Fear of Beauty Page 8

  Cameron pressed on. “And the Taliban came up.”

  Joey didn’t like going on the defensive, but Cameron was intent on playing team members off one another. “The girl worries about us attracting Taliban to the area.” Joey struggled to hold his temper. “It’s a common concern. Major Bulaq did an excellent job.”

  Cameron launched into a long explanation about his need to have more specific translations about any Taliban activities in the area. Looking for attention, Cameron found endless reasons to back away from challenges, delaying work, when his ideas weren’t in play.

  A report about the girl would be filed with military analysts, though Joey and Habib had already resolved to keep the specifics to a minimum and avoid putting a spotlight on Laashekoh. They both agreed the village was not dangerous. But understanding the village and earning trust would take time. Cameron was right that some Afghans provided their own slant to translations, but that wasn’t the case with Habib. Constant criticisms and questions would only make the translators more cautious. And Joey already had enough problems encouraging Afghans to take a lead in encounters, let alone managing Cameron.

  The next day Cameron caught Mita waiting in line for the evening’s meal of hamburgers and baked beans. “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Sure, let’s eat together?” The outpost, too remote for food-service contractors, did have one cook and a tight schedule for the two prepared meals each day—breakfast was dehydrated MREs, the ready-to-eats. So the dining area was typically crowded during lunch and dinner.

  She pointed to two empty chairs, but he suggested they head outside to talk alone. She headed for the exit with him. Stares from others in the mess area followed, and she regretted not just sitting at the table. With a busy schedule seven days a week, the dinner hour was the only time for socializing and listening to team members.

  She suspected this meeting wasn’t social.

  An overcast sky made it seem late, and she sat at a rickety table near the doorway. Before long, a breeze would pick up and chill the night. Once seated, he stared at her tray—with a cup of tea, a slice of cheese, and a small serving of the vegetarian baked beans. “Don’t like the meat?” Cameron asked.

  She cocked her head. “Not every night.”

  “You didn’t take a roll either,” he observed.

  “My loss is your gain.” She used both hands to point at four hamburgers on his tray, along with an ample serving of fries and beans, and teased, “I was going to suggest this base set up an herb and vegetable garden. But guys like you might go hungry.”

  He laughed. “I’m not a salad eater. I doubt most Afghans are either.” He popped a fry into his mouth. “I want to talk about the wheat program.”

  “Go on.” She wondered why he couldn’t admit that the Afghans might have an idea or two about farming the area, that there were reasons they hadn’t covered the countryside in wheat. But she kept the thought to herself.

  “The villages aren’t jumping on the wheat ideas yet. They don’t have a lot of interest in anything.”

  She cut him off. “We’ve been through this.”

  He leaned forward to whisper. “It’s because of security glitches.”

  “It’s one village, Cameron. To be fair to Major Pearson, you didn’t run into that problem at the other villages. The men were in those villages, and the reaction was the same as Laashekoh’s.” Mita was feeling worn down. Cameron wanted the teams to head into villages with magic tricks.

  “My company wants to do more. They’re ready to donate plenty of seeds, technology, and equipment to the Afghan farmers. If we could get it going in just one village, the rest would beg for these products.”

  “Biotechnology,” she repeated. “They cannot afford it—and I’m surprised you think that farmers out here can handle it.”

  “Granted, these farmers are still in the Stone Age,” he admitted, missing her sarcasm. “But donors are coming through with funds. The government wants something to succeed out here. And our company is ready to get a village started.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I assume you mean modified seeds, integrated pesticides, genetic engineering?”

  “Why not? State-of-the-art farming! Give them a shortcut to farming’s future.”

  “Shortcuts have complications.”

  “Now who’s patronizing the Afghans?” His smile didn’t soften his criticism.

  “It’s more practical to introduce technology gradually. Crop diversity is in their best interest. Focusing on any one crop—including wheat—could be a huge disaster.”

  “So you’re not saying no to villages that want to increase drought-resistant wheat production.”

  “We’re not going to force anything on them.”

  “And that means?”

  “Cameron, you can’t just brag about the benefits of biotech products and ignore the problems.” Mita couldn’t help but chastise him. “The high-yield wheat and rice have a price. The water table is dropping fast. Farmers are in debt. I don’t know if you read anything coming out of India, but at the community level, the so-called Green Revolution is becoming a public-relations disaster.”

  “Something that technology can fix.”

  She leaned forward. “These people don’t know that. And do you really think it’s a promise you can keep? No.” She was firm. “We can’t keep making mistakes and pushing costs into the future. Not while I’m on this team. Some assistance on wheat is fine—but on their terms. And I insist on complete disclosure of all possible complications—for the team and the villages.”

  “What kind of complications?” Cameron shoved his final hamburger to the side, running a hand over his new beard.

  She took a sip of tea before answering. “The farmers need to know any repercussions. What will they think when they hear Europe won’t touch that wheat? And then there’s price volatility. They’re not economists, but they know that increased supply of anything will lower prices.”

  He shook his head. “I was misled. I thought this team wanted expertise.”

