“Yes,” I confirmed with relief.
“Abdul Rahim and Raisa-jan have told me to expect you.” He motioned for his burqa-clad wife to join him.
I ushered my children ahead of me, and we followed Asim and Shabnam to their home. Shabnam was Raisa’s sister, their voices and matronly figures remarkably similar. We would stay with them for just a night. By the following evening we would be on a bus headed for the Afghan-Iran border. Saleem and Samira were disappointed, especially once they’d met the couple’s young children. Samira played with the girls while Saleem held Aziz and listened in on Asim’s warnings for the treacherous road ahead.
“You must be wary of the people you will meet,” he cautioned sternly. He swirled the tea leaves in his glass prophetically and continued. “Herat is the doorway to Iran, so we hear and see much of the traffic that passes. The Taliban are present here and look for any opportunity to make an example out of someone. You know, of course, their rules on mahram escorts. And they know that many people are trying to make their way into Iran, so keep your eyes open and try not to attract attention.”
Asim and Shabnam lived in a three-room home that had not gone unscathed in the rocket attacks. Parts of the roof had been patched, and the windows were boarded up. With her burqa off, Shabnam’s resemblance to Raisa was even more apparent. Saleem and Samira smiled to see her familiar face. I listened intently as Asim went on.
“You’ll be traveling in a small van. Usually, they are very full and there’s hardly room to breathe, so keep your little ones at your side. They’ll be nervous. The driver should take you across the border and into Iran. The price for the passage has already been settled, but they will try to wheedle more from you. Keep all your monies and valuables well hidden. Look very reluctant and give him a little token piece. Make the driver believe that’s the very last thing you have.”
I looked at Saleem, wanting to tell him to run off and play so he could be spared this conversation. On the other hand, maybe he deserved to know what he was about to be involved in.
“Bear in mind that the van will only take you to the border. You’ll have to walk across on foot. The smugglers make the crossing under cover of night. Once you get to the Iranian side, there will be another van waiting for you. This van will take you to Mashhad. I believe Abdul Rahim has given you the address for your contact there. There are many Afghans in Mashhad and, inshallah, they will help you to find your way. I understand that you’ll be going on to Europe. The road ahead of you is difficult, but many have traveled it.”
I sighed heavily. Saleem took notice.
“I pray God will make us among the many who successfully pass through it. This is the only way I see for my children. I hope I’m making the right decision.”
Shabnam nodded sympathetically.
“You are a mother and a mother’s heart never guides her children down the wrong path,” Shabnam reassured, her plump hand squeezing mine.
The children, exhausted from the bus ride, slept well while I nodded off, waking periodically to find myself still in Herat, unable to believe that I’d actually set off on a journey so dangerous with three small children. In the dark room, amid the hush of night breathing, I still wondered if I’d made the right choice.
What was it that my orchard angel had promised me so many years ago?
In the darkness, when you cannot see the ground under your feet and when your fingers touch nothing but night, you are not alone. I will stay with you as moonlight stays on water.
I closed my eyes and prayed he hadn’t forgotten me.
CHAPTER 17
Fereiba
THERE WASN’T MUCH TIME FOR ME TO RECONSIDER. IF I’D HAD just one more day, I might have lost my nerve. The desert before us made me dizzy with fear.