Chapter 7
"My hair is white!" Georgia said glaring at Oscar in response to his comment about how nice she looked that day. They were riding camels side by side about thirty yards behind Jumah.
"I like it," Oscar said with a smile. Her hair had turned to a white color that was almost shocking in its purity.
"It's not blond," she said holding a strand of her hair in front of her eyes. She wished that it had turned blond rather than white. Her original color had been a hue of light brown that bordered on being blond or perhaps blond that bordered on being light brown.
"Well, I like it," Oscar said for the hundredth time.
"You're a pervert. You do know that," she said shaking her head.
"Why?"
"You like granny hair," Georgia said turning to glare at him. She thought the color was a lot like that of an old woman who colored her hair with bluing. It made her feel old.
"You could put on the burka," Oscar replied without reacting to the angry expression on her face. He knew that suggestion was going to get a rise out of her. She was still wearing her fatigues and had sworn that she wasn't going to put on the burka ever again. For some reason she really hated that outfit.
"Let me be more precise. You are a pervert because you like granny hair and for me to wear a sack that covers me from head to toe," Georgia said looking up at the sky as if seeking protection from Oscar by a higher power.
"Okay," Oscar said smiling at the back of her head. His camel was dropping back to follow hers.
Jumah was smart enough not to get in the middle of this discussion. The first time he had done that, both of them had told him to mind his own business. The fact was that learning that one of the Powers that Be was responsible for her hair color reminded him of the story of Moses. In his mind that made her a holy figure and favored of Allah. The fact that she was a woman confused him, but he wasn't an overly religious man and did not know how to interpret it.
"You're not going to deny it," Georgia asked looking over her shoulder at Oscar. She was rather surprised by his agreement.
"Nope. If loving you and appreciating your beauty in all of its forms is perversion, then consider me a pervert," Oscar said. He looked at her and winked.
Georgia tapped her whip on the camel to speed it up in an attempt to catch up with Jumah. She was getting used to swaying motion as the camel moved along the dry creek bed that cut between the two mountains. She sighed and asked, "So why do you have such an interest in seeing me in the burka?"
"I like looking at your eyes," Oscar answered. He tapped his camel on the side with his whip to get it to move up beside Georgia's camel. Instead of speeding up, his camel stopped and threatened to drop to its knees. He tapped it again a little harder and it started to move again, but stopped after three steps.
"You can look at my eyes when I'm not wearing the burka," Georgia said and then realized that Oscar was somewhere behind her. She glanced back and watched him struggling to get his camel moving once again.
Watching the conflict of wills between human and camel, she asked, "Are you ever going to get control over that camel?"
"I don't think so," Oscar answered. He and the camel were not getting along too well. The first two times that he had gotten on the camel had ended up with him on the ground. He swore that the camel had snickered at him. The first time the camel had risen on its rear legs, Oscar had not realized how far forward the camel's body would be positioned and he had flown over the camel's head. The next time he had mounted the camel, he had been surprised by how quickly the camel had risen on its front legs and had been thrown off the back. That had been the high point of their relationship.
"I don't think it likes you," Georgia said watching the camel shake its head.
"Really? I guess that would explain why it spits at me every time I come near it," Oscar said. He hit the camel harder with the stick and it jumped forward.
The distant conversation let Jumah realize that he had left Georgia and Oscar behind. He stopped his camel to wait for them to catch up for what felt like the hundredth time over the past three days. It amazed him that someone who was favored by Allah would have such a difficult time controlling a camel. When Georgia caught up with him, he said, "You would think Allah would give him a little help with the camel."
Georgia laughed and said, "There are times when I'm firmly convinced that the Gods and Goddesses have a very unusual sense of humor. I think Oscar is one of their favorite sources of entertainment."
"Allah is a very serious matter. You don't joke about Allah," Jumah said in a tone of voice that was warning her that he wouldn't tolerate that kind of talk. He might accept them talking about their Gods and Goddesses in a light hearted manner, but not Allah.
"I'm sure he's a very serious God," Georgia said.
"I don't really like the idea of a God that is too serious," Oscar said as his camel came to a stop behind Georgia's camel.
