My name is Parvana

THREE

They came in the night. Parvana was ready for them.

The metal bar of the bed frame stuck into the back of her tight while she sat on the edge of the bed. The pain helped to keep her awake. But it pressed on the nerves in her legs and made her feet numb. When the two uniformed women, flanked by men with guns drawn, burst into her cell and each grabbed an arm to take into her out, her legs buckled underneath her, forcing the guards to drag her along the corridor.

"Stand up!" one of them ordered.

Parvana gave no sign that she understood their English. It wouldn't have mattered. Her feet were quite asleep. "This is ridiculous," the other guard said. "I didn't sweat through Basic Training to deal with stubborn teenagers."

A silent signal must have passed between the two guards because they both released their grip on Parvana at the same time. She dropped to the floor like a sack of rice.

"On your feet!" Parvana stayed where she was. I'm not going to help you, she thought. She was fine on the floor. She'd had many other good night sleeps on rougher surfaces. 

She was picked up again and the drag continued. Parvana's chador came off. Now she had no way to hide her face. She didn't like that they would be able to see her.

She was hauled back into the little office and dumped onto the same hard chair. She was surrounded by boots and leges and torsos.

Nineteen times seven is .... She was too nervous to work it out, so she went for something easier. Two times two is four. Two times three is six. Two times four is eight. She multiplied and she breathed. She got herself under control. "There's an awful lot of people in here for just one little girl." Parvana heard the voice of the man who had questioned her earlier. "Sir, she gave us some trouble,:" one of the guards said.

"Anything you can't handle, soldier?"

"No, sir. No problem, sir."

"Good. Return to your duties."

"Yes, sir."

Parvana watched the pairs of boots march out of the room. She suddenly remembered a counting song she had used to teach the young ones. It was a good song because they learned counting and English at the same time. The ants came marching two by two, Hurrah, hurrah.

Parvana had to work really hard not to smile. She had no chador to cover her. "So you've decided to let us see your face, have you?" The man said it in English, without the interpreter in the room, so he was talking more to himself than to Parvana. "We want to show respect for your culture while we are guests in your country, but I find it awfully hard to talk to someone when I can't see their face."

The feeling was starting to come back into Parvana's feet and legs. It was a mixture if tingling and pain. It was not pleasant, but Parvana welcomed it. It gave her something to concentrate on.

The interpreter entered the little room. "I found this in the hall." Parvana could see a corner of her chador, trailing on the floor. "Do you want me to give it to her?"

"Do you want your head covering?" the man asked.

The interpreter repeated the words in Dari, Pashtu, and Uzbek. Parvana concentrated on the pain in her legs. "She seems fine without it," he said, "If she wants it, she'll ask for it. Perhaps, in exchange, she'll tell us her name."

The woman translated what he said. "You know what?" said the man. "I think you speak Dari. That's the language in those notebooks we found, so that's the language we're going to use. Corporal, repeat all this one last time in all three languages. Tell her this is her last chance. If she doesn't speak Dari, she has to let us know now. We've given her a nice long rest. Now she has to give us something. I'm tired of pussy- footing around."