  “Diversity and gradual introduction of new crops will work better. They may not credit us with every little success, but I sure don’t want big failures. How many villages are importing wheat around here anyway?”

  “A few—not as many as in the city,” he admitted. “Look, Mita, some of us worry that the focus on specialty fruits and vegetables is limiting. We could be thinking big.”

  “Thinking too big, too soon, could lead to big failure. They’re not ready to handle big crop loads, trading with other communities. The level of cooperation is not there.”

  “And that’s because security is not getting in there and doing the job,” he grumbled.

  “Patience,” she cautioned. “Baby steps are not a bad thing for Afghanistan right now. Build some trust first. It’s not fair to use uneducated people as guinea pigs.”

  His face flushed. “Hey, I’m here to help, too. A company doesn’t get as big as TopSeed by hurting people.”

  “I know that, Cameron.” She tried to soothe him. “And we appreciate that the big companies want to help. But starting programs that can’t be sustained after we leave—it’s a waste of everyone’s time. These farmers don’t have the tools to deal with seed licenses, weed resistance, and bureaucracy. Biotech is not exactly a word-of-mouth job. The Afghans need more skills, like how to read basic directions—programs like seed banks that build cooperation.”

  “I hope you’re not shutting out the big players?”

  She put her tea down. The breeze kept whipping her hair, interfering with her meal, but she didn’t want to change seats. “What’s the big rush, Cameron?”

  For once, he didn’t answer quickly. “Some of us are worried. If we go too slowly, the villages could turn against us.”

  She didn’t want to know more, and didn’t tell him her fears—that moving too quickly could put lives at risk. “Is it they don’t like the plan—or they don’t like taking orders from a woman?” She studied h
im. “Or a woman with a South Asian background?”

  “For some people, it could be all of the above.”

  She didn’t want to admit it, his honesty hurt. But criticism and games wouldn’t make her rush into inappropriate projects. It would be better for the villagers if they did nothing, and that would be a depressing waste of effort.

  “You want to get them to grow wheat? We need friendly relations and that means pleasant interactions with every person we meet. Show me you can turn opinions around—here and in the villages—and then we’ll talk about wheat again.” She finished the tea and looked forward to pouring another to enjoy inside. Alone.

  “You don’t want to know who’s criticizing you?”

  Instead of showing irritation, she smiled. “That’s not going to change our strategy.”

  “There’s something else we need to talk about,” he pressed. “I’m hearing rumors. If you find yourself in a firefight—either here on the base or out in one of the villages, I’d stay away from the guys who have been here for a few years.”

  She stabbed her last few beans one at a time with a fork. “You heard a threat?”

  “Not directly, but . . .”

  “About the program or me specifically?” she interrupted.

  Cameron lowered his voice. “Joey Pearson. You sure he’s on board with the ag mission?” She put her fork down, not hiding her surprise. “He didn’t help at the village,” Cameron added quickly. “And he leaves the camp at night on his own.”

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He’s our lead man on security. We have no control over that. Are you implying he’s hurting the team in some way?”

  “No-oo.” The word came out in a drawl. “But he’s secretive—doing his own patrols and talking a lot with Habib in Dari.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “He wants to make Habib and the other Afghans feel welcome. We need that, Cameron. These outposts cannot function without trust between the Afghans and us.”

  “Pearson isn’t straight with you. Did you know about the Islamic scarf tied to your doorway?” Mita didn’t answer, but her mouth tightened. It was the first she had heard about it. “Information is power, so why would he keep that from you?”

  She kept her voice cool. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Good,” he said. “Most people here won’t be as up-front as I am. Members of the team are unhappy, everyone’s not on board with civilians, splitting military units, the rules of engagement. I wonder what else he’s keeping from us.”

  “Damn, Cameron, the team has hardly been here a week and you’re finding a lot of trouble.”

  Cool air had congealed the grease around his last hamburger. Cameron shoved his plate to the side. The waste, small as it was, bothered her. She didn’t understand people who took more than they could eat, but she forced herself to focus on his string of complaints.

  “After a decade, there’s confusion. Too many mixed messages. Some people want to get projects going, and some soldiers are too ready for a fight. . . .” His voice drifted off.

  She thought about Joey. He had been in Afghanistan for a long time, yet didn’t talk much about previous deployments. He never spoke about his personal life. And his commanders had extended a deployment so that he could provide security for Mita’s team. “He was highly recommended,” she tried to reassure herself as much as Cameron. “They told me we’re lucky to have him.”

  “Put it this way,” he said. “Major Pearson could be keeping our side at bay just to make his side look good. He doesn’t trust any of us on the ag side.”

  Cameron’s complaints were vague, but the discord bothered her. “We’re trying to help people who don’t trust us,” she murmured. “It’s not going to work if we can’t get along ourselves.”

  “The corporations want to help regardless of conditions on the ground,” he countered. “There’s less bureaucracy. They get jobs done quickly.”

  “This country needs so much—there’s plenty to do for all of us,” Mita replied. “Don’t forget the Afghans hate interference. Assistance can be humiliating. They’re suspicious.”

