Page 56 of What Remains

Hamzad wasn’t dead. He hadn’t gone to live with another family in a distant clan. Hamzad was simply gone. Poof.

Thing was…so were all the boys Hamzad’s age. Although there were plenty of girls and younger boys in the camp, there were no teenaged boys at all.

And why was that?

The only clue was a comment made about a month after his arrival by a flat-faced, surly clansman named Mur:So, Amu, you want to bring down more bad luck? Two years now, they’ve let us be. But how long do you think beforethisone goes the way of Hamzad?

From the corner of an eye, Poya saw everyone else stiffen. Heads turned his way, but Poya only poured more tea into Mur’s cup and kept his own face as still as stone. Amu never did answer and eventually someone broke the silence with concerns about supplies and the coming winter.

But that exchange stuck with him, and not only because of the boy’s name. Hamzad meantspiritorjinn.For the devout, a hamzad was a jinn assigned to a person at birth and so followed that person around. Even though Amu wasn’t religious, perhaps he looked at Poya as Hamzad’s, well, spiritual successor?

The other thing which bothered him: justwhowerethey? The people which Mur said had left the clan alone for the last two years?

And what would happen iftheynoticedhim?

3

Now,Poya eased from the woolen cocoon he’d made of his blankets. On the roof of the world, a person never stripped down to nothing at night or, really, any time. For Poya, this turned out to be a blessing, although privacy was relative. So, he dressed quickly, wrapping himself up with practiced ease before slipping into straight-legged pants, thick wool socks, a cloth shirt, and, finally, a deep blue wool sweater decorated with red borders and white lotus flowers.

Once done, he checked the phone’s charge. Eighty-five percent. Not bad, given the subzero temperatures in these parts. During the coldest months, there were virtually no days with enough sunlight to make solar panels practical, which tended to ice up anyway. Everyone in the valley used car batteries to power DVD players, televisions, radios. Electric razors. Like all the other men in his clan, Amu had a cellphone on which he stored music because there was no service way out here. Every couple of nights, Poya would stay awake until Amu began to snore and then slip out to plug in his own cell. He didn’t think that, if discovered, Amu would take the phone away, but why take the chance?

Dropping his mother’s phone into a pocket, Poya coiled the cord, slipped that into the wool-stuffed sack he used for a pillow before fishing out two more items: his mother’s small mirrored compact and the tiny case where he kept his eyes.

When Poya was seven, Baba had presented him with his first pair.Everything about you is a disguise, Poya, Baba said. That includes your eyes.That first day Poya cried them out because slipping them in was hard and a little scary, but Baba made him learn.

We will keep at this until you learn.Baba had handed him a kerchief.Now, blow your nose and we will do this again by feel and then you will do this in front of a mirror, which is trickier because everything is reversed. But you must learn. This is non-negotiable.

Baba had been right, too. The eyes made a big difference, but they were only the finishing touch. Once fully disguised, he had wandered, freely, through Kabul’s streets. No one then had suspected what he was.

His problem now was what he was becoming.

4

Duckingout from under his shyrdak, Poya stood, motionless, the better to look and listen.

A feeble early morning glow washed the interior with grainy, milky light. With no windows, the yurt’s only source of natural illumination came from whatever leaked around the stove’s chimney which vented through a hole in the ceiling. If the chimney was the center of a clock and the door was twelve, then his shyrdak was six. Amu was at three and Bas at nine, because the left side of every yurt belonged to the women in a family.

Skirting the stove, he padded on stockinged feet toward the door, his footfalls making only the slightestshushingsounds on more patterned, deep red shyrdaks laid atop a bottom layer of thick felt. The same kind of long rugs covered the yurt’s canvas walls. Stacks of trunks and suitcases, doing double-duty as both insulation and furniture, were pushed against the yurt’s walls.

Crossing to the door, he carefully lowered himself onto a very large, very old trunk, but the thing still protested with a small, creakingsquee. Wincing at the noise, he froze. Amu’s breathing didn’t change, but Bas’s snores hitched for a brief second. The old woman snuffled, grunted. A beat passed and then another…and then her snores started up again.

You’re worrying for nothing.He worked his feet into the boots.Even if they wake up, they won’t try to stop you going for water. It’s what you do every morning.

What he didn’t want was for them to questionwhyhe left so early, almost two hours before anyone else stirred.

Pulling a flashlight from a neat array of tools spread upon a steamer trunk, he slipped that into a carry-sling which hung from his belt on his left hip. Then, lifting his wool coat from a nail, he shoved his arms into the sleeves, buttoned up, then squared a Russian-style fur-lined hat on his head. After snapping the ear flaps together under his chin, he wound a long scarf over his mouth. As he did, his gaze slid, as it invariably did, to Amu’s Kalashnikov, which hung to the left of the door.

He ached to take the rifle. In fact, about three weeks ago, Amu had asked, almost casually, if Poya would like to learn how to shoot. Of course, Poya agreed. Amu was pleasantly surprised at how quickly Poya learned how to handle the weapon.

You have very good aim, boy,Amu said.A steady hand.

Poya only smiled. No need to tell Amu that this wasn’t, as the Americans would say, his first rodeo. Baba had trained him well:When you’ve run out of options, Poya, you need to be able to pull that trigger.

He hadn’t needed to, yet. There was, however, a first time for everything.

He knew Amu wouldn’t mind if he took the weapon. The clan’s mountain spring was over two miles away. Predators occasionally made their way down-mountain. For a hungry leopard or wolf pack, a child on his or her own made for good eating. But if Amu woke and found Poya and the rifle gone hours earlier than the other children set off, Poya would be asked questions he didn’t want to answer. No point taking chances unless he absolutely must.

When the time came, though, and he had to run, Amu’s rifle was coming with him. He felt a little bad about that. Yes, Amu hadboughthim, but the man wasn’t an awful person. He cared for his mother; he worried about the clan. The fact that he’d taken Poya out to shoot suggested he wanted Poya to learn how to behisson.

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