Shooting Kabul by N. H. Senzai Read Free Book Online Page B

preceding weeks he’d sat, tucked away, next to the couch in the living room, listening while Habib and Uncle Amin called their relatives and friends in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Dozens of people weresearching on both sides of the border, but without much success. Not even Khala Nargis’s contacts had found any trace of a little girl named Mariam.
    But would Mariam have told anyone her name? Fadi’s chest tightened. He remembered his father ordering her never to reveal who she was. Maybe they can’t find her because they don’t know who she is. How would she ever be found, then?
    At nine p.m. on Friday, as he did every week, Habib dialed the number given to him by the U.S. consulate in Peshawar, where it was nine in the morning, exactly twelve hours ahead. The week before, the scratchy voice of the assistant on the speakerphone had told them that she was still sending out inquiries, but the situation in Afghanistan was getting worse. The United Nations Security Council had passed a new resolution to tighten the monitoring and enforcement of sanctions against the Taliban. Because of this, things on the border had become very tense. Hopelessness threatened to turn to despair as Fadi remembered Mariam’s tiny fingers slipping through his. Father was so sure Mariam would be found in a few weeks.
    But week after week of no news, or bad news, had setFadi’s nerves on edge. He withdrew and kept to himself. Zalmay tried his best to pull Fadi out of his funk. He introduced him to his friends, dragged him to Lake Elizabeth park to feed the ducks, and let him play his best video games. After learning that Fadi liked taking photos, Zalmay even offered to pose for him, dressed as Superman, but Fadi’s heart wasn’t in it.
    One day the entire family piled into two cars and headed to the Great Mall. It was the largest shopping complex in the Bay Area, built in an old Ford assembly plant. It was so different from the simple markets in Kabul that Fadi couldn’t help but become distracted by the amazing array of stores, in particular the shop selling electronic gadgets. But when he later ran into Zafoona, wandering in a daze among rows of little girls’ pink party dresses, he wanted to go home and hide in the kitchen pantry. After that the only thing he sort of wanted to do was sit with Abay, parked in front of the television. Her wrinkled face mirrored the emotions on the screen as he translated ER, The Price Is Right , and Oprah for her, which helped improve his English.
    During the day when his mother was taking a nap and the other adults were at work, even Noor, who’d found a job at a nearby McDonald’s, Fadi went online. He surfed the Web, looking for articles on Afghanistan andthe flood of refugees pouring across the border. He kept typing in “Mariam Nurzai,” hoping for a random hit. But there was nothing.
    Fadi sighed, spotting the two suitcases standing at the foot of the bed. Everything was packed and ready to go, even the copy of From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler . He’d finally finished reading it but couldn’t get himself to give the book away. It reminded him of Kabul, and for some odd reason, Claudia felt like a friend. She and her brother, while hiding at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, had managed to solve an amazing mystery concerning a Renaissance statue, and Fadi admired her guts. So he’d stuck the book into his backpack, and it had come to rest against the old honey tin. He couldn’t get himself to take it out of the bag, so it just sat there.
    Now we’re moving out, thought Fadi, remembering the argument his parents had had with Uncle Amin and Khala Nilufer that morning.
    â€œWe can’t keep living off of your hospitality,” said Habib. He sat next to Zafoona at the kitchen table.
    Fadi stood next to Zalmay in the hallway, listen-ing in.
    â€œHospitality!” grumbled Uncle Amin. He looked a bit insulted.