Flowers from Afghanistan Read online

  My hand automatically went to my cargo pockets, patting them down. I didn’t have a single pop on me. I needed to be better prepared next time. Thorstad would fail me if I were in his public relations class.

  Bashir ran up, stood at attention, and smiled.

  I held my hands out to show him they were empty. “Sorry. No candy today.”

  Gul called to Bashir, and he obediently ran to his father’s side.

  “Thorstad always has candy stashed away in his pockets,” I said quietly, more to myself than to Glenn.

  “He has a good heart, but he needs to keep his eyes open,” Glenn said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Blue on Green attacks are escalating. It’s gotten worse each year I’ve been here.”

  “Blue on Green. There are fears that the Taliban are infiltrating the Afghan National Army and police force,” I said. “Travis warned me about that.” Another irony. I couldn’t believe we had to protect ourselves from our own students.

  Bashir galloped around the patio, reminding me of something I wanted to ask Glenn, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t even know if I should. I glanced over at him.

  He stared into his empty coffee cup; his eyes looked distant.

  I took a deep breath and pressed my question. “You mentioned when we were gathering parts to make my chair that you don’t have a wife.”

  Almost imperceptibly, Glenn reached across his left hand. His fingers scratched nervously at his naked ring finger. “That is correct.”

  “Travis said you’d lost her.”

  Lines deepened on his forehead. His brows pulled together. It was the most transparent I’d seen Glenn since I met him. “She died four years ago. That’s what set me on this journey.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what caused her death?”

  “I’m sure if Travis mentioned it, he also told you she died of cancer.” Glenn’s voice had a warning edge to it.

  But I pressed on. I had to know. “How have you been able to handle it?”

  Glenn studied me as if I was just another criminal he’d arrested. The implication came too close to the truth. Maybe I was no better than most of the people I put behind bars. “So you are running. I suspected as much the first time I met you. Well, don’t worry. I won’t try and dig up your dirty little secret. I’m long past wanting to know about other people’s lives, other people’s misery. I have enough of my own ghosts to keep me company at night.”

  I tossed my empty cup in the trash barrel. Points if it were a basketball rim and not a metal oil drum. “Sometimes, I wake up at night and feel like I can’t breathe. I have this mind-crushing fear that I’ll never be able to get past it.” Words tumbled over each other. I sounded like the druggies I used to arrest, the ones who were desperate to get clean. “I need to know how you go on.” I hadn’t meant to sound as if I was pleading, but I was. I desperately wanted to go home a whole man. Travis had no frame of reference to help me. Glenn was the only one I knew who had been through a profound tragedy. Would he have an answer to guide me?

  Glenn gazed at the tarp that threw a blanket of shade on our table. He studied the canvas intently. His hand rested on the wooden table, fingers tapping out a beat, and he hummed a tune. The song nagged at me. Glenn’s voice cut into my thoughts. “We were married six years. Lauren was always the one who could make me laugh,” Glenn spoke, not so much to me. He seemed to be thinking of his late wife. “The first time we had company over for dinner, she made stew. It simmered all day. Onions, tomatoes, and chunks of beef.”

  My mouth watered. I wished myself back home in our little house on Wells Street, with Sophie’s meal on our table.

  “We were hungry,” Glenn continued. “We opened the pot and dished out stew. What I didn’t know was Lauren put in three times the amount of pepper.” Glenn rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. His laughter hinted of his mourning. “We tried so hard to eat that stew, but it wasn’t edible. Finally, we gave up and ordered pizza. Lauren was mortified. She’d embarrassed herself in front of her guests, and she’d tried so hard to have everything perfect.” Glenn looked across the patio, gaze scanning the cloud-covered mountains in the distance. “Lauren spoiled me.”

