Dark Chronicles of Nooria 2

Mary catches me in the washroom, "Nora, ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"You're bout the toughest round this school, don't want no problem with you. So level with me. Really not want Jerry? Or just playing hard to get?"
"Mary, you want him go after him. Not playing hard to get."
"Cool, say Nora, why don't you stop wearing all those dresses? Is why all those girls hate you."
"All I own, no jeans, no pants. It's an aunt in Saskatoon, dresses passed down from her 3 daughters."
"Her daughters must really hate her. All dresses, nothing else."
"Old country, traditional. Still, glad I got em. If I relied on mum, I'd need a flour sack."
"So Nora, they say your dad was a Paki?"
"No, East Indian."
"What happened to him?"
"He and the government had a falling out, sent him back to India."
"No wonder your mum is so weepy. So, like Saskatoon or here better?"
"Neither."
"One thing I like bout you Nora, honest. Not endless brag bout Saskatoon like others who've been there."
I show for my detention. Melissa will do homework in the school library. That way, we can walk home together.
Mrs Merasty says gently, "sit up front, Nora." I'm the only one there. "Dear, you've had some rough times lately. Feel like talking?"
"No ma'am."
"Ok then, but anytime you do feel like it, I'm here."
"I'll keep that in mind, ma'am."
"Enough detention, idiot deserved what happened. Still, next time, maybe just let the playground supervisor straighten him out."
I blush.
Melissa is surprised, "out so early?"
One look tells me. I feel her forehead. "Feel sick, Melissa?"
She nods.
I walk her home. "Mrs Morningchild," I say in respectful tone, "feel her forehead."
She does. Grim look. "Nora, say goodbye to your friend, 3 days, a week. Everyone gets that flu."
I'm not surprised, see lotsa families live mostly on potato chips. Cheap, caselot discount at the store, no cooking, no dishes to wash. Noticed a pattern, where there is booze, also potato chips.
"Before you go, Nora, it's very kind very generous of you, how you look after Melissa."
"Thank you, ma'am, but she also helps me out."
"What could she do?"
"Ma'am, my first time ever on reserve, all my life in Saskatoon. She gives me good advice."
Mrs Morningchild's face lights up, she hugs Melissa.

I go home. Mum is still there, in front of the TV. I fetch water, 2 pails at a time. After 3 trips to the lake, I'm done. I take my laundry to the lake, wash 2 dresses, underwear and socks, hang them up.
The drinking water I boil 20 minutes. Wash water, what the hay? I give myself a towel bath, be half the night heating enough water and hate that metal tub anyway.
I cook supper, what passes for it. Hotdog for me, one for mum. Put it out on the coffee table. Not a word, not an eye movement, nothing to say she even knows I'm there or cares. She might eat now or an hour later.
Bet I could stand there, totally naked, purple spiky hair and she still wouldn't notice me.
This time she eats after a few minutes. I wash dishes, then sweep, careful to stay out of her line of vision to the TV. No garbage collection here, use the burning barrel out back every few days.
Bit of homework and I go to bed. Nothing good on TV. Besides mum has the remote, so I wouldn't get any choice anyway.

Recess time, I wander alone. Feels awful, usually I'm with Melissa. Two boys start fat-mouthing each other, leading up to a fight. Everyone is watching that.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, reaches around, feels me up, nothing there yet. That awful Jenny Sayer, in grade 6, looks like a little whale. Her other hand is feeling between my legs, but outside the dress.
"Stop now."
"Else what?" she leers.
"Won't beat you up, people just feel sorry for you. Spank you hard, if you don't stop."
For answer, she hikes up my dress, slides a hand inside my panty. No one is watching as I take her down with ridiculous ease. After a dozen spanks, I know something has gone wrong. See she's enjoying it. I stop, try to think through my next move.
With that, she wraps her arms around me, starts kissing me. Between kisses, "just love a take-charge girl." "Shown you are interested." "Made me your little slave girl."
I try to control the sick feeling in my stomach. See boys, they only slang me, talk crazy stuff. Never try anything with their hands, know I can fight. What do I do when I find she likes the spanks? Scarier, what do I do about strange feelings?
I hold her off at arms-length, "enough, had your fun." By now, the boyfight is over, so we'll hafta behave.
"Admit it," she leers, "you liked that. Liked spanking. Liked kissing."
True, but I'd rather wrestle a grizzly bear than admit it to her.
"So that's why you kept pushing that ridiculous Jerry away."
"Nah, was just playing hard to get, but Mary scooped him."
Jenny snorts with laughter, "go on. Could tie one hand behind your back and you could still thump that silly Mary. So, when she scooped Jerry, was with your permission. She'd be too afraid of you."
I blush, right on.
"Now I ain't gonna call you a liar. Let's just say, someone still sifting through feelings, hasn't figured it out yet."
I blush hotter.
"Just look around Nora. Men, total swine. Boys, apprentice swine, takes them a while to learn. You belong with someone like me, treat you with love, respect."
"Sliding your fingers in my panty is respect? Hate to see when you get rude."
Matter-of-fact tone, "knew I had to. Only way you'd spank. But I won't do it again, not til you ask of course.
Again I blush.
"I know what you really want. One day, it'll happen. How bout today, after school?"
"Chores to do."
"Same here. No big deal, won't take long."
"No."
"Tomorrow is Saturday, name a time, be there with bells on my feet. Anything you want."
I groan inwardly. So why am I weakening? "Busy tomorrow."
She grins knowingly, "no one in the whole of Lilac Valley is ever busy, ever. Just a saying you picked up in Saskatoon. So you do that, resist me all you want. I love the thrill of the chase."
With that, I'm saved by the bell, recess over.

Most of the time, I can just switch off after crazy stuff, get on with school. This time, just doesn't work. Thoughts are too many, too fast. Does that make my one of those? I mean every woman I've ever heard talk, says the same, how bad men are. So are they all those? If so, where do all the kids come from? Why are there tons of magazines, makeup, hairdos, clothes, jewelry, all to catch those horrible things? Why bother?
Worse yet, I felt a real electric jolt. Surely she felt it, is laughing at me.
Gradually I become aware someone is calling my name, Mrs Awasis, the teacher, "Earth calling Nora, come in please."
"Yes Mrs Awasis."
"Take your book, go to the board, show us how you do the problem."
"Which one ma'am?" Everyone laughs and I blush.
"Number Five, page 137."
I slap it on the board fast. Easy, 1000-643=357.
"Don't sit just yet Nora. Explain what you did, didn't borrow."
"All from 9, last from 10. 9-6=3. 9-4=5. 10-3=7."
"Where did you learn that? They teach that in school in Saskatoon?"
"No ma'am, learned from my father."
"What was his occupation?"
"Going for his PhD in Economics, taught undergrad classes."
"So why are you here? Why did your mother return to Lilac Valley?"
I blush, "ma'am, he and the government had a little misunderstanding. So they sent him back to India."
Now Bert pipes up, "I know that story, happened when I was in Saskatoon. See he'd gone back for his father's funeral, tried bringing back 20 kilos of dope."
Mrs Awasis, "now Bert, you really should not butt in. In future, put your hand up."
"Yes Mrs Awasis."
She looks at me. No question. Huge blush says it all. Story is true.
"Now children, remember a child is not responsible for the actions of a parent. If it were so, lotta you children would be in jail right now."
I see awe, respect for me all over Bert's face. He puts up his hand."
"Yes Bert?"
"Everyone else, parents are in for nonsense stuff. We got a real celebrity her. Nora, I'm real sorry for my remarks."
I nod.
"Ok Nora, one more time. Show them that math trick again."

And now I'm in the soup. See with Melissa, it helped keep the crazies away. I sit alone in the cafeteria. It's good, beef stew, large bun and real butter, orange and milk. Thank heavens for school lunch.
Jenny sits uninvited. I'm on edge, but before anything happens, Bert comes along. "May I join you ladies?"
He tells us of his uncles into bootlegging. Has a ton of stories.
Jenny sniffs, "that's bad. Look at all the problems booze causes."
Bert laughs, "no my uncles are heroes. See the government wants to cheat people on all those taxes. You might say my uncles are like Robin Hood."

Dark Chronicles of Nooria 1

I'm usually awake by the time the alarmclock-radio comes on. I've got it timed so I get 2 songs, then news and weather. I hear 2 very haunting songs, things I always enjoy, "Copperhead Road" and "City of New Orleans."
I realize once again mother didn't make it to bed. There's one bedroom, one bed we share. Fell asleep in front of the TV again, turns itself off after 2 hours with no click on the remote.
The first 2 stories are politics, the endless round of nonsense in Ottawa. The next item, "and on the Lilac Valley Indian Reserve, another stabbing. Lyle Taypotat, age 37, died of stab wounds in the ambulance. Police are holding his common-law wife Angie Okemow, pending charges."
This hits close to home, a mile away. The announcer continues, "checking our records, this is Lilac Valley's 14th homicide so far this year. This figure leads all other reserves in Canada and even is ahead of City of Saskatoon figures for year to date."
I get out of bed, shut off the radio. I head for the outhouse, we have no running water. I put on a full kettle of water and toast 2 slices of bread. No jam or margarine left, so I spread lard.
Then I make a second batch, which I put in a bag. I make 2 travel mugs of tea. Half teaspoon of sugar in each as we're running low.
I grab my school satchel and head out the door. Sure enough, my best friend, I mean my only friend Melissa Morningchild is there.
We go around back, sit on our favorite perch, a fallen log. It's a magnificent morning, moist fresh forest air and birdsong.
Wordless I hand Melissa the toast. "Thanks Nora, you're a real pal."
After she's done eating, we sit and sip tea. I tell her of the news item.
"How it is," she says quietly, "both big drinkers."
That over, I ask her if she remembered to do her homework. She forgot arithmetic. I wait, see if she needs any help. Only once, she's getting better.
I can tell something else is on her mind, not the stabbing or homework. I just sit quiet, wait for it.
"You know," she starts, "women are real awful. Seems every one of them, like your mum or mine."
I nod. She continues, "now yours, she's without a man, what does she do? Lie on the sofa, watch TV, eat potato chips. Does she talk with you anymore?"
"Kinda lost track, think maybe a fortnight or so, she hasn't said a word."
"Or take my mum," Melissa continues, "that's what happens when you do have one of those things. Ugh. Me, see I gotta plan."
"You have?"
"Yep, just ain't gonna grow up. 16th birthday, I'll kill myself."
"And how long have you thought of that?"
"Years and years."
Not likely, she's 8. Meaning she thought of it yesterday or this morning.
"So how would you do it?"
"Bottle of aspirin."
"Lousy plan, too slowacting. Take you 2 days to die. Round here, you couldn't hide from people for 2 days."
She shrugs, "got lotsa time, think of something." She sits straighter, looks out at the lake.
"Now see that boat Old Man Merasty owns. Just go out on the lake, take the gascan and poof." More serious look, "why wait? Today."
"You can't, God forbids it."
"My uncle in the army, says Lilac Valley is proof there ain't no God. If there were, he wouldn't allow a place like this to happen. No god, I can do it now."
"You can't. You're my only friend. You die, I'd be heartbroken, kill myself too."
Suddenly she wraps her arm round me crying, "I could never do that to you. You're so kind. Help with food. Homework. Even beat up that pig Jimmy Bittern."
I wipe her face. Now she smiles, "I'll do it. Stay alive for you."
"Good, now school."

