‘Dr Clementine is an excellent coordinator,’ Daniel said to Fatima, who had come to stand with them. ‘I hope she told you and the women that our staff are all Afghan. I really think they’ll be able to help each other.’
‘I’ll have to see what the women think first,’ Fatima said, before turning to Sofia and placing her hand over her heart. ‘I’ll always stand in your shadow and keep you close in my heart. You are my sister. You have given me so much.’
Sofia pushed herself off the wall to take Fatima’s hand. ‘And you, my friend, and all the women have given me so much. I’m really going to miss you.’ When she moved in to hug Fatima she felt her friend flinch and let her go. ‘Perhaps one day, when things are not so dangerous, I might come back and visit you?’
‘I’d like that,’ Fatima said, ‘but right now I need to go back to the women.’ Turning to Daniel, she said her goodbyes before hurrying back into the house.
‘Oh god, that was weird,’ Sofia said, as Daniel picked up her overnight bag and she followed him out the gate and through the group of men who were sitting around outside the gate, waiting to take their sisters and wives home. ‘I feel like a real shit. She must hate me.’
‘She doesn’t hate you,’ he said, putting her bag in the back before climbing in beside her. ‘She loves you and she’s just a little emotional.’
‘And I love her too.’
But not the way she loves you, he thought, remembering the way Fatima had talked about Sofia the previous afternoon. In the last few days he’d seen how Sofia elicited strong emotions in her friends, although he thought some were a little overly protective of her. It was probably because she was so open and gentle, he thought, which people could misinterpret as fragile and vulnerable.
But a fragile, vulnerable woman didn’t leave the safety of a comfortable home in Australia to travel to a place like Kabul to work for a man she’d never met. Neither did a vulnerable woman travel to an unknown village in the wilds of the Hindu Kush on a whim after reading an article, or travel around Afghanistan working with village women in isolated locations, or volunteer in the slums of Kabul. Sofia Raso might appear fragile and vulnerable but he knew she was bloody tough. It was there to see if you bothered to look.
‘I’ve let the women down,’ she said, breaking into his thoughts as they drove out of Kandahar.
Daniel turned to look at her. She was sensitive, which probably also led to the misperception of fragility. ‘I don’t think any of those women judge you for your decision.’
‘Ha!’ she scoffed. ‘And therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?’ She turned to look at him, becoming animated. ‘They never do,’ she said, waving her hand in the air. ‘They expect so little in their lives and now I’ve just been one more disappointment.’
‘They’re strong women, Sofia.’
‘I know they are. My god, what they have to deal with every day in their lives. The other day my young receptionist was lamenting the weakness of Afghan women, but these women and what they do every day and have to overcome in their lives would leave most Western women for dead. They’re strong and resilient and brave and I love them so much.’
‘That’s probably how they feel about you. Any more news about the boys, by the way?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Sofia clenched her eyes shut and rubbed them with her thumb and forefinger as if to relieve a headache.
‘You alright?’
‘Sure.’ She stopped rubbing to look at him. ‘Do you think you could ask your friend again about the boys? His information was good last time and maybe this time Minister Massoud might step in and give Chief Wasim a hurry on.’
The mention of Massoud reminded Daniel of what had happened the night before. ‘I can, but do you think you could arrange a meeting with Jabril for me first?’
‘Sure. When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘You’re not going to tell me what it’s about?’ she asked.
‘I think it’s best you hear it together.’ He turned to look out the window. Daniel had a threat to deliver. It was not going to be easy.
35
WHEN SOFIA CAME down the following morning she found Behnaz in the courtyard under the pomegranate tree. Having gathered the fallen leaves from the two trees in the centre of the square and from the pomegranate tree in her courtyard, she had swept them into a little pyramid. The canary cage had been moved out of harm’s way to the front door and now she was trying to ignite the brittle mound of leaves. Long ago Sofia had suggested that Behnaz might like to let the leaves decompose below the trees to fertilise the soil and keep the moisture in during the blistering summer heat, but Behnaz had politely thanked Sofia for her ‘Australian’ advice and continued to make the bonfires she had been building for the last forty years.
When she saw Dr Sofia, Behnaz gave up on the bonfire and tried to rise, but with one twisted hand clutching the trunk of the tree and the other supporting her aching back, it was proving difficult. Behnaz had arthritis in her hands when Sofia had first arrived in Kabul, but over the years it had found its way into her knees, and more lately into her spine. A couple of years previously Sofia had returned from Australia with the latest arthritis medicine, which Behnaz promptly gave to Babur. His
