40
2014
NORTH CAROLINA L I T E R A R Y RE V I E W
“You exaggerate a little, uncle,” Asif said. “Do I? And what would you know, nephew? You were three or four when the Americans came,” Jawid said. He paused, his expression darkening. “When my beautiful, sixteen-year-old wife Jamila was pregnant, it was the fear of the Taliban patrols that stopped us from taking her to the clinic on the other side of the district. There were complications. A midwife came, but it was too late. She died three feet from where you sit, along with my first and only son.” “If Allah willed it, there is nothing that could be done,” Asif said, shifting uncomfortably. “You should not blame the Taliban. After all, Uncle Mohammad fought bravely as a Talib and died a martyr so that Afghanistan could again be a true Muslim country. God willing, I will be brave enough to follow his example one day –” “Enough!” bellowed Aminullah’s father, who had remained quiet until then. “Stop this nonsense. Your uncle was brave, yes. But also reckless, and he died needlessly,” he said, his gentle features contorted in a scowl. “I swear to Allah that no son of mine will speak so casually of death. Life is sacred, and there is nothing worth casting it aside for. Not pride. Not religion. Not money. Nothing.” He shook his head. “Death already happens too randomly, too abruptly, and too often in this country. It strikes the brave as well as the innocent, the lions as well as the sparrows. If you truly want to
“ . . . Life is sacred, and there is nothing worth casting it aside for. Not pride. Not religion. Not money. Nothing.”
teach a lesson to the foreigners or the warlords or the militias, it should not be by jihad or martyrdom, but by living longer and more humbly. I may not be a mullah or a hajji, but I am certain that is Allah’s will for this family.” After that, the conversation ceased. The Shahs ate the rest of the meal in silence. Aunt Maryam was the last to finish, after which Huma diligently stood and began to collect the plates. The others
number 23
Unwanted Sound: NOISE! (mixed media acrylic, graphite on canvas, 48x40) by George Scott
gradually rose as well. Asif retrieved the Quran from the shelf, while Maryam returned to the bedroom. Jawid yawned and stretched his arms before pausing and looking directly at Aminullah. He held his gaze for a few moments, as if pondering something. Finally, he nodded to himself and glanced toward the door. “Little Amin, do you mind keeping me company outside for a few minutes?” Aminullah nodded and followed him outside. “Don’t wander,” his mother called after them. Outside, the temperature had fallen, and Aminullah rubbed his arms for warmth. Jawid fished in his pocket for his lighter and another joint. “Nephew, tell me. The American who came, was she with any soldiers or armed contractors?” Aminullah shook his head. “No, it was just her, her driver, and another man from her institute.” Jawid put the joint in his mouth and lit it. He inhaled and slowly breathed out. He said nothing for a minute. “Little Amin, do you know why I was in Peshawar for the last few months?” “You were looking for work.” “Yes,” Jawid said. “And I found some, of sorts. But as the Westerners say, it takes money to make money. So I took out a loan from an acquaintance in Peshawar.” He paused to inhale again. He coughed. “Unfortunately, that uh, business venture didn’t work out, and I owe some money in Pakistan.” Jawid looked over at Aminullah. “I haven’t told this to Yusuf yet. After all, your father has his own money problems to worry about, with the drought