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“I can’t believe I found you.” Marjan stared at her sister, at Shahla’s arms trembling as she held them up and within view.
She realized she still had her weapon trained at her sister’s head and lowered it abruptly.
“What are you doing?” Soraya asked. “We have to search her.”
“I’m not well. Have mercy,” Shahla said weakly.
“Shahla, it’s me,” Marjan whispered, kneeling at her sister’s side. She sensed Soraya’s bewilderment, her controlled panic.
She felt the presence of the rest of the team outside, the soldiers waiting on their signal that the premises had been fully
cleared, every room searched.
“Who? What are you saying?” Shahla asked in disbelief. She tried to rise but faltered.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Soraya snapped, shooting a glance over her shoulder.
Marjan touched Shahla’s face, which, to her astonishment, now looked so much like their mother’s. On the day the three sisters
were given away as brides, Shahla had become wife to a man far more decent than his cousin Abdul Khaliq. Still, the years
since had been hard, and it showed.
Shahla shook her head, as if she were tired of tricks.
“Shahla, it’s me, your sister. I’ve missed you so much,” Marjan said, her voice cracking. Behind her, Soraya communicated
to the others that they had one woman who appeared to be ill, possibly contagious, still in the house. They were questioning
her now and then would resume the search.
“Dear God, Rahima? Is it you? What are you . . . Where . . . Rahima?”
They embraced, and despite her gear and the layers between them, Marjan could feel the heat emanating from her sister’s body.
“You’re so warm.”
“I think it’s malaria,” Shahla said, squeezing Marjan’s hands. “The fevers come and go. I’ll be all right.”
“Your children? How are they?”
“Praise Allah. My sons and daughters are healthy and good to me. They are everything to me.” Shahla smiled weakly, beads of
sweat lining her upper lip.
“Searching now,” Soraya communicated to the rest of the team. “Will be out in a minute.”
Marjan’s mind raced. She did not want to let anyone know that Shahla was her sister, just as she did not want anyone from
this home to know who she was to Shahla. But she also did not want to lose her sister again.
“Are you really a soldier? They said that you ran away, but I thought maybe they had done something to you. I cried so much,
little sister.”
“Marjan . . .” Soraya said. It was a gentle warning that they could not stay in this room for much longer.
“I am as well as I can be. I’ve missed you more than you could ever know. Do you have word about our family?” Marjan asked,
half afraid to hear the answer.
Shahla sighed deeply.
“God gives and takes,” she said, and Marjan felt a heaviness grow in her chest. It was very much like Shahla to find a way,
even in the throes of her own illness, to deliver the coming news gently.
“Our mother died just six months ago. Our father fell from a ladder three years ago. Our younger sisters are married. Rohila
has three children and Sitara has two. You must have seen her. She is married to my brother-in-law and lives in this home
with us.”
Marjan’s mind flashed to the way the young mother’s eyes had caught her attention. How had she not recognized her own sister?
“That was Sitara?” Marjan asked. She wanted to run outside and throw her arms around her sister.
Shahla nodded; then her face grew serious.
“Say nothing to her, Rahima. She is young and petulant. She speaks without thinking. Our parents were shadows of themselves
when they raised us, and even less present for her. I encouraged my brother-in-law to marry her so I could have her close.”
“We’re searching this room. You cover the first room,” Soraya called out to one of their teammates. She began moving around
the floor cushions and lifting the edges of the carpet. “Forgive me, but I must look through your space.”
“And Khala Shaima?” Marjan asked, because she could not leave this room without knowing what had happened to the aunt who
kept her alive with her stories, with her faith, with her courage. Without Khala Shaima, Marjan might not have had reason
to believe she deserved more from this life. Her aunt had been unwell her whole life but was particularly weak at their last
visit. Marjan had marveled at the strength it must have taken for her to make the trip to Abdul Khaliq’s compound that day.
