“The elderly become invisible sooner than we would hope,” he said, smiling.
“God forbid. It was my oversight,” Saleem said meekly. The man had to be in his seventies, at least, with thin, olive skin and a full white beard and mustache. The corners of his eyes crinkled under heavy, snowy brows. He wore a long beige tunic and pantaloons of a slightly darker shade.
“You have come recently,” he said. “What is your name and where are you from?”
“My name is Saleem Waziri. My family lived in Kabul.”
“Everyone here says they are from Kabul. But I can hear in your accent that you were raised there. Walk with me. I want to know more about you.”
Saleem followed, mesmerized by the soft rasp of the man’s voice. They strolled away from Ajmal’s hut and toward the far end of the camp, the side from which England’s chalky cliffs could be seen.
I feel like I know you, Saleem wanted to say. But he resisted and followed the man’s lead. They walked through the main pathway that crossed through the Jungle.
“A Kabuli family. Your father’s name?”
“Mahmood Waziri.” Saleem fiddled with the worn watchband on his wrist.
“Waziri. Mahmood Waziri? That name sounds awfully familiar. Let me see, do you mean Mahmood Waziri, the engineer? Worked for the Ministry of Water and Electricity?”
Saleem felt a tingle in his chest.
“Yes, yes! Did you know my father?” He stopped in his tracks and looked up at the old man’s face. His thin lips parted in a half smile.
“Do you not see these white hairs, my friend? I am old enough to have known more than just a few men. I know generations of men. I dare to say, much of Kabul’s history fills the space between my ears.”
Saleem grinned.
“Of course I knew your father. He’s not here with you.” A gentle statement more than a question.
“No, he was . . . taken.” Saleem said it quickly, not wanting the words to linger.
“A shame, a true shame. Such an intelligent man. And your mother? She was a teacher. Where is she?”
“She is with my younger sister and brother. I think they’re in London. We were separated during our travels.”
“Ah, I see. God willing, your family is safely in London and anxiously awaiting your arrival. You’re brave to have made this voyage on your own. You must have seen many difficulties on your way here.”
“No more and no less than anyone else,” Saleem said, thinking of Ali. Naeem. The boys in Attiki. Patras. Pagani. The ones whose journey ended in the rocky waters. The ones who never made it out of Kabul.
“Wise of you to know this. We all cross a hundred peaks to get even this far. And there will be more before we each make it to whatever destination God has fated for us.”
“I worry about what God has fated for my little brother,” Saleem confessed, digging in the ground with the toe of his shoe. “He has a bad problem with his heart. We were able to get him some medicine in Turkey, but after that we couldn’t take him to any doctors.”
“There are things beyond our control, but there is reason behind the system, whether or not we choose to believe it. Let’s sit.” He led Saleem to some small boulders a few yards away. “Let us talk of things more pleasant than the fate of the Jungle. Saleem-jan, I knew your father by his reputation. He was a brilliant engineer, one of Kabul’s finest talents. Are you familiar with the work he was doing?”
“No, Uncle,” Saleem said respectfully. His face reddened at his own ignorance when it came to his father’s projects. “I only know it had something to do with water.”
The man was forgiving.