A Cup of Friendship (11 page)

“A
dangerous
dog.”

“You’re going to take her driving. She’s going to be your driving dog. Your car canine. Your Mercedes mutt.” He laughed. “Your protective pooch!”

“Stop, I beg you.”

“Seriously, every time you drive around town, a woman alone, in a car, in a Mercedes, for God’s sake, even though it’s old, you’re risking your life. From now on, you take Poppy. When you take one of your walks, you take Poppy. Most Afghans, as you know, hate dogs—”

“Maybe that’s why I feel such an affinity for the people.”

“—and fear dogs. I’ve been sick with worry every time you go out driving. Well, now—”

“So you’re actually giving me this old German shepherd—I mean, it’s not even cute—for you. So
you
won’t have to worry. Typical philanthropist.” She turned back to the door and yelled, “No thanks.”

She couldn’t see that Jack had taken the leash from Ahmet, relieving him from a terrible duty.

“Come on, look, Sunny,” Jack said.

She turned back to him and Poppy came to her, her large paws prancing like a horse’s hooves, her tongue flopping out of her mouth, her ears pointed straight up. She stopped at Sunny’s legs and sat, looking up at her, panting, tongue out, mouth open, saliva flowing.

Sunny petted her head. Poppy licked her hand. And Jack put his hands in his pockets, looking very satisfied.

“So can I get some breakfast? I’m hungry and it’s cold out here.”

“First, a test run.” Sunny looked from the dog to Jack. And then she smiled. “Let’s take her for a drive.” She ran inside for a minute and came back with a ring full of keys.

Jack picked up Poppy’s makeshift leash and handed it to Sunny. “She’s all yours.”

As they went out the front gate, Jack thanked Ahmet for watching her. Ahmet took a step back as they walked past him, but Poppy, apparently, had to thank him, too, so she rubbed against his leg and looked up at him with her tongue out and her tail wagging. Her love was unrequited, however, and Ahmet turned away from her.

They walked around the outside walls of the house to the narrow alley where the car was parked. Sunny sat in the driver’s seat, Jack beside her, and Poppy in the rear. It was cold, but Sunny opened one of the rear windows and immediately, Poppy’s paws were up on the door and her head outside breathing in the lovely sewage-smelling Kabul air. Before pulling out, Sunny checked the rearview mirror and then the side.

“Oh shit,” she said.

“What?” asked Jack.

“The mirror, it’s gone. Shit, that one is, too. For crying out loud.”

Someone had stolen both side-view mirrors on the outside of the car, a nice little business in Kabul—second only to stealing cars themselves. Fortunately, Tommy had installed an uber-ignition on the car that required a jackhammer to get it going without a key.

“I know how to fix this,” said Jack. “Make a left at the next alley.”

“Where’re we going?” Sunny had to do a lot of head-turning and looking over her shoulder without the mirrors there to help. The streets of Kabul were not only a maze, they were lawless. Afghans drove on the right as in America, but all the double-parking, the passing, the lack of lanes or markings on the cobbled roads made driving safely a feat.

“To get ’em back.” He smiled, as if he got a joke that nobody else in the room did.

Sunny followed his directions, her Mercedes careening through the crowded, dusty streets, with Poppy’s huge head sticking out the side back window. People stepped back from the car when she stopped at a corner, kids playing ball pointed, old men crouching in their stalls shook their heads in dismay.

Jack took her to the outskirts of town, where the narrow streets gave way to wider roads with low gray houses on either side, rubble and rocks in between, goats braying and children playing, the smell of sewage that reeked in the center of the city changing to a mix of dust and animal odors and smoke from the fires burning in the homes to keep them warm.

He directed her onto a road that seemed to head straight up into the mountains, but then he had her stop a hundred feet in. “Here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He put Poppy on her leash, got her out of the backseat, and led her and Sunny down a dirt embankment and across a wooden plank, with no rails to hold on to, where a river or a sewer once was, to a wide plain where metal shipping containers were lined up end to end. Some had Chinese writing on them, some Arabic, some Russian. On top of them were piles of old car parts, tires, and other unidentifiable paraphernalia. Everything seemed to be covered in soot, filthy. Surrounding them were old cars, with men inside, sipping tea. One old station wagon was open in the back, and three guys, wearing the tan-colored
shalwaar kameez
es, with woolen coats and gray turbans, were hanging out, sitting on old car seats, and eating something.