“Khala Shaima, who loved you more than anything, took her last breath not too long after your disappearance. She was the one
who learned you were missing. She went to visit you and the family reported you had run off. I was devastated, but she told
me not to grieve. A fighter, that’s what she used to call you. ‘There are brave girls everywhere but few like Rahima, a girl
who has more strength in a fingernail than a warlord has in his whole body.’”
“Marjan! We have to move.” Soraya was growing impatient.
“If I give you a phone number, will you be able to contact me?”
Shahla, one hand on her sister’s arm, shook her head.
“I do not have a phone,” she said. “Give me your number, sister.”
Shahla pulled a pen from the corner, where a small metal cup held a splash of water. There was no scrap of paper in the room to use so Shahla lifted the hem of her dress and offered the white cotton lining. “Maybe one day I will find a way to use it.”
Blinking back tears, Marjan nodded. She wrote her number on the cotton, the tip of the pen catching on the fabric. When she
was finished, she flipped the hem over so no one would see what she had written.
“Come, let me kiss your face,” Shahla insisted, reaching both hands out. Marjan felt like a child then, like a little girl
returning to her mother. She kissed her sister’s hand and wiped away her tears.
“I have a little girl,” she said to Shahla. “I wish that she will meet you and her cousins one day.”
“God is generous,” Shahla said, her eyes flashing upward. But Marjan knew there would be no return mission here. She could
never appear without alerting the family. Both sisters understood that this encounter had been a one-time gift. But there
was no reason to sully the moment with reality.
“This room is clear!” Soraya called out as Marjan rose to her feet. “We’re coming out.”
Soraya had to tug on the sleeve of Marjan’s olive uniform to get her to take the final step out of the small, dank room. They
joined the others and searched the rest of the premises—lifting floor mattresses, checking inside of pots, sifting through
clothing, inspecting the area behind the house. They found nothing on this particular visit, no sacks of fertilizer that might
be used for explosives, no cache of weapons, no bags of money. Some missions did not yield incriminating evidence, but they
would turn over their target and the government would take over the interrogation from there.
“Looks like we’re almost finished clearing here. I’m going to go back outside and see if the women remember anything new.”
Soraya looked directly at Marjan, the area dimly lit. Don’t do anything stupid, her posture said.
Marjan stepped into the night air again, her chest a cage full of butterflies. She kept her gaze low, tried not to make immediate
eye contact with anyone outside or appear flustered. She stood in front of the gathered women and children, trying to control
her breathing.
There stood Sitara, shifting her child from one hip to the other.
She was young but likely already feeling the strain of motherhood on her body.
Marjan saw what she had missed in her face only moments ago.
The playful eyes and pouty mouth. Shahla had been like a second mother to them all, but especially to the youngest sisters.
But Marjan also saw the edge that Shahla had warned her about. Sitara scowled, said something sharply to the woman standing
beside her. When her eyes met Marjan’s, she marched up to her.
“How long are you going to keep us out here? My children need to sleep.”
Marjan wanted to pull her close, to kiss her face that she now realized looked so much like her own. She looked at her niece
and nephew and hated that she had disturbed their sleep. She wondered which of these children belonged to Shahla. She had
a thousand questions for Sitara, but she also knew there was no way to ask them.
“We’re almost finished. Your children are precious. They’re fortunate to have such a caring mother. Your family must be proud,”
she said.
Sitara recoiled, her brow furrowed. No one had ever said such words to her, much less a soldier working for what her husband
said was a government corrupt to its core.
“You have no right to speak of my family,” she snapped.
Marjan said nothing, and Sitara gloated, feeling triumphant that she had silenced this strange soldier.
“We’ve got our guy. Let’s roll out,” a voice called. Krista, Jenna, and Soraya thanked the women for their cooperation and
told someone to make sure they looked after the woman in the back room. She needed some fresh drinking water and maybe a visit
to a medical doctor.
On the Chinook’s underbelly, a red light signaled its readiness. The helicopter lifted off, cutting through the rural silence
with the staccato beat of its blades. Clouds of dust rose from the earth like dancing djinns, keepers of the night’s secrets.