She knew she had been lying when she had told her friends she would return. She was never going to return while Massoud was alive, and there was no good reason to believe he would not live a very long and eventful life. Sofia thought of her new life back in Sydney. Perhaps she would eventually live her father’s version of ‘normal’. Turning over onto her back, she rested her arm across her forehead and stared up at the light bulb inside its dusty cane shade.
In the past week she had been skirting around a truth, as if it had been a puzzle she could solve, or something she could control, but it wasn’t and it never had been. The man she loved was here, in Afghanistan. It was impossible that she loved a man she’d only spent ten days with in a village and a few days with in Kabul but love him she did. Sofia grabbed her phone again and looked at the time. Four and a half hours until she had to head to the airport for her flight. She sat up on the bed. She had one more thing to do.
After ringing Tawfiq, Sofia took one last look around the apartment, hitched her bag over her shoulder, picked up her suitcase and the bag for Taban and made her way downstairs. Knocking on Behnaz’s door she waited. No answer. Putting her ear to the door, she listened. Silence. Sofia stood back, wondering what she should do. She couldn’t phone Behnaz because she didn’t own a mobile phone. The Amreekawees kept tabs on everyone in Afghanistan through the phones, she used to say, in case they needed to kill you with a drone strike.
How could she possibly leave without trying to say goodbye to Behnaz? She loved Behnaz and Behnaz loved her. Sofia checked the time on her phone again. It was either him or Behnaz. Leaving the keys by the door, Sofia picked up the two bags and walked out, like a thief in the night.
Outside the gate Tawfiq was waiting for her. The policeman was still there but Rashid had gone home.
‘Can you please give this to Taban?’ she asked, offering him the large bag full of clothes. As Tawfiq lifted her suitcase into the car, she heard her name being called and turned to see Omar crossing the square, barely visible in the last of the evening light. The only other person in the square was the man who sold corn from his portable kitchen in the old city, pushing his kitchen before him on his way home.
‘You’re leaving,’ Omar said as he came to stand before her.
‘I am,’ she said, examining her friend in the fading light.
‘Will you come back?’
‘I’d like to.’
Tawfiq and the policeman climbed into the car, closing the doors quietly behind them.
‘I didn’t know it was Dr Jabril,’ Omar said with such sadness that Sofia found herself fighting back tears yet again.
‘None of us did.’
‘I couldn’t save him.’
‘No, Omar, none of us could. It wasn’t your fault.’
Everything about Omar had shrunk. She was sure he had not always been so short. His old wool pakol cap no longer fitted his head, while his perahan tunban fell loosely over his thin frame. His once mischievous green eyes had grown cloudy and surely the lines on his face had deepened? Sofia put her hand on his shoulder to discover only bone. Letting go of his shoulder, she took his hands in hers to find them frail and bird-like. Searching his face in the dying light, she saw what she should have seen a long time ago. Her heart sank. How neglectful she had been of this dear man.
‘I have to go now, Omar, and I don’t honestly think I’ll be coming back, but before I go, is there anything I can do to help you? Anything I can get for you? You could go to the hospital, you know? I’ve got friends there who could help you.’
He shook his head. ‘Remember me. That’s all I ask.’
‘Always, Omar, always.’ Sofia let the tears fall. If they couldn’t fall now, when could they? ‘I pray that we meet again soon, my friend.’
‘I think maybe it will be in Jannah.’
‘Then Jannah it will be,’ she said, offering her love for him in a smile.
As they drove out of Shaahir Square, Sofia turned for the last time to see Omar waiting alone in the dark beside Behnaz’s turquoise gate.
48
‘I TOLD YOU I wouldn’t let you leave without seeing you again,’ Daniel said when he opened the door.
‘Only because Mohammad had to come to the mountain,’ she replied, walking past him into the room. ‘Seriously?’ she said, frowning and shaking her head. It wasn’t a room, it was a suite, decorated in dark brown timber with splashes of red and yellow in the rugs and artisan work on the walls. There was an enormous full-sized lounge, two armchairs, a king bed, a large elegant desk and two TVs. ‘If this is how the UN house their staff, I want a job with them. I’m also going to stop my contributions to UNHCR forthwith.’
Daniel laughed. ‘They’re not paying for all this, believe me.’
Sofia raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’re rich as well.’
‘As well as what?’
‘Never mind,’ she said, sitting in one of the armchairs.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ he asked, opening the
