An Offer They Couldnt Refuse

Afghanistan 1973

Just around the last few minutes of daylight, a rainbow thread of colour stretched over the jagged horizon. The desert sky was cloudless and radiant as always, even in the extraordinary alien steely twilight. The car started sputtering and lurching, he pumped the gas pedal, but there was no response, he shifted into neutral and tried to give it more gas again, the engine flooded and coughed, the Merc’s usual steady droning hum became a choking sputter.

This didn’t look good. They had left Kandahar late that afternoon and expected to make Kabul sometime during the night. They were somewhere outside the town of Ghazni and had no idea how far they had driven, or how long they had been driving. The day had been hot, the landscape parched and craggy with sections of flat dry desert. A few camels and nomad’s black tents were occasionally seen over the sands appearing and vanishing into the heat in wavy like mirages.

They thought they were about halfway between Kandahar and Kabul, and they hadn’t seen another vehicle for hours. The day had gone from scorching dry heat to bearable, and was now getting cold. Billy jumped out of his half sleep at the car’s sudden stop. Anna said, “Now what?”

Uta was getting a little cranky but had a point, “I knew we should have gotten an earlier start, but no, Anna needed a shower and then another half hour to get herself together, and then you guys had to smoke a few more chillims, and now where the fuck are we?’

Billy went on, ‘I knew that diesel from that roadside shack would be a little suspect, but the hand cranked dregs from a rusty oil drum was the best we could do under the circumstances. We’ve got to drain and flush everything out.”Pablo got out and had a look around. They seemed to be in a flat spot in a dry gully with the horizon just over their heads, some hills were off in the distance. Just horizon all around, not a structure in sight. In the distance they could just make out some tents, and a spark of a campfire, a few camels silhouetted against the last remaining moments of shimmering metallic twilight. The sound of dogs barking from that direction appeared to be getting louder; they were getting closer. “We better wait till morning before fucking around with the engine, I have a bad feeling about this place.” The dogs were getting closer faster, and their growls didn’t sound very friendly. Lets just stay in the car! Roll up the windows! They’ll be on us in a minute!!!…

Uta, with a trembling voice, said, “Get back in the car, the dogs are coming”! In minutes they were surrounded by a pack of wild Kuchi mastifs. They were large and well fed, scarred up and mangy and howled, snarled, and scraped at the windows.

A few guys on camels arrived and proceeded to call off and tie the growling mastiffs.

They were bearded, wore black turbans and robes, one of them carried a long antique flintlock rifle the other a carbine.

The oldest, grey bearded, approached fearlessly and knocked on the window.

Pablo whispered loudly , to the others, “Show no fear, and girls, do not make eye contact., in fact cover your head.”

It was cold and they were bundled up as it was.

Pablo looked over Anna, she was wearing a long faded green velvet dress she bought in Herat had lots of black eye liner and a few small diamonds painted on her face in henna, on one ear she wore a few different gold earrings in various piercings around her ear and seemed to be decent by Afghan standards.

“Oh just relax, she said, “We’ll be ok, they’re Nomads, we’re Nomads, I’m sure we’ll be ok”

This upset the others even more as they could hear a tremble in her usually bold voice like she was trying to convince herself. Billy answered sarcastically, “Oh sure. Mercedes Nomads… rite, they’ll get it.”

The men surrounded the car and pointed their rifles… Uta, started to whimper in fear.

A man knocked on the door side with his rifle butt shouting in unintelligible but obvious irritation. It could only mean, “Get out”. Pablo rolled down the window.. “Salamalekum” he ventured. “Car Broken… auto Kaput!” he tried to explainsmiling. The nomad gestured for them to get out. Reluctantly he opened his door and again said, “Saalamalekkum” hoping to ease the tension.. “Me American” he said, thumbing his chest, “Amerikkano” he repeated. The others laughed… “A MellekumSaalam” the chief said softly. He gestured to the camels, “Go”You Go.”

‘Ok, yes, We go, thank you” he answered respectfully, trembling.

He told the others it looked ok, and that there was nothing else to do under the circumstances. The dogs, now tied were still barking and snarling adding to the anxiety.

“Grab your bags, they probably want to rob us, just give them whatever they want,” he said, eying the daggers and swords they wore strapped around their waists. “Are we being kidnapped?” Uta whispered

Ever so slowly Billy stepped behind the car and opened the trunk; the Afghans crowded around to check the contents. They grabbed the bags and shouldered them and lead the travellers towards the waiting camels that they mounted, but left the travellers to walk behind. A few men followed on foot, keeping the group together as the others rode on ahead.

The camp was a small compound of three or four tents, made of faded and patched up dusty black canvas. Goats were in pens made of chicken wire, kids were crying, dogs now tied were still howling.

On one fire a large blackend pot boiled and the smell of goat meat boiling and spices competed with the stench of the livestock. Their arrival caused quite a stir; they seemed to have gotten there at dinner time.

A place by the fire was cleared for them and carpets laid out, hot black tea, in sandblasted chipped glasses were thrust into their hands.

A woman with a shawl draped over her head furtively approached with flat bread and a bowl of beans. In the fire light her smooth and cracked shiny face revealed a tattoo, triangular, on her chin and forehead. She had mirrors and beads embroidered into her faded dress, and bangles on her wrists. She had high cheek bones, bright green eyes and black mascara. While attending to the guests she never flinched or even looked directly at them.

