The Watch Read Online Free PDF Page B

mist clears; the sun begins to blaze down, as always. The heat intensifies. It steams from the circle of blood-drenched earth surrounding the cart. Light touches the stone walls of the fort. It illuminates the dead lamb; the necklace of blood around its throat glitters.
    When the Tajik returns, it is with an armed escort. They walk up to the barbed wire. The Tajik looks crestfallen. He flops down on his haunches. The captain has refused your gift, he calls out, gazing in disbelief at the lamb. The soldiers who watched you kill the lamb deemed your act barbaric: they claimed that civilized women do not slaughter animals. I tried to explain it was a gift from you in keeping with our traditions, but they refused to listen to me. They made fun of your sanity. I don’t understand it. I simply don’t understand it.
    He steals a sidelong glance at his escort, who’re staring at me with undisguised contempt. I notice that they seem to be keeping watch over the interpreter as much as over me.
    The Tajik winces. I don’t understand them, he says again. It must have to do with their customs. They’ve adopted a stray dog, for instance, and treat it as their pet. They give it the choicest morsels as if it were a prize sheep and not a mere dog, that most unclean of animals, and they fuss over it and fondle it in a manner that makes me ill. They’re a strange people.
    As he speaks, I realize he’s inched forward until he’s a gaz or so ahead of his companions.
    There’s more … he says, and pauses.
    I wait for him to continue.
    He clears his throat uncomfortably. They’ve decided to take you away.
    I start and stiffen. Take me away? Where?
    He makes a vague gesture southward. Kandahar.
    To the city! But why? My place is here!
    The captain has decided that you need to be admitted to a hospital. A hospital for people whose minds have been damaged by the war. He says you need treatment.
    What rubbish. I’m not deranged. I won’t go.
    They’ll take you by force. They’ve made up their minds. They’re on their way here. What can I say? There’s nothing to say.
    Suddenly he rises to his feet and looks straight at me.
    Listen to me! he says with urgency. You’ve still time to get away. Turn your cart around and leave this place. I’ll convince them you’ve changed your mind about your brother. They’re not bad people. They’ll understand.
    He leans forward and places both his hands on the wire.
    Do as I tell you, please. Go away. Your brother is dead, but you still have a life to live. Soon our country will be free. Our leaders will reach an agreement. Then we’ll live as we’ve always lived, without outside interference.
    He pauses and looks at me pleadingly.
    Go away. You’re wasting your time here. Do you understand?
    I sit up very straight. He slumps back and looks at the ground. He appears devastated.
    You’re not going, are you? he says.
    No.
    You’re making a terrible mistake.
    It’s my decision.
    Can you tell me why?
    I remove my veil from my face and gaze at him. Our eyes lock.
    I couldn’t live with the shame, I answer.
    He raises his hand to his face and covers his eyes. Without a word, he turns on his heels and stumbles away, the soldiers following in his wake. Soon I am alone in the sunlight again. I feel a sudden pang of thirst and raise the goatskin to my mouth, but there’s no water left.
    I take off my blood-soaked bughra and shake my hair free. I examine my blood-spattered hands, my blood-speckled wrists. Mycallused palms are the color of unfired bricks. The white sleeves of my kameez lie over them like lips of snow.
    I turn my head and look back at the mountains as at a lover. The slopes are a serene blue, as if sculpted out of the sky itself. The highest ridges now glow silver in the sunlight, now golden. Such beauty exists only in paradise.
    Time begins to pulse in swift fever spasms. The morning air is neither warm nor cool, but of a consistency that is perfection itself, and of which I too am