The mind is a labyrinth capable of holding at once the ocean, the sky, and everything in between; of carrying on four simultaneous conversations, most of them internal; of dismissing one memory even as it accesses another in detail and creates a third.
"At least he was doing what he loved." Didn't people in situations like this say that? Wasn't that a ridiculous thing to say?
These thoughts pushed their way up from the floor of her mind, edging aside other, more critical judgments and understandings and misunderstandings.
humans are delicate so keep it safe humans are impermanent so take the risks humans are transient so soak in the details humans are temporary so think big humans are breakable so be diligent humans are ephemeral so be carefree humans are fragile so
Thoughts came that she would register unconsciously and quickly forget but would recall— some of them, at least— much later, in her revised world, as pieces of her future settled into new patterns of fleetingness.
What do we do now? What do I do now?
Mandy
September 4th
Mandy understood immediately how secure this guesthouse was. Even though she was a harmless-looking middle-aged woman who arrived with two uniformed American soldiers, the guard would not let her in until he'd summoned Hammon and gotten his okay.
Hammon was six foot three with short hair, black leather boots, an easy walk, and biceps three times the size of hers. He pushed back his sunglasses so she could see his eyes and, though she'd never met him before, greeted her warmly. "Mrs. Wilkens, come in," he said, waving an offhanded good-bye to the soldiers as he revealed a strong British accent. "Let me show you to your room. Rumi— he's our cook— should have dinner ready soon. Rumi's a pro; you can safely eat even salad inside this compound. He grows his own lettuce right here and washes it with our water."
Jimmy had met Hammon during some kind of special military training that he'd never fully explained. He did say Hammon had taken a liking to him and would turn up from time to time on Jimmy's base. Hammon was a former SAS soldier who now worked as a private security guard in Afghanistan— a top one, Jimmy had said, the kind who destroys and replaces his cell phone every week, and knows the underground entrances to government offices, and takes on assignments too top secret to ever be mentioned. Jimmy had said hotels for internationals had become crime magnets, and staying at Hammon's guesthouse was the safest thing Mandy could do, if she insisted on going to Kabul.
Hammon led her to the second floor of what seemed to be the main building. "Here you are," he said, pushing open the door to a small corner room. "Not gorgeous, but it's clean." The room held a built-in closet, a desk, and a bed next to the window. The paint on the walls was gently peeling, the ceiling stained. Mandy tugged open the heavy curtains and glanced out. The high security walls, topped with barbed wire, enclosed a courtyard dotted with rose plants struggling unsuccessfully to achieve a jaunty air. At least the dust combined with the day's light gave everything a burnt -orange wash, which Mandy found mildly comforting.
Hammon stepped to the desk and used his foot to tap a bottom board. It hinged open to reveal two hidden drawers. "This is a good place to leave your passport— just carry a photocopy. You can also stash any extra cash, jewelry, whatever," he said. "And over here—" He went to a landscape painting and pulled the frame away from the wall to reveal a small crawl space, "this is where you hide if you ever need to. It closes from inside. It's dark, but there's enough air for eight hours."
"I've entered another world," Mandy said. "We don't have anything like this back home." Hammon smiled. "I doubt you'll need it. But it would be foolhardy not to show you." Then he turned suddenly serious. "You're
pretty safe within these walls, but we're right in the center of things, and even just outside our gate— let alone in a hospital or refugee camp— you can become a target of opportunity. People here are poor. They spot a foreigner, make a phone call, and get a payoff. That's all it takes. So don't forget it." He paused. "Sorry. Don't mean to lecture."
"It's okay. I've already heard it all from Jimmy."
Hammon shook his head. " Tough break, Jimmy. He's that unusual combination of a real gentleman with a strong street sense, at least for Afghanistan. He's among the best I've ever seen."
Others, Mandy thought, saw things in Jimmy that she never had.
"You know I've offered him a job when he gets back on his feet," Hammon continued.
No, Mandy hadn't known, and the phrase "back on his feet" made her cringe. But she nodded vaguely. "In Afghanistan?"
"I don't know if he'll want to come back, but he'd be good at it. How's he doing?"
Why did she always stumble over this question? Because she felt she was supposed to say fine, and there was progress, and all that. She was supposed to be grateful her son had made it home, and forget how. "You know how it is," Mandy said. "He's okay."
Hammon nodded, hesitated, and Mandy had the sense he was about to tell her something, maybe something important. But then the guard appeared, spoke to Hammon in Pashto, and handed over a note. Hammon held it out to her.
"A driver just stopped by and left this for you," he said.
It was a single page, folded three times. She opened it carefully.
"Dear Mrs. Wilkens. I am very sorry that it is my duty to inform you Mr.
Todd Barbery has been taken from the street by gunmen. I will do everything I can to act on Mr. Todd's behalf in his absence, which I trust will not be long. I cannot meet you today, but tomorrow, please call me at this phone number. 700 201136. Very Best, Amin."
Mandy stared at the words, trying to absorb them. Todd, kidnapped? It had been more than a decade since she'd seen him, but they'd been friends of sorts in their youth. Todd had married one of Mandy's closest friends, Mariana, who'd died young. Todd, kidnapped? He had long experience in this part of the world, Mandy knew. If he didn't know his way around the dangers here, no outsider did.
"What is it?" Hammon asked.
She handed him back the note and sank down on the edge of the bed.
Hammon read it in one glance and refolded it carefully. "You know, you can turn around right now. If your contact is unavailable, one of the next flights out is an option."
Mandy hesitated only a beat before shaking her head. "No. No, it's not." She took a deep breath. "I came all this way. I'm not leaving at the first sign of trouble. Jimmy didn't. You don't."
" Jimmy said you were pretty determined."
"I bet „determined' isn't the word he used."
Hammon grinned. "Can I keep this note for a little bit? Before you go anywhere, I want to check out this Amin person."
"Of course."
"Take some rest, Mrs. Wilkens. Rumi should have dinner soon. It's downstairs. He rings a bell, and we all throng in." Hammon left, closing the door behind him.
Mandy lay back on the bed, dropping her head against a pillow that felt as if it were filled with rice. She closed her eyes. She wouldn't tell Jimmy about the kidnapping, she decided. And at dinner, she'd ask Hammon to keep quiet about it as well if he should talk to her son. In the distance, she heard the start of the hypnotic call to prayer. She realized that the jet lag, the travel, and the news about Todd had left her feeling deeply tired and yet too buzzed to nap. She would unpack her clothes in the quiet before dinner. It would be a symbolic commitment to her decision to stay, no matter what. So she rose, tugged open a zipper on her suitcase, and began settling into the thick-walled room in the heart of a dusty foreign city.
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