"Why?"
"I like to think that someone finds my actions funny when I screw up," William answered. He grinned and added, "I know that the Two-Sided One has had more than one belly laugh on my account."
Jumah shook his head disturbed by the conversation. Rather than respond to them, he muttered, "Allah forgive them."
The sudden appearance of the American soldier in front of Jumah startled the man. He stopped his camel and stared at the soldier with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not the kind of thing that ended well. Either the soldier would think he was a terrorist or someone would become convinced that he was collaborating with the Americans. Neither possibility was good. Holding his hands in clear sight, he waited for the soldier to make the first move.
Looking past Jumah, the soldier said, "Hello. Where's Oscar?"
Jumah understood two of the words and guessed the third word correctly. Moving slowly so that his movements wouldn't be misinterpreted, he turned around and looked behind him. Georgia was leading the third camel and Oscar was nowhere to be seen. Turning back to face the soldier, Jumah held his hands up in the universal gesture that conveyed his total lack of knowledge about the matter.
The soldier caught Jumah's expression and chuckled. From personal experience, he knew that such a bewildered and confused expression was common when dealing with Oscar. He jumped when Oscar said, "I'm here, Colonel."
"Jesus, Oscar. You could give a guy a heart attack doing that," the soldier said spinning around to stare at Oscar. It was hard to believe that Oscar had been able to sneak up on him.
Jumah stared at Oscar unable to believe that he had appeared from nowhere. He had been looking right at the spot. It seemed to him that a rock shimmered and then turned into Oscar. Convinced it was magic, he said, "Allah protect me."
"You've been promoted twice since I've seen you," Oscar commented looking at the man's uniform.
"Yes, I was promoted after finishing training with you and then again two years ago," Colonel Wagner said with a negligent shrug of his shoulders. He wasn't going to mention that the second promotion was earned many times over.
"You've been out here all that time?" Oscar asked thinking that six years was a long time to serve in the same area.
Georgia finally reached Jumah and stopped her camel beside his. She was about to greet the Colonel when Oscar's camel nudged hers from behind. She gave it a dirty look and the camel backed off.
"No. I've been back to the states twice," the Colonel answered. The identity of the woman with them finally dawned on him. He said, "Hello, Georgia. I like the white hair."
"Men! I swear they're all perverts," Georgia said with more than a little irritation in her voice. She couldn't understand their fascination with her hair.
The Colonel whispered to Oscar, "Is there some story about the white hair that I should know?"
Oscar laughed and shook his head in the negative. He answered, "She's just a little sensitive about it. What ever you do, don't ask her to wear a burka."
Concerned that they were in trouble, Jumah turned to Georgia and asked, "What are they talking about?"
"They are just catching up on old times," Georgia answered.
The Colonel asked, "When did you learn to speak the local lingo?"
Georgia answered, "At the same time my hair turned white."
"Oh."
"How have things been along the border?" Oscar asked.
The Colonel answered, "Things were a little out of control there for a while, but traffic has stopped for the past two weeks. There's been a bit of fighting amongst the various factions here."
"Yes, we ran into a bit of that in Pakistan. We came across the bodies of some terrorists who had been killed by locals. We heard rumors of major battles occurring when terrorists tried to force the locals into supporting Jihad. In fact, Georgia had to kill a dozen of them," Oscar said.
"A dozen?" the Colonel asked. He turned to Georgia and asked, "What happened?"
"There were about to execute a shepherd boy in cold blood. He was only thirteen years old. I couldn't stand by and watch them do it, so I had to intervene," Georgia said. The idea that she had killed a dozen men still bothered her. She had to tell herself over and over that there had been no choice.
"Good job," the Colonel said with a nod of approval. He had come to respect Georgia's abilities while undergoing training, but he had doubts about her willingness to use them when it came down to the real thing. That she had the skills to be a very deadly fighter had never been in doubt.
Several dozen fire pits were scattered around the wash where they planned to spend the night. This particular spot had served as a stop for caravans traveling from Pakistan into Afghanistan for centuries. Each major storm would wash away the debris left behind, but it had been six weeks since a good rain had fallen. The most recent fire pit had been used two weeks before.