We're at the entrance when Tracy Aubichon sticks out her tongue, "Nora, you're dis-gusting. That dress been outa style for centuries. Don't you own any jeans?"
Actually not, but I don't bother talking to her. She shrugs, talks to another girl, "Cindy, don't you own any stylish jeans? That's the sort men wear, mechanics and such."
"Go soak your head," Cindy asserts. No risk of a fight. Boys fight over insults and such. Girls, one reason only, who owns a particular boy.

Melissa heads for her grade 2 class and I head for mine, grade 4.
Jerry Pichay, utter pest, bows, "my fair lady, you are a vision of loveliness in that floral dress. But your beauty outshines any flower on it. I would do anything to prove my love. I would wrestle a polar bear, if it made you happy."
I don't speak, but Mary Quewezance does, "Jerry, what feat of derring-do are you thinking of today?"
Jerry bows theatrically, takes my hand and kisses it, "my lady, we are on a medical mission of mercy. I, doctor and pilot, you, nurse. Now this strong hurricane blows us off course. Soon we're down near Antartica. We're almost outa gas, when we see this island. Too mountainous to land, we ditch in the water. Swim ashore. Wild penguins attack us. I give a judo chop like this, then one like that, soon I've knocked out all the penguins. We cuddle together for warmth and kiss."
"Jerry, kiss a penguin, I'm not interested, for the 100th time."
Good old Mary chimes right in, "Jerry would you kiss a skunk, to prove your love?"
"Certainly, be proud to."
Mary grins wickedly, "then bend over, stick your head between your legs and kiss your ass."
Everyone roars with laughter.
The teacher arrives and we settle in our desks.
"Nora Ahpay, front and center." Hands me the book. "This page to that."
I know why she always picks on me, when she doesn't feel like reading. I'm the only one in the class who can.
It's a story of a little girl in Kabul, Afghanistan, who works as a letter reader/writer in the market to support her family.
At the point a customer pays her, Bert Poundmaker stands, "dis-gusting, obscene. No one should take money for reading a letter. My uncle never charges anyone."
Teacher turns to me, "Nora, you answer that."
"Bert, you've been away a few days. Missed the story. See the little girl is all the family has. Father, put in prison. Mother and big sister, aren't allowed out of the house, this mean government called the Talibans. Little brother, still a baby. If the girl didn't get paid, they'd starve."
"Go on. Just go on welfare, like everyone else here."
"Bert, no welfare there."
"You are such a know-it-all," he rages, "whore, slut, pig, tramp. Two years from now, you'll be a prosty in Saskatoon, giving blowjobs to 60-year-old whitemen. Why you ..."
Teacher grabs Bert, "home for the day." Once he's gone, she sighs, "guess his mother forgot his medicine again today. Don't just stand around Nora, carry on reading."

Recess time, Melissa and I see a bunch of kids head out behind the trees, the glue-sniff set.
Tracy Aubichon picks the right moment when everyone is watching 2 boys get ready to fight. Pulls down her pants, moons Melissa and me.
I just laugh, "so who gave you the hickey there, Bert?"
She heads off to bug someone else.
John Powderhorn walks by, "yuck, double-yuck," suddenly he's shouting, "take that stinky Paki hole of yours back to Saskatoon. Whore. Pig. Slut."
I check where the playground supervisor teacher Mrs Merasty is. Got half a minute before she could get here. So use it.
A football linebacker would be proud. Catch him totally offguard, flatten him. I'm hammering him bigtime, when I feel the hand, "stop now."
"You John," she says grimly, "go home for the day. Three detentions, starting tomorrow." After he leaves, she says quietly, "Nora, one detention, today."

Lunch is macaroni and cheese, an orange and a milk. Melissa and I sit together as always.
Jerry Pichay brings his tray, "can I join you, fair lady?"
"Jerry what part of No don't you understand? Go hit on Mary, she likes you."
"She doesn't. Told me to kiss her ass."
"So kiss it and she'll follow you around loyally."
He leaves but sits at the next table. To no one in particular, he declares himself a knight on a white horse.
A minute later, Mary sits uninvited with him, grins, "last time we talked, you were promising to kiss my ass." Lays her hand on his, "after school, sailor, oh yeah."

Dark Chronicles of Nooria preview

I hope you enjoyed the Iris series, Farzana children series, soap opera and vignettes prior to that.

Say hello to Nora Ahpay, a sweet ten-year-old on the Lilac Valley Indian Reserve. Hang around for a few episodes, get to see her way of life.
She's about to be plunged into a Dark Chronicle, a living nightmare, to face things no one on earth should have to. And she'll be doing it as a 10-y-o Afghan, Nooria.

IRIS 3

Clerk tells me, "allowance out on patrol, 5 rupees a night. Teaching allowance, 2 rupees per day."
"That is an insult to the teaching profession. Surely they provide a service as valuable as a patroller."
Clerk doesn't have a ready answer, fetches Finance Officer.
FO steeples her fingers, puts on a professorial tone, "allowances make no attempt to measure contribution. It is a measure of hardship. Patrol is the hardship of sleeping out, less than regular mess food."
"What if I told you I find teaching more of a hardship than patrolling?"
FO rolls her eyes theatrically, as clerk coughs to cover up her laugh.
"Madam," FO says with a stern look, "take it up with the CO. Demand to patrol 5 days a week."
Clerk resumes, "allowance for the poetry reading, 2 rupees."
I can't help it anymore, burst into laughter. FO and clerk join in, as does everyone nearby.
As it dies out, clerk says, "check the addition and sign."
Wahida playfully punches me, "good show, did as good as the rest of us."

As I tell Nilofar of my adventure, she's shocked, "paid for reading poetry? Dis-gusting!"
I blush.
"Wanna keep any self-respect whatsoever, go donate that 2 rupees to Malalia Hospital." That's the unit charity of choice, for destitute women and girls.
"Wouldn't I look stupid, donating just 2 rupees?"
"It's a sealed box, Iris, sits on the secretary's desk. She always looks away, so as not to see how much people put in."
"Ok, I'll do it."

I've made my deposit, turn to leave. The secretary flashes a winning smile, "Lt, so very nice to see you. So few officers donate, most are into dope."
I blush hotly. Too late to throw in more now. Come back next week, donate 10.
Nilofar awaits me outside, "Iris you're blushing. She give you trouble? Hit on you?"
"She's not at fault. Just realized what an idiot I am. Gotta donate more next time."
Nilofar grins, "good thing she behaved. Else I go punch out her lights."
Oooo, is that jealousy? Sure sounds like it.
After this little encounter, I notice a subtle change. Nothing blatant, nothing you can argue with, but definitely sticks that much closer than before.

As I enter BOQ, Wahida drawls, "she ah lets you go to the can alone?"
"Thought it was just my imagination."
"Ain't friend. Whole unit is noticing. You're an old army type, know there's no secrets."
"Ye-ah."
"So she freaked when the secretary hit on you?"
I blush, "she didn't."
"Grow up, don't be an idiot. Myself and 2 other office staff saw it. Unanimous, 3 out of 3, said it was a hit."
"Oh."
She grins, "ever heard of James Michener, the author?"
I nod.
"Good, here's a story he told. During the Pacific War, World War 2, the Americans were on one particular island, the name escapes me. Wanted to build a runway suitable for the big bombers. Not enough manpower, went out and hired the tribe of headhunters. Within 2 weeks, they had em driving dump-trucks and bulldozers. Couldn't do the maintenance of course, Americans did that. So tell me the moral of that story."
"Technical skills are the easy ones to transfer. Cultural, lot harder. If they'd moved those same people to jobs and apartments in Detroit, they'd be 10 years adjusting."
She smiles, like a proud teacher whose student has aced the exam, "don't stop. Relate it to you here."
"Technical is patrolling and instructing verbal English, I do passable ok. Culturally, doubt if I'll ever fit."
"So ultimately, comes down to this. Long as you go out, patrol after patrol, half wondering if this time you hit the warp, get back to Ireland, you'll never fit. Gotta start by accepting it's history."
I blush, "thought I did that already."
"Mentally, yes. Emotionally, haven't even started."

Next day, as we roll through the evil moonscape, I see it different. Which cliff would be good?
As I play my binoculars across one, I feel Nilofar's hand on my shoulder, "don't even think it. And don't get outa my sight for one minute."
"Think what?" I ask innocently.
"Don't gimme that nonsense Iris, half the time I'm picking up your vibes."
Is that scary or what? Wonder what else she knows.
"Tonight Iris, sleep right up against the jeep. I'm next to you. You ain't going nowhere."
I blush, nod.

I'm a little later than usual arriving in BOQ, Nilofar and I had done some paper after supper.
There's wild frivolity as the girls discuss literature. I use the term loosely, Story of O.
It's way too early to go to bed, so I sit back, pretend to read the newsletter.
Zarmeena grins, "we could talk in circles forever. Instead, let's go to the source."
Ameena nods.
Zarmeena puts on a too-wide smile, "Iris, want your opinion."
"On what?"
"Don't be a moron, pretend you haven't heard. S&M of course. We want the westerner take."
"You realize of course I speak for only one westerner. Haven't asked the rest of the species."
This draws a huge laugh.
"Still, nuff stalling, your opinion, give."
Quietly I assert, "I cannot even in my wildest dreams imagine, fathom such people. Surely everyone on the whole planet already has enough paid and grief and suffering. Why look for more?"
With that, the 5'11" sultry sex-goddess Ameena simply picks me up. Hold me in her arms and starts in French-kissing.
I resist.
She pulls back just a bit, looks at me with those bedroom eyes. In a voice that sounds 30 seconds away from orgasm, "I'll tell you why. For high-voltage sex. Now you swing a paddle and I'm all yours. Worship you, give you anything you want in bed. How bout a weekend of smoking-hot sex in Married Quarters?"
It's a good acting job, but not good enough. See usually she looks at me like I'm a scrawny little disgrace to all of womankind.
I look around, see the faces. Obvious, she's got a bet. Get me for the weekend, she wins the bet.
At this exact moment, CO walks in, "oh ho, you 2 wanna key?"
"Yessss!" Ameena asserts.
"No," I state flatly.
I hear a loud chorus of disbelief, urging me to go for it.
"Last I checked," I reply primly, "I'm straight."
Ameena coos, "and so are we all. But don't think you'll ever get the chance. When in Rome."
Seeing my look, she sets me down, "ok, little one, play it your way. Play hard to get. Just makes the chase that much more fun." Absolutely wicked grin, "come on, admit it, you know you're tempted."
I blush, true, but I wouldn't admit that here.

As it turns out, next day's trip is a daytrip only, no camp out. Nilofar won't go, bad cramps. This is a third world place, very few drivers. Only other driver is in the brig, with a dozen others, following the big punchup with the MP's.
So it turns out I go on patrol alone. Only I don't patrol, just sit by a cliff, stare at it.
By now, I'm about one minute away from doing it. I don't imagine I have even one ounce of credibility with my sister officers after last night's events.
I stand near the edge, stare out to sea a long time.
And then, I leave. Got one friend here who'd be heartbroken if I did it.

I run into Nilofar in the mess, "so how are you feeling?"
"Bit better now," fixes a hard look on me, "stood there a long time, didn't you? Glad to see you made the right decision."
This is really scary. I blush hotly.
Kind smile, "Iris, get your stuff out of BOQ. Too many crazies in there. I booked us a room. Everyone knows you belong to me and I'm deathly tired of waiting for you to figure it out." Her smile robs it of any offence. She reaches out, takes my hands in hers, "so, glad you didn't jump?"
I nod, start to cry.