Anna admired her tattoos, and, to the horror of the other travellers mentioned how she wouldn’t mind tattooing her own face.

Quite unlike the women they had encountered until now, covered from head to toe, these were Kuchi women, nomadic woman of the desert; Proud, brazen, and tribal. Not possessions, more like soldiers. Their bangles jingled as they moved. They wore dusty velvet dresses with copper embroidery and dull tarnished silver necklaces.

The bags from the car were plopped down next to the travellers wordlessly, they were unopened and untouched.

They sat in fearful silence. The hosts were busy and seemed to be studiously ignoring them.

A hubbly bubbly was brought out. It was a glass jar in a beaded sheaf, with a long beaded stem. A glowing ember was taken out of the fire with a long pair of metal tongs and dropped into the clay bowl and handed to Billy. He inhaled deeply, and began to cough his heart out, pushing the pipe to Pablo who took only the slightest toke and still coughed uncontrollably, the strength of the spasms almost caused him to knock the pipe out of his hands.

They all started to laugh nervously and the ice was broken.

Pablo’s shoulder bag was open and a few things scattered out, his harmonica among them. An old Afghan with a faded black turban wrapped around his head, with peaceful smiling eyes, quizzically pointed at it with a shaky finger. He probably thought it was a knife.

Pablo thought he should explain, that they were unarmed and not a threat and picked the harmonica up and played a few notes. The alien sound quieted everyone in the camp. But it drove the dogs wild. He smiled and played a little more, then a little tune.

The old man shouted something and a tent flap flew open, out came a kid carrying what appeared to be a violin looking instrument, it had at least a dozen strings. The old man grabbed it and put it on his lap, and started plucking a drone punctuated with magical notes that seemed to be arising from the desert floor itself. Soon another man appeared with a small high pitched drum, and then one of the kids brought out a tambourine.

The moon was rising now and its stark light made it easier to see, the hash was kicking in and a tune was struck up.

A few men began to sing in deep soulful tones. The sadness in their voices was unmistakable. Indeed, they had the blues.

The one playing the drum pointed at the harmonica and shouted, The American picked it up and began to wail, channelling long moaning bent low notes mimicking a mullahs call to prayers. He stood up and played out to the desert, the music flowed to the horizon, up to the stars and the rising moon and into the hearts of all that could hear it.

Any lingering fear that existed between the unlikely mix of people melted away. The universal language they now shared was more powerful than words, of which they had few in common, and seemed to connect them in a more honest place. The dogs howled along with them, but seemingly in harmony now.

Anna got up and started to dance slowly to the drum beat. It wasn’t a sexy rock n roll dance, indeed it was a dance of every mother sisterdaughtergoddess of all tribes, of all women and the burden they shared. A dance of a primal sisterhood, opening and closing her arms, flat footed, and bouncy at the same time. It was a side of her none of the others had ever seen. It was maternal somehow. Her face, eyes closed glowed in the firelight.

A woman sat down next to Uta and began applying coal to her eyes, another sat down and began to touch her fair hair in awe.

She sat motionless; frozen in fear of what could happen, but eventually closed her eyes and smiled deeply’ letting go of her fear and abandoning herself to what actually was happening. A sisterhood was being established.

A woman who earlier had been serving them, thrust an infant from her breast trustingly into Uta’s lap without a word, and got up and joined Anna. They danced a slow spinning whirl, the mirrors in her dress and gold earrings flickered in the firelight.The faded purple green and yellow of her woven fabric glimmered, and the folds of her layers spun and glowed in fluorescent blur of rainbows in motion.

A few men began to sing and from the other side of the camp a few young girls whinnied in a shrill rapid succession of high pitched yelps.

Minutes ago they thought they might be robbed, or worse, but the connection they made through spontaneous music and dance was greater than any words or explanations and brought about a mutual trust and understanding that could have never been reached any other way.

More tea was served and the pipe was filled again. When the fire died down a chill set in, the girls were lead into a tent with the women and children and Pablo and Billy were given blankets, and slept on carpets under the stars around the smouldering embers of the fire.

In the predawn desert’s immaculate luminescence Pablo woke with a startle, the old man, obviously the patriarch, towered over him and smiled down at him. He had a grey beard and a chippedtoothed smiled with a crazy look in his milky green cataract eyes. He dug around beneath his robes and came up with something.

“Uh-oh, here it comes”, thought Pablo and sat up quickly.

An old cracked banana shaped sheath emerged, and he drew a dagger. Pablo gulped in fear.

The Arab pointed to the harmonica that lay on the carpet. Pablo held up his hands and whispered, “OK, ok. Take it” with apparent fear. The old man laughed out loud, put the dagger back in its sheath and presented it to him with two hands.

The American was still too scared to even touch it. With that the old man grabbed the traveller’s shoulder bag and stuffed the knife into it smiling broadly. He seized the harmonica bowed brought it up to his forehead and bowed again.

With that the trade was completed.

After absolutions and morning prayers a jerrycan full of river water came out of the trunk of the car the radiator was filled and the clogged air filter was flushed, the Nomads gathered around, examining their tools, and everything else, but not touching a thing.

Out of a dust squall on the parched horizon, a beat up old bus came barrelling by; the first sign of life they had seen along the road since nightfall. As it shot by, from the back window a hippy flashed them the peace symbol.