One Half from the East

  I knew there was something special about this hat. It made Rahim the way he was, tall and strong. What I didn’t know was that the Wizards hat could share some of that with me, too.

  I laugh, even though I’m alone. I can’t help it. Every time I think about what I’d said to those guards, the frustrated looks on their faces, thinking I might actually vomit on their jeep—or worse.

  My friend is right. Those people are not very smart.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  I spin around, my face red. Meena is behind me with her hands on her hips. She looks intrigued.

  “Nothing.”

  She doesn’t believe me. So I adjust the hat on my head and pick up my yellow schoolbag with the green truck painted on the front pocket. I pull the strap over my shoulder.

  “Are you hiding something?” she asks with narrowed eyes. Meena doesn’t give up. That’s her thing.

  “Why do you think I’m hiding something?” I ask as if her question is ridiculous—which it kind of is. I’m a girl dressed as a boy. I’m always hiding something.

  I walk past her and know she’s following me with her eyes. She won’t let this go, and I don’t want her finding out I made a trip to the warlord’s compound four days ago. And if she finds out, I don’t think she’ll be able to keep it to herself. My parents will never let me out of the house if they learn what I’ve done. I have to stay cool.

  “It’s late, Meena. We should go.”

  Our walk to school is quiet except for Alia’s moaning about a dress she saw one of the girls at school wearing.

  “It’s sooo pretty! I’ve never, ever, ever seen a dress like that before! You should’ve seen the colors. It was a different kind of blue—not like a bird’s egg or Mother’s ugly handbag. It was like a queen’s blue. I wish, wish, wish I could have a dress like that!” Alia’s being extra dramatic today. It should help take the attention off me.

  Meena is listening to Alia, but she keeps an eye on me. She’s still not letting it go.

  The warlord’s guards could learn a thing or two from my sister.

  “See you guys after school,” I say with a wave when we get to the school grounds. I’m relieved to be in my classroom, sitting next to boys who don’t see through me the way my sister does.

  “You’re wearing the hat!”

  Abdullah spots it immediately. School has just let out, and Abdullah and Ashraf are standing in front of me. There’s a big hole in our friendship since Rahim’s gone. We were only really friends because of Rahim. Without him, we don’t have much to talk about. I go back to feeling like a little kid around the big boys.

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d you get his hat?” Ashraf asks.

  People sure do have a lot of questions for me today.

  “He gave it to me.”

  “When?” Abdullah steps closer to me.

  “Last Friday.”

  “How?”

  I’m kind of enjoying how baffled they are. Yes, Rahim was their friend before he was mine. Yes, they are boys, real boys. Yes, they are three or four years older than me, taller than me, bigger than me. And yes, it’s me who actually had the guts to go find our best friend and try to do something about her being taken away.

  “I went to him.”

  “You don’t mean . . .”

  “Yes, I went to his home.”

  Abdullah’s eyes go wide. Ashraf sits on a big rock.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I am. I wanted to talk to him.”

  “So, is it true?” Ashraf looks up at me and asks.

  “Is what true?”

  He and Abdullah look at each other. They’re asking me something I don’t want to talk about. I don’t want to talk about Rahim as a girl, much less as a bride. And while I know they ignored the fact that Rahim was a bacha posh, I’m not sure if they know about me. They’ve never said a word about it either way.

  “About Rahim. That he’s not really a—that his father married him to the warlord?”

  My friend would scream and kick if she could hear us talking about her like this.

  “It’s none of my business.” That’s the best answer I can come up with at this moment, but it’s not good enough.

  Abdullah shakes his head.

  “We’re his friends. I think it’s very much your business and our business too,” he says gently.

  “We’re not going to say anything,” Ashraf adds. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

  So they know.

  I nod. I can’t summon the courage to admit anything about myself out loud. It’s hard to go from keeping something a secret to talking openly about it outside of school.

  “Where did you go?”

  “I went to the compound. It’s all true and it’s awful. Her father married her off to the warlord.”

  “How is she?” Abdullah is really concerned. And I know he probably wishes he’d gone looking for her instead of me. I realize things are different now. I’m not just a little kid who Rahima brought around. The boys are talking to me like I’m one of them.

  “She’s okay but not really. I don’t know. I didn’t get to talk to her long. The guards there stopped me. I thought they were going to kill me.”

  “Guards? No way!”

  I tell them all about the guards and how I threatened to get sick right there in front of them. I told them about their guns and dark jeeps.

  “Why didn’t she run away?”

  “I don’t know. I told her to, but she said they would have caught her.”

  “I think I’d run if I were her,” Ashraf boasts.

  “That’s easy to say from here,” Abdullah fires back then turns to me. “What about you, Obayd? What are you going to do now?”

  And then there’s another person standing with us. Someone who just stepped out from behind the mulberry tree of the schoolyard. Someone who’s heard every word of our conversation and gives me a look so accusing and harsh that it just about knocks me over.

  “Yeah, Obayd. What are you going to do now?” Meena says.

  Twenty-Six

  “Meena, don’t say anything to Mother . . . please!”