IRIS 2

Nilofar and I sit, "what was your rank in Argyll and Sutherland, Iris?"
"Master Corporal."
She smiles crookedly, "how many years?"
"Twenty, I'm a pensioner."
"So why not a higher rank?"
I blush, "technician, like electronic gizmos. Don't do well with people."
"You're gonna learn fast."
"You think I'll be ok, Nilofar?"
"Any advice, any time, just ask, I'm your friend."
CO comes over, "Lt Ryley, Nilofar will be assigned as your language instructor. So get used to seeing her all day, every day."
I nod.
"Now for a personal question, answer or not as you see fit. Ever been diagnosed with autism?"
I blush fiercely.
She smiles gently, "look at the bright side. By the time you get good at tutoring English, you'll make progress on that. Now you took a big risk, to help save Nilofar. Those Gardai patrols are pretty trigger-happy, would have happily shot both of you. So I'm recommending you for the Award of Merit. Anyway, hang out with us awhile, you might actually get to like us."

Nilofar and I do the routine, prior to patrol, look at map, check jeep, supplies.
The she walks me to BOQ. I enter, planning to go to bed.
There's a crowd in the common room. A Lt calls out, "forget it, walls are paper-thin here, never sleep. Join us. Gotta saying, when God made time, he made lots of it."
"Exactly what they say in Ireland."
"Any new person here, we wanna know her tastes in literature. So, what's the best book you've ever read in your whole life?"
"A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth."
Now the place is bedlam. Almost everyone has read it, and wants to talk. After about an hour, people are tired, ready to turn in. One says in mock serious tone, "new girl, hope you've read more than one book." Draws a laugh.

As I climb aboard with Nilofar next morning I casually ask, "so what happens if we see say 1,000 South Africans landing in an invasion? Expected to fight them with these popguns?"
"No, we only report back to the French. We're their eyes, not their soldiers."
The suspicion grows. Take the wonders of modern satellite surveillance, the French don't really need this patrol. Heavens, picture resolution is so good you can tell if eggs are fried or scrambled.
So this is possibly a charitable gesture, so they can believe they're partly earning the aid money. Still, think I'll tell a soul that, spoil their fun? And where would that leave me? Being a 5 day a week English instructor. Oy!
We stop often, her brewing tea on a single-burner kero stove, me scanning cliffs and ocean with binoculars.
"Iris," she grins, "here only 2 things aren't in shortage, tea and time to talk about life."
"Sounds exactly like County Clare."
"Ah ha, see you'll fit in ok after all."
It's a magnificent day, Irish style. Bit of a chill breeze, lotsa fresh ocean air. No surprise, it's almost as far south of the equator as Ireland is north.
Stupendous views, magnificent gray ocean, stunning cliffs, moonscape so ugly it's actually beautiful.
Feels good to be alive. To have a good friend, a good NCO along.
We sit up by moonlight, talk long into the night.
I'm dreading going back, facing the English instruction and I admit this to her.
"Got it all wrong, Iris. See I'm your Dari instructor, but also your friend. Your students, soon be your friends too."

We're back at the mess, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
CO, "we have a weekly tradition. Draw an officer's name. Lucky winner does the poetry reading."
I nod.
"So there's 2 poems, one in Dari, one in English. Which one?"
"Me?"
"Lt Ryley, you seem to have a hearing problem. Yes you. I assume the English one."
"Well yes."
She hands it over.
I raise an eyebrow, "The Cremation of Sam McGee?"
"Perfect sort of poem for an Irishwoman. I'm sure you can give it more ring than the rest here."
"It's not Irish, it's Canadian, the poem."
"Lt that is one collosally stupid statement. There are fifth-generation Irish-Canadians who feel more Irish than Canadian."
I'm surprised they applaud, probably just being polite.

Lounging in the BOQ common room after, a Lt asks, "so how was patrol?"
I'm still halfway high from all the fresh air, face glowing from the wind. "When I get out there, realize I made a mistake, retiring early, should have stayed a few more years."
"So why did you retire early?"
"I'd just finished my 20 years when my father died. Inherited the house. Leave it vacant a few years, it'd fall to wrack and ruin."
"So how did retirement work out?"
"Lousy. Only one person left I knew from school. Rest dead or moved away. And he was the local bootlegger."
"Yeah I hear you. I've tried going home on vacation. No one left. So Iris, wanna know the real reason your sister officers simply accept you."
"I'm all ears."
"We're up to our eyeballs in paper. No one wants to waste time gallivanting in a jeep. That's why the CO stuck you with it and why the girls are so happy to see you here."
Drily I reply, "and once I learn written Dari, I too will discover the joy of paper?"
"Three things never in shortage here, Iris. Tea, time for conversation, and red tape."
"Takes me back. Some things are the same, everywhere in the world."

Next morning, my sidekick and I are in the CO's office, breaking the roster of members up into manageable groups of approximately equal English ability. Day after, I'm doing workbooks.
Then it's the weekend. So what do people do here? Nilofar and I join a group of about 30, packing picnic lunches and library books.

Now during all this dread of teaching, one vision had been central to it. I'm all alone, facing them. Don't know where I got the silly idea.
So what is Nilofar to me? NCO, driver, friend, translator, Dari instructor, cultural advisor.
So how would I explain things to lower-level students without her help?
She looks at me odd. "You actually believed that? Chill. I'm here with you, every minute. It'll be ok, you'll see."
It's slow-moving, with everything being translated, but I learn as I go, picking up Dari equivalents. By lunchtime, I'm actually enjoying it, just a bit.
Nilofar and I sit with a large raucous group at lunchtime.
Tap on my shoulder, CO waves me a bit away, "by now, I'm sure you've heard a dozen times how Afghan women consider themselves the roughest, toughest most no-nonsense women on the planet."
Drily, "it's come to my attention."
"There are certain advantages to that. When they say something nice, you know they aren't just being polite. Dozen comments you're doing a good job, no one trashing you. Keep up the good work."
"I'm sure most of the credit belongs to my very able assistant."
"I like that, loyalty to one's NCO. So I'll tell her too."
As Nilofar sits back down, she shrugs, "so what on earth were you worried about Iris? You heard the CO."

As Nilofar sees to the door of BOQ, Wahida rolls her eyes, "you must be tired of her. If my NCO followed me like that, I'd commit homicide in a week."
"Truth is I like her."
"So how's English going?"
"Very impressed, your members are hard-working students."
"Curious one you are. Twenty years in a well-paid army, where it's live it up. You come here, totally by accident. They haven't even paid you a rupee yet. Despite all that, despite patrolling in a 50-year-old jeep and watching 20-year-old movies, you actually like the place. Anyone else that happened to, be screaming to the Irish Embassy, the British High Commission, the UN and Santa Claus. Why not you?"
"Told you already. No friends left back in Ireland. Here, least I got."
She laughs, "tell me, suppose the reading group would mind if I joined them?"
"I'll ask Nilofar."

Nilofar looks at me strange, "she is one big doper. Can't imagine her reading. Still, wants to try, that's ok."
Drily, "maybe she ran out of dope money."
"Not her, Iris. She's rich."
"Rich?"
"Made big trouble for her family. Father sends her money, long as she stays in the organization, never goes home on leave."
I chuckle, "cool, remittance woman. Talk about equality."

Now that my intial angst is gone, I have more energy to observe. It's like I don't really exist as a person in my own right. Only relevant in that I'm a possession of Nilofar. Far-fetched? Don't think so. The looks say it's like I'm the prize Nilofar brought back from the war.

I take a seat in BOQ. Wahida grins, "so forgotten how fun it is to read. Book's got me hooked. Must be the difference between western and Indian fiction. See those westerners want everything distilled down. Indian author, conversational tone, more fun."
"I agree, always preferred Indian novels."
"Funny thing, been watching you like a hawk from Day One. Now I've had courses on peer counselling issues. You, match pretty much every sympton on the list for Asperger Syndrome, variant of autism."
I blush.
"So that's your secret. People with Asperger are almost always non-racial. Since you don't send out bad vibes, you don't get em back. 99% of white westerners would have riled everyone up by now. Pushy, arrogant. Yet you, laid back, low-key."

Pay parade. It's a jovial line. Wahida has clued me in, must argue or you get no respect.
Clerk draws a breath, "base pay, bottom increment, 1,000 rupees a month."
"Why bottom increment? Got 20 years experience."
She checks with the Finance Officer, who assures me only time here counts.

IRIS 1

First thing upon arising, I add peat to the fire. The kettle has sat on the stove all night, peat being such a slow burn.
After an hour of weeding the garden, I switch to town clothes. It's Tuesday, only day the banker is in town, so I set out on the 6 mile walk to Ballyvaghan, County Clare.
I withdraw 50 then head for the grocery.
Along with my food purchase, I buy a ten-pack of cigarettes and pick up the free weekly, the Clare Champion. Don't bother with those national papers done up in Dublin, too much political nonsense.
As my food came to a bit less that I thought, I decide to celebrate, go to Murphy's Chipper, order fish and chips. I pay at the counter, take a chair to wait. Only two other customers, Professor Hartfield, the Englishman who owns a cottage, and Johnny O'Day, the local bootlegger.
The professor leaves his starch at home in England, enjoys conversing with colorful characters like Johnny here.
"I tell you, Professor," Johnny says earnestly, "it's me those eejits trying to put out of business. That new Gardai patrol, me they're after."
The professor smiles soberly, "my friend, ever done a hitch in the army?"
"No."
"Ever heard of HK's, Hochler and Koch, the submachine guns?"
"No."
"Nobody in the army or police gets HK's unless it's a really special unit, like say anti-terr."
"So I can relax?"
"Not really, if they trip over you by accident, they'll run you in. But they aren't looking for people like you, selling one bottle at a time. Nor are they looking for the likes of the big fish over in Galway, selling a case at a time."
"So Professor, if I took a little holiday, went to Ennis a bit, played the horses, chances are they'd be gone when I get back?"
Professor laughs, "sounds like a plan. I like the horses too, want to go together?"
One thing you gotta say about Ireland, it's democratic.

I've barely returned from town, when 2 jeeps full of cops show. Yep, those are HK's.
The sergeant in charge consults a list, "you Iris Ryley?"
"Yes."
"Inspecting TV licenses. Why don't you have one?"
Oh sure, they are, with HK's. Cover story of course, want to see your house.
"That would be because I don't have a TV."
Insolent look, "care to show us? Or maybe we'll just get a warrant?"
Read you five-by-five, sarge. Show them and it's a polite search. Insist on a warrant, and they'll track dirt, manage to do some "accidental" damage.
The sarge scratches his head, "uh huh, now I see why no TV. No electricity either."
He blushes just a bit as he leaves.

I'm sitting on my doorstep reading the paper. The item only shows in one place, letter to the editor. Thundering denunciation of Gestapo-style cops masquerading as TV licence inspectors. But looking at who wrote it, we all know his political aspirations. Gonna run for the opposition, gotta embarrass the government as much as possible.
Now outside of a movie, I haven't seen a circa 1950 Willys jeep in ages. One pulls up. Two women, looking vaguely Arabic, a Lieutenant and a Corporal driver. AK47's in back, but handy.
In an arrogant tone the Sun King himself would approve of, Lt asks for directions to Ennis.
My first impulse is to send her astray. What changes my mind? Corp rolls her eyes. Read you loud and clear, corp, disliked even by her own.
Taking a pen and paper, I do a mini-drawing.
As they leave, I get a feeling of foreboding, haven't seen the last of them.

