SPC Kevin Walsh
The sound of Afsoon singing woke him up before the lights turned on. Fumbling around, he found his flashlight under a pile of papers on the desk where she was busy drawing. Clicking the rubber button, it illuminated the corner. He flashed it over toward her. She smiled back at him. The incandescent light illuminated her green eyes and cast a crisp shadow behind her. Her head was outlined in red from the scarf she kept wrapped around her head.
Looking down at the images, he was pleasantly surprised to find they were of the two of them, holding hands and walking around the base together. Several had the black dogs sitting beside them, one on either side, their own private guards. Smiling to himself, he turned off the flashlight and rolled back over in bed.
Before he fell asleep completely, he felt her climbing into bed. She had been unable to on her own, but he had set a box under the bed that she could use as a step stool.
She slid under the covers and slid up against him.
“Mam dost dargeyam kevin. Mam hech kolah egazah na dai geyam ke zalah orah teem,” she whispered in his ear.
* * *
When he awoke the second time, he was alone. He rubbed his eyes and stretched out with his feet dangling over the edge of the bed. Looking at the drawings that Afsoon had left him, and then thinking about getting something to eat for breakfast, he peeked under the bed to see if he was really alone, then changed and headed out.
They had another patrol at fourteen-hundred. This one was going to be quick. They were going to be working to establish more of a presence in the valley whether the locals liked it or not. Stepping outside the gate, the cool breeze was welcome. It wasn’t until they got to the edge of the bazaar that they started to see locals. Men were busy shopping, while the women moved quietly behind them, carrying the items that had purchased.
The shops were rail cars, stacked on top of one another, the open ends facing the single lane dirt road.
Walsh watched carefully from his position near the front of the patrol, keeping his eyes up, watching the second story of the bazaar which was built into the mountainside.
“I think you have a girlfriend, Walsh,” Agdal yelled from behind him.
Walsh turned around to see Afsoon, walking ten meters behind him.
What is she doing here? Agdal can see her.
“Where did she come from?” Walsh asked.
“Probably an Afghan man fucking an Afghan woman,” Agdal said.
“Thanks,” Walsh rolled his eyes, looking stunned at the child following him. “You know what I mean. How long has she been following me?”
“Not sure. I turned around to check on the guys behind me, and when I turned back she was there. She has been keeping her eyes glued to you buddy.”
“Yeah, well you know the ladies love me,” Walsh said, staring at Afsoon.
Is she real? What’s going on?
She didn’t smile at him, only watched him, her green eyes following him the entire patrol.
They turned around at the end of the bazaar. Walsh was careful not to draw too much attention to his concern for Afsoon.
Why can Agdal see her now?
She followed them through the field, moving beside him once they were away from the bazaar. When they reached the barracks, Kerr held the gate door open for them, counting each soldier as they passed through.
“You’re letting her in?” Walsh asked the Sergeant.
“Who, Miller? She is a little annoying but I don’t have much of a choice,” Kerr said.
“Ha, ha, Sergeant, I heard that,” Miller said, clearing his weapon inside the gate.
Afsoon ran up the hill, her small feet expertly navigating the rocky incline.
“He means his girlfriend,” Agdal said, stepping through the gate.
Good, he can still see her.
“You mean that little girl that was in the bazaar?” Kerr asked.
“Yeah, she dropped off once we got out of there, and haven’t seen her since. Looks like the fantasy of making beautiful, little, brown babies lives on for Walsh,” Agdal said.
So, they can’t see her anymore. This isn’t getting any easier on me.
“You are fucking brown, Agdal,” Miller said, slapping his magazine back into his rifle.
“I’m good brown though. These people give brown a bad name,” Agdal explained, lifting up the top of his machine gun, letting the belt fall out and slap against the side of the plastic drum.
“I swear I saw your dad out there. Looked just like you,” Miller said.
“Fuck you,” Agdal replied, slapping the cover of his weapon back down.
“Don’t be mad. A beard and some local garb and no one would know the difference,” Miller continued.
“This is bullshit. You are a racist,” Agdal said.
“Ha, ha. Weren’t you the one just calling them dirty brown?”
Everyone laughed and started walking up the hill back to the barracks.