  “I can’t believe you went to the warlord’s home! Are you crazy? And then you tease his guards like that? You’re seriously out of your mind and Madar-jan is going to lock you up for sure.”

  “Meena, please!”

  We are walking home. Alia is saying nothing. This is too much drama even for her taste.

  “Obayd, that’s really dangerous. You can’t do stuff like that!”

  “I know, Meena. I’m not going to go back there. I promise! Just don’t say anything to Madar-jan. There’s no point getting me in trouble, is there? It’s all over, I swear.”

  “That’s where you got that hat? I remember seeing your friend wearing it,” she points out.

  I put both hands on the rim protectively.

  “Drop it, Meena.”

  “That’s so dangerous!” Alia says, her chin trembling. She looks like she’s going to start crying now.

  Meena shakes her head.

  “I can’t believe it. They really did that to your friend? The warlord? She’s so young!”

  “I know. It’s just awful.”

  Meena stops suddenly and faces me. Alia sniffles and wipes a couple of tears with the back of her hand. We wait for Meena to speak.

  “Do you think the same thing is going to happen to you, Obayd? Because it’s not. Our parents would never do something like that.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever asked them?”

  I guess that’s one of the things I’ve been secretly worried about. If Rahima’s parents could arrange her marriage, maybe my parents would do the same thing.

  “Is that what you’re thinking? Are you nuts? Obayd, they would never do that to you or to any of us. Neela’s sixteen years old, and they told her they wouldn’t even think about letting her get married for a while. We’re all younger than Neela, especially you.??
?

  She looks really sure of herself and makes a pretty convincing argument, but maybe that’s because she hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. Still, I’d like to believe what she believes. I’d like to think my mother and father would not throw me into some man’s house and expect me to survive—because I don’t know if I could. I’ve been thinking about Rahima a lot. Maybe too much.

  “Obayd,” Meena says, her voice softer than it was just a minute ago. “Maybe you should talk to Madar about these things. Have you told her what’s happened to your friend?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I fold my arms across my chest. I don’t need my sister telling me what to do. She couldn’t possibly understand the situation the way I do. She’s only a girl.

  Meena huffs with her hands on her hips.

  “Obayd. Why not?” she repeats, exasperated. It’s not my fault she’s annoyed. It’s her own fault that she can’t let things go.

  “We’re going to be late,” I say as I start walking down the road. Alia trails behind me.

  I stop when I notice that Meena is right behind me. I steal a glance at her and realize she’s got a tight-lipped, serious look on her face. My heart sinks when I realize what she’s going to do. I whip around and grab her by the shoulders.

  “Meena, you can’t.” I try to sound like I’m giving her an order, but it comes out more like a plea.

  “I can’t what?” my sister answers, slowly and deliberately. She’s squinting at me, daring me to go on.

  “Please don’t tell Madar-jan about this. She can’t know about this. They’ll be too worried. Or they’ll just kill me for going out there. Please, Meena.”

  Alia bites her lip.

  “Maybe Obayd’s right, Meena,” she says quietly. “You know what’ll happen to her if you tell. Do you really want to do that?”

  Meena’s face goes slack, like a balloon pricked by a needle. She stomps her foot.

  “Fine, Obayd. But you have to promise that you won’t go back there. And that you won’t do anything that crazy, or I’ll tell Madar-jan everything and I won’t feel sorry one bit, whatever happens.”

  If Meena were a boy, we’d shake hands on it. Instead, I just nod. My sister links her arm with mine. Alia comes up on Meena’s other side, and they lock elbows too. And that’s how we go home. Almost like I’m their sister.

  Twenty-Seven

  Ever since I left Abdul Khaliq’s compound, I’ve known exactly what I need to do. I’m going to do what Rahima would do if she were still Rahim.

  If I had one more day out there, I would spend every minute of it finding a way to make sure I never ended up in here.

  It’s been more than two weeks since I went to the compound, and each day that’s passed has felt like wasted time. I’ve got to find the waterfall. I’ve got the Wizards hat, and as much as I hate to think of Rahima without it, I’m really thankful that she gave it to me. That’s the kind of stuff a real best friend does.

  My mother lays out squares of warm bread topped with smears of butter and coarse sugar sprinkled on top.

  “Eat this,” she says. “I bought fresh butter yesterday. Your father’s starting to get some pension payments because of his injury on the job. We’re going to have a bit of income. It’s not much, but at least we’re not completely dependent on the family.”

  My mother worries. She worries about whether we’re warm enough in the winter, about our grades in school, about what to feed us and what to do about my father’s family. She worries a lot more than I ever realized. I didn’t think she had a thing, but she definitely does, and worrying is it.

  That’s why this piece of good news seems to have her in a much better mood this morning. She won’t stop worrying about money, but at least she can worry a little less.

  I eat the bread with a cup of tea with milk. If my mother knew what I was getting ready to do today, she would snatch the bread and fresh butter from my mouth and trap me in my room. But she doesn’t know, so she makes me a second square when she sees how quickly I eat the first. I feel bad hiding things from her, but it’s for her own good.

  “I’m going to go to hang out with the boys, Madar-jan,” I say as casually as I can. “There’s a big soccer tournament today.”