Next morning I'm working in the garden when the jeep pulls up, this time only with Corp.
Polite smile, "ma'am, mind if I park out back?"
Well yes I do, but all the same, better not to be shot.
Corp comes back after parking.
May as well keep it friendly. I invite her for tea. Once I pour, I offer her a cigarette. I see her eyes light up.
"Thank you, ma'am, last payday was delayed a bit."
We sip and puff in silence a few minutes.
"Tell me ma'am, you are a little surprised I'm here? Curious maybe?"
Not actually. It's like I'm an electro-magnet drawing the wierdos to me. Gotta read up on aura and such, find out what I'm doing wrong.
"I'm Nilofar, what's your name ma'am?"
"Iris."
"Well Iris, our Lt is no longer with us. Gone to dear dirty Dublin to make her way as an illegal immigrant. Me, just trying to get back safely."
"To where, Nilofar?"
She smiles, "best if I get the map." Returns in a minute. The realization hits, she left her piece in the jeep, so presumably this isn't a hostage-taking. Unfolds the map, "now you see, this here is Kerguelen Island, Southern Ocean. Belongs to France, we patrol it for them, aid agreement."
I nod.
"See, here's where we have our main operation. Residential school. But part of getting the aid money from France is regular patrols. So they know no one else in encroaching on their territory."
I nod.
"Iris, ever read sci fi?"
I look at her aghast, "surely, you're joking. Only men do that."
"I see. So this is gonna take some explaining. Ever heard talk of wormholes or timewarps?"
"No."
"Iris, gonna tell you a story so ridiculous, you'll say I'm nuts. Now see, I'm the driver. Always go on patrol. Officers, it's a rotation. Now any other officer, never a problem. That crazy, been on 6 trips with her. Every time we hit some warp or other, end up here in Ireland."
I study her face. She may be crazy, but she's not lying. This is the truth as she sees it.
So I ask the obvious, "why her?"
"Iris, if I knew that I'd be a world-famous physics prof or sci fi writer."
"Just a minute. How do you get back between those 6 trips?"
"Long as I'm in the jeep exact 48 hours later, just happens. Look Iris, if I were gonna lie to you, wouldn't I choose a more believable story? NATO exercise or such?"
I nod.
"So here's what I'm asking you for. Let me sleep her tonight. Be gone noon tomorrow."
"Only have the one bed. No sofa. Still, big enough, if you don't mind sharing."

Just before noon, she's sitting at the wheel and I'm sitting on a rock, watching.
"Iris, thank you so much for your hospitality. Never forget you."
I laugh, "you won't hafta come back."
Quizzical look.
"Well in future you drive the other officers, right?'
She laughs and I feel dizzy. When it clears, I'm in the passenger seat, staring at a moonscape.
She sees me, groans, "sor-ry, guess the warp was looking for 2 bodies, mine and the Lt. Didn't check your ID."
"So what happens now?"
"What else? Take you to our CO."

Nilofar and I enter the CO's office. Few minutes of rapid talk in their language and the helpless look on the CO says it all.
Switching to English, upper-crust Brit accent, "Nilofar assures me you probably saved her life. What's your name?"
"Iris Ryley."
"Right Iris, here's what we do. Next plane to our HQ in Pakistan in 2 weeks. You can hitch a ride on it. We can't afford an airticket onward. Can you?"
"No."
"I don't think the Irish have an Embassy in Pakistan. Meaning you'd have to deal with the British High Commission. First thing they'll want is ID. So let's see what you have."
All I have is the bankbook. CO groans, "when did you last visit this bank?"
"Tuesday."
"Let me see that newspaper."
I hand it over.
"I'm afraid I have bad news. You didn't just displace through space, but time as well. You're now some 2 years in what is the past to you. Making this bankbook worthless as ID."
She switches to their language, talks with Nilofar.
Switching back to English, "now Iris, I'm told the Irish are very literary, have an extraordinary sense of humor and of justice. Is this so?"
"Any Irish person would agree. Few Brits might not."
She chuckles, "very well, we now test your sense of humor. As of now, you are a Lieutenant with us. You and Nilofar can go on patrol every week. Plus other duties I'll assign."
"Is that wise? Could shoot myself in the foot. Shoot Nilofar in the foot. Maybe somewhere worse."
"Not funny, Lt Ryley. Remove your jacket. Good, now roll up that left sleeve all the way to the shoulder."
CO and Nilofar stare at the colorful tattoo of the Argyll and Sutherland Armored Car Squadron.
Drily the CO says, "if you can wear that, you know enough not to shoot yourself in the foot. I'll write a uniform chit and Nilofar can take you for it."
Supply sgt stares at the chit in disbelief. Several minutes of rapid talk with Nilofar.
Switches to English, "left you in the wash, you shrunk." Laughs at her joke, "come on, we'll measure that scrawny little body. Probably girls size, not adult."
Nilofar walks me to BOQ where I stow my gear, then we head for the mess, all-ranks one.
As it turns out, CO is in the food line behind us. "Ah Lt Ryley, I've had a chance to ponder you duties. 3 days of patrol, 2 days of English tutorial."
"I'm not really very good at that sort of thing."
"Nonsense, we have a saying her. Your weakness becomes your strength. Practise enough and you get good at it.

Chronicles of Iris preview

I hope you enjoyed the chronicles of Farzana children's story, the soap opera and the vignettes prior to that.

The Irish bachelor is a figure of legend. Yet math says, for every Irishman alone, there'd also be a woman alone somewhere.
Say hello to Iris Ryley. She's about to join the world of Afghans and not willingly.

MOON

I'm sitting in the coffee house, reading a newsmagazine. Two women sit at a nearby table. I'm soon their topic of conversation. Funny thing is, what language is it? I only know English and Hindi, yet I'm following. They royally trash me for being underendowed and for not having sufficiently stylish dress.
I decide to have a little fun as I leave. It's a L-shape building, so no one else can see. I hike up my dress, pull down the panty and moon them.

Monday the phone rings, personnel telling me to pick up my 2 summer replacements. Guess who? One blushes fiercely and the other bursts out laughing.
As I walk them back, I'm bigtime tempted. Could make life very difficult. Soon discard the idea.
"Look," I say quietly, "suppose we just forget Saturday happened. Need each other. Just as I need replacements urgently, you two need summer wages for school, so truce?"
Suraya laughs, "sure, truce it is. Just one thing, how'd you know what we were saying?"
"Beats me, thought I only knew English and Hindi."
Maryam chuckles, "a mystery, a challenge, a puzzle. Gotta be something Afghan in your background as a child. Like to talk at coffee time?"
"Sure, why not?"

BARTER

"Rohan, my boy," mum says, "we gotta talk."
I nod.
"Now look son, you're getting to be a real problem. Six girls now, everytime a family shows, always the same, too perfectionist, too fussy."
I nod, same I heard after five.
"Now I'm starting to get suspicious. You aren't a homo, are you?"
"No, mum."
"So wake up and smell the tea. Don't get married, you get drafted."
"Mum, no big problem. Here in Guyana, only draft 1 in 100. More odds of dying in all that Georgetown traffic."

Two days later, there it is. The notice only says when and where, not which draft. Odds are 1 in 100 you'll end up in the starship marines, 1 in 1000 you'll get married. See the western countries' birthrate has fallen to almost zero, so now there's a random draft. Find out which Monday.

After a few minutes of wait, the officer calls me in. Plays with his computer, shows me. I groan aloud, what an ugly pig. The printer whirs and out pops my marriage certificate and my airticket to Canada.
Mum is of course right freaked out, but I promise to come back on vacation when I can.

As myself and new spouse exit the Immigration Office at Toronto airport, she smiles wanly, "let's find a quiet coffee house, gotta talk."
Once settled, "so rather be back in Guyana?"
I nod.
"Forget it, pal, law may be insane, but it's still the law. I ain't any happier to see you. I am a lesbian or did you notice?"
I nod.
"So you ain't staying with me and my girlfriend. Interested in barter?"
I nod.
She takes out a picture. Wow, what a beautiful girl. "Friend of mine, Afghan-Canadian. Straight. Would like to find a guy, but all the Afghan guys are picking up white chicks. Interested in meeting her?"
I grin, "you bet."
She takes out her cell.

After a conversation, Nazira and I decide to give it a try. Official stuff like tax forms will still hafta go to the address on the certificate.
As I sit in her apartment, she interrogates me on education. Sheepishly, I admit to O levels in everything except one A level, math.
Next day, I show at the commercial laundry she works at, accepted on the spot for shipping and receiving.

I send mum a picture of us. Her reply, thought it was a white girl. I show Nazira the letter, then kiss her, with intent to do more.
She pushes me away, but with a friendly smile, "no time, now anyhow. Company this evening. You'd forgotten."
I groan.
"Lighten up, Rohan, gotta show you off to my friends. Later!"
I grin, "sure, what needs doing before they get here?"

FARZANA 10

CO leans back, steeples her fingers, "from the first edition, I could tell, it was you writing, not Nasiba. How? Crackles with authenticity. Definitely someone who's been there, had to switch cultures, not the work of someone who spent her entire life in just one culture. So, you might want to consider what next to write."
"Ma'am, how much is my choice? How much is yours?"
"Big stuff, like deciding who to blame a crash on, mine. If any member gets executed for treason, my call. Ordinary round of dope and stabbings and daily life, yours. I don't want to interfere, you have a cop's insight."
"Ma'am, rescue these people or not?"
"Keep the rescue. Girls'll be grown by then. Story can then traipse back to earth, with these same people. Or start a school on the planet, new crop of students."
"Ma'am, I'd prefer staying with the planet, new people."
"I can live with that. Now Farzana, the whole reason I assigned Nasiba to write, keep her out of trouble, out of people's hair. I never in my wildest dreams believed anything worthwhile would be written. So it was a shock pinning decorations on you two. But now I've read, I understand. Lot of inventions happen by accident, a byproduct of trying to do something else. And if it works, don't fix it. So, that makes you the official chronicler of the organization."
I nod.
"You might just have found your niche, your place in life. By the time you are 17, public relations people in HQ would be delighted to recruit you as a direct-entry Lieutenant."
"Yes ma'am."
"Curious, we have so few like you, understand east and west. Most can't, come across as morons or zealots to westerners. I'm sure by now you've seen newsletter articles you could revise, write better. And our western-raised members, well they do try. But pretty much all come across as arrogant, pushy, condescending to people here." Pause, "anyway give some thought to your story."

"How'd it go?" Nilo grins, "rubber hose? Beat you til you confess?"
"No, want me to write next summer, HQ doesn't wanna run out of episodes."
"You know why. See when they're reading, they ain't smoking dope."
"Spoken like a true cynic."
She grins, "something for everyone. Want sci fi, it's there. Cop mystery, there. Soap opera, same. And they don't hafta spend their hard-earned rupees on pulp fiction magazines. So, leaves more for dope."
Playfully I swat her with my pillow.
"Now in Hollywood, you'd get a million dollars a week. Here it's free."
"Don't have nowhere to park a BMW anyhow."
"Still, I'll hang out with you. My English is growing by leaps and bounds. Be an officer when I grow up." Smile, "I guess that makes us Friends by now."