  He gathered himself and flipped his empty cup at the trash barrel. It bounced off the rim and landed in the dirt. “You ask how I go on? I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you. I’m not so sure I have gone on. I’m out here in this most desolate of places, like you, hiding. Your strength, and your Achilles heel, are that you hope in second chances. Sometimes life doesn’t give you a second chance. As I said, Afghanistan’s a harsh place. The world’s a harsh place. Do me a favor and don’t let yourself follow my path. Try to find something bright and shining to believe in, before your faith in humanity dies.” He turned and stalked away toward our tent. Swirling in the dry air in his wake, I caught words of the song that nagged at me. It was about being a wanderer.

  Was I becoming Glenn?

  14

  “Are you able to walk us to the gate? My workday is over,” Gul called across Green Bean’s patio to me.

  I nodded reluctantly. I didn’t have the heart to turn Gul down.

  Gul stood and noisily threw his cup away. He took Bashir by the hand and led him over to me. Normally, I’d be up for a visit. Gul was my window into Afghanistan. Our morning walks had become routine. I actually volunteered to do the walk-in of the students each day just so I’d be able to trade small talk with Gul. I loved talking to him about customs and hearing his wit. He was like-minded.

  But not today. I needed time alone to think about Glenn’s words, only it didn’t look as if I’d get that solitude. Gul had already changed into his civilian clothes. We picked our way over the loose gravel, headed in the direction of the front gate. Gul glanced at Bashir. He gave him instructions in Dari, waved his hand forward. He wanted Bashir out of earshot.

  The little guy kicked the ball into the air, bounced it off his knee, then trapped it when it hit the ground. He gladly ran on ahead of us. Our slow walking and talking inhibited his play.

  Gul stopped short. He turned to face me. The seriousness of his expression startled me. “Yak roz dee-dee doost, degar roz dee-dee baraadar. This means, the first day we are friends, the next day we are brothers.” Gul’s eyes reflected blue like the sky. There was no darkness in them, unlike the gloom in many of my students’ eyes. “You are my brother?” he asked.

  “Yes, we are brothers,” I said, slowly emphasizing each syllable, and I meant every word.

  That made Bashir my nephew. That was appropriate. He’d already carved a home in my heart.

  Gul glanced around to be sure no one was close enough to listen in on our conversation. He resumed a leisurely walk, his clothing swaying with each stride. He walked, hands clasped across his olive vest in thought. Perched on his head was a beige prayer cap, embroidered with cream-colored leaf designs. His wiry brows bunched together. Thirty years old, he looked much older than his years.

  I matched his steps, waiting patiently. After all our mornings together, I knew he’d speak when he was ready.

  Gul cleared his throat, a raspy dry sound. He slowed to a weary step as if the effort of what he was about to say drained his momentum. He studied the ground and said nothing.

  Vehicles growled across gravel in the background. A helicopter in the distance beat the air with a bass drone.

  “I need your help. I am asking that you help protect Bashir.”

  “From what?”

  “From shadow men.”

  “Who are these shadow men?”

  “You see them in the marketplace, looking for the boys? Searching for the most beautiful. Some police units have what they call a ‘chai boy.’”

  “A ‘chai boy?’” My stomach tightened.

  “A boy who looks after the police commander. He makes the food, cleans the house.” He looked away and his voice faltered. He wasn’t telling me everything.

  “And?”

  “He gives se
x.”

  Gul’s voice dropped to a whisper, but I heard it. It echoed as loud in my brain as artillery rounds. My temples shot tight with blood, and I felt my face burn with hate. Hate for scum who would do that to a child. I stopped abruptly. I watched young Bashir innocently kick the ball ahead of us. A protective cobra coiled in me, one that would spit death at anyone wanting to hurt him.

  Gul paused, looked at me, and called in Dari for Bashir to wait on us. He turned to me as we neared the gate. “That is why I bring him to work with me. I want a better life for him. I want him to go to college. I want him to become a doctor.”

  “But how could he possibly end up as a chai boy if you watch him so closely?”

  “Because he is a beautiful boy. That can be dangerous in Afghanistan. The boys are in danger from men who want to lure them into becoming chai boys.”