Oscar went from the remains of one campfire to another examining them. It looked as though traffic had peaked four weeks previously. Turning to look at the Colonel, he said, "I imagine that the traffic through here dropped because there just aren't that many terrorists left."
"That wouldn't affect the number of smugglers," Colonel Wagner said giving voice to the one thing that worried him the most.
"No, it wouldn't," Oscar said wondering what would cause that. He turned to look at Jumah and, using a local euphemism for the smugglers, asked, "Why aren't the traders moving merchandise through here?"
Jumah dropped his load of firewood and looked at Oscar trying to make up his mind as to how to answer the question. Would answering it represent collaborating with the soldier? American soldiers were famous for taking a fact here and a fact there to come up with a more complete story than they had been told. Giving into the inevitable, he answered, "We live in dangerous times. They are at home protecting their families. There is too much fighting for them to leave their family unprotected."
Looking over at the Colonel, Oscar said, "He says that there is too much fighting so the smugglers are staying home to protect their families."
"That makes sense," the Colonel said looking around. It was doubtful that the situation would last. The smugglers would return and drugs would begin moving out of Afghanistan again. He sighed at the thought that it was just a temporary interruption of the drug trade. It would have been nice if it was ended for good, but the poppy plant was the easiest crop to grow. He sighed and said, "Family is important everywhere."
Jumah looked over at the Colonel wondering what he said. Turning to Oscar, he asked, "What does the soldier say?"
"He says that family is important," Oscar answered.
"It is the only thing that is important," Jumah said with a curt nod of his head.
Georgia asked, "What's happening elsewhere?"
"There is a civil war going on in Saudi Arabia. Another is about to break out in Iran. It seems that the prohibition against Jihad is creating a lot of civil unrest," Colonel Wagner said.
"Just wait until we make it to Saudi Arabia," Oscar said in a voice that suggested there would be lots of excitement in the future.
Paling slightly, Georgia asked, "Are you planning on going to Mecca?"
"No, I'm not planning on going there. There's no way that Allah would allow that," Oscar said with a smile.
"What? He'd be opposed to a Druid going to Mecca?" Georgia asked.
"Not that. Even Muslims who are willing to accept the ban on Jihad by the Sword will not tolerate a pagan entering Mecca. If I were to go there, then Allah would have to kill those who are willing to abide by his word in order to protect me," Oscar answered. For him to emerge unscathed from Mecca would require thousands of faithful to die.
Jumah listened to the discussion without understanding much of it. There was one word that he did understand. Concerned, he asked, "Were you talking about going to Mecca?"
"Yes," Georgia answered.
"That would not be good."
"We agree. That is why Oscar is not going there," Georgia answered.
"That is good," Jumah said feeling relieved. He bent over to light the campfire using a Bic Lighter. The first time he had pulled it out, Georgia had nearly fallen over laughing. It was hard to believe that such a basic American product had made it to the western end of Pakistan.
Oscar turned to study the rock wall for a minute. After looking it over, he said, "There's some graffiti here that is scratched into the wall in Chinese. It looks like it is a dialect that was used in the fourteenth century."
"What's it say?" Georgia asked beating the Colonel to the question by a fraction of a second.
"I was here," Oscar answered. He stared at it for a few more seconds and then said, "Amazing isn't it? Some guy traveling through here from China to Afghanistan took a minute of his time to declare his existence to the world. Now, seven hundred years later we are discussing him."
With the arrival of dark, the temperature dropped to the point where breaths were visible as small clouds of vapor. The light from the fire lit the wash; painting the walls with flickering yellow light that created shadows that danced. The acrid odor of burning wood hung in the air. A narrow arc of starlit sky was visible above.
Georgia huddled closer to the fire to bask in its warmth. The layers of clothes that she wore made her appear ten pounds heavier. Looking across at Oscar's fire lit face, she said, "It's getting colder at night."
"Soon it will be cold during the day," Oscar said holding his hands out towards the fire.