FARZANA 9

"But you see Farzana, her intent at first is to go home, forget all these crazies. But somehow they swallow her up, change her. She ends up staying, belonging."
That's a stretch, but I ain't the boss in this story. As if I'll ever fit here! But then I remember hearing one of my father's friends talk of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), "if the body keeps going, eventually the mind will too." Meaning attend enough meetings and you accept AA. Maybe I will eventually be what my face says I am.
"You ok, Farzana? Did I hit a nerve?"
"No Lt, just thinking on what you said."
"So, your opinion, better if she goes back to Canada or stays an Afghan?"
"Lt, more believable if she ends up staying."
"Yeah, all that influence on her during her formative years. Total isolation from her home culture. Her own culture changed during her absence. Back home in Canada, she missed out on all that schooling, would end up a dishwasher. Here with the Afghans, a celebrity. Bit offbeat, but valued for her English instruction. Old story of small frog in big pond or big frog in small pond."
"Lt, sounds like a small frog in a small pond."
"Not for long. Gets power and influence fast. Way too fast for a lotta people."
"Come on Lt, a ten-year-old girl does that?"
"You'd be surprised, there's magnets for power floating around. She's one. My how time flies! Join me for supper."
Nasiba swears me to secrecy, I'm not allowed to tell anyone we're writing a book.

I return from supper, flop on my bed.
Nilo asks, "so, how'd it go?"
"Rumor is true. She doesn't do much. I helped her do it."
"Just talked all day? She as nuts as they say?"
"More."
"Look at the bright side, could have been KP."
I grin, "so Nilo, how was your day?"
"Well ..."

"So Lt, any thoughts on how the ship comes to grief?"
"Look Farzana, we know beans about the technical, the hard science of it. So let's make it juicy. A flight engineer, overcome by a combination of dope, insanity and desire for revenge sabotages some circuitry."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Come on, don't be a wimp. Afghan women pride themselves on being the fiercest women on the planet? So why not?"
I query, "but over 2,000 lives at risk?"
I'm starting to get the picture. She wants to make all the major decisions, let me do the line-by-line donkey work.
But then I remember something I read in the library here. Western-world novels are terse, condensed down for so-called busy readers. Novels from India are usually in a conversational tone, less work to do, more fun. I recall reading one of the famous authors, the name now escapes me, was a busy woman who only managed to write Sunday mornings.
So, I'll do Indian style, only way it'll get done in 2 months. First draft, then a combined revision/proofreading and presto. Either works or flops. Either way, a fun summer.
Me, nothing on the line. If it flops, they blame Nasiba. Succeeds, she and the organization will be fighting over the credit; none will filter down to me. So, no ego on the line, just do it, have fun, be the ghostwriter.
The tone is soon set. She wanders a lot, supposedly in the library, but I suspect sleeping.
I never bust a sweat, just keep moving. Two weeks and my first draft is done. I do the math, revise so many pages per day and finish on the last day of summer.
It's duly sent to HQ to examine, publish, whatever. With what I've heard of publishing, don't expect any news for a year.
I'm immensely surprised to hear back in a month. An American woman with a Masters in English Literature is doing volunteer work in HQ. She's claims it's totally unmarketable in the west. But with good strong story line and characters, she'll revise to western standards and submit for publication.
The story, as is, will be serialized in the organization newsletter. Nasiba and I get a minor decoration, the Award of Merit. The look on the CO's face conveys surreal disbelief, as she pins us. The citation is short, "an absolute tour-de-force. Best fictional representation of Afghan women in living memory."
Well, I think, not the best, the only. I have no competition. Who else writes about them? Still I'll take the award, looks nice.
Nilo punches my arm in fun, "so that's what you did all summer. How come I wasn't a character?"
"You were, inspiration for Parvana."
"Too cool."

I had sort of assumed this would get me on track socially, help to defuse the Cannibal Princess image. Nothing could be further from the truth. Made me more of an outcast.
Shoulda just goofed off, produced dreck. Oh well, live and learn.
At the time, I didn't realize I'd wait 2 years for an answer. See the American woman couldn't sell it, glutted market. So she brutally edited out half my characters, turned it into a novella and sold it to a magazine. Proceeds were used for sick bay equipment here.

Nilo asks, "that crazy Lt, what's her name?"
"Nasiba."
"Notice how she's putting on airs, ever since the decoration? Walking around like a little tin goddess? You aren't. Why not?"
"Ever hear of hubris? Ancient Greeks believed anyone boasting too much was trying to be a mini-god. At that point, Zeus got ticked, sent down a lightning bolt. Besides, the citation was a crock. Best representation? Come on, only one."

The first edition of newsletter with serial story is out. The newsletter isn't forbidden to girls, it's just only the older and closer-to-join set reads it. Not enough copies to go around, handed around til it's ratty.
This edition breaks all records, everyone in camp reading it. Reaction is 98% outrage that the crash is blamed on an Afghan woman. Everyone wanted it blamed on the Americans, improper inspection prior to handover.
I could wimp out, by saying Nasiba is the boss, but I don't. I simply tell people the whole point of the story is to inform westerners aboout us. So it wouldn't be too brilliant to blame them in Chapter One.
I had portrayed the heroine as a combination of mystified by this strange culture, but still willing to cope with the hardships. This too drew a firestorm of criticism. Everyone wanted her portrayed as a spoiled whiner. Again I replied, offend the western reader in Chapter One and you lose her. She never finishes your story.

It's been a bad day, probably a hundred girls have lambasted me on these 2 topics. I flop tiredly.
Nilo cheers me up, "look at the bright side. Least they're reading it. How would you feel if no one read it? Other than the 2 complaints, how do they like the story?"
I grin, "seem to like the rest of it. Never seen themselves in print before."

A week after publication, Nasiba throws herself off a cliff into the ocean. I'm guessing stress of all that criticism is pinching her inflated ego. My thoughts are uncharitable, "coward, run away and leave me to face it all. It was all your decisions."
The furore had barely died down from the first edition, when the second came out. Somewhere in the world, publishing people with laptops, cellphones and nice clothes are getting big money to listen to feedback. I'm doing it for free.
Third edition, criticism dies. Now they're hooked on the story. Lotsa people can see friends characterized there and are wildly curious how it'll turn out. Spoil my suspense? Not on your life.

CO sends for me, sets out tea. Gentle smile, "tell me, how much did you write? How much did Nasiba?"
"Ma'am, she made all the major decisions."
"The line-by-line writing?"
"She ah didn't do much of that, ma'am."
"I see. So if I asked you to write on your next vacation, it wouldn't be a hardship?"
"No ma'am, it was fun."
"Consider yourself asked. HQ loves this, doesn't want it to run out. Want more editions. First time ever, that many people read the newsletter. Usually perceived as well ah boring, stodgy."

FARZANA 8

The long-awaited has now arrived. The first-ever letter for me from the outside world. Everyone in B14, including Arifa, crowds around. Letters are a rarity here, it's as if we dropped off the edge of the world.
"Read it aloud," Malali insists.
I eagerly tear it open, read it myself first. "Sorry Farzana, can't write ever again. Only allowed to say I got here safely. Parents say I have to forget all this, get on with a normal life. Your Friend, Arezou."
Not trusting my voice, I pass it to Nilo to read.
Amira bristles, "that really bites. Those parents of hers need a good kick where the sun don't shine."
Malali chimes in, "nah, you know that's just the father. Now a mother would know her child is scared starting out in a new place. Any form of friendly encouragement would be good."
Next several minutes, the B14 girls make lotsa rude comments about Arezou's father. Gradually it runs outa energy.
Nilo turns to Arifa, "you didn't say a word. What's your take?"
Arifa points out the window, "whaddya see out there? Moonscape. This is the very end of the earth. Maybe even dropping off its edge. Think anyone with any choice in life would be here? Arezou's father is right. Now she's a Brit. And you Farzana, sooner you accept that, better it'll work out for you."

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I'm gonna do it. Thin, I'll soon starve. Heck with it, I've had enough.
Suppertime, Nilo shakes my shoulder, "come on, think I'm stupid? I see what you're up to. Ain't gonna work. That tough MP sgt will just force-feed you. It's happened before. So, get up, join us for chow."
What can you do? As I swing my feet onto the floor, Malali ruffles my hair, "that's the spirit."

It's a long, slow-moving line. I finally step forward to discover I'll spend the summer as assistant to Nasiba, that is the Lt with the purple hair clasp. What on earth does she actually do? It's a mystery.
My first morning, Nasiba sets out a pot of tea, "now you see, the nature of my duties is such I have very little to do during summer vacation."
And the rest of the year, from what I've heard.
"So I asked for your help this summer and the CO kindly agreed."
Doubtless so girls from another barrack don't take it upon themselves to rid the world of Cannibal Princess.
"The job itself, beans, you and I can do in an hour a week." Wicked smile, "you and me, gonna write a book."
I groan inwardly.
"Sci fi. We're gonna take these clowns here, immortalize them is a sci fi adventure."
"Lt, what sort of story line did you have in mind?"
"Off in the future, there's this spaceship. Crew of 235, all Afghan women of course. 2,000 school-age girls, passengers. The ship ends up crashlanding on a moonscape planet."
"Lt, isn't that hitting a little close to home? They could fire you."
"No Farzana, CO's orders. Figures it could get us good publicity."
"Lt, if it flops, you'll get the blame. Succeeds, the organization will hog all the credit. Why even bother?"
She grabs my collar, bends so she's looking me straight in the eye. "Listen up, you little twerp. For years, everyone's been acting like I'm a total nutbar. I would love to flash the finger at the lot of them. And you, you'll help, or you'll end up on KP. Got it?"
"Lt, you got 2 seconds to remove your hand or it's an assault charge."
She does, blushing, "we-ell?"
"Ok Lt, you probably are insane. As for me, jury is still out on that one. But a novel sounds more fun than KP."
"Good, knew you'd come around. Let's start on ideas for main characters."
We decide tentatively on a dozen or so main characters. Then she says, "hasta be in the first person. Much more authentic, more gripping than third person. First person as seen through the eyes of a ten-year-old passenger."
I groan inwardly. Why me, God?
"It isn't enough to write just a novel for adults or just a children's novel. We want a crossover, appeal to both. Isn't it, ironic, Farzana?"
"Ironic, Lt?"
"Think of it. Who is more viewed as a social leper in the adult crowd than me? Or in the kid crowd but you? So us 2 outcasts gotta write a book immortalizing all this."
"Lt, the gods have a sadistic sense of humor."
"Don't they just?"
She declares lunch break. I leave the office ahead of her and just automatically turn toward the student mess.
"Where you going?"
"The mess, Lt."
"Come on, members' mess."
"Lt, I'm not allowed to eat there."
"You are. During the summer when we work together."
Oh no, gonna be a long summer. Maybe I should just give up, choose KP.
Once we're seated, "ok, some rules. We don't discuss the book at lunch time. Don't wanna end up committing homicide."
I smile wanly. Not wishing to disclose any personal information, I just let her talk. I glean all sorts of information about the organization, some valuable, some highly suspect. When I grow up, should be a spy. Eat you heart out, Mata Hari.
We resume our work, "ok, set moral tone. All goody-goodies? All baddy-baddies? Mix?"
"Lt, make em all goody-goodies, the reader's gonna give up in Chapter One. Make em all baddies and what happens? Gotta keep one-upping each other. Soon gets too far-fetched. Need a mix."
"Gotcha, few nutcases like you and me for variety. Few paragons of virtue. Few who'd make sailors blush with shame."
It seems funny and I laugh. She hugs me, "see. It'll work after all. Now the heroine, the 10-year-old. Needs a gimmick, something that makes her totally unique. Let's make her a reincarnated Nazi."
"Not a good plan, Lt. Offend too many readers."
"You make a suggestion then."
"Doesn't emote, been so since birth. Makes her a good observer, Lt."
"Nah, hitting too close to home. How bout someone who died, came back to life?"
I can't help it, start crying. She hugs my tight, "just make her abnormally shy. Doesn't form friendships, but an eagle-eye observer."
I smile wanly, "good as any, Lt. Go with it if we don't think of something better."
She grins, "as it turns out, planet produces fabulous crops of dope."
"So Lt, start with a sixpack of MP's."
"As the girls get older, pick up the habits of their elders, soon it's five dozen MP's."
"Lt, earth calling, please come in."
"Very funny, Farzana, whaddya mean by that?"
"Lt, as funds run out, you can't pay the MP's anymore. No one does outcast work like that for free. Anarchy reins."
"Nah, too chaotic. How bout, no dope at all? Nah, too boring. I got it - seasonal - grows for a month every year, but won't keep, perishable."
"So Lt, a wild month every year, followed by a lot of what?"
"Boredom, like here."
"Lt, there's a reason people read. For most, it's to escape, be entertained, not to learn. Boredom, they already got enough of that in life."
"True. But in real life, the calendar measures. In book life, page-count does. You could spend 50 pages on a one-night party, then 2 pages on a whole school semester."
It starts to dawn. I look at her, for the first time with respect. "You got it, deathly boring to the participants, exciting to the reader."
"When the CO agreed to loan me you, I could tell it was only to isolate you, for your safety. But now I'm glad we're together, make a good team. Ok, a historical preambe. A logical explanation of how the-then Afghan government can afford a ship. Can't even afford teacher chalk now."
"Lt, being the principal dope exporter, they cashed in. Four cars in every driveway, the lot."
"Nah, wouldn't fly. See then all those girls would be spoiled, change the story too much. How bout, obsolete, donation from the Americans? Then people stay basically the same."
"So Lt, they eventually get rescued? Or stay forever?"
"How bout, few years, then rescued by a US vessel? Give the girls time to grow up, a coming-of-age story. Now remember, we don't wanna offend westerners, merely tell them about us."
"So here's your gimmick, Lt. The heroine is American. For whatever plausible reason, she's the only westerner aboard."
"No way, make her Canadian. Too many people hate Americans. No one hates Canadians, they're harmless. The girl is growing up with a burning desire to be an anthropoligist. She's about to get lots of experience at it, up close and personal."
"And after that, Lt, she decides to be a cook or stockbroker instead."
"It's brilliant, Farzana. Allows her to come out and ask questions an Afghan wouldn't. Everyone just humors the foreigner, answers her questions."
Would have been nice to get that reception here, instead of learning on the dead run.

