I start to giggle, because they’re not really that tiny, and I have a hard time swallowing them.Jamil strokes my cheek again as two white pills appear in the palm of my hand.Isaad hands me a bottle of water.I know the drill by now.
Toss it back, swallow it down.
Prepare for the numbness that takes nothing away, just stifles it under a too-heavy blanket.
“She needs real treatment,” Dr.Richard is muttering.“I’m sorry, but this is all I got.”
“We must get out of here.”
“You and eight thousand other people.”
“She’s special.”Isaad jabs a finger in my direction.“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
A pause.
“How many languages does she speak?”Dr.Richard asks.
Habib shakes his head.He’s returned to looking like a broken, bloody doll, while Jamil stands beside him, leaking gray matter onto the ground.
“Countless,” Isaad states.“Or perhaps, more accurately, endless.”
“I’ve seen her…” Dr.Richard shakes his head.“People come in.None of us know where they’re from, what language or dialect they’re speaking.Your wife, she listens.Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for what seems like hours.Then, just like that, she utters their mother tongue back to them.The look they get on their face, when they realize that finally, someone can understand them, give them voice.It’s nothing short of miraculous.”
“We must get out of here,” Isaad repeats.
Silence.Habib dances a strange little jig that ends with his broken arm locked at an awkward angle till brain-splattered Jamil reaches over and snaps it back in place.I applaud their efforts, sway in a circle.
Farshid, possibly still alive.
Farshid, having been tortured, still being tortured, for an entire year.
Are there other frogs in the caves?I see dripping wet tunnels, lined with helpless green amphibians.
“I… I might have a possibility,” Dr.Richard says abruptly.
“Anything!”
“I have some military contacts.I recently learned they’re active in an organization that helps get former interpreters out of Afghanistan and Iraq.I could reach out, see if there’s any favors they might be able to call in.”
“But we didn’t assist—”
“Let’s just say I might be able to call in a single favor.”
“Praise be to Allah.”Isaad clutches Dr.Richard’s hand in gratitude.
“It’s just a possibility—”
“It will work.I know it will.Because it must!”Isaad glows with his newfound conviction.
Habib scowls sourly.
And Jamil smiles softly.
Then the Prozac hits, and I sink into a sea of nothingness, where only my hope for the future remains, a flicker of light dancing behind my closed eyelids.
Farshid, my brother, still alive.
Farshid, my brother, trapped in the dark.
