Veil of Silence Read online

  “No, it’s time for bed,” she assured them. They were both drooping from fatigue. She herself was ready to sleep too. The food had made them all even more tired. She did, however, want that bath before she slipped between the sheets.

  She stripped them down to their underwear and put them to bed, telling them a story she made up as she went, until they both fell to sleep. She then stripped and bathed, washing out her underwear in the bath with her, then hanging it to dry. She looked at it thoughtfully, wondering, not for the first time, what other Afghan women wore. She also wondered, again, not for the first time, where Zabi had obtained an American bra. The chemise many women wore, but the rest of the underwear was sexy, alluring, and surprisingly comfortable. She knew Zabi had liked seeing her in these fine clothes, the best she owned. It showed off his status. It showed he could provide for her better than any other man of the tribe and showed he had deserved to take her as his wife. His first wife, much older than both of them, hadn’t been pleased, especially when Marsha had proved fertile. She had instigated the beating that caused Marsha to lose a child. Zabi had sworn never to touch her again when she was pregnant and she was grateful for that consideration at least. She had detested his touch from the beginning.

  As she laid back in the tub, her hair longer than she could ever remember having it, she luxuriated in the feel of the warm water. The heat of the water sank into her bones, relaxing her. She nearly fell asleep, but pulled herself up with a jerk. She quickly washed her hair using the little bottle of sweet-smelling shampoo that was provided, just like a hotel. It was wonderful after years of using only whatever they managed to make. The rough-feeling soaps that they created were a far cry from these manufactured luxuries. Marsha loved the feel of the soap in her hair. She found a brush on the vanity, and after squeezing out the excess water, brushed out her long curls. She remembered how proud Zabi had been of her hair as it grew. He had hated the short length that she previously worn as a necessity of being in the army. Not that all women felt that way, but Marsha had liked the ease of caring for short hair back then. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked very different from the woman who had gotten into that helicopter however long ago it had been. Rough living had aged her. Childbearing had aged her. Zabi and his beatings had aged her. She’d fought back at first, but the sheer number of beatings had worn her down. Not wishing to be gang raped, she had succumbed to Zabi. He felt he had tamed the American lieutenant, but he also respected this warrior woman in his own way. Roughly translated, lieutenant was lomri baridman. She’d forgotten the meaning, but he was proud that he had conquered her. At least Marsha let him think he had…to avoid gang rape and to avoid the beatings as much as possible.

  She looked at the hair under her arms, wondering if there was a razor, but not bothering to look for it. The hair on her legs had gotten to a certain length and stopped growing. She wondered again how long it had been since she had shaved away these excesses. She closed her eyes for a moment, luxuriating in the fact that she didn’t have to answer to anyone at the moment.

  She toweled off once more. She was tempted to use the hair dryer, but knew it would terrify her children. Even a car, the jeep she had managed to steal, had terrified them until they got used to it. A robe had been provided for her just like in a hotel and she put her arms through the sleeves, feeling ‘normal’ for the first time. She hung up her towel and looked around the bathroom, a luxury she hadn’t seen in forever, and turned out the light.

  Suddenly curious, she went to the door of the room and opened it. It was not locked. In fact, she saw there was no lock on the inside. Looking out into the hall, she saw an armed marine from the embassy security detail come to attention when he saw her. She nodded stiffly and withdrew back into the room. Of course they would have her watched. It wasn’t unlike being back in the village. She was watched, all the time she was watched. Now, it was by her own people. Only now, instead of being that American woman who some despised, she was that American deserter, at least she suspected that’s probably what they thought of her. She didn’t blame them. She wouldn’t believe her story either.

