said Commander Sabir.
But the trucks! added Issaq, growing angry.
Batoor placed a hand on Issaq’s shoulder. It is enough time, he said.
Two days, repeated Commander Sabir.
Issaq ran his fingers through his hair, dyed red with henna. He nodded his head. Yes, it is enough.
Mr. Jack wandered across the firebase. In the night he went unnoticed by Commander Sabir and the squad leaders. He didn’t wear his sunglasses and I strained to make out his eyes, but couldn’t. I wished to see the blueness I’d imagined. His steps were heavy and his full face hinted at a life unconcerned by hunger. In one hand Mr. Jack carried a large dark bottle by the neck, in the other he carried a brown paper sack.
He approached slowly. When he was almost on top of the doorway, Commander Sabir saw him. Batoor and Issaq broke their conversation in mid-sentence and stumbled back to the barracks. I sat frozen on the picnic table, closed up into my body, praying I wouldn’t be seen. Mr. Jack held out the bottle. Maakhaam pa kheyr, Commandance Sabir, he said.
Good evening to you, too, answered Commander Sabir. So you’ve finally decided to come see me.
Relax, I thought we could have a drink, said Mr. Jack.
Each time you bring that fool Atal to my firebase, it is an insult, snapped Commander Sabir. And now you wish us to drink as friends?
Your firebase? answered Mr. Jack. I pay the bills, Sabir, and have since James fought Hafez from here. How was your operation in Gomal? Inshallah, you’ll have a good fighting season.
Inshallah? Fuck you and your inshallah, said Commander Sabir. Your work with Atal does not help my operations.
Mr. Jack held his index finger in Commander Sabir’s face. I work with who I want, when I want. Don’t forget that, he said, and continued slowly from memory: Khpal kaar saray kaar lara. Let each man turn his mind to his own concerns.
Commander Sabir kissed his teeth. Izzat kawa izzat ba dey kegi.He who respects is respected, he said, shaking his head. He put his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and flicked the butt over Mr. Jack’s shoulder. He continued: Atal is not one to be involved with. When you Americans are deceived, killed in a green on blue by the very soldiers you trained, or something less, always it is done by those Afghans whose business it is to play each side against the other. Atal is one of those.
It’s a business you seem to understand very well, replied Mr. Jack. Is my work with him going to be a problem?
Then, in the light of the doorway, I glimpsed Mr. Jack’s eyes. They were faded as if the dust, the mountains, and the war had taken the blue out of them. These elements put the color into our eyes, but seemed to take the color from his. Commander Sabir looked at these eyes for a long moment and then spoke: No, no problem, boss.
Okay, said Mr. Jack, nodding. Now, let’s have a drink.
He held out the bottle of whiskey and offered it, but Commander Sabir waved it away. He didn’t want anything from Mr. Jack, at least not right now.
Fine, Sabir, said Mr. Jack. He reached into the brown paper sack he carried. From it he pulled a plastic can of fish food. But you’ll need this for Omar, he added.
Commander Sabir’s pet goldfish, Omar, had been a gift from Mr. Jack some years before. As it was with all his gifts, this one had been given with some design to it. I later learned from Naseeb that Mr. Jack thought a companion might soothe some of Commander Sabir’s darker impulses, but if it had, none of us could tell. Omar always had a look of menace about him. He was missing an eye. In its place was a smooth and empty socket. That look of menace had reminded Commander Sabir of the one-eyed mullah, Mohammed Omar, the exiled leader of the Taliban. The Americans had been lucklessly chasing him for years, while Commander Sabir’s Omar swam circles in his glass bowl.
Commander Sabir snatched the can of fish food from Mr. Jack and opened it. He considered the smell, dipping his nose
But the trucks! added Issaq, growing angry.
Batoor placed a hand on Issaq’s shoulder. It is enough time, he said.
Two days, repeated Commander Sabir.
Issaq ran his fingers through his hair, dyed red with henna. He nodded his head. Yes, it is enough.
Mr. Jack wandered across the firebase. In the night he went unnoticed by Commander Sabir and the squad leaders. He didn’t wear his sunglasses and I strained to make out his eyes, but couldn’t. I wished to see the blueness I’d imagined. His steps were heavy and his full face hinted at a life unconcerned by hunger. In one hand Mr. Jack carried a large dark bottle by the neck, in the other he carried a brown paper sack.
He approached slowly. When he was almost on top of the doorway, Commander Sabir saw him. Batoor and Issaq broke their conversation in mid-sentence and stumbled back to the barracks. I sat frozen on the picnic table, closed up into my body, praying I wouldn’t be seen. Mr. Jack held out the bottle. Maakhaam pa kheyr, Commandance Sabir, he said.
Good evening to you, too, answered Commander Sabir. So you’ve finally decided to come see me.
Relax, I thought we could have a drink, said Mr. Jack.
Each time you bring that fool Atal to my firebase, it is an insult, snapped Commander Sabir. And now you wish us to drink as friends?
Your firebase? answered Mr. Jack. I pay the bills, Sabir, and have since James fought Hafez from here. How was your operation in Gomal? Inshallah, you’ll have a good fighting season.
Inshallah? Fuck you and your inshallah, said Commander Sabir. Your work with Atal does not help my operations.
Mr. Jack held his index finger in Commander Sabir’s face. I work with who I want, when I want. Don’t forget that, he said, and continued slowly from memory: Khpal kaar saray kaar lara. Let each man turn his mind to his own concerns.
Commander Sabir kissed his teeth. Izzat kawa izzat ba dey kegi.He who respects is respected, he said, shaking his head. He put his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and flicked the butt over Mr. Jack’s shoulder. He continued: Atal is not one to be involved with. When you Americans are deceived, killed in a green on blue by the very soldiers you trained, or something less, always it is done by those Afghans whose business it is to play each side against the other. Atal is one of those.
It’s a business you seem to understand very well, replied Mr. Jack. Is my work with him going to be a problem?
Then, in the light of the doorway, I glimpsed Mr. Jack’s eyes. They were faded as if the dust, the mountains, and the war had taken the blue out of them. These elements put the color into our eyes, but seemed to take the color from his. Commander Sabir looked at these eyes for a long moment and then spoke: No, no problem, boss.
Okay, said Mr. Jack, nodding. Now, let’s have a drink.
He held out the bottle of whiskey and offered it, but Commander Sabir waved it away. He didn’t want anything from Mr. Jack, at least not right now.
Fine, Sabir, said Mr. Jack. He reached into the brown paper sack he carried. From it he pulled a plastic can of fish food. But you’ll need this for Omar, he added.
Commander Sabir’s pet goldfish, Omar, had been a gift from Mr. Jack some years before. As it was with all his gifts, this one had been given with some design to it. I later learned from Naseeb that Mr. Jack thought a companion might soothe some of Commander Sabir’s darker impulses, but if it had, none of us could tell. Omar always had a look of menace about him. He was missing an eye. In its place was a smooth and empty socket. That look of menace had reminded Commander Sabir of the one-eyed mullah, Mohammed Omar, the exiled leader of the Taliban. The Americans had been lucklessly chasing him for years, while Commander Sabir’s Omar swam circles in his glass bowl.
Commander Sabir snatched the can of fish food from Mr. Jack and opened it. He considered the smell, dipping his nose
Similar Books