FARZANA 7

Gulazar chimes in, "how bout a whole long line of members to paddle?"
Shyly, I reply, "come on, life is nothing but lotsa problems. If I started swinging that thing, wouldn't stop til my arm is halfway to being broken."
Gulazar feels my arms, my legs. Wicked grin, "gonna be a huge success when she joins up. Panther muscles, from lotsa walking. Real strength for it is in the legs."
Nilo laughs, "you and me, Farzana, side-by-side. I paddle the left cheek, you the right. Get tired, we switch."
Voice a whisper, I ask, "they do that?"
"Bout half the members."
Now I know for a gold-plated fact people are bushed.
Arezou hugs me, "proud of you, honest. If you'd wimped out, wouldn't have much respect left for you."
"You aren't jealous?"
"Heavens no. Long as it's only swinging the paddle and no sex."
Nilo grins wickedly, "roll em, chow. Farzana, try not to drool over that fat food server."
I blush red hot, "you girls are nuts."
Nilo ruffles my hair, "course we are. Nutcases get alla fun. Sane people's bor-ring."
It hits me. That's what stealing people is all about. Hormones roaring after a paddling, you steal what doesn't belong to you.
"Tell me," I ask, "people ever break up over this stuff?"
Nilo laughs, "alla time. Makes life fun over in Member City."
"But what if they've had a ring ceremony?"
"Well then, just have another, with the other person."
"I ain't doing it," I assert.
Arezou wraps her arm round me, holding on way too tight, "chow. Now."
Gulazar laughs, "and no leering at the server."
Arezou bristles, "give it a rest. She's already had way too much for one day."
Arifa comes over, feels my forehead again. "You ok, Farzana?"
I nod.
"Good, now roll or you'll be late for chow."
Arifa turns to Nilo, "and you behave in the mess. Twice I've had complaints bout you. Way too cheeky for someone your age."
I ponder that. Arifa said it in a tone like she was boasting about Nilo, not lecturing her.
As we arrive, Nilo comes on like a storm-trooper, "Wahida, why in blazes you complaining bout us? It's you is egging us on."
"Complaining?"
"Arifa says 2 complaints I was way too cheeky in the mess."
Wahida laughs, "get real, you moron. Weren't me. That puritan Benazir. Don't talk crazy round her in future."
Nilo grins, "sor-ry. When I grow up, paddle your butt bigtime."
"Ooo-ooo, ooo-ooo, you know how to get a girl excited. Be there with bells on my feet, the very day you join up."

You guessed it, didn't sleep worth beans. Yeah I admit Arezou's talk had thrown in complications. But I'd mostly wrapped my head around it. Romantic love, oh yes, you bet, bring it on.
But this group craziness? That's insane. And what happens when Arezou decides I'm a bore? She'll leave me. Am I to be alone forever? Or end up with someone unsuitable? My head hurts.
I get up, go to the can, start to cry. A moment later, Arezou is there, holds me tight.
As I wipe my eyes, she says gently, "finding out bout sex, that's a hard day. Bout S&M (sadism and masochism), even harder one. Can't even imagine how bad it'd be, finding out both the same day. You must be fried."
"When I grow up, you're gonna leave me, cuz I'm a bore."
"Now listen up, Farzana. I could promise anything and it's all meaningless. After all, how do I know? Ask me what it's like to eat pork or to drive a car?" Gentle smile, "only one thing means anything at all. I promise, only with you. Whatever we try out, just you and me, no group stuff. Is that a worthwhile promise?"
I hug her tight, like a drowning person, "Arezou, you're wonderful. Best person in the whole world. Yeah, we'll experiment. Who knows? Maybe prefer natural pace, maybe high voltage."
"Come on, little one, back to sleep."

In English class, Arezou again has me by the collar, delivering her venom, but with a wink.
The office messenger gives the teacher a card. Arezou and I are wanted in the CO's office, pronto.
"Well girls, round here there's 2 sorts of orphans. Those we know for sure. Those we're nine-tenths certain of, but no proof. Now me, I say the second is harder. You don't know, more stress, harder to get on with life. Now you 2 girls are in the probable-only group. But I've got good news for one of you. Arezou, your parents are now legally in Britain. Alive, healthy and sponsoring you. Plane leaves this afternoon. I'll call in the sgt." She does.
"Ok sarge, she's all yours, you're going back on leave. See she gets to the right place in HQ. So girls, take a few minutes and say goodbye."
Alone together, I'm too numb to cry or even speak.
She hugs me tight, "I'll write."
"C-coming b-back when you g-graduate?"
Sad smile, "I could lie to you Farzana. It'd only be worse. Gotta get on with life, forget me, find someone decent."
Sgt takes away Arezou to pack.
CO motions me to a chair, "listen up. You don't leave my sight till this gets sorted. Wanna go to the can, you go with me."
Ah ha, suicide watch, lemme guess, back to B14.
"Now round here, we believe life is mostly good. People are mostly happy mosta the time. So, no one dies just because she's temporarily down. Got it?"
I nod.
"Good. Back to B14. Your bed, next to BL. So, there's gotta be someone to accompany you. Preferably a friend. Gotta be someone unattached. Any suggestions?"
Tiny voice, "N-Nilo, ma'am."
CO sends the office messenger for Nilo, "Nilo, Arezou's parents have been found. In Britain, sponsoring her. Now this leaves Farzana in a fairly bad state. Don't want her to get hurt. So here's the choice, Nilo. You're her shadow night and day, until further notice or I turn her over to the MP's for safekeeping."
Nilo blushes, "come on Farzana, I'm your friend. Things'll be ok, you'll see."
At this, the reaction sets is, I start to sob uncontrollably.

I'm lying in bed, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. Nilo puts her had on my shoulder, "let's roll, chow."
"Ugh, go away. Don't wanna eat."
"Well I do and you don't leave my sight. So you come, even if you don't eat."
Can you believe how cheeky Nilo is? Wahida grins, "so Nilo, how's it going?"
Nilo flashes a wicked smile, "lemme tell you what's gonna happen on my 17th birthday. You see, I'll be paddling the left cheek, Farzana here the right."
"Oooo-oooo, you converted her to a proper attitude? But isn't she usually with what's-her-name?"
Now I'm crying.
Nilo holds her tray in one hand, me with the other, "Arezou, gone to Britain. Farzana, joined the swinging singles."
I don't bother to get any food, know I couldn't eat.
"Farzana," Nilo says cheerfully, "I know that sounded pretty crass. But if I can get you to laugh, even once, you'll feel a lot better."
"You actually expect me to laugh?"
"Come on Farzana, you're a real genuine Afghan girl. You understand how stuff works, or at least mostly. Anything up to 3 days lying in bed, moping, just part of life. Beyond that and it's that silly counsellor's office. Understand?"
I nod.
"Good, now here's what we're gonna do ...."
Nilo stands, "Wahida, over here, a minute."
I grin, well probably a grimace, "now hear this. You better not be misleading me and my good friend here. If that butt can't take 48 strokes, you're toast. So better be able to put your butt where your mouth is."
Wahida feels my arm, "ooo-ooo, all right. I'll take that as a challenge. Be there with bells on my feet." She heads back, swinging her butt as she goes.
"I caught you," Nilo says triumphantly, "you were starting to smile, oh yes you were."
I can't help it, I'm roaring with laughter. Laugh so much I cry.
Nilo wipes my eyes, "it'll hurt, a lot. But you're already outa the woods, you can laugh." Smile, "think you can eat a bit?"
She and I walk back to the food counter.
Wahida winks at me, "oooo-oooo, like your style. Just love a take-charge girl. You know, been thinking of trading in that silly Nilo for a real woman."
Loud mock groan, Nilo says, "last time I ever cheer you up Farzana. Cost me my girlfriend."
All three of us laugh. Feels wonderful.

Arifa saunters over that evening, "seems I'm getting complaints on both you girls now."
"Certainly not us," Nilo says, air of outraged innocence.
Arifa hugs me, "good Farzana. Now you can laugh or you can cry. But laughing is more fun. So forget what no-mind Benazir says and joke with Wahida, you'll feel better."