Walsh found his room unoccupied. Afsoon’s crayons and drawings were stacked neatly in the corner of the desk.
“Let’s get some chow, man. I heard it’s taco night,” Miller said.
“I’m sure Agdal will love that,” Walsh said.
“That’s right,” Miller said. “Hey Agdal, they’re playing the song of your people.”
“I don’t hear anything. What song are you talking about?” Agdal replied from his room.
“Tacos, mother fucker,” Miller said with a big smirk on his face.
“Fuck you, Miller.”
“I love you too buddy,” Miller replied. “Let’s go,” he said to Walsh.
Dropping the last of his equipment, Walsh grabbed his rifle and followed Miller out the door.
After dinner, Walsh returned to his room.
Waiting for him was Afsoon, a big beautiful smile stretched across her face.
“Hey,” Walsh said, setting his rifle down against the back wall.
“Wa alaykum?” she replied, turning back to her drawings.
Walsh leaned over her shoulder to see what she was working on now.
Her small hand held a piece of white paper with an image of various soldiers wearing gray uniforms, hanging from the twisted tree in the center of the graveyard. These soldiers looked like Americans.
He snatched it out from underneath her crayon, leaving a brown streak down the bottom of the picture.
What is this?
Afsoon’s head shot up and she glared at him.
Underneath that drawing was another of her standing beside a figure that looked like him, while he was shooting a line of other soldiers.
Oh, no! I can’t. She can’t.
Afsoon tried to stop him, but he grabbed the picture. It was one of many in a pile of drawings, all of them grizzly depictions of soldiers dying. The final image was of him standing behind her, holding a head in each hand with a black dog on either side.
I have to get rid of these.
She began to scream, the kind of high-pitched scream that every little girl has tucked away for when they don’t get what they want. Walsh was envious of his fellow soldiers who were unable to hear her.
He grabbed every drawing she had made and piled them up. He slung his rifle over his back and walked out of the room, leaving the screaming child where she stood, still holding the brown crayon. Outside, he could still hear her screaming but it was muffled. On the other side of the barrier, just down the road was a fifty-gallon drum that they had been using to burn envelopes with families’ addresses and other sensitive documents.
Grabbing a lighter out of his pocket—he didn’t smoke but found that it often came in handy—he lit the corner of the small stack, waited until the flame took hold, then tossed it into the barrel.
Why is this happening? Does she want me to kill them? Is she predicting that I will kill them? I never would.
He stared into the fire, watching the paper curl and turn black.
“Atam menah rasmem hayech, badah toh bayet bakhshesh dawayee,” Afsoon’s voice yelled from behind him.
Walsh turned to see her standing in the middle of the road, a black dog on either side of her.
“I don’t care what you say. That isn’t right,” he said, pointing behind him at the barrel with her burning drawings.
She glared at him, then turned and walked up the road and around the barrier.
Walsh turned back to watch the fire burn itself out, then returned to his room. It was empty. The crayons were put away and in the box was tucked neatly on top of a clean stack of white paper in the corner of his room.
The other soldiers milled about in their rooms until the lights went out. One by one they all fell asleep. Walsh stayed up, expecting Afsoon to make a reappearance but she never did. Eventually he crawled into bed himself.
Just as he was beginning to fall asleep he heard someone enter his room. He knew the sound of Afsoon’s small sandals shuffling across the floor. He rolled over to see her small head peering at him at the edge of the bed. He could barely make out her outline in the room. The small lights from the various electronics throughout the barracks cast a soft glow across everything, just enough to see her shape, but little more.
Her silhouette loomed at the edge of the bed.
“You are welcome to join me if you want,” he offered.
She stood there.
“Suit yourself,” he said, looking back up at the ceiling, trying to ignore her and fall asleep.
Every time he got close to falling asleep she shifted and he’d be reawakened.
I’m not going to be beaten by a little girl. Even if she is a ghost, or whatever.
He stared at the ceiling ignoring her until the sun came up, and Miller was in his doorway asking about breakfast.
“You look like shit bro, did you sleep?”
“Nope, I don’t know what happened,” Walsh said, staring at the empty space where Afsoon had stood the entire night.
Adam Fenner 