Time Corps 24

We're on our way to a picnic by the glacier. Just before a bend, we hear a human voice, sailor talk in Dari. We creep to the edge of the turn, have a look.
It's a mini-jeep, remarkably similar to Reservist ones, hood up. A younger woman is peering in, cursing vigorously. An older one, stares at a manual book, looking lost.
"They're ok, mum," Fatima asserts, "AAW, Association of Afghan Women, we can go meet them."
"What is their reputation Fatima dear?"
She looks at me as if I've lost my mind, "very famous mum. Schools in refugee camps. Clinics. Projects to help women earn money. I'm really surprised you've never heard of them."
This is neither the time nor place to try telling her I'm over a century old, as she reckons time.
A corporal is cursing, Lieutenant reading the book. With the wind noise, they don't hear us approach.
Lt looks up, "mind your language, we got company." Smiles at me, "I'm Parvana, the sailor here is Tasma."
"Indira and my daughter Fatima."
For a second, their eyes sweep both faces, evaluating, biological or adoptive?
Lt laughs, "unreal, a loaner jeep from the French, book is in French of course."
"I'd be glad to try, I read French."
I see shock register on Parvana, Tasma and Fatima.
By now, I'm 99% certain what it is. Better to play theatrics a bit, don't want them guessing my background.
I slowly turn pages, doing 2 things: comparing the jeep to Reservist ones and looking for schematics.
I discover it's almost identical, nothing changes in those mini-electrics. Only difference is nomenclature, I'd call it the B7 part, them K3, but shape is the same.
Not visible to the cursing driver, underneath, comes loose often in rough terrain. Just crawl under and voila.
"Take the key outa the ignition Tasma."
She does.
I crawl under, for sake of appearance spend 2 minutes looking, reconnect K3 and climb out.
"Try it now Tasma."
Sure enough, it works.
Parvana smiles with gratitude, "thank you so much Indira, join us for a meal."
"Yes thank you."
Tasma set to work on tea, bread, corned mutton and onions on a three-burner kero.
Parvana digs out the map, rueful grin, "map's in French too."
In a flash I know where we are, the geography, French possession, Kerguelen Island.
I unfold the map, see she has nary a clue how to read a topographic. That is, 1 in 50,000 or approximately one inch to one mile. Obviously, her experience is confined to road maps.
By the time I've done translating the legend into English and Dari, explaining it and giving her a crash course on how to use contour lines, I see the glazed look, obviously HQ type.
As food is served, Parvana sits way too close. At first I'm mystified, then it hits me, the look, she's interested, as in Interested.
The knowing look on Tasma, the hyper-jealous look on Fatima confirms my suspicion. Oy, why do these things happen?
Food is good, a welcome change.
After we're done eating, Parvana quietly says, "ok Indira, time to level with you. Don't think for one minute I've missed that look in your eyes. Yes, you've been decent enough to keep it off your face, out of your voice. Amused look of a genuine professional line officer watching an amateur. Yes, you're right, I am an amateur, just headmistress in school. That's what we're here for, choose a site for a school. So, help us out? Share that expertise? Help examine sites?"
I catch Fatima's look, know what I must say, "my daughter is too young to be left alone."
"Fine, she's welcome to come for the ride."
I see Fatima's look, know I guessed right.
"So," jovial grin, "eagle-eye the map. Pick the half-dozen most likely spots for starters."