FARZANA 6

Thursday morning Arezou and I are just starting to set up, Nilo and Gulazar haven't shown yet. These 2 people are obviously determined to be first in line. One is considerably fatter than the norm, probably kitchen staff. Both have identical rings.
The economy-size one leads, speaking direct to me, bypassing Arezou, "perfect English you got, good as any real foreigner. Can we have some help?"
I'm on edge, this is one of the voices from the bathroom.
The second speaks, the other bathroom voice, "I tell you," she points to her partner, "she is so stubborn, bad as any man, worse than most." Said in a boastful tone, go figure. "Told this idiot ages ago, give the girl a chance. Good enough for the CO, should be good enough for us."
"Oh shut up," first one says, "but truth is, you get nowhere without English."
"Right," I reply primly, point to the first, "you talk with Arezou." Point to the second, "you talk with me."
First opens her mouth to protest, but second lands an elbow in her ribs. Second grins, "nothing like individual teaching."
"Won't last long," I assert, "demand is way up. Few minutes, we'll each have, 5 or 6."
She grins, "thanks, I'm Zala."
"Right Zala, let's start with the first workbook."
In 15 minutes, the tidal wave starts. Arezou and I don't get a chance to talk until we're walking back for lunch.
She grins, "the two in the bathroom, right?"
"How'd you know?"
Ruffles my hair, "silly question or what? Half the time now, we're in each other's heads."
I blush, "was planning to tell you, but only after chow."
"Look at the bright side, Cannibal Princess seems to have converted the enemy."
"Oh go on."
Laugh, "did you see how ticked she was, when you gave her to me? Wanted to talk with you. I should feel jealous. Maybe she has ulterior motives. Designs on you."
I laugh, "gwan wit you. Not my type."
"And get a load of her friend boasting of how stubborn she was. Puh-leeze."
They're a strange couple, Zala and Shabnam. Next Thursday, they insist on a rotation, keep it even, fair. What can you do? They are our market demand, how we help to pay for chow.
As we return, Arezou grins, "hear lotsa these members who are Friends, bigtime ructions. Days arguing over who does a cleaning job that takes 15 minutes. Betcha Zala and Shabnam are like that."
"I hope we aren't."
Wicked smile, "we won't be arguing. It's your job, I've got the guy's role."
I give her a filthy look.
She laughs, "just joking."
Nilo throws in her 2 cents worth, "she ain't joking Farzana. That's how they think. You gotta lay down the law from Day One. Equality."
"So that explains Zala and Shabnam?" I ask.
Gulazar laughs, "you end-of-Corridor people are slow, but at least you learn."
Nilo laughs, "they say Shabnam spanks Zala bigtime, but Zala likes it."
"Go on with you," I scoff, "grownups spank kids."
"Oooo-oooo, oooo-oooo," Nilo laughs, "gotta lot to learn, yes you do."
"So what do they get out of it?" I ask innocently.
This sets all three off in wild howls of laughter.
Nilo, "Farzana, you really do take the cake. Hard to believe there's anyone like you around. If you still don't know by ring ceremony time, then try it with Arezou. You'll learn in a hurry, high voltage."
"What does electricity have to do with it?"
Wild howls of laughter.
Gulazar punches my arm lightly, "electricity is everything and I mean everything."
More laughter.

To the modern westerner, this all sounds farcical, ludicrous, I know. Bear in mind my background. Prudish times. One TV channel Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), nothing questionable on it. No books, magazines or newspapers in my home in Canada. Even if there had been, those too were prudish in those days. To a little Saskatchewan girl, the times were quasi-Victorian. Yes I knew babies came from the mother's stomach. No I had no idea how they got there in the first place.
Arezou must have picked up my vibes. After lunch, she quietly says, "let's walk, we need to talk private." Once we're underway, "look Farzana, lots I don't know. Yeah I know you came back from the dead. But you never did talk of Canada days."
"Look I'm not ashamed to be here. Not ashamed to be Afghan. I was dead, came back to life. What's not to like about that?"
"Start by telling about the death itself."
I explain the family drunkeness, my appendicitis attack, freezing to death in the blizzard. Best as I can, I explain the Canada of that era.
She listens, tears in her eyes. Wraps her arms around me, "so sorry I embarassed you in front of Nilo and Gulazar, won't do it again." Gentle smile, "better if I tell you the facts of life. If you just overhear as you go, it'll seem so dirty. It's not dirty, it's love. So you'll listen now?"
I nod.
"Now you see ...." I listen in total fascination. She finishes with, "so rather do that with me or with someone else? And don't say with nobody or you'll go crazy."
"Y-you of c-course."
"So now you have something to look forward to. The magic at age 17. I often think how wonderful it'll be."
I hug her tight, cry. As we walk back hand-in-hand, I feel a lot better.
Arezou and I flop together on my bed, planning to do workbooks together. Nilo leans over, "look Farzana, I'm really sorry. Didn't mean to tease you so much. So Arezou told you?"
I smile, "yes."
"Gotta understand, just love, nothing dirty about it."
"Thanks, I know that now."
Arezou punches Nilo's arm easily, "leave her alone, she's had a hard enough day. She reacted right, things'll be cool."
Gulazar arrives, "so, your talk go ok?"
I nod.
"Good you'll last over time."
Arifa arrives, with a look of concern. Lands a hand on my forehead. "Whew, thank heavens. Before, you were looking ill. Ok now?"
I nod.
"So, how's tutorial going?"
"Fine."
"You gotta real talent, chance to develp it. Members give you trouble?"
"Not anymore."
"Carry on. Didn't mean to be rude, interrupt. Just wanted to check your temperature."
She leaves.
Gulazar elbows Nilo, "and you, oh yes, you think I missed that look this morning? You'd love to spank that fat Shabnam's behind."
"So what? I admit it. But you, you were thinking of getting spanks."
Gulazar blushes.
Not for the first time, it occurs to me, we gotta lotta nutcases within our walls. Maybe stress of having been refugees. Maybe those hormones Arezou told me about. Maybe both.
A memory comes. In those days, elementary was Grade 1 to 8. The older boys, like my brother Danny, did an awful lot of snickering about stuff not fit for "little kids" to know. So maybe these girls aren't nuts, maybe it's just part of growing up.
My reverie is interrupted. Nilo asks, "and you Farzana? Prefer to spank or take the spanks?"
"Neither."
"Come on, don't gimme that nonsense. Everyone feels one way or another."
"It's wrong. I'd be cheating on Arezou."
Nilo groans, "so Arezou chickened out? Only told you couple stuff? None of the group stuff?"
I say nothing, but probably look mystified.
Nilo turns to Arezou, "you tell her or I will."
Arezou blushes, "I'll do it. You make everything sound so sordid."
Nilo seems flattered by this.
Blushing hotly, Arezou starts, "Farzana dear, what couples do in bed, that's love, a private thing. But they got groups over there in the members' residence. Not just spank, but wooden paddles."
I'm sure my eyes are saucers.
Arezou continues, "see some do love at the natural pace. Others want speeded up, high voltage. But it isn't cheating as long as you don't have sex with anyone other than your partner."
Another Canadian memory, overhearing father and his drunken friends talk of being "bushed" or "bushwhacked". Work too long up north, forget you're married, go crazy with squaws.
So, these organization women? Bushed? Too long on this island? Is that the parallel?
Nilo cuts through my thoughts, "nuff stalling Farzana. You a spanker or spankee?"
I blush hotly, "neither."
She hops off the bed, stares into my eyes from a foot away, "Liar! Round here, gotta be honest with your friends. Tell us or we know you're a wimp."
Arezou kicks in, "how it is here. Tell her Farzana."
Shyly, "butt that huge, like Shabnam, make for spanking. I'd order her to kiss the paddle first. Spank her til my arm is sore, then she hasta kiss the paddle after."

FARZANA 5

Rest of the afternoon I stew in agony. People like the CO, Arifa, English teacher are just cheering you up, jollying you along, their staff shortage and such. So this is how real members think.
I could slip out the door. Quick walk to the coast. High cliff, bone-chilling water, be dead in a minute or two. I do have experience, freezing to death. It's good, compared to most ways.
So why don't I? You got it, Arezou. She'd be heart-broken, probably jump herself.
Eventually my horrible afternoon ends. I join the crowd in the student mess. They're wildly enthusiastic, high spirits, fabulous day, several hundred girls dropped in for English conversation.
Even Arezou, for all we have a mindlink, is so caught up in this, she doesn't notice my mood.
Still I don't want to worry her. When they do get around to asking me, I just shyly say, "well, truth is I'm a little down. Not one customer, all day."
Arezou hugs me, "don't worry, it'll pick up, they're just busy people."
I try to smile, but I feel like the world's biggest fraud.
After that, I make a point of never having tea there. It has the desired effect, no bathroom demand.
Day after day, I daydream, watch everyone ignore me. And then hear how well the student tutorial is going.

It's now 2 weeks. CO stops, "Farzana, how's it going?"
"Not busy, ma'am."
"How many customers are you getting?"
"None yet, ma'am."
"None? None at all? What is the matter with these people? Don't they understand, to a large degree, their career potential depends on English."
Now that's definitely grownup questions where they don't want you to answer, they do that all the time.
She sits, "I'm your first customer, deal with me."
"Ma'am, your English is already very good, I'm not sure what I...."
"Wrong," she interrupts, "my vocabulary is bigger than yours, that's all. But I'm an adult, you a child, it's always so. My rhythm, pronunciation is lacking. I want your help."
"Ma'am, do my best. Someone as good as you, most advanced workbook."
As we work, one part of my mind is on the workbook, repeating, rhythm, emphasis, listening, correcting.
Other part is thinking, she's just being kind. Yeah, but more, see it's her way of endorsing my product, telling people it's ok to deal with me. True, but more. You see, just as one alcoholic can always spot another; just as one career soldier in civvies can always spot another. Just so, one who has travelled through the sheer insanity and crazy places in life, can spot another. I'm looking at my mirror image, when I'm an adult. And no question, she's got me spotted too.
After an hour, she grins, "enough for today. You are superb. I'll be back tomorrow."
"I'll keep a timeslot open, ma'am."
She laughs, "no you don't. If someone else is here, I'll just come back. I've seen the flotsam and jetsam of a quarter century of war float through here. You're unique, not one like you. You'll go far around here."
During the last few minutes of dealing with the CO, a Lt has been hovering around. Poured herself tea, pretending to read the newsletter.
As the CO leaves, she sits, "you are free to practise English?"
"Yes ma'am."
She leans forward, "so tell me, what's cannibalism really like?"
"You wanna know Lt, there's a book in the library, Siege of Leningrad. Wanna practise English, well go right ahead."
Nervous laugh, "English then."
Her lesson over, she leaves.
Another food server, same size (but different mess) sits. Serious look, "I don't like what the girls say bout you. I mean, take pork. Forbidden in normal life. But we're supposed to eat it, if it's that or starve."
I nod.
Gently punches my arm, "you had a duty to stay alive. You did. Where's the problem? Nuff of that, work."
Wanna know how perverse the mind is? Soon I'm obsessing on bacon and eggs, which I won't ever get here. I know if I don't stop right now, it's a long miserable afternoon. So I think of the eggs only, which you do get lots. It works.
As I wind up for the day, I realize. Without the CO, there would not have been those two customers.

I join the gang. Arezou grins, "look cheerful. Musta found customers."
"Three."
Everyone is staring at me, wanting the story.
"CO wanted practice with her pronunciation. After, that goofy Lt who always has the purple hair clasp. Then one of the servers."
"Co-ol," Nilo says, "so CO broke the ice, showed people it's ok."

