Now I study Sabera’s daughter, while she studies me back.What is it Ashley the housing coordinator had said?Zahra could be the poster child for refugee children with her stunning features and solemn expression.She isn’t just beautiful, she’s haunting, like an old soul peering at the world through a child’s eyes.
I want to tell her everything will be all right.I will find her mother, I will bring her home, I will save her family.
But I already think she knows better.I’m the one with the questions, while this little girl has all the answers; she’s simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
Aliah arrives behind me.I glance over my shoulder to see that Roberta and the uniformed officer are now talking to the other parents.I’m assuming asking for a description of the subject, taking down basic information.By now, I can predict their responses, the same the world over—I don’t remember, I didn’t see, it all happened so fast.
Personally, I have only one question for Pazir and his family.I’m curious who will ask it first.
“Are you all right?”Aliah arrives at the unit, attention focused on Nageenah.The baby is now kicking away at her hip, trying to play with his big brother.Aliah plucks the younger boy out of his mother’s arms and folds his drooling form into her own.The baby babbles in delight.Nageenah sighs in relief.So that’s how it’s done.
A slight tug of my hair.
Zahra.Standing directly in the doorway now, so close her nose is nearly touching mine.
God, those eyes.The mysteries of the universe, the heartbreak of eons past, the sadness of homeless, countryless children everywhere.
“My name is Frankie,” I murmur.
She stares at me.Stares, stares, stares until I can feel each of my sins, all of my secrets slowly being stripped bare.I let her take my full measure.The losses I have felt, the pain I’ve inflicted, the sad little girl who still lives deep inside me, longing for her father to sober up, wishing for her mother to come home.
The damaged woman I’ve become, unable to stay too long or connect too deeply because the sheer anxiety of such intimacy makes me want to drink.
Zahra nods as if that makes sense to her.Maybe it does.
Then she states in perfectly clear English: “A lock to a key for a key that has no lock.”
She leans closer, whispers in my ear: “You must find it.”
Then she turns and vanishes back down the hall, Nageenah’s older son scampering to catch up.
I glance up to find both Aliah and Nageenah regarding me.
“There is a word,” Nageenah says, “for an extremely talented young child?”
“Prodigy?”
“Yes, that’s it.Isaad is brilliant with numbers.Sabera has skills with language.Zahra… she never forgets.Words on a page, dates on a calendar.Whatever she sees, she carries in her head.”A slight hesitation.“Her life will not be an easy one.”
I consider what I’ve learned about the fall of Kabul and life in refugee camps, then contemplate what that might mean for a four-year-old who remembers everything.
“How absolutely horrible,” I murmur at last.
Neither woman disagrees.
CHAPTER 12
ANOTHER VEHICLE PULLS UP OUTSIDEthe apartment complex.At this point, every tenant has dispersed save the father, Pazir, who remains standing before Roberta and the uniformed officer with his hand on his son’s shoulder.
The boy’s expression remains wary.He lets his father do the talking, maybe out of respect, maybe out of fear.
When a male detective materializes at the scene, I can practically hear Pazir’s sigh of relief, not to mention Roberta’s huff of agitation.The curt greeting the man gives Daryl confirms my suspicions.Apparently, we are now worthy of Roberta’s cop brother’s personal attention.
Aliah hands back the baby and strides forcefully toward the action.Whether to protect her countrymen, assist with translation, berate an official member of law enforcement who three weeks later has finally bothered to show up, is anyone’s guess.
“I have nothing more to say,” Pazir is rattling off to thedetective.“My son kept his sister safe.”The “which is more than you people did” is fully implied.
“I understand that, Mr.…?”
