every other day. Has the irony escaped you that the scum we used to arrest back home had it better in jail than we do here?” I leaned back, head pounding. “Flowers,” I said, slowly, squeezing my eyes shut to prevent the vision of the funeral home from returning, “are empty gestures. I’m paying off our bills. What more does she want?” I opened my eyes.

  Travis had retreated to the doorway. He propped hands on either side of the frame. “That’s the question I used to ask. On my last leave, Tricia had to stay with her mother for a few days. I began to see how hollow that house felt when there was only one person there. My arguments about how useless gifts and flowers were seemed weak compared to Tricia’s faithfulness.”

  I twisted around, showed Travis my back. Eyes burned. I reached down and fumbled with the care package. “Want some candy?”

  Travis exhaled and moved across the room. “Sure.” He stuffed the pop in the pocket of his BDUs. “Thanks. While we’re on the subject of wives, do you realize every time you want to avoid confrontation you escape to that computer?”

  OK, that was it. Did this guy think he was my shrink? I leveled my gaze at him with a look that said, “Back off.” Evidently, he was not reading me because he forged on.

  “Yes, you do. You’re always playing that game.”

  I chewed the last of the candy down to the stick and pitched it toward the wastebasket next to Travis. “Now you’re starting to sound like Sophie.”

  Travis dodged the stick, and it plunked into the can. “We all have our escapes but if I were Sophie and you did that to me, well, no wonder she’s not happy with you.”

  When the door closed, I reached for my care package, unwrapped another pop, and started a new game.

  6

  Dust touched everything, even the morning colors of the sky. It was wild and beautiful. The sun was a searing, orange haze.

  I slid my sunglasses on, which I’d bought cheap off a fellow worker returning home. With people coming and going constantly there was always a fair amount of trade going on for equipment. One could find pretty much anything one needed if the word got out. When I made my way to Travis’s door, he was just locking up. Rumbling in my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before except for that granola bar I’d scarfed down just before sleep. I couldn’t wait for Travis, so I walked down the gravel path to where a line was already forming outside the dining facility.

  Travis eventually caught up. “Hey,” he called from behind me in line. “Meet me under LSU.”

  I grabbed my tray and slid it down to where they were dishing hot eggs off the griddle.

  Risaldo motioned to me with his spatula. His starched white garrison hat bobbed as he nodded a greeting.

  “Three over easy,” I said.

  “No can do. I have to cook eggs well.”

  “What’s with the well-done business?” I asked Reynolds who was ahead of me in line.

  He shook his head.

  “Salmonella. They’re afraid of food poisoning.”

  “Breakfast is the only meal I look forward to around here.”

  Reynolds’ mouth turned up in a wry grin. “You won’t look forward to breakfast anymore if you end up with your keister parked on a toilet for three days.”

  Risaldo impatiently tapped the spatula on the griddle. “Come on, man. The line’s backing up behind you.”

  “Point taken. Give me three over well then, and two scrambled.” Phoenix would appreciate eggs, too.

  Glenn had already settled in under the purple and gold LSU Tiger banner where we usually congregated. The dining facility was decorated throughout with college and professional football flags. Anything they did to make it seem like home helped.

  “Morning.” I slid my tray down the table and settled into a chair.

  “Morning.” Glenn took a long drink of orange juice and set his cup down heavily. He had dark circles under his eyes. Looked like his razor was broken, too.

  “How’s your new boarder?”

  “He didn’t sleep much, kept whining, so I’ll make sure he has enough to eat today. I think he was hungry last night.”

  “Yeah, I heard him. Those plywood walls aren’t soundproof, you know.” Glenn rested his hand on his knee and leaned in closer. “I’d be very cautious if I were you. Animals are not allowed in the tents.”

  My abs tightened. Fingers gripped the bumpy cardboard tray. “I’m aware.”

  “Look, it’s no skin off my nose if you want to keep that hairy little poop bag in your room. I’m just saying, there are those who would love to have you strung up over something as inconsequential as that.” Glenn nodded in the direction of a short, sandy-haired figure across the room.

  He ate alone, hunched over his tray. He reminded me of turkey vultures back home, crouching over road kill.

  “That’s Lieutenant Stockton. He’s got the room between Travis and me,” Glenn said. “And he treats contractors like garbage you would scrape off your shoe. Best stay clear of him.”

  “I’ll keep the puppy quiet.”

  Glenn shrugged. “Good luck.”

  I spooned scrambled eggs into a disposable container then started working on those fried eggs before they got cold.

  Travis stared from the bowl to me and back again.

  “Planning a mid-morning snack?”

  “For Phoenix.”