  Approaching the bed, she saw that the children were soundly asleep. Exhaustion had played a role in that. They had been afraid for days, hungry and afraid, and the combination had made them all a bit weary. She smiled. That was an understatement! She had been terrified that Zabi or his men would find her, that they would find where she had gone. She’d deliberately turned east to throw them off her trail once she left their mountain roads. The asphalt highway had hidden her tracks well when she turned around and made her way west toward civilization. The highway had been like a river of lava to her and she sped along as quickly as the vehicle allowed. She had left the jeep only when she got into Kabul. She had run out of gas and had been too afraid to purchase more. Keeping her head covered, her eyes lowered, and carrying the children when they couldn’t, or wouldn’t walk, she had made her way down Airport Road to the Great Massoud Road where she knew the American embassy was located. She was grateful to be able to sleep in a bed, a real bed, with her children. She sent up a little prayer. To Allah, to Yahweh, to God…whoever might be listening. All she said was, “Thanks,” but that was all that was needed as she bowed her head and then got into bed with her children. Her robe felt warm under the smooth sheets, but she wouldn’t sleep naked with her children. It took mere minutes for her to fall into a dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marsha woke to the sounds of her children laughing, not an uncommon occurrence. She hoped they weren’t too loud or Zabi would…it was at that moment she realized she wasn’t in the cave that Zabi and his people called home. She wasn’t even in the earth-colored tent that they used during the summer months as they traveled nomadically. She wasn’t on the ground on the compact mattress that constituted their bed, she was in the American embassy in Kabul. She had made it! Her dream for all those years was accomplished. She had escaped!

  Marsha looked up and around to see the source of the children’s laughter. Linda was in the room with them and was showing them coloring books, demonstrating how to color with the magic markers she had brought. The bright colors delighted the two provincial children. She smiled at their wonderment. Neither of her children had ever seen a coloring book, much less a magic marker. There was so much for them to see and to learn.

  “Good morning,” Linda called cheerfully as she noticed Marsha’s scrutiny.

  “Good morning,” Marsha repeated back in a sleep-roughened voice, and actually meant it. It was odd. She could finally say it, in English, and mean it. The women of the village had often said it, but it had never felt real to Marsha. She shuddered at the memories. No more would she hear the disparaging Mahsa that they had called her. She knew it meant like the moon, but they said it with such vehemence that she knew it was spat at her as an insult. Instead of trying to use her real name of Marsha, Zabi had given her an Afghan name of Mahsa. She supposed he meant it kindly, in his own way, but she didn’t feel it. His first wife, Malekah, which meant queen, made sure that she knew she wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t like Marsha had any choice in the matter.

  “I brought them some toys too, but I suppose they don’t know…” Linda began.

  “Do you know if my family has been informed of…” she left off, not sure how to describe it. Oh gawd, she’d thought of her family so much over the years. Had they moved on without her?

  “I don’t know,” Linda admitted. “Are you hungry?” She glanced at the tight-fitting robe and realized how pregnant Marsha really was. “Are you okay?” she asked as the brunette awkwardly got out of the bed. She was stiff from their trip, unused to the fine bed she had just slept in. The children seemed to have already bounced back from their harrowing journey. She smiled at their good morning greetings, heartfelt, and in the local Afghan dialect called Tajik. It was one of the forty languages spoken in Afghanistan, which had over two hundred dialects.

  “English now, my babies,” she correct
ed them gently.

  “I’m fine. Just a bit stiff from the journey,” she admitted to Linda. She got up in a typically pregnant woman’s manner, the stomach protruding before her, looking enormous and making her feel awkward at the same time.

  “Are you hungry?” Linda asked again.

  “Yes, starved,” she admitted. While they hadn’t eaten all the offerings Linda had brought them the previous evening, she could see her children had helped themselves to the leftovers. She could see the finger prints in the congealed gravy, her mind as a mother shuddered at that, but was grateful that both children appeared to be clean.

  Linda must have surmised what Marsha was thinking. “I showed them the bathroom and explained what the toilet was for,” she explained. “They were both hopping a little,” she laughed.

  Marsha knew that neither of the children had ever seen a toilet before last night, much less used one. She wondered how much they had understood and was grateful to the woman. She’d shown them last night too, but repetition was good. “How much did I oversleep?” she murmured aloud as she waddled determinedly towards the bathroom.