  Bashir’s long lashes and high cheekbones made him a target. I’d seen the men Gul spoke of, on mornings when I went to the gate to collect our students. I’d seen the shadow men. I vowed in my heart to do anything I could to help Bashir. “I will protect him.”

  “Thank you, Mac.” For the first time during our walk, Gul relaxed.

  Bashir ran ahead of us, his innocence a rare treasure to be guarded.

  ~*~

  “Did you get my e-mail, the one about King David?”

  “I got it.” The last thing I wanted to have was a theological discussion.

  Sophie leaned into the screen, fresh-faced. Probably just got out of the shower. Her hair was still damp and curled up at the ends. Too many nights sleeping alone was beginning to take its toll on me. Part of me had been glad when I thought I was going home. I shuffled uncomfortably in my computer chair. The spell was broken.

  She breathed across her coffee cup and took a sip. “What did you think?” She was feeling things out, fishing around to see if I would take the bait.

  But I didn’t want the hook. And I didn’t want her God. “‘I will go to him, but he will not come to me?’ I don’t find that comforting. What it said to me was I’ll never play cars with him again. What that meant to me, Sophie, is that I’ll never have my TV buddy again.” My answer wasn’t what she wanted.

  A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes seemed to darken. Sophie tried for years to get me to believe the way she did, but it didn’t click with me. The God she talked about seemed distant. I couldn’t see how He could be concerned with the details of my life.

  “Thinking I’ll see him again is the only thing that keeps me from going crazy. Heaven is real to me, but that doesn’t take away the pain.” She paused and took a ragged breath. “Nothing takes away the pain.”

  The tent felt hot and even more closed in than normal. I reached across my desk and snapped the switch on a small plastic fan. The blades hummed and pushed stagnant air toward my face.

  Sophie shook her head. “Do you know what I have to endure while you’re gone?”

  I shuffled in my seat and flipped an ink pen end to end over my fingers. This conversation wasn’t getting any better.

  “Look at me,” Sophie said. “Well-meaning people tell me not to grieve at all, that God ‘needed another angel.’ The God I know doesn’t need anything because He created it all. He certainly doesn’t need my little boy. I’m hurting just as much as you are, Mac. At least you’re away from it. I can’t escape. Our friends don’t know how to handle me anymore, so they stay away. Even our friends with children have stopped inviting me to dinner. It’s as if they think losing a child is contagious.” She leaned closer to the screen. “He died from a car accident, not an epidemic.”

  I kicked my foot back and forth under the chair, like a pendulum. “I’m so busy here, I don’t have time to sit and think about things.”

  “You don’t think about losing Little Mac?” Her voice pitched high and squeaky.

  I glanced away from her piercing stare. “Of course I think about it. I just choose not to dwell on it.” My head started to pound. Lying to Sophie was becoming routine. I thought about Little Mac every waking moment. Afghanistan had not cured me.

  “Well, I wonder about that woman who ran the red light and hit you. I’m not sure what I’d do if I saw her in public. I was thinking about the accident report the other day. I never saw a copy.”

  “Stop torturing yourself about details. We’ve got to move on.” The harshness of my voice surprised me. That didn’t sound like me at all. Words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I regretted them. Not only had I’d read the Bible verse she sent, but I’d also read the entire chapter. King David sent a man to the front lines in battle and withdrew his soldiers so the man would be killed. The man he had killed was the husband of a woman David had made pregnant. King David lied about the relationship and then caused the man’s death. I couldn’t get it out of my head how similar that was to my situation. I refused to lose Little Mac, and Sophie, too.

  Sophie had gone quiet. We stared at each other. I looked over her head. The laptop must have been sitting on the kitchen table. The red antique kitchen clock ticked loudly, emboldening the silence that tried to grab us. Over Sophie’s shoulder, the window above the kitchen sink was opened slightly. The lace curtains swayed gently as a breeze made its way through the window. Curtains she’d washed and hung that belonged to her mother, even though I’d argued she should buy herself new ones. She held onto things, that girl I loved. She collected souvenirs and memories. And wounds.