  “Is that what you call him?”

  “Yeah, what do you think?”

  “I like it. Fits him. Out of the ashes and all that.”

  Glenn made no effort to conceal his amusement.

  I pushed my chair back and moved across the room to the dessert stand. Sophie would have a fit if she knew I had ice cream for breakfast, but the way I figured it, whatever comforts we got that reminded us of home was worth it. I was pouring a stream of caram
el over my concoction when out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of blue.

  A blast echoed off the wall.

  It happened so quickly my instincts lagged.

  People around me dove to the floor, plastic chairs bounced against table legs. The metallic clatter of weapons resounded in unison.

  I drew my M9 and rolled to the floor with the rest of the soldiers.

  Risaldo tumbled to the floor under a stack of serving containers.

  A supply line had split loose and flailed madly around the room, hissing like a cobra.

  Relief coursed through me like a wave. I thought I had prepared myself for coming here. It would be ludicrous to think I’d be a year in Afghanistan and never come under attack. Still, when the confusion and noise were upon me, it was quite a different thing. I was secretly relieved it was a supply hose rather than the Taliban. I holstered my weapon and crawled across the floor, wrestled the writhing hose into submission. “What happened?” I asked Risaldo, as he scurried around on the floor, gathering scattered utensils.

  “I tripped and hit a supply line. Can’t seem to stay out of trouble.” He grabbed a metal spoon from under the counter just as the boots of the kitchen supervisor entered my field of vision. They planted themselves before me, and my eyes traveled up into his bloodshot eyes. He flexed his husky arms in agitation.

  He glanced from me to Risaldo.

  Risaldo continued to gather the utensils and pans he’d dropped. He didn’t deserve to be called out in front of a room of soldiers. His only sin was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Hey,” I yelled over the hissing of air that whistled from the black hose.

  The supervisor turned his glare on me.

  “Looks like a pressurized line busted loose off some equipment.”

  The supervisor nodded his head, seeming content with my assessment. He exited to the rear of the kitchen, and within a minute the hissing stopped. The hose sagged to the floor.

  Risaldo stood and wiped his hands on a towel. “I told them that clamp was loose.”

  “Sorry for the interruption. No one’s been injured.”

  All around us, soldiers scrambled up off the floor, emerged from behind serving displays, and began eating as if nothing happened.

  I think that shook me more than the explosion. Danger was so commonplace, soldiers returned to eating quickly. I wondered if I would become so hardened.

  Risaldo extended his hand to me, teeth flashed in a broad smile. “Hey, thanks, man. I owe you. I’ll have to think of some way to repay you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll think of an option.” I studied his hand-stitched cowboy boots.

  Risaldo’s eyes traveled to his own feet. “No way, these are Italian leather. Ordered them from Austin. Took me three months to receive them.”

  “What size are they?”

  “Elevens, but they aren’t negotiable.”

  “Say the next attack is for real, and you don’t make it. I get your boots?”

  Risaldo looked stricken.

  “Just kidding. Besides, they’re the wrong size,” I said.

  Risaldo relaxed and clapped me on the back. “Thanks, man.”

  I navigated my way across the room and wiped my spilled ice cream off the floor.

  Glenn gathered his empty tray from the table. “It’s been fun, boys, but I have to go. See you in class.”

  “I’m outta here, too.” Fresh air would do me good. My hands shook from adrenaline. I pushed the exit door open, discarded my trash in the recycling barrels, and headed toward my tent.

  The minute I pushed the main door open I heard Phoenix’s high-pitched bark. It echoed off the plywood-lined walls and down the hallway. I needed to find a way to keep him quiet. I unlocked my door and pushed it open. The puppy ran circles around my feet. I shooed him into the room and closed the door. “Little man, I’m glad to see you, too. Look what I brought you.” I pulled the container out of my pocket and fed bits of cold scrambled egg to the ravenous puppy. His needle-like teeth scraped my fingers as he nuzzled rubbery eggs from my hand. “I won’t let you starve. Those days are over.”

  Phoenix licked the last bit of eggs from my hand.

  It was then I noticed the destruction he had wreaked on my room. I must have left a bag of pops out because the paper was chewed off every pop. Some were barely touched, and some were chewed down. Even the sticks were missing, except for a stub here and there.

  I’d prepare for an epic case of diarrhea in the puppy. I ruffled the fur on Phoenix’s neck. At least he smelled like soap instead of sour burn pit. I swept up the mess, Phoenix at my heels. He tried to play tug of war with the frayed ends of the straw broom, and the sight made me draw in a deep breath and laugh. I pulled the door shut and caught up with Travis walking briskly down the hallway. “New students today?”