Next day, CO is there as I start. Then things get rolling, customer after customer all day. By the end of the day, I realize I like the summer job.
Demand picks up so much they rotate Arezou in to help out. It's fun, working with her. Matter of safety though, we only go to the can together. Told her of the conversation I overheard. No choice, now she's here too.
Last day of summer, CO picks a quiet moment. By now she's got a Canadian accent. In a voice that wouldn't be too far out back at Saint Patrick's, "girls, you did an excellent job. People are happy. When we spot talent, we develop it. During the school session, you two can come here every Thursday morning. Except of course, group picnics, then come Friday morning. Ok?"
What you gonna say? They feed us, gotta pay back. Beats some grim refugee camp. And it is fun.
Turns out the other English crowd wasn't forgotten. Same schedule as us in the student mess.

English teacher grins wickedly, "Arezou, Farzana, Nilo, Gulazar, front and center." As we stand, I'm mystified. The other girls are enjoying it. What do they know that I don't?"
Teacher ties the turban on Arezou. "Now class, it seems the husband's finances have improved a lot over the last few months. He inherited a large sum of money. Large profits on two smuggled shipments. So we all know what he's thinking about now, don't we?"
The audience laughs and I'm starting to catch on. Teacher walks over to me, takes my face in her hands, "he's had this wife, not ugly, but really very plain, very boring. He wants to do soooo much better, divorces her, takes two younger better-looking wives." With a flourish, she hands us the scripts.
Nilo and Gulazar smirk, strut around and the class is cheering. I'm furious, this is a fraud.
"Now now," teacher says, "cool off, just a play. But also reality, we all know it happens."
You guessed it. I'm booted, packed off to work in a sweatshop in Peshawar. Nilo and Gulazar are riding around in his new car, no less.
This whole nonsense lasts over half the English class, instead of the usual few minutes. By now, I'm ready to do homicide.
Script over, teacher asks, "Farzana, how do you feel?"
"Cheated, defrauded."
"Class, who all has seen this happen? I mean relatives, neighbors, even your own parents?"
Every hand but mine goes up.
Astonished look, teacher says, "that is curious, Farzana. I can only assume end of Corridor people are so poor, they never get the chance."
I blush, struggle not to cry.
Teacher smiles, "so everyone learned something here. Quite frankly, we've run out of scripts on the Arezou-Farzana marriage. Old hat, bor-ring. Farzana, you remain exiled to the sweatshop. And you Arezou, wipe that smirk before you lose your Friend."

There's a moral to the story. In subsequent conversations with other sweatshop women, I meet one who has a sister in the organization. I apply and - surprise - am accepted.
Still it ticks me, seeing Nilo and Gulazar so shamelessly hanging all over Arezou. I know it's only a play, but they're having a way too much fun at it. Is that jealousy in me? Probably.
As we head for a shower, Arezou says quietly, "Farzana, gotta lighten up. Only a play. I haven't dumped you for those two, you're still my Friend."
Now I'm sobbing.
She hugs me tight, "now have a good cry, get it all out of your system."
It works, I feel better after.
We continue on our way, "see all those actors and actresses, gotta know when to stop. Just a role to play, not real life."
I blush, "yeah, feel like an idiot."
Grin, "Farzana, I can sense teacher is getting bored again. Nother 2, 3 scripts and it'll all change. Anything could happen, but still just a play, in real life you and I belong together."

Teacher's sense of humor is bizarre. Arezou ends up arrested, smuggling dope. Nilo and Gulazar are totally broke. I end up taking mercy on them, help them to join up. After that, we all end up being best friends.
Now shoe is on the other foot. Arezou is resentful she got the role that went sour. You guessed it, I told her to have a good cry. It worked.

FARZANA 4

Arezou was right about the B14 reaction. People support us all the way. We're the pathfinders. If we make our way back to normal, it's easier for them.
B12 is determined to roll out the red carpet for us. The 2 vacant beds are apart. One girl moves so Arezou and I can be together.

The English teacher smiles, "Arezou, Farzana, front and center." Takes out a cloth, "Arezou, you're bigger, taller, make a more convincing man." Ties a turban loosely on Arezou. "Right girls, here's the script. Arezou, store owner. Farzana, customer."
It's fun, the other girls like it. We've acquired a new role in English class. Sometimes brother-sister, or storekeeper-customer or husband-wife in argument. I can assure you it's pretty tame stuff compared to Mullaly household arguments in Canada.
And so it is, we're eyeball-to-eyeball, arguing about money, when the CO and an HQ type walk in. We fall silent.
CO smiles, "carry on."
English teacher, "from the start of the script, girls."
This gets a little heated, the script calling for husband to grab wife's collar. Inches away from each other, the lines are hot and heavy.
We finish. Arezou blushes, realizing she still has my collar, forgot to let go. "Sorry, Farzana."
CO, "your names, girls?"
"Arezou, ma'am."
"Farzana, ma'am."
"Farzana, that is one heck of a Canadian accent. Can even place it, western plains. And you, Arezou, obviously picked up from her."
I blush.
CO smiles, "nothing to be ashamed of, should be proud. English that good, both of you have a promising future."

Thursday morning we exit the shower, heading for breakfast. Arezou can't eat, feels sick, so I walk her to sick bay. The nurse is kind, let's me stay, notifies Arifa where we both are. I eat in sick bay, sleep in the bed next to her. By noon Friday, it's burned out of her system. She's hungry, we go for lunch together.
Tears in her eyes, she squeezes my hand, "you are so loyal, such a good friend. Lotsa girls, when their friend is sick, run away. Malali and Amira, they'll be proud of you too."
I blush, "no big deal. Just you're all I have in the world."
"How sweet. Be really nice living together when we grow up."

English teacher ties the turban on Arezou, hands us each a script. I see yet again I am to be assaulted. The sacrifices we make for art.
Arezou stands ramrod straight, speaks in a voice a drill instructor would approve of, "no this is wrong. Koran says you must treat your wife with dignity, respect. I'm supposed to assault the very person who was there, every minute night and day when I was sick. That's crazy."
The look of surprise on the teacher's face turns to respect. Broad smile, "right, try this script. You have just discovered your son is failing in math. You don't blame each other, just seek a solution."
Arezou smiles warmly, takes one of my hands in both of hers, "come dear wife, let's work together on this serious problem."
No question of my feelings, warm, wonderful, protected, in love. Shyly I reply, "much better, like your new style."

Just the four of us eating together, Malali and Amira, Arezou and myself. Arezou explains what happened in English class. I see huge approval, admiration on their faces.
Arezou drops her voice, "see we've agreed, same as you, live together once we graduate and join up."
At this point Amira wraps a proprietorial arm around Malali, holds on too tight. Jealous?
Malali grins, "y'all having a ring ceremony?"
"What's that?" I ask, everyone looking at me strange.
Malali flashes a lopsided grin, "I don't mean this to sound hurtful, Farzana, but lotta Corridor people are way behind the times."
Amira puts on a teacher tone, "no legal force, makes no difference to the organization itself. See as long as people live together, they have transfer rights. They can move you from one job to another. But to move to a different place, hafta move both or neither. With me so far?"
"Yes."
"Now to you and Arezou yourselves, probably makes no difference, you feel belonging to each other. It's other people you gotta think of. See, don't have a ring ceremony, no one takes you serious. Anyone just up and try to steal one of you from the other. Have the ceremony, they respect you, leave you alone."
"But I don't understand. Take me and you, Malali, we're friends. But that doesn't mean I'd steal you from Amira or you'd steal me from Arezou."
Amira rolls her eyes, "Farzana, got it all wrong. See there's friends and Friends. I'm your friend. But Arezou is your Friend."
"Oh," I reply, not at all sure.
Amira smiles, "Farzana, don't go throwing any punches, but it's the honest truth. See Arezou is beautiful. You, somewhat below average. So, lot more risk of someone stealing Arezou from you than vice versa."
I protest, "that's not fair. I'm not with Arezou because she's good-looking. With her because she's a good person."
Malali smiles gently, "you gotta good attitude. But lots don't think like you. Steal her away in a flash."
Arezou takes my hand, soothing tone, "Farzana, I think a ring ceremony would be cool. When we're old enough of course."
"How old is that?"
"17 you can legally join, even if you haven't finished your studies. As of the day you join, you can have a ceremony. Don't join, it's like you're still a kid, still in kid barracks."
I groan inwardly. My real date of birth as Fern Mullaly is November 1952. But for Farzana? I haven't a clue. Spun many years off into the future. I blush, "well, in all that eating people, I seem to have lost any documents. How would I prove age?"
Amira grins, "gotta rule for everything. You looked 10, so legally your 10th birthday is the day you started school here."
I heave a sigh of relief.
Arezou ruffles my hair, loud mock groan, "sooo, hafta wait a whole 2 months for you, once I hit 17." Gentle smile, "but it's worth the wait. No one'll steal me away."
She takes my hand a whole lotta new strange confusing but wonderful feelings flood through me.
"So," Arezou smiles, "ring ceremony?"
I hug her warmly, "yes."
Malali and Amira are loud in congratulation.
On impulse, I lean my head against her shoulder. Feels so nice, the warmth.

Summer vacation, sort of. Teachers get the flight back to HQ. After all, they are human, not robots, don't want them to burn out.
Us, nowhere to go. We're all orphans, some confirmed, some only probable.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know 2,200 orphan girls with 2 months downtime are gonna get into a lotta mischief.
So the main reason for summer work details is to keep us out of trouble. Also, a low-budget operation, use our free labor. Also a chance for us to help repay their generosity a bit. Also a learning experience.
Suspense is high as we wait in line. After an eternity, I hear, "Farzana Malali" and step forward shyly to face CO and admin clerk.
CO smiles, "Cadillac of assignments for you. Members' mess, 5 days a week."
I fail to see how KP is Cadillac, but I keep my mouth shut like a good little girl.
"Yes, set you up at a table with some English workbooks. You deal with any members who walk in, want help with English."
Members? Real adults?
"I'll t-try to do my b-best, ma'am."
"Farzana, don't aim for perfection. See lotta these people, if it's fun, you'll get them interested in learning. So don't be over-quick to correct their errors. Just go with the flow, smooth conversation."
"Yes, ma'am."
Nilo asks me, "so whadid you get?"
I explain.
"Co-ol, you took the cake. Me and Arezou, do the same in the student mess. Plus who knows who else from other barracks doing the same job."
"Gonna be hard," I say grimly, "being apart from Arezou."
Nilo smiles, "gotta do it. See, get too hung up on any one person, you start to forget the rest of us are alive."
I blush, "do I do that?"
"Course not, yet anyhow. Know what makes it a real prize? Stuff you'll overhear."
"Yes and if I gossip, I'll be fired. End up on KP."
"Farzana, knowledge is power. Keep your ears open, learn all you can."
Gulazar floats by on Cloud Nine, she too got student mess English detail.

So here I sit all alone in the members' mess. Not allowed to eat here, hafta walk back to student mess for that. Am allowed tea from the urn.
Morning is uneventful, everyone flashes on by me, in a hurry.
Midafternoon, I gather my 3 workbooks in my bag, head for the mess washroom. I've finished, all set to flush, when loud conversation of 2 new arrivals stops me. Not liking the feel of it, I stay quiet.
I never did get a chance to see who they were. Nor, looking back, do I know if I overheard, or if they meant me to overhear. Wasn't in Dari or English. Was in Pashtu, which I mostly understood. Maybe they didn't think I would.
"So get a load of that stinky little zero?"
"Yeah, so ugly a camel wouldn't want her."
"She's the CO's spy. Inform on who overstays tea break."
"Yeah, doubtless also put her here so the other girls don't kill her. Cannibal Princess, they say."
"They should throw her offa cliff. Place is going to Hades."
"Yeah, how comes we get alla crazies?"