  15

  “All right. This here’s your enemy.” I tapped Ace on the back, and they laughed. I wanted the guys to know how to handle themselves when they were under fire. None of these men had been trained in any type of combat scenario.

  Ace, as we nicknamed him, was our top student, and he was the first to volunteer for every exercise. He advanced quickly and had the pride to match.

  “Your goal is to hide out in these mock buildings. You must have your weapon drawn and pointed like this.” I pulled Ace’s weapon from his hands and assumed a stance, weapon pointed down the alley.

  “If he sees you or your weapon sticking out from a building or a wall, he will call out, and you will be dead.” When I said dead, the students laughed again. This was nothing but a big game of hide and seek. “So, make sure you’re not seen by your enemy, Ace.”

  I positioned him with his back turned to the guys, told him to stay until I returned. Then I took the other students one by one and hid them in doorways, against walls, under vehicles.

  I came back to Ace and turned him around. “Go.”

  He took off at a lope, stopped here and there to call out “dead” students. They loved it. But there was only one problem. Students were having so much fun being “dead” they were starting to reveal themselves deliberately so they could be called out and return to the lineup.

  Pretty soon, I was faced with a whole classroom of “dead” students. “OK. Let’s do this scenario over again, but I’ll show you where you’re going wrong.”

  This time I took my camera with me. Each time a student showed the end of his barrel or the tip of his hat, I took a picture, called him on it, and showed him the shot. He could automatically see where he’d gone wrong. Besides, those guys were camera hogs. The next go-round, they were doing much better, and they even took pride in not being “dead.”

  After class, I walked back to my tent and put my stuff away. I was satisfied with the day’s work and felt like an integral part of Camp Paradise. Even my physical ability had improved. The walk was less strenuous, and I wasn’t as exhausted as when I’d first got there. I’d been working out at the gym every day, and I was proud of my abs. I glanced in the scratched mirror taped to the wall above my desk. Weak yellow light from my desk lamp burned my already gritty-from-lack-of-sleep eyes. I grabbed a bottle of eye drops off the shelf and rinsed my eyes with a stream of liquid. I hardly recognized myself from the man I was a few months ago. I ran my hand across the unruly reddish beard that sprung up across my face. Back home HPD st
andards allowed only a well-groomed mustache.

  In Afghanistan, beards were honored as the sign of an elder. I felt the beard made me look more mature. My reddish-blond hair had grown out since Gul’s massive attack on it. It was nearly collar length. I didn’t intend on getting a haircut anytime soon. I was tired of rules. I let my hair do as it wanted, let the beard claim my face.

  Miles of daily walking made me lean, more like the soldier who’d married Sophie seven years before.

  Travis knocked on my door. “Dinner?”

  “I should skip it tonight. What’s on the menu?”

  “Mongolian Grill.”

  I groaned. Mongolian grill was my favorite. Huge strips of marinated beef seared over a hot grill with peppers and onions topped off with hot fried rice. One thing for sure, they fed us well at Camp Paradise. My stomach rumbled at the thought. “All right, you talked me into it. I’ll add a few more minutes to my cardio tomorrow.” I grabbed my stuff, put it away, walked out the door, and down the path with Travis. “I’ve meant to ask, are you extending when this tour is over?”

  Travis trudged along for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  “I heard you talking about finances to Glenn one night. Just wondering.”

  Travis dragged his boots in the gravel. “I’m on my fourth deployment right now. If I go back, it’ll be for a fifth.”

  “Wow.”

  “I have mixed feelings. Right now the job situation is tight back in the States. If I got out, I’d be making a third of what I’m making here and still getting shot at. You know the hazards of law enforcement. So I guess my motivation for getting out would be to have more time with Tricia. But If I go back home, number one, I need to find a job because they didn’t hold my old one for me, and number two, I’d probably be working so much overtime I’d never see Tricia anyway.”

  I was beginning to see his point.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.