Sunny felt as if she were on another planet.

But Jack said, “It’s a tailgating party!”

The men looked up at the couple. They stood up when they saw the dog. Each pulled his gun from over his shoulder and pointed it at Poppy.

“Hold on a minute, guys,” Jack said to them in Dari, sounding like an Afghan himself. He showed them the car; they said they had mirrors that could work, then dug around in the pile and held up two mirrors.

“These would work,” they said. The head guy didn’t take his eyes off Poppy, who was looking very serious, her policing instincts coming back to her.

Of course they would work. They were Sunny’s mirrors. Jack was negotiating to buy back the very mirrors that had been stolen from her car.

“What a racket,” Jack said as he got in the car, putting the mirrors down between them. “But ingenious. And Poppy, good girl. What an animal.”

“Oh yeah,” Sunny said sarcastically, “the next time my mirrors get stolen and I have to buy them back, she’ll be very helpful.”

They got home, Jack screwed the mirrors on, and once back in the courtyard, Sunny said, “Okay. I’ll give the mangy mutt one week. But if she does anything bad—bites someone, eats something she shouldn’t, does her business somewhere she shouldn’t, she’s gone.”

“Okay,” said Jack.

“Okay?” Sunny asked Poppy, as she held her hand under her muzzle, lifting her face to hers. “So how about some breakfast?” she asked Jack. “It’s cold out here.”

When they walked into the coffeehouse Halajan screamed.

Sunny laughed. “It’s all right, Hala. This is Poppy, our new dog. You can thank Jack for this lovely gift.”

“There are no four-legged creatures in the coffeehouse! If you must keep it, keep it out back, like a goat or a horse.” Halajan was both angry and afraid. She lingered in the corner. “You Americans—”

“What?” interrupted Sunny, teasingly. “What about us Americans?”

“You live with dogs, you sleep with dogs! It’s crazy.” She was wringing her hands, her face in a disgusted grimace. “It’s like they are the princes and you the animals. I hear that in some cities in America, the people even pick up their dog’s dirt and carry it in a bag.” She shook her head. “Is this not the truth?”

“I’m on your side,” said Sunny.

Jack laughed. “It’s the truth. But Halajan, dogs, you will find, are …” and then he began to speak in Dari. Sunny tried to keep up. He was telling Halajan that dogs are clean, loyal, and protective. He told her about Poppy’s background and how he got her for Sunny because of the car, but that the coffeehouse could use all the protection it could get. Then he made a joke about how if it didn’t work out, she could always cook Poppy up and serve her to the plumber who overcharged her, and Halajan laughed so hard, she bent over.

Then Jack pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and said, “Got a text.” He read it and turned to Sunny and said, “You know what? I gotta go.” He walked to the café’s door.

“Really?” she replied, following him. “Why? What’s so important on a Thursday, the day before
Juma
, the Sabbath? Huh?” She poked at his chest with her index finger. “What is it?”

He turned serious. “I have to call my son.”

“So call him from here. Where’s your cell?”

“Nah. You know, I like to talk where it’s quiet.” And then he spoke loudly, “Away from all you nuts.”

“Uh-huh,” Sunny said. “Keeping us a secret?”

She immediately blushed, wishing she could take the words back.

“Ach, come on,” he demurred. “He may have heard from some colleges this week.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll …”

“Yeah, well, he wants to go to Michigan, like his old dad.”

“Good school.”

“Yeah, and Ann Arbor is a nice place to live. But it’s hard to get in. Not like when I was a boy. Hell, I got in. Proof of how easy it was.”

“Yeah, you got in.” She sounded so stupid, but this entire conversation was making her feel uneasy because it hit a nerve. She’d never gone to college and she always felt embarrassed about it. Not something she liked talking about.