  “Yeah. Glenn’s walking them in from the front gate.” Travis scratched at his beard. “No telling how many are Taliban.”

  The thought was sobering. Unconsciously, I patted the side pockets on my vest, the gear we called our kit. “You carrying extra magazines?”

  Travis nodded. “Taliban manage to slip through the screening process into some of the classes, though the students are all vetted. We know it. I’m not sure what the higherups believe.” He cast a sideways glance at me. “We’re the ones who’ll get a bullet to the head if we turn our backs on students at the firing range.” He paused and studied my face as if sizing me up.

  I knew the look. I’d seen it on many of my partners’ faces back home at the precinct. He wanted to see if he could depend on me to watch his back.

  “So, keep one eye on the material you’re teaching and another on the students at all times.”

  I started to crack a joke to relieve the tension, but when I looked into Travis’s usually happy face, fine lines of strain crept around his mouth and eyes. That drained the last bit of mischief out of any comment I wanted to make. A somber purposefulness settled over me.

  Travis paused at the door to the academy. “It’ll be a long day. The first day always is. We have to translate everything, not only into Pashto, but also Dari. It usually takes twice as long to get everything across.”

  I didn’t want to start a full week of teaching off on a wrong note. I fumbled around in my mind for anything positive to say. I turned the handle to the door but stopped. A recent conversation I’d had sprang to mind, one that made sacrifices here a little more bearable. “Travis, you want to hear a neat story?”

  He paused before entering the building. “What?”

  I cracked the door open and watched our newest students file into the classroom. They were chatting excitedly. They wanted to be here. Just outside the gate, their families were in danger every day. IEDs threatened even a trip to the local market to buy vegetables. These men were doing what they could, all they could, to secure peace in a fragile country. I always studied my students. It was a long-term habit I picked up when I was a Field Training Officer in Huntsville. Tried to find out what new recruits enjoyed, what I could do better to keep their attention. “Two days ago, I asked a student what his favorite class was. Can you guess what he said?”

  Travis took the bait. The worry lines smoothed out on his face as he pondered my question. “Dynamic Entry? Range?”

  I could feel the grin that broke out on my face. “Nope. He said ‘Literacy.’”

  “Literacy?” Travis sounded incredulous.

  “Yeah, so I asked through the interpreter, ‘Why Literacy?’ and you know what the guy said? He said, ‘Because I learned to write my father’s name.’” I delivered the punch line with deep satisfaction. We were making a difference.

  Travis whistled low through his teeth. He got it.

  7

  “Man, I need a haircut,” I said.

  Travis bobbed his head to my right.

  I moved my head to the left. Then I realized he was using my sunglasses as a mirror. The man always worried about how he looked. It was funny when
one realized there was no one here to impress, just a bunch of stinking guys. I guess he was staying in practice for when he went home on leave to see Tricia.

  “Come on. Let’s check the barbershop and see how long the wait is.” Travis ambled ahead of me down the gravel path.

  The sky was pale blue. The intimidating frame of the Hindu Kush Mountains loomed in the distance. Even in summer, veins of snow cut through the mountain top, carving sharp valleys. Back home what we called mountains were hills compared to the hulking white-capped giants that bordered Kandahar.

  We pushed the door to the barbershop open, and I stopped short. The line for haircuts already stretched wall to wall, and there were only two barbers. At eight by fourteen feet, the barbershop didn’t take many people to fill, and it was at capacity that day.

  I know Sophie liked my hair long, but it would grow again once I returned home.

  Travis jammed in behind me and wedged the door shut. He glanced around the room and waved his hand toward the barber on the left. “That’s Gul Hadi. Best barber here. Try and get in his line if you can.”

  A dark-haired rascal tapped a soccer ball noisily against the wall.

  Travis followed my line of vision and nodded toward the boy. “And that is four-year-old Bashir, Gul’s son. Gul’s been bringing him to work since the kid was old enough to walk.”

  Bashir pushed his straight, licorice-colored hair out of his eyes. He kicked the ball mightily with his spindly brown leg.

  My skin prickled when he paused and looked up at me. His eyes were green. Like my son’s.

  A sergeant in line next to me called to the boy in Dari. The little guy tucked the ball under his arm and trotted over. His even, white teeth shone brightly against nut colored skin. He grinned even wider when the soldier pulled a package of red licorice from his cargo pants and placed them in the boy’s outstretched hand.

  Travis frowned. “You’ll spoil that kid.” But I could tell by the tone of his voice he heartily approved.

  The soldier chuckled softly. “I’d give him that and a whole lot more if I could.”