THE INVISIBLE THREAD

INTRODUCTION

Helmand, Southern Afghanistan, 2004

They told her she could play for a while today.

No gunshot had rent the sky for six days, and life in the settlement, hard though it was, allowed for some play among the children, and gave the adults the opportunity to gather together, desperately seeking hope and dream.

Thanks to the defiance of her age, while the other kids were locked in an endless skirmish over their makeshift football, eight-year-old Sikandar seized the opportunity to walk away and approach the bank of her favourite river, where before the war had started she used to walk around with her parents, who toiled away at the land.

The sound of water that idly flowed that hot spring day almost lulled her to sleep. She knelt down and washed the dust and sweat off her face, while shooting some scared glances all around.

Absolute silence.

Nothing.

Maybe the foreign soldiers would never come back again.

For an instant, her joy at this blessed silence was overshadowed by fear. Had they won or lost? What would happen from now on? Had they turned away the mean people who scared her family, or would this terror carry on?

The sun was setting, and Sikandar lay down on the bank, hugging her doll, enjoying the hesitant chirps of a few birds that had mustered up the courage to fly hither and thither, as if no bullet had ever grazed their nests. What a wonderful serenity! Yes, maybe the war was over, and everyone was gone. The foreigners and the others, the bad guys, who had killed her mother just because she wouldn't follow them. Six days of silence. Perhaps the beginning of a period when she could dream of going back to school and her home in the town, which she had hastily abandoned after the bombings.

She lifted her dirty doll, and smiled at her. A smile and a sigh met in a dancing caper in the air that touched the gates of Heaven. Yes, yes! Maybe she would start feeling happy again. Without any bullets or bangs. Without any screams of pain and mute tears. Without having to hide in her aunt's arms, her heart beating fast, and her mind counting explosions. Without staying up late at night, her eyes fixed on the entrance to the tent, desperately waiting for her father to come back from the hospital, dressed in clothes stained by the blood of those he did all he could to save.

Yes, yes!

Perhaps.

As she knew they would be looking for her, since it was already dark, she clutched her doll, and made to stand up.

It was then that she heard it.

That weak moan on the opposite bank.

With her heart beating erratically, she tried to trace the source of the sound. Silence for a while. Only the soft rustle of the leaves, the babble of the water, and the flapping of the birds' wings were heard, as they returned to their nests.

She was scared. What if it was one of the bad people who would steal her away from her family once and for all?

She made to leave, with the doll stuck to her body, her twig-like legs ready to run as fast as they could. In a while, the sun would set, and her aunt would start shouting. Everyone must have noticed her long absence.

She froze in her tracks.

The moan was clear now.

Someone was in pain, or was it a trap?