  “If we wait too long, team members will get nervous,” he replied. “He’s slowing us down.”

  “I’ll talk with Major Pearson,” she promised.

  Cameron frowned. “Don’t mention me. We don’t want him to turn on us.”

  She challenged him. “Are you suggesting he could sabotage the program?”

  “No,” Cameron paused. “I don’t know. He’s not telling us everything.”

  He was putting her on notice. She stood, ending the conversation. “We need him here. Losing a translator would result in delays. I’ll observe for a few days, keeping in mind what you’ve told me. Let me know if there are any real problems. Immediately.”

  Cameron smiled and stood. “Good. And think about who’s on your side. Good rule for war and everyday life.”

  She thanked him curtly, dismissing him, and looked at her empty plate. After so many accolades over the years, she couldn’t be surprised about obstacles. She had not accepted the assignment because it was easy. Joey was too quiet, and Cameron complained too much. She felt alone. The team didn’t trust her. Some members might give up, letting their projects flop to prove a point.

  Or did they want to see her fail?

  Chapter 8

  In a village as small as Laashekoh, families avoided public quarrels. When arguments did burst out, other families got out of the way, but lurked around corners to listen and cringe at the bitter observations. We didn’t intervene in arguments of other families, and instead quietly speculated how they might influence our own interactions.

  Mari and Gul rarely argued publicly, and perhaps that’s why the quarrel over their daughter became so heated. It started outside, behind their home, where they could retreat and talk away from their children. The disagreement quickly swelled into frustration about their oldest daughter, Leila, and her marital status. The two parents lost control. Mari was first to raise her voice. Delay brings our family shame!

  Gul tried to reason. You act as if she can stay here . . .

  I held my breath to listen. Our village, like others, had a tradition of sending women to other communities for marriage. The groom provided gifts, based on a daughter’s beauty and skill, in exchange for a bride, and paid for the wedding. The system worked and kept families stable. Sending us off alone, to adjust in far-off villages, increased a young woman’s dependence on her husband. The system reduced gossip about the prices paid for women, and men understood from the start that the women of their own village were out of reach.

  Some women talked about Mari’s attachment with her daughter—and I always came to my friend’s defense, about how she had no sons and those of us who did could not imagine confronting old age alone, with no children or grandchildren.

  I was in the minority. Others insisted that Mari was too attached to her oldest child. No one could remember a young woman staying in the village as long as Leila had.

  Gul understood his wife’s concern, but the potential problems of delayed marriage made him nervous. Allowing one woman to stay in the village might disrupt other marriage negotiations. Other families wondered why their favorite daughters could not stay, too. Newcomer brides were at a disadvantage with girls raised in this village, and mothers like me worried for sons. Husbands were better than fathers at watching women.

  Perhaps it was Leila, and not marriage, that unnerved her father. I wasn’t sure if it was her beauty or personality, but in many ways, Gul and Leila were tighter than most fathers and daughters.

  At times, that bothered Mari.

  Pausing outside near the wall that divided my home from Mari’s, I had no trouble overhearing the argument. Even as I listened, my eyes were drawn to a crack where a dark spider rappelled its way down the mud wall. The creature, with its brown and hairy head, leaped about in its own world, oblivious to giant forces nearby. Gently, I poked its strand, wondering if the spider was male or fe
male. With a delicate leap, the spider escaped, finding a new attachment, undaunted in going about its task.

  Mari snapped. She’s too good to follow the path of others in this village!

  I heard the sound of a slap and a shout from Gul. We live in this village. I’m of this village. How can she be better than what produced her? Anger shifted to sternness, as he lowered his voice. You can’t refuse every man who asks. It causes hard feelings, and that’s dangerous.

  Go ahead, let others know your shame. The delay is not my fault.

  You expect me to find a willing family in this village—it’s impossible.

  Soon marriage will be impossible.

  Better not to marry at all than to marry into disaster, Gul concluded.

  Glancing around, I checked that no one watched me. Too much curiosity in a small town was among the worst of crimes. Then I leaned my face to the crevice offering a narrow view of their garden. Mari stared at her husband with fury, a reddened check, and tears in her eyes. I turned away, burning with shame for my friend and stared at the spider again, stalking a gnat.

  We must begin negotiations, soon, with someone outside this village. Gul’s voice was so low that only Mari and I could hear. Too many people ask questions.

  Let them ask! She is desired by many. That should increase the price for her and make you happy. Sounding more panicked than confident. Mari knew older brides could expect many more restrictions, and Leila would find it hard to make friends in a new village. Other women might taunt her. The conversation continued with whispers, and I pressed my ear against the wall, not daring to move.

  The spider took a turn and crept toward my face—close enough that I could count its eyes—two beads in front and three arched on top of its head on either side. I slowly raised my hand, adding a shadow to its world and encouraging it to take a detour. Cocking a rear leg, the spider changed direction, throwing off another line and leaping sideways to snare the gnat.

  Mari whispered, and I could make out eagerness, not words. Gul gasped. You know he’s a fool. Why do you suggest such a match?