“It’s just that his mom, well, she wants him to stay closer to home. Virginia, somewhere near D.C.”

“How, um, is his mom?”

“She’s good. I think. I mean, it can’t be easy. I mean, you know what I mean, being a woman alone, waiting for your husband—”

“I’m not waiting for my husband.” She sounded defensive.

“All right. Don’t get your panties in a twist. You’re not waiting for your husband. You’re waiting for your
boyfriend.
”

“Hey, I’m not waiting. I have a life.”

“So does she. But …” His voice trailed off.

She waited a moment, giving him time. But when he said nothing further, she asked, “So, why are they there and you’re here?”

“Why are you here and Tommy’s out there?” He nodded toward the door.

“We’re not married and we don’t have a kid. And we’re in the same country. Your family is halfway around the world.”

Jack put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window.

“Well, answer me,” Sunny said. “Why are you here and they’re there?”

“Hey, I just got you a great old dog to protect you. You should be nice to me.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Yeah, well, you need it.”

“How the hell do you know what I need?”

“You need somethin’, baby, and when I’m gone—”

“When you’re gone? And don’t call me ‘baby’!”

Jack grinned. “What I meant was that I have to go back to the States. Not today, not tomorrow, but sometime soon.”

“Well, don’t worry about me.”

“You can take care of yourself. That’s what I love about you. Sunny can always take care of herself.”

“You love that about me, huh?”

“If we’re being literal again, that’s one thing I
like
about you. And that you’re as stubborn as an ox and about as strong, too.”

“Really? What else?” She heard the words come out of her mouth but didn’t believe it was really her asking them.

He looked at her for a long time, and then he said softly, “How you pretend to be tough even though you’re not. How you’re stingy with nice words but have a big, open heart. I just love that about you. That’s the sad damned truth and the real thing that’s making me so mad.” He touched her hair with two fingers.

She pulled away out of reflex and put her hands on her hips.

“So go already,” she said softly, “call your son.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Not if I see you first.”

“What are you, twelve?”

“Yeah, going on thirty-eight.” She grinned.

“Gee, I wouldn’t have put you past thirty-seven.”

He was close to her now. She could see flecks of black in his eyes. “Would you go already?” She said it as if it were a command.

“You be nice to Poppy.”

“Yeah. I’ll treat her like a … dog.”

And then Jack bent toward her and before she could pull away, he kissed her on the cheek.

The door clanged shut behind him and she leaned against it to get her bearings. What the hell was she supposed to do with that? She touched two fingers to her cheek. She knew what to do. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

S
unny was putting more than her usual maniacal effort into preparing for Christmas this season in order to distract herself from Jack. His completely innocuous kiss had seared into her cheek like a brand on the bulls back home. It was typical of her to make something big out of nothing, to obsess and worry and wonder. But this time, she knew she’d gone too far. So, she’d gotten the boxes from storage in the back closets and was opening them and beginning to organize and decorate with a frenzy. First she put a CD in the player and cranked up the volume. The Chipmunks were singing Christmas carols in their high-pitched whines.

Christmas, Christmas time is here
Time for toys and time for cheer …

Bashir Hadi—who was hanging the twinkling little lights that Sunny adored on the wall of the patio, outlining the outside door, the inside door, where the ceiling met the walls of the café, along the countertop, zigzagged on the walls, and of course, throughout the huge plastic tree she’d had shipped from Dubai years before—stopped what he was doing, turned to Sunny, and tried to speak loudly enough to be heard.

“Miss Sunny! Please. I don’t mind your Michael Jackson, singing ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,’ but I really cannot tolerate the Chipmunks. Please, I beg of you!”

Sunny laughed and told him he could put on any Christmas CD he chose. The only rule: Christmas music from now until the party on Christmas Eve, in two weeks. She knew it was silly, but her patrons had come to expect it of her. She threw the best Christmas party in Kabul—a night of roasted turkey and cranberry sauce, of gifts under the tree, of elf costumes, and this year … Poppy dressed as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer! No need to borrow the neighbor’s goat!

