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Chapter 4
Three days later, Laila returned to her house late in the afternoon, smiling. One of the young women she taught had actually spoken in class that day. Asked a question. Answered one, as well.
It was a small thing, but she celebrated every tiny step. Never overtly -- she didn’t want to make the girls self-conscious or uncomfortable. But Farah actually volunteering to speak? That was significant. Farah was from one of the wealthier families, and the other girls often looked to her for guidance. Now that Farah had spoken up in class, Laila hoped some of the other girls would, too.
As Laila put together cooked barley and vegetables for her meal, she wondered which of the girls would be next to speak in class. She watched them carefully and knew which girls were bursting with the need to speak out in class.
And which girls were too shy or too browbeaten by their fathers and brothers to volunteer.
She sat at her small table and ate absently, going over her lessons for the following day. Tried to include stories and problems the girls would find interesting. Things that would be familiar to them.
Laila was determined to make lessons relevant to the way these girls would live their lives. Married? Almost certainly. Living in a patriarchal society? Most definitely. But she tried to encourage a love of reading. That would open more of the world to her students.
Perhaps she could ask Mel to send more books in Pashto. She needed a wider variety of titles. Different types of books, both fiction and non-fiction. She wanted to stock the school with plenty of books so any of her six girls who wanted one could read during the thirty minutes she set aside for reading every day. She hoped to foster a love of reading, so that after she left, the girls would continue to read.
She knew her time in Al Kamen was limited. She’d been sent there to gather information about the Taliban and their movements. Where they were and what they were doing.
The Taliban made a lot of their money from taxing the movement of goods in the region. Forcing men to pay to drive their shipments from one village to another. And if they were recruiting men in Al Kamen, they were likely going to start taxing shipments into the village.
Sooner or later, Laila would leave Al Kamen. Once she’d gathered all the information she could, or when Mel deemed it too dangerous for Laila to continue there, Laila would go to a different village with the same mission. What were the Taliban doing? What was going on with the trade routes? Her information would be passed along to the military. They’d disrupt the trade routes, which would damage the Taliban. Take away one of their sources of income.
After cleaning up her dishes, Laila pulled on her scarf, covered her head loosely and draped the end of the scarf over her shoulder. Tapping her pocket to make sure she had her gun, she stepped out of her house for her nightly walk.
The villagers found her nightly walk odd. Puzzling. Why would someone walk for no reason?
The men in Al Kamen farmed. Kept small herds of sheep and goats. The women worked in their homes, but Laila knew from what her students told her that they were always busy. Of course they’d think walking for pleasure was foolish.
She told anyone who asked that she wanted exercise. Wanted to stretch her legs after a day of teaching. But her nightly walks were about gathering information. She talked to her students. Conversed with any women who were working in their yards. Kept track of any changes in the village or the houses.
And every evening, after the village was asleep, she reported to Mel.
Once she’d walked around for her usual hour, she headed for her small house. No one talked about the meeting a few nights ago. No one mentioned the Taliban. Sighing, Laila rolled her shoulders. There was no useful information to provide to Mel tonight.
She was almost at her house when she saw a man leaning against the stone wall in front of her yard. Her steps slowed, but when he turned his head, she realized it was Bahram. At least he hadn’t gone into her house... as far as she knew.
“Bahram,” she said, nodding at the teen. “Welcome. Would you like to come in?” she asked, stepping to the door and opening it.
He nodded once, sharply. He didn’t seem as cocky and as self-assured as he had the other night.
Once she followed him inside, she closed the door. Indicated he should sit in one of her two chairs.
He shook his head, his eyes apprehensive. Swallowing hard, he said, “You must leave. Tonight. The Taliban are coming to the village soon. One or two days.”
At his words, her heart began hammering against her chest. “How do you know that?” she asked.
“I know...” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “I know someone who is one of them. He told me. You need to leave tonight. You can’t be here when they arrive, and the sooner you leave, the better.”
Laila tilted her head as she watched him. “Why are you warning me?” she asked quietly. “You don’t want me here.”
He looked away. Finally said, “Amira is very fond of you. She is... she is happier than I have seen her for a long time. She likes going to school. She likes reading books. My sister would be devastated if anything happened to you.”
“And you think these Taliban who are coming would hurt me?”
Bahram nodded slowly. “They do not like women who teach our girls. Give them ideas. Make them more independent. Make them question what their fathers and brothers tell them. They are not kind to women who teach our girls to rebel.”
A frisson of fear shivered through Laila. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve heard those things, as well. But I don’t teach your sister and the other five girls to rebel.”
Bahram waved his hand. “What you teach doesn’t matter. You give them ideas. Ideas that are contrary to the Taliban’s beliefs. So they must get rid of you.”
