with some friends； and someone had later found his body on the side of the road； a bullet in the back of his head。 The rafiqs； the rades； were everywhere and they d split Kabul into two groups： those who eavesdropped and those who didn t。 The tricky part was that no one knew who belonged to which。 A casual remark to the tailor while getting fitted for a suit might land you in the dungeons of Poleh…charkhi。 plain about the curfew to the butcher and next thing you knew； you were behind bars staring at the muzzle end of a Kalashnikov。 Even at the dinner table； in the privacy of their home； people had to speak in a calculated manner……the rafiqs were in the classrooms too； they d taught children to spy on their parents； what to listen for； whom to tell。
What was I doing on this road in the middle of the night？ I should have been in bed； under my blanket； a book with dog…eared pages at my side。 This had to be a dream。 Had to be。 Tomorrow morning； I d wake up； peek out the window： No grim…faced Russian soldiers patrolling the sidewalks； no tanks rolling up and down the streets of my city； their turrets swiveling like accusing fingers； no rubble； no curfews； no Russian Army Personnel Carriers weaving through the bazaars。 Then； behind me； I heard Baba and Karim discussing the arrangement in Jalalabad over a smoke。 Karim was reassuring Baba that his brother had a big truck of excellent and first…class quality； and that the trek to Peshawar would be very routine。 He could take you there with his eyes closed； Karim said。 I overheard him telling Baba how he and his brother knew the Russian and Afghan soldiers who worked the checkpoints； how they had set up a mutually profitable arrangement。 This was no dream。 As if on cue； a MiG suddenly screamed past overhead。 Karim tossed his cigarette and produced a hand gun from his waist。 Pointing it to the sky and making shooting gestures； he spat and cursed at the MiG。
I wondered where Hassan was。 Then the inevitable。 I vomited on a tangle of weeds； my retching and groaning drowned in the deafening roar of the MiG。 WE PULLED UP to the checkpoint at Mahipar twenty minutes later。 Our driver let the truck idle and hopped down to greet the approaching voices。 Feet crushed gravel。 Words were exchanged； brief and hushed。 A flick of a lighter。 Spasseba。
Another flick of the lighter。 Someone laughed； a shrill cackling sound that made me jump。 Baba s hand clamped down on my thigh。 The laughing man broke into song； a slurring； off…key rendition of an old Afghan wedding song； delivered with a thick Russian accent：
Ahesta boro； Mah…e…man； ahesta boro。
Go slowly； my lovely moon； go slowly。
Boot heels clicked on asphalt。 Someone flung open the tarpaulin hanging over the back of the truck； and three faces peered in。 One was Karim； the other two were soldiers； one Afghan； the other a grinning Russian； face like a bulldog s； cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth。 Behind them； a bone…colored moon hung in the sky。 Karim and the Afghan soldier had a brief exchange in Pashtu。 I caught a little of it……something about Toor and his bad luck。 The Russian soldier thrust his face into the rear of the truck。 He was humming the wedding song and drumming his finger on the edge of the tailgate。 Even in the dim light of the moon； I saw the glazed look in his eyes as they skipped from passenger to passenger。 Despite the cold； sweat streamed from his brow。 His eyes settled on the young woman wearing the black shawl。 He spoke in Russian to Karim without taking his eyes off her。 Karim gave a curt reply in Russian； which the soldier returned with an even curter retort。 The Afghan soldier said some thing too； in a low； reasoning voice。 But the Russian soldier shouted something that made the other two flinch。 I could feel Baba tightening up next to me。 Karim cleared his throat； dropped his head。 Said the soldier wanted a half hour with the lady in the back of the truck。
The young woman pulled the shawl down over her face。 Burst into tears。 The toddler sitting in her husband s lap started crying too。 The husband s face had bee as pale as the moon hovering above。 He told Karim to ask Mister Soldier Sahib to show a little mercy； maybe he had a sister or a mother； maybe he had a wife too。 The Russian listened to Karim and barked a series of words。
It s his price for letting us pass； Karim said。 He couldn t bring himself to look the husband in the eye。
But we ve paid a fair price already。 He s getting paid good money； the husband said。
Karim and the Russian soldier spoke。 He says。。。 he says every price has a tax。
That was when Baba stood up。 It was my turn to clamp a hand on his thigh； but Baba pried it loose； snatched his leg away。 When he stood； he eclipsed the moonlight。 I want you to ask this man something； Baba said。 He said it to Karim； but looked directly at the Russian officer。 Ask him where his shame is。
They spoke。 He says this is war。 There is no shame in war。
Tell him he s wrong。 War doesn t negate decency。 It demands it； even more than in times of peace。
Do you have to always be the hero？ I thought； my heart fluttering。 Can t you just let it go for once？ But I knew he couldn t……it wasn t in his nature。 The problem was； his nature was going to get us all killed。
The Russian soldier said something to Karim； a smile creasing his lips。 Agha sahib； Karim said； these Roussi are not like us。 They understand nothing about respect； honor。
What did he say？
He says he ll enjoy putting a bullet in you almost as much as。。。 Karim trailed off； but nodded his head toward the young woman who had caught the guard s eye。 The soldier flicked