It had been a tradition for five years. There weren’t too many Christmas parties in Kabul, outside the embassy or the UN. Her party could accommodate forty people for dinner, and even though the price was a little steep, they’d sold out already. There was much to be done.

As the car wove its way toward the Mondai-e, police and military clogged the streets along with the beggars.

“What’s happened to us?” asked Halajan of her son, who she noticed had trimmed his beard and was wearing a crisp new
shalwaar kameez
. “Look at this. It’s disgusting. When did we stop taking care of one another?”

“We’ve lost prayer, Mother. We’ve turned a deaf ear to the muezzin’s call.”

Halajan clicked her tongue and watched a woman in a burqa crouching in the sewer, her arm out, a baby in her lap. She thought of Yazmina, confined to the café for the duration of her pregnancy, and became angry. “You think prayer will help her? So where is your mighty Allah? Have you prayed for these people? Either you’re praying for those nice new clothes you’re wearing or your prayers for these people have gone unheeded.”

She saw the hurt on Ahmet’s face and realized she had spoken too harshly. They would never agree about the Koran or politics, but he was her son and she loved him. She didn’t want her words to drive a thicker wedge between them than the one already there.

Finally they arrived at the river, which was dry except for a soft layer of snow from the night before. Halajan told Ahmet to wait there at the car and she’d be back in two hours.

“Be careful, Mother,” said Ahmet. “I pray for you, but since nobody’s listening, you’re on your own.”

She laughed at his humor, but, if she were to be honest, this time his words hurt. Halajan hurried across the dried riverbank to the Mondai-e and navigated its alleyways with assurance. In a matter of minutes she was at Rashif’s shop. She knocked on the door, and he came out wearing a coat and hat.

“Halajan,” he said, slipping her an envelope. “Are you alone today?”

“Ahmet drove me. He waits in the car.”

“I will come to meet him!”

“You cannot. All these years and you still can’t accept this world we live in? To outside eyes, my son runs my house. He makes the rules. And you don’t understand the mind of that one. With your past and his present, well, as Rumi says—”

“My past? Ach,” he said with a grimace. “Those mullahs at the mosque poison any effort they haven’t conceived. Why don’t they teach from the heart of the Koran instead of from their own fears?”

“As Rumi says—”

“Stop with Rumi! Tell me what’s in your heart with your own words.”

She was silent for a moment. “My son, he is of another generation. He will never accept you.”

“We will help him grow younger.”

Halajan noticed the light in Rashif’s eyes. She smiled. “Your heart is younger than his. I’m afraid for him that it’s too late.”

“Our love will change him. I will talk to him. I will come to the café and—”

“I will be off to do my Christmas shopping.” She turned to leave.

“I will come to your party,” he called after her.

“If you do, I will not speak to you.” She turned to him and smiled.

“You do not write, you do not speak. I will be happy to be in the same room.”

Halajan felt her knees weaken, but she held firm. “We’re sold out. We don’t have room for even one more.”

He raised his brows and sighed with undue patience. “We’ll see, my Halajan. We will see.”

“I will see you next Thursday,
Inshallah.
”

“
Inshallah
, next Thursday. If not before.” He smiled at her, his dark eyes glistening.

Halajan turned and made her way to the crowded, narrow alleyways of the market, worried that Rashif’s patience would end. She loved him dearly, but she loved her son, too. Whose heart should she break? Whose anger should she rile? As she shopped—for popcorn for stringing, dried pomegranate, and red ribbon for decorating the tree, and the other supplies on her list—she tried to enjoy it, but she was burdened by her thoughts. She was careful to get exactly what Sunny had asked for, because this holiday made Sunny a little crazier than usual, and who knew how she’d react if Halajan brought home the wrong cranberry sauce. At this time of year, every year, Sunny had a fire in her, and a sadness, which Halajan understood. Halajan felt the same way. She was excited by the preparations, and the anticipation alone made her feel lightheaded and silly, making her fingers tingle and her head feel as if it could burst. But her memories of the past and fears for the future made her heart heavy. Celebrations were a complicated mix, Halajan thought as she carried her bags back to the car. There was no way Rashif could come to Christmas Eve at the café. It was already complicated enough.