‘Yesterday I discovered my first cases of drug addiction in the village below,’ Daniel had said. ‘At present it looks to be limited to just two men, but it’ll spread.’ He turned to look down at Sofia. ‘You didn’t happen to bring anything for addiction, did you?’
‘I’m sorry, no.’
‘Me neither. Stupid, really. I guess I just didn’t think it would get its claws into people who were so isolated. I’ll talk with Mafuz and the other headman and explain what this might mean for them.’
Having arrived at the northern end of the plateau the path turned right again, leading them to the ridge, which she could now see was the only possible access route to the village. Other than this ridge, and where the hidden houses were, the sides of the plateau disappeared in terrifyingly sheer drops to the valley floor far below. About two hundred metres down the access path they could see five women returning to the village with water containers balanced on their heads.
‘I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here because I haven’t been able to examine the women, or even ask them questions. This village lost a fifteen-year-old girl in childbirth last month and I’m pretty sure that with the proper care, she and her baby would have survived. Obviously, you need to decide what your priorities are while you’re here, especially if winter sets in early and our time’s limited, but from what I’ve seen some midwifery skills wouldn’t go astray.’
‘If they’re receptive,’ Sofia had offered, wondering how the village women would appreciate her telling them how to birth their babies. When a cloud passed in front of the sun she shivered.
Daniel had looked up at the peaks. ‘Those snow clouds have been gathering for the last few days and they’re telling me now that the snows might arrive early again this year.’ He turned to look at her. ‘How long are you planning on staying?’
‘A month. I read that was how long you were here for.’
Daniel had nodded. ‘If the weather turns ugly, though, we might have to leave early, or risk being trapped in the village for the winter.’
‘Then I have a problem because I’ve got no way of contacting my guide to tell him to come earlier.’
‘Well, let’s see what happens,’ he had said, turning back toward the village. ‘You might have to come back down with me.’
12
ON THAT FIRST day they had worked together examining the children, with Sofia concentrating on the girls. The following day they had trekked to the lower village about an hour’s walk away, and by the end of that day she knew Daniel was right: midwifery could make a huge difference to the lives of the women and children. She just had to work out how to approach the women about this. Perhaps offering a quid pro quo deal: she’d teach them her skills and they could teach her their skills and natural remedies.
Late that afternoon Sofia had been sitting on the ground outside her hut enjoying the last of the day’s sun when two barefoot boys, their clothes and skin covered in thick layers of grime, came to sit in front of her. The youngest had a shaved head and a thick rope of snot streaming from his nose. The older boy was wearing a dirty grey rag that might once have been white tied around his head, and an old ripped suit jacket that fell below his knees. They had come to show Sofia their toys, two large wasps each tied with a length of string that they let free to fly in front of her face. While she had tried to look suitably impressed, she couldn’t help ducking each time a wasp flew too close. When she told the boys their toys were great, they looked at her for a few seconds before turning to each other and collapsing on the ground laughing. Sofia had no idea what she had said wrong but she was soon laughing with them.
Daniel, who had been sitting outside the mosque watching her and the boys, got up and made his way to them. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I think I said something stupid. Won’t you join me?’ Moving over, she had patted the ground next to her as the boys ran off.
After sitting in silence for some time she realised that Daniel had leaned his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. Taking the opportunity, she had examined his face. His skin was smooth and naturally dark, although she had seen the tan line on his arms when he’d rolled his shirtsleeves up as he worked. His black hair was probably due for a cut and the beard was a result of not shaving since he’d arrived in the village. With the angle of the setting sun, dark lashes were casting long shadows over his cheekbones.
‘I grew up in Marrakech,’ he had said. Although his eyes were still closed, she had the feeling he had known she’d been looking at him. ‘I spent a lot of time hanging out with our cook’s family in their village and the local kids tied wasps to pieces of string there too. What was it like growing up in Sydney?’
‘Well, we didn’t tie strings to wasps.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I read books, mostly.’
With his eyes still closed he had smiled. ‘That figures.’
She turned to look directly at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re the bookish type.’
‘I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that.’
She watched his smile broaden. ‘It means you’re inquisitive and intelligent, both of which seem to be borne out by the fact that you’re here in a village hardly anyone knows or cares about on this crazy plateau in the Hindu Kush. Despite the fact that my mother is a writer, I didn’t read many books when I was young, so I’m