  “Not too much,” Linda assured her, still laughing. “Once you’re dressed,” she glanced at the children, unselfconsciously still in their underwear, “we can go down.”

  Marsha was grateful and got up, balancing her protruding stomach as she tiredly made her way to the bathroom. She hadn’t felt like this yesterday, but despite the good night’s sleep her body was still exhausted. She quickly changed and then calling the children to her one at a time, she brushed their hair and then dressed them. Wiping their faces down with a clean washcloth, she kissed their little noses, looking into their dark eyes with a smile. They looked back at her solemnly, so trusting. She hoped she hadn’t done a disservice to them by taking them away from the only life they had ever known. They were young though, she hoped they would adapt.

  They were shown to a small kitchen. Marsha was sure it was usually used for staff, but with the children in attendance she didn’t mind. She wasn’t done with her meal—helping the children try to use spoons, something they were familiar with from the camp, instead of their fingers—when two men came into the room. One of them was a major, judging by his uniform. Marsha slowly straightened up from her chair and rose from it, ungainly at best with her stomach protruding before her. She tried to stand at attention, uneasy in her pregnancy.

  “At ease, Captain,” the major greeted her. “I’m Major Scott.”

  “Lieutenant,” she corrected him as she spread her legs in a relaxed stance, her hand going to her back to help support it.

  He looked down at his paperwork for a moment and then back up at her. “That’s right, you didn’t know. Your paperwork had just gone through when you got on that helicopter. Your promotion was verified, Captain.”

  Marsha looked at him for a moment and then couldn’t help the smile. She had wanted that so long ago. It had been her goal at the time. It seemed another lifetime ago.

  “These your children?” he asked, stupidly.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered, realizing he was just making conversation. She felt very nervous. Then she saw Linda hovering behind him and she was looking at Marsha warmly.

  “I need to talk to you, Captain Gagliano,” he said formally.

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  “Linda will watch your children for the time we need to talk,” he informed her. “Are you comfortable with that?”

  She glanced at her children. They were oblivious to the tension of the adults. She glanced up at Linda.

  “Just coloring and maybe some Legos?” the woman offered with a smile.

  Marsha was relieved actually. The children had never seen a television or a computer and she didn’t want to frighten or overwhelm them. “Of course,” she agreed with a smile. She leaned down to the children, “Moray will be right back,” she told them in Tajik. Both children looked up. Bahir had some jelly on the edge of her mouth that Marsha quickly wiped away with the napkin she had been using. Marsha could sense the major’s impatience and quickly finished and followed him from the room. She smiled tremulously at the friendly woman as she passed.

  “In here,” the major indicated another office, allowing the woman to walk before him. The other man from the previous day followed them both into the room. “Have a seat,” he offered solicitously, her pregnancy obvious despite her outfit. It was evident the outfit was of the finest cloth. It actually became her, made her look elegant, despite her ungainly demeanor due to her pregnancy.

  Marsha was nervous, but she had expected some sort of military intervention. They would want to know what had happened to her. They would want to know what had happened to the helicopter. They would want to know what had happened to the other passengers—the pilot and the copilot. She swallowed, wishing she had eaten more at breakfast before this meeting. She was nervous. Used to years of staying quiet, her silence would not be appreciated by these men.

  “This is Mr. Wynn. He is with the State Department. He will have questions for you as well,” the major introduced the man.

  Marsha wasn’t sure if she was to shake his hand, but as he made no effort to hold his out, she nodded at him coolly. Still feeling she was at attention in the chair as she sat up straight, she felt the baby kick. It had wanted a full breakfast too.

  “Now, let’s begin,” he started. He opened a file at the desk and began to grill her. Her answers were straightforward; she did not elaborate or embellish. She would only answer direct questions. She didn’t offer up any unnecessary information they didn’t ask for. She wouldn’t add anything although they waited for her to do so. She simply waited for them to ask more questions. The waiting game between them made for some rather lengthy pauses between questions, then the major or Mr. Wynn would finally give up their wait and ask another.

