Page 13 of What Remains

But, oh my, didthatset tongues wagging. Ex-soldiers, everyone said. Or police. There was also talk that these women might have been soldiers trained by the Americans. Not Zeroes, because those were only men, but a special female squad. Or they could be doctors. No one knew for sure. Although an older man suggested that, well, in a labor camp, men must have a woman to stay calm and not kill each other.

Not everyone believed that either. Only three women for all those men? Unless there were more where those came from, like those boys.

But, Poya wondered, whyboys? What could boys do that grown men could not? Men could be very strong, but boys were smaller, quicker. Thinner. Easier to control, too. A boy with spirit might fight back, but a strong man could also tame such a boy very quickly. Look at how quickly Sarbaz cowed that teenager. And if such a boy would not learn…well…

The world was full of orphans and little beggar boys. Plenty to go around.

The endfor him and Mamicame in early 2023: seventeen months after the Americans fled and Kabul fell.

“I have to.” Mami knuckled away tears. “With so many Taliban here in good weather and so many men building theroad, better for me to go,now, when work has stopped for the winter.”

“I’ll come with you.” Poya’s stomach knotted. “We shouldn’t separate.”

“But we must. Come this August, it will be two years since the Taliban took over. Your father once said that, for his American friend, organizing a rescue…an extraction, he called it…took coordination, a lot of planning. But we can’t wait any longer. If the American has not come here by now, he never will.”

An extraction.As if they were rotten teeth in need of pulling. “Maybe the American can’t come.” He didn’t want to say that the American might have tried to reach them but been killed. Or simply decided that with Poya’s father dead, they were no longer his responsibility. “We could wait until the thaw. We’re safe for now.”

“But for how much longer?” The small muscles in Mami’s jaw tensed. She was hollow-cheeked and her face, always smooth before, was lined with worry. “We’ve been running out of time since the Taliban started work on that road and since you…your…” Mami made a vague gesture. “Your time is short.”

“I’m careful. I never go anywhere without my eyes.”

She gave him a look. “You know it’s not just that.”

He did. Saying so out loud, though, made his problem much more real. His problem was something he couldn’t quite cover up or mask, like his eyes. Although he had read of people like him doing such things. There was also a movie star…a teenage girl whose real name he couldn’t quite remember but she was Dorothy in the movie…anyway, they had wound tight bandages around her chest. That way, she looked like the girl she was supposed to be instead of sixteen and coming into her womanhood. And, of course, there were dancing boys, many of whom looked like girls, especially the young ones. Given the right clothes, he could disguise himself just as well.

As if she’d read his mind, Mami said, “It’s not simply a question of disguise. There is your voice. That will give you away. Past a certain age, your neck…” Mami gestured at her own. “Your throat will not be right.”

A voice could be controlled. A throat might be hidden by a high collar. Didn’t he already disguise his eyes? He was an actor in the play of his own life. So, he knew a body might be molded and taped and made to fit, and he said as much. “It is done all the time.”

“This is not America. You would still attract attention.” His mother’s shoulders moved fractionally. “And who truly knows? Your father idolized the Americans and look where it got him, gotus.Besides, if you are found out…” She didn’t need to finish that thought. Turning away, she fetched up a cloth and tugged open the grated door of their potbelly stove. The hinges cried out, a high-pitched squeal that always sent a shiver tripping up Poya’s spine. “We’ve waited,” she said, poking at embers with a metal rod before fetching up another large, black flat cake of dried yak dung. “And your father’s American still hasn’t come. For all we know, he tried but...”

“But what?” Poya asked as Mami’s voice trailed off.

“But perhaps it is as I’ve said before. Your father’s friend was captured.” Slipping in the patty, she stared into the stove’s glowing orange-red core. “Or he’s dead. Or…I don’t know, maybe I didn’t understand the instructions and made a mistake.” Shutting the stove’s door, she stood, put a hand to the small of her back, and groaned. “Either way, this is no home for us, not permanently. Eventually someone will say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person and the Taliban will appear, ready to question us more closely. How we came to town and when. We’ve simply been lucky. But that road is almost done, and that means more traffic, more people coming through. Well, if China lets anyone through.”

“But wouldn’t that be a good thing? Maybe we could go to China.” When Mami flicked a look, Poya amended, “Or maybe not.”

“We have a hard enough time here,” Mami said.

She really meanthim. A bitter thought and one Mami didn’t deserve. “Where would you…” Poya caught himself. “Where wouldwego?”

“Weare not going anywhere.Iam going back to Kabul.” She let out that same short bark of a laugh. “For what passes as civilization.”

“But you can’t. You can’t travel without a mahram.”

“And how much longer can you be that? Truly?” When Poya didn’t reply, his mother continued, “Believe me, a woman can buy a man to escort her anywhere. And if the money runs out…well, there are other ways.”

Poya didn’t want to think about that. “And what about me? What if you don’t come back?”

“You don’t think I’ve not thought about that? So many questions!” She made a cross gesture. “You will be fine for a while longer. I’ve reached an agreement with Ibrahim.”

“Meaning?”

“What do you think?”

Money.Ibrahim was the man in Sarhad whom Baba had trusted to shelter them—had, in fact, supplied Ibrahim with goods as a down-payment. Again, something arranged by Baba’s American handler, but charity went only so far. Money might not have a lot of meaning here, but that didn’t translate to money havingnomeaning somewhere else or becoming of value soon. Funny, howmoneyhad meant virtually nothing here until the Taliban showed up. Now, with a road knifing through town and into the Wakhan—with the start of trade with China and tourists coming back through, say, Tajikistan or even China because everyone knew the Chinese were masters at marchingtowards money—ready cash would have true value. “When will you go?”

“March. Best if I go before the work crews start again in April. With the road nearing completion, soldiers will likely set up their work camps further and further out. The last was a week’s journey on foot. Yes,” Mami said, with a note of finality, “March will be best. I have put aside enough to get me to Kabul. I will leave money for you to use if I don’t return by August.”

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