The Snowflake of Summer

Chapters 3-4

Chapter 3

When Samir and I finally reached the stone archway that was the makeshift entrance to our marketplace, I guessed that it was approaching nine o’clock.

Several floodlights illuminated the entire town with a powerful blast of radiance. The artificial radiance that was generated by the lights made people’s shadows dance like silhouettes among the canvass tents of the market. The floodlights had been handed to us by the Americans as a sort of apology for destroying the pipeline; as generous as this was, it fell well short of compensating for the only thing that had supplied us with clean-water.

As usual, people were entertaining each other, chattering among themselves. Samir and I laid Jamal’s cold and lifeless body on the ground and ran; as unobtrusively as possible, towards our parents, whom we had spotted huddled in a secluded corner of the market. Samir’s father wielded flashlight. He was pointing hurriedly at a map which he held out in front of him. It seemed to me that he was trying desperately to explain something to the other parents; planning some sort of expedition. But when the parents turned to see me with Samir; running towards them, topless and shivering, they all sunk to their knees in a combined exhibition of spontaneous respite, and before any of them could rise to sanction us with a combination of celebrations and punishments, Samir started to uncontrollably blurt out all the events of the afternoon. As he explained, I listened in awe to his gruelling interpretations of what had happened. His underlying conspiracies excited me; how he believed that it was an American soldier and so forth. The parents, however, silenced Samir before he was allowed the freedom go off on a tangent about Americans.

To clarify a point for the reader: Samir hated the Americans. One day a group of soldiers had been stationed to the eastern border of our town following unconfirmed reports of Taliban activity in the surrounding area. Anyhow; as a matter of sheer coincidence; Samir’s mother was on her way home from the distant fields where she had worked that particular afternoon. And as she was walking home she happened to cross paths with the Americans. She had been pushing Samir inside a wheelbarrow; but the soldiers did not know this because his mother had concealed him underneath a white cloth to avoid the summer’s heat. The soldiers were on edge that day; and so they automatically became suspicious of her cargo. One demanded that she stop immediately. Samir’s mother continued walking; she simply did not understand their warnings. The soldiers opened fire, killing her instantly. As a result of this Samir would reproach the Americans whenever they visited our town; he longed to avenge his mother’s death, and vowed that he would one-day join Al-Qaeda and become a powerful and brave warrior in honour of his mother.

Samir’s father; Kabil, was a brute. He was tall, stocky and he sponsored an untrimmed beard that engulfed the entire bottom half of his face. When he spoke, which was rarely; his voice was grizzly and rough. He never displayed any emotion, neither did he laugh nor smile. For these reasons I feared him, he was a detached enigma, a lonely giant. But tonight as he spoke, there was a hint of conviction seldom present in his speech. ‘Where is Jamal and Husani?’ he asked seriously. Samir hurriedly pointed to the town gate and said ‘there he is’.  ‘And is Husani dead?’ Kabil asked his son. Samir nodded. Husani’s father; Yasir, stood silently in the background, he was comforting his wife as she wept uncontrollably; verging on the point of suffering a complete breakdown, he led her into their house across the street. The remaining adults walked over to Jamal’s body, where a sizeable gathering had formed. Waheed who was the towns doctor had pronounced Jamal dead immediately upon seeing his body.  Jamal’s father kneeled next to his son’s and kissed his forehead before taking him inside. Kabil grabbed his son and shook him vigorously ‘you must tell us, who did this?’ Samir provided his father with a brief but accurate portrayal of the man we had seen driving the white van only hours before. Immediately after hearing his son’s description; Kabil reeled back in amazement. He turned quickly to my father and spoke hurriedly ‘the man which my son describes to me, passed through town no less than an hour ago!’ my father responded to Kabil’s revelation with a whisper. They stood talking in an imperceptible tone; while Samir and I waited to the side trying to make sense of their conversation.