apartment. She peered into the alley, the hiding place for her textbooks. There was nothing to see. She heard the noise again, a creaking sound. It was coming from inside the apartment.
She got out of bed, leaving her room, bare feet moving silently towards the front door. Their apartment was reached by a narrow brick stairway. Whenever anyone climbed the stairs the timber doorframe creaked. Usually Nara felt no fear even when she alone. There was a security gate at the bottom of the stairwayer frid of thick steel bars. The gate was padlocked. There was no way an intruder could reach the front door. Nara stepped forward, ear pressed against the timber. She waited.
Whether by the force of the door smashing, or out of shock, Nara fell to the floor, looking up to see two men enter the apartment, kicking aside the remains of the timber frame. Nara’s body reacted faster than her thoughts: she was up on her feet, scrambling towards the bedroom. One of the men knocked her to the ground. Clawing her way out from under his body, she reached the bedroom. As she got to her knees, the second man kicked her. The pain was unlike any she’d experienced before, a detonation inside her stomach. She collapsed and curled up into a ball, struggling for breath.
The man stared down at her with hate-filled eyes, a stranger who spoke with so much anger in his voice it was as if he’d known her personally.
– You betrayed your country.
While he spoke the other man dropped onto Nara, pinning her to the floor. He sat on her chest, his weight forcing the breath out of her lungs. Handed her notebooks, he proceeded to rip them apart, the pages of neat text, the quotes by Stalin, the lessons taught by Leo Demidov, shredded and falling about her face. With a fistful of paper, he tried to force the fragments into her mouth. She pressed her lips shut. The man responded by lifting himself up from her stomach, relieving the pressure, before dropping back down. As she gasped he shoved the paper inside her mouth, his knuckles on her teeth, filling her mouth. The man standing over them commented:
– You wanted an education…
Nara could not breathe. She scratched at the man’s face. He slapped her hands away, pushing more paper into her mouth. There was so much it was pressing down her throat, causing her to gag. She flailed, helpless, hooking onto her bed-sheets, pulling them down.
Unable to focus, her vision blurring, her hand clasped something – the pen used to write her notes. Gripping it tight, she clicked the nib and swung it at her attacker. It entered his neck. She was weak from the attack but it went deep enough to make him cry out. His hands came loose. Free from his grip, she spat out some of the notes, sucking in a partial breath. Able to see again, her thoughts coming together, her strength returning, she forced the pen in deeper, pushing as hard as she could, feeling his blood run down her hand. He toppled, falling on his side.
Nara stood up in disbelief at her sudden freedom, spitting out the rest of notes. She jumped onto the bed, moving as far away as possible within the confines of the small room. The second man was by his partner’s side. He removed the pen, causing blood to gush. In the ensuing confusion, the man hopelessly trying to stem the bleeding, Nara assessed the distance to the door. She would pass too close to her attackers. Even if she did sneak past she would be caught in the living room, or the stairway. Feeling the cool night breeze on her bare feet she turned around, facing the window. It was her only chance of escape. She stepped onto the ledge, climbing onto the roof.
With no electricity, there was no residual light from the streets. The city was dark, the blackout stretching across the neighbourhood like an oil slick, spreading across the valley and up distant hills, broken only by the flicker of gas lamps and candles. The more expensive properties and the government buildings had diesel generators and they dazzled: ghettoes of brightness.
She heard the remaining attacker’s hand slap down on the roof beside her and set off across the roof, bare feet against the concrete, directing herself towards her neighbours’ house, unable to distinguish between the darkness of the roofs and the darkness of the space in between. As her toes crossed the edge of her roof she pushed off, jumping as high as she could manage. Her feet spun in the air before landing on the adjacent roof. She tumbled forward, picking herself up and running again. There were heavy vibrations as her attacker landed behind her. She didn’t look back, running as fast as she could, the soles of her feet across the rough concrete, her eyes adjusting. She jumped, landing nimbly onto the next roof. She’d only taken a couple of steps when once again she felt vibrations – he was gaining. Unable to resist the urge to look back she saw his dark form only metres behind her, arms reaching out. Desperate, she turned forward, assessing the gap. It was too far. She’d never jump the distance. But she had nothing to lose.
Her feet left the roof, her body rising into the air. For a moment she was sure she’d land safely, then she began to fall, short of the next roof, hitting the side of the house. She was knocked back, tumbling down. With one hand she grabbed a window ledge. Unable to hold her weight, her fingers slipped and she fell again, landing awkwardly.
She lay still, unsure if she could move. Testing her body, lifting herself up, she felt pain but not enough to stop her. She waited, holding her breath. He hadn’t made the jump: she would’ve heard him. She peered up into the starry night sky, saw his dark form on the edge of the roof. He disappeared. He was searching for another way down.
She picked herself up, hobbling down the alley, stumbling, running, turning blindly. Her only advantage was the blackout, making her harder to follow. Reaching a main street, with no idea where she was or how far she’d run, she saw a woman entering a house. She ran towards her, pleading:
– Help me.
Nara was indecent, half naked, covered in dirt and mud. The woman shut the door.
With a stutter the electricity came back on. Streetlights flickered, purring overhead – illuminating her position.
Greater Province of Kabul City of Kabul Karta-i-Seh District Darulaman Boulevard
Since returning from the arrest of the deserting officer, Leo had smoked for several hours in an attempt to suppress an almost unbearable sense of restlessness. Listening to the plans hatched by the two lovers hoping to embark on an impossible journey reminded him not only of his own thwarted ambitions to reach New York but also the journeys he’d made with Raisa, across the Soviet Union and into Budapest. Witnessing their determination, misguided though it was, he was forced to ask whether he’d abandoned the dream of solving Raisa’s murder. He reminded himself of the conditions he’d been placed under. He could not leave Afghanistan without bringing ruin to his daughters back home in Moscow. Anyway, the advice he’d offered to Fyodor and Ara had been the truth: to reach Pakistan posed insurmountable difficulties. The roads were controlled by Soviet forces: the air was patrolled by fighters and helicopters, while the mountains and footpaths were governed by the Afghan insurgents, who’d kill a Soviet on sight, deserter or not. In the end, the couple hadn’t even made it out f Kabul. Yet there was something noble about their failure. He could not deny the romanticism of such a venture. He thought of Elena: it was the kind of plot she might have become embroiled in had she been born here in Kabul.
Gradually, in the midst of these thoughts, he became aware of a noise, an urgent knocking on the door. He didn’t lower his pipe, lying sprawled on his bed – curious as to whether the noise was real or imagined. He had no intention of getting up, content to wait and see. There was a second attempt, even more frantic this time, accompanied by a cry. It was a woman’s voice. Leo sucked deeply on his pipe and remained perfectly still, holding the precious smoke in his lungs. He made no move to stand, or open the door, passive and motionless. The voice called out his name:
– Leo Demidov!
He exhaled, regarding the opium-smoke shapes, before scratching the side of his unshaven face and deciding the woman was real, rather than imagined. Half-heartedly he called out:
– The door is unlocked.
His voice was barely a whisper. And she hadn’t heard. She knocked again. It took an enormous effort for him to raise his voice:
