Read Online Born Under a Million Shadows by Andrea Busfield - Free Book Online

everyone at the house gathered at least once a week, twice if there was a reason to, such as Spandi’s invitation to lunch.
    That afternoon, after a great spread of sheep kebabs,curried chicken,
Kabuli pilau,
and warm naan—all of which had appeared with Haji Khalid Khan and Ismerai—we relaxed into the evening, drinking from cups steaming with the green tea my mother had prepared. Although she sat a little back from us, on one of the plastic chairs, my mother was as much a part of the group as any of us on the blanket, listening and laughing to the stories batting from one person to another.
    James, who was sharing a cushion with May, and an Afghan cigarette with Ismerai, was taking charge of most of the conversation as he had recently returned from Bamiyan. He said he had seen the huge holes that once housed two giant Buddhas and told us some international companies were now looking at ways to recapture the thousands of years of history that had been blown away by the Taliban.
    “Among other things they were talking about was a laser show,” he informed us, “the idea being to re-create the Buddhas in 3-D light where they used to stand. A pretty neat idea, but they’d need a bloody big generator.” He laughed.
    “I think it’s a ridiculous waste of money,” commented May, wrinkling the top of her nose. “People can hardly feed themselves, yet they want to spend millions on a fancy light show.”
    “But if this ‘fancy light show’ brings in tourists, it would create jobs and bring in money and therefore allow people to feed themselves,” argued James, who always saw the good in everything, even May.
    “Tourism!” she replied. “I don’t think Afghanistan’s quite ready for that yet. In fact, wasn’t the tourism minister murdered by pilgrims on their way to hajj?”
    “That was a few years ago,” Georgie reminded her.
    “And you think the situation is any better now?” May almost shouted. “The Taliban are back, the south has gone tocrap, corruption is at an all-time high, and the government’s influence barely stretches outside Kabul.”
    “The Taliban are back?” I asked Georgie, startled at the bit of news I had clearly understood.
    I sat next to her, and she gently touched my hand. For the first time in a long while I didn’t move away.
    “Not really, Fawad,” she reassured me. “But yes, they are fighting with government and international troops in some areas. It’s nothing to get worried about.”
    “But why have they come back?”
    Georgie looked at Haji Khalid Khan, who leaned in my direction.
    “They never really went away,” he said. “Some of them hid out in the mountains bordering Pakistan; others simply hid out in their own towns and villages.”
    “Don’t worry too much about the Taliban,” Ismerai joined in. “They’re not the major concern right now. Afghanistan’s main problem is outside interference. People are playing games in our country, and it’s making it increasingly hard to tell friend from foe these days.”
    “What kind of games?” I asked. “Who’s playing them?”
    Georgie shot Haji Khalid Khan another look she obviously hoped I wouldn’t see, and he clapped his hands together.
    “Enough, now,” he ordered in a soft growl created by years of smoking. “These are questions for politicians, not honest, everyday folk like us.”
    Ismerai laughed. “True enough, Haji Sahib. Which reminds me of a joke. Georgie, you translate for our foreign guests. Haji might not want to make fun of his friends.”
    “Do politicians have friends?” she asked, and those of us who spoke Dari all laughed.
    “A busload of politicians was traveling down the road,” Ismerai began. “Suddenly the bus veered off the road andhit a tree near a village. A farmer who was working on his land nearby came over. When he saw the politicians and the wreckage of the bus, he grabbed his shovel and buried all the politicians. Some days later, a police inspector passed by, and he