  “Oh, really?” she says, rubbing her growing belly. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

  I can’t believe I didn’t notice that thing for so long. It looks impossible to hide. I stare at the shape and wonder if it’s a boy or a girl. I hope, for the kid’s sake, that it’s a boy, even though I’m guessing my parents will be so happy with a son that they’ll probably forget my boy name.

  I really need to get going.

  “Yup.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and get to my feet before she can ask me any more questions. Or before I can tell any more lies. I plant a kiss on the top of her head, which makes her smile. “See you later.”

  Meena’s in the courtyard outside. She looks up at me as I’m leaving. My heart starts to beat faster.

  “See you in a little while, Meena.” She opens her mouth as if she’s about to ask me something and then clamps it shut abruptly. I guess she’s figuring if she doesn’t ask, she won’t be responsible for anything dumb I might do.

  I’m going to go to the waterfall. I’ve filled a crinkly plastic bottle with water, remembering how thirsty I was the last time I made the trek to the mountains. I want to leave early so I can get there while there’s still enough light to see anything that might be slithering around underfoot.

  I walk past the homes on our road and listen to small voices carrying over their privacy walls. I pass boys in the empty lot at the edge of our neighborhood playing soccer. I’m tempted to join them but remind myself that I’ve got a mission. I pass by the old man selling potatoes, leeks, and red onions out of a cart. I reach the edge of town and see the dry emptiness that lies between our town and the mountains that separate us from the rest of the world.

  I start walking.

  Yesterday, I spent some time with my father. Somewhere in the nonsense I talked about, I squeezed in a few questions that I should have asked him long ago. I learned three things:

  Looking from the edge of town, the mountain range has a funny pattern. There are three mountains that, together, look like a two-humped camel sitting on the ground.

  The mountain with the waterfall is the camel’s head. And the waterfall is just around the bend by the camel’s right ear.

  The grasses and trees are signs of water.

  When I see them, it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It’s almost like I can hear my father’s voice. There are two big mountains. Humps. Then there’s a valley where things go from khaki and dry to spotted with green. To the right of the valley, there’s a smaller mountain with a flattish top. There’s one peak on there that has to be the camel’s ear. My eye follows the outline of the mountain and I can almost imagine nostrils and an eye on the downslope, like I’m looking at the profile of a camel’s face. There are trees and yellow-green grasses on the peak, which look almost like wispy hairs.

  That’s it.

  I laugh. I wish Rahim were here to see this.

  I start to jog, knowing the day will pass more quickly than it should and there’s a lot of ground to cover.

  I reach the camel’s head by noon, guessing by how high the sun is over my head. I’m trying not to think about how sweaty and tired I am. It’s better to think about how much closer I am to the waterfall. I can see the trail Rahim and I had followed weeks ago and feel sorry for us, knowing how far off we were. We didn’t have a chance.

  I take another sip of water and remind myself that I can’t finish it all before I get to the waterfall. It’s the beginning of summer but already warm enough to make me sweat after being outside for just a few minutes. Just as I tilt my head back to drink, I feel a tickle on my foot.

  I scream and jump. It’s not the snake I expected to see.

  I take a couple of steps backward, kee
ping my eyes fixed on the golden brown monster a few feet away. He doesn’t move—like he’s not sure what to do either. It’s a standoff between me and the deadly scorpion that could have stung me.

  “Don’t you dare come near me,” I mutter. There’s no one around, but it feels better to be saying something out loud. I realize it’ll feel even better to shout. “I’m warning you. I’ll kill you!”

  He looks like he’s considering my threat and makes one of his own. His beaded tail is curled up behind him, poised and ready to turn me into a crying mess. I’ve never been bitten by a scorpion, but we’re raised to fear them. I’ve heard that one sting from its tail can make a wrestler bawl for his mommy. He’s standing between me and the camel’s head.

  I pick up a rock and throw it at him. He takes one tiny step back. I could walk around him, but I want him to be afraid of me. I want him to know he can’t just crawl over my feet. I want to be in charge here.

  “Get out of my way!” I scream and pelt three more rocks in his direction. The first is way off. The second is closer, and the third slams against his tail. He scampers off faster than I realized a scorpion could move, and I feel the tightness around my chest start to relax.

  I had a scorpion on my foot and didn’t get stung. My leg is not swelling into a purple balloon. I’m standing.

  I take the Wizards hat off, wipe the sweat from my forehead, and slip the hat back on.

  Thank you, Rahim. I think you just saved my life.

  I keep moving.

  Another hour passes before I reach the camel’s head. I find a path that leads up to the camel’s nostril and then forks off to the left, curling around the rock animal’s ear. I make my way up the trail, the small rocks turning into bigger stones and boulders as I climb. I keep my eyes on the ground in front of me, watching for scorpions and snakes and anything else I should be afraid of. Every once in a while, I look up to see how far I’ve come.

  That’s when I hear it—a quiet hum. I’ve got snakes on my mind and freeze, scanning the ground for a sinister tail or beady eyes. I don’t see anything, but the hum is still there. I keep walking, my heart pounding. The sound is making me nervous.