The Colonel nodded his head and, giving into a soldier's right to complain, said, "Winter is coming. I hate spending winter out here. It can get very cold up here in the mountains."
"It'll be warm compared to where we are going," Oscar said.
"Where is that?"
"Russia," Oscar answered. Smiling across the fire at Georgia, he said, "We'll be there in December."
"Would you mind telling me which tourist agency you are using? I want to avoid them at all costs," the Colonel said with a smile.
Georgia grinned at the Colonel and asked, "Which one are you using? It seems to me that we are both out here at the same time."
"The US Army," the Colonel answered with a grin. Shaking his head, he said, "I signed up for the Danger Tour."
Georgia gave the Colonel a wry smile and said, "The Army has some of the best destinations in the world. It's hard to beat Afghanistan, Iraq, Lebanon, or Somalia."
The Colonel laughed and said, "When I got out of high school I figured that I would join the army and see exotic locations. Of course, I was thinking of places like Germany, Philippines, Japan, and Brazil. Hell, I'd never heard of Afghanistan."
"Do you regret your decision?"
The Colonel shook his head and said, "No, but ask me again when the temperatures drop into the twenties."
There was a slight lull in the conversation while everyone watched the flames leap over the fire and thought about their situation. The Colonel broke the silence when he said, "The thing that keeps me going out here is the idea that I'm protecting folks back home. I know a lot of them don't see it that way, but I've seen people here that want to destroy the American way of life."
Jumah watched the discussion around the fire without understanding what was being discussed. It was frustrating not being able to understand what they were talking about. Looking over at the Colonel, he resented the presence of the US Army there. Without realizing the irony of the timing of his question, he asked, "Why do the Americans want to destroy our way of life?"
"We're not trying to destroy your way of life," Oscar answered looking at the man across the fire. Jumah looked perfectly comfortable sitting around the fire.
"Yes, you are. The Americans send movies here that undermine the morals of our children. They show women acting in ways that women should not act. They show children talking back to their parents. The kids can't resist the music players, but they cost too much. Our families suffer because the kids watch movies and listen to music.'
Shaking his head, Oscar said, "It is all about trade. We send the movies here because you buy them. You buy them because you like them."
Jumah snorted and said, "You send products here that destroy families. Men who used to make pots can't sell them in the market place anymore. Their pots can't compete against those factory produced pots that appear in the markets. A family that has produced pots for generations can't earn a living. What is the man supposed to do?
"My father's father raised sheep and sold the wool. He was a rich man and built a nice house. People made clothes from the wool he produced. The clothes were all made in the same style and with the same dyes. As a people, we dressed alike and that gave us an identity. You could tell where a person was from by the clothes they wore.
"My father raised sheep and he wasn't as rich as his father. It wasn't because he was a worse shepherd than his father. The price of wool had dropped. People started buying clothes made by foreigners. It was slow at first, but every year it got worse.
"Today, we raise sheep and can hardly sell our wool. The stores are filled with clothes made of strange materials. People don't need our wool because they don't have to make their own clothes. My son will not be able to raise a family by being a shepherd.
"Now our clothes look like the clothes Americans wear. They aren't as good as the homespun clothes. They wear out very quickly and don't keep you as warm. We have stopped looking like ourselves and have started looking like Americans. How can you say that you are not trying to destroy us?"
"We are trying to improve your standard of living," Georgia answered.
"What is wrong with the way I live?"
"You have to work hard to feed and clothe your family. It is physical work that is hard on the body. Disease, accidents, and a hard life make you die young. Let's face facts, you live in mud huts. What is wrong with refrigerators, ovens, central heaters, and larger houses?" Georgia asked. She wasn't even going to mention how tough life was for the women.
Shaking his head, Jumah said, "You look down on my house. I don't understand that. It is warm enough in the winter and cool enough in the summer. It will stand until the day I die. It is the kind of house in which I was raised. It has all of the room in it that I require. So why do you look down on my house?"
"You could have so much more than what you have now," Georgia answered feeling frustrated at his desire to live in the past.
Jumah replied, "Only if I stop being what I am."