44
2014
NORTH CAROLINA L I T E R A R Y RE V I E W
Bridge (mixed media on hardboard, 40x30) by George Scott
Aminullah squeezed his eyes shut and wished he were one of them. He envisioned himself as a small sparrow at first, and then an eagle, and finally a boy riding on a magic broom. Suddenly, he was soaring high above the rugged mountains that overlooked his village. The sun shimmered and flitted towards him. He reached out and tried to grasp it, but the golden sphere danced just beyond his grasp. Again and again, he lunged forward only to have his hand come back empty. Aminullah’s breath quickened as he became more desperate. With each frantic lunge and grasp, the sphere seemed to slip further away. Suddenly, he found himself falling. His broom vanished, and the ground rushed towards him. His eyes shot open. For a moment, the world was a watery haze. Gradually, his uncle’s body came back into focus. He stared at the corpse without processing it. A moment later, everything flooded back to him: the car, the sheep’s blood, his uncle, Hermione, the stout Hazara man, the gunshots – Aminullah felt an unbearable emptiness begin to grow in the pit of his stomach. Still dazed, he climbed awkwardly to his feet. He started to wipe his tears with his dirty sleeve. As he did so, a couple of glistening objects on the southern horizon caught his attention. He stared at them as he dabbed his eyes. After another minute, he heard the distant rumble of motors. Two trucks of armed men gradually lumbered into view over the top of the next hill. Aminullah’s heart froze. The vehicles were still too far to see if the men wore the green uniforms of the national police, the mixed clothing of the militias, or both. He stared at them for a few more seconds before turning and starting to run.
number 23
Tears still streaming from his eyes, Aminullah sprinted away from the road and scrambled up the side of the rocky hill. Behind him, the roaring motors were growing closer, and he thought he could hear shouting. Breathing rapidly, he reached the top and stumbled down the steep slope on the other side. He landed clumsily in a dry streambed and ran for twenty paces before dropping to his knees and crawling between two sandstone boulders. He hid there, waiting for the militiamen or police to find him. Many minutes passed. His frantic breathing gradually subsided, and his pounding heart slowly returned to its normal pace. He continued to crouch there for another hour, and then two. But still no one came. When Aminullah finally emerged, the sun was gone. He was alone, and there was no sound but the wind. His initial panic and distress had faded to a vague feeling of numbness. Above him, the stars and crescent moon were partially obscured by clouds. Thunder echoed in the distance, and a few rare drops of rain began to patter softly upon the dusty, cracked soil. Aminullah lingered there for a few minutes, shivering lightly in the cold night air. He could already see the tears and shocked faces that awaited him at home. The thought of bearing such tragic news to his family was almost too painful. More than anything, he dreaded to see the quiet but crushed expression on his father’s face. Aminullah wanted nothing more than to lie down in the empty streambed, close his eyes, and pray for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. But there would be no easy way out. Whatever fate awaited Aminullah in the following hours and days, he understood what he had to do first. He took a hesitant step forward, and then another, more confident one. Finding his bearings, he began to walk home through the darkness. n
He envisioned himself as a small sparrow at first, and then an eagle, and finally a boy riding on a magic broom.