  Marsha wasn’t used to this…not anymore. After years of being in the military, being subjected to a tribal husband had ‘taught’ her her place in his world. She was used to being ordered about, not questioned. Her opinion, her contribution, was never asked for. It wasn’t needed. Her ‘husband’ had known enough for both of them and he frequently made this known to his new ‘wife.’ It had taken Marsha a long time to learn to become subservient to a man…any man. Raised in America, she had fully believed that women were the equal of men. She learned differently in Zabi’s world. It would take more than a few days to become accustomed to being able to speak her mind or share information freely as they desired. Her hesitancy seemed to perturb these two men.

  “So you don’t know exactly where their camp lies?” the major asked, annoyed. Her unwillingness to cooperate made him suspicious. He’d already seen pictures of what Captain Gagliano, formerly Lieutenant Gagliano, looked like and this woman looked very similar, but her hair was longer, much longer, and she was definitely older.

  She shook her head. “They lived in caves some of the year. Other times they were nomadic,” she tried to explain helpfully. She was tired. This had gone on too long, and she was pregnant. She’d also walked far too much in the past few days for a pregnant woman. She’d gone without food, water, and sleep to escape. She needed rest. They apparently weren’t going to give it to her.

  “How can a trained officer in the army be unable to escape?” Mr. Wynn asked with a barely concealed scoff.

  “How long was I gone?” she asked a question of her own finally, feeling stupid.

  “You don’t know?” he asked, haughtily. It was obvious he didn’t believe her.

  She shook her head, wondering if they would answer her.

  “You have been classified as MIA for five years,” the major informed her.

  Marsha stared at him. She couldn’t believe it. It had been FIVE YEARS? She knew there had been different seasons. The tribe, after all, moved to better grazing grounds and hid from soldiers on both sides to avoid the war. She’d had three pregnancies, four if you counted her miscarriage, but FIVE YEARS? She had another thought. “
What about my wife? Our daughter?” She’d thought about them frequently while she was gone. Five years meant that her daughter was six and a half now and in school. How had Heather coped with her gone for so long? Had she moved on? The thought that her wife had found another was not a comfortable one to her.

  “Your wife?” the major asked, looking down at his paperwork again. His eyes widened slightly. He’d missed that detail.

  “Has she been informed that I’m alive?” A pleading note had entered Marsha’s voice.

  “Ah, yes, it says here that she’s been getting your paychecks,” he tried to keep his voice neutral, but a tone in it indicated his disapproval. It seemed to Marsha that he was old school. He felt that DADT, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, should have been kept forever and never repealed. She shouldn’t have been allowed in, or since she had been, she should have kept it quiet, not openly been a lesbian. She gritted her teeth at things she would have liked to say as she saw his reaction. The spirit in her of five years ago was starting to haunt her psyche and worm its way up through the cracks of the shell she had created.

  “That’s it?” she asked, knowing he didn’t wish to share.

  “Well, we can hardly tell her until we have verified your identity,” he told her formally.

  She had to accede that this was correct. It wouldn’t do to tell the family of someone missing and presumed dead that she just might be alive. What if they were wrong?

  The questioning continued. When it showed no signs of ending, and she could hear crying through the door, she finally put up her hand. “We will have to continue this at another time, sir,” she said, directing it at the major. “As you can see, I’m pregnant,” her hand indicated her stomach. “I have children to attend to. I’m also exhausted from my escape,” she said pleadingly, hoping he would understand. She saw the suspicion in his eyes and she was sorry for it. She’d always been truthful and outgoing. She’d been a stellar lieutenant. She’d worked hard to achieve that rank and had looked forward to the possibility of becoming a captain. Having achieved it and not known it, was a bit of a letdown. She felt robbed of something so simple.