The paper clip almost tumbles from my shaking fingers, but I manage to slide it into my bra as I hurry after him.
Two of his men lead him down the hall and two more crowd me from behind. In the room where he made us watch the explosion, Mateen sits cross-legged on a cushion with the Qaran in his lap. Bags swell under his eyes. He reads in Dari, but struggles with all but the simplest words. Until he sees me and throws the book aside.
“Maman!”
Raziq grabs his wrist when he jumps to his feet. “You do not disrespect the Qaran. And I told you that you could have breakfastafteryou read five pages in both English and Dari. You still have half a page to go.”
“But I am hungry!” he whines.
“Finish reading and you may eat.”
Mateen looks to me and my heart aches. “Do what your uncle says. I can help you, if he allows it.”
Raziq pushes Mateen back toward the cushion. “The boy will do this on his own. Naveed, stay with him until he finishes, then take him to the kitchen.”
“I want to eat with Maman!” he says.
“Your mother is fasting today. And every day until I decide otherwise. You will see her at dinner.Ifyou complete your lessons.” He points to the discarded holy book. “Pick it up. Now.”
“Please,” I say softly. “Give me a moment with him.”
He considers, then huffs. “One. And then we go to the roof.”
Dropping to my knees, I smooth my hands down Mateen’s arms. “Remember what we talked about last night,mon bébé. Your lessons are important.”
“But why can’t you eat with me?” He sits on the cushion with all the weight of pre-teen rebellion and crosses his arms.
“Your uncle wants me to fast. So I will fast. He is the head of this household and he makes the rules. We have to do what he says.” I lean in so my lips brush his ear through the burka. “For now.”
Mateen picks up the Qaran and starts to read. Before he makes it through a single sentence, Raziq wraps his fingers around my upper arm and drags me from the room.
* * *
My muscles tremblewith each shallow breath. Blood plasters the t-shirt to my back under the burka. At least three times, I felt my skin tear under Raziq’s repeated blows.
He left me chained, on my knees, my arms mostly numb, with two of his men standing guard. Why? I cannot escape. After so long kneeling, I do not even think I can walk.
Tomorrow will be worse. How much more of this can my body take? I wanted to curse Raziq with each strike, and I fear I will soon be unable to pretend I deserve this fate.
It has been hours, and my mind wanders. Did Mateen get to eat? Where is he right now? Will his uncle let him play? Read anything besides the Qaran? Rest?
The sun is almost directly over me, chasing the shadows away. Sweat stings my wounds. My hands are bright red. How much longer until fresh blisters form?
Through my tears, I watch a vulture soar across the sky. For a moment, I can almost hear its wings beating.
A dull whine from my left draws my gaze. Another bird? This one is smaller. Low to the ground.
One of the men jogs over to a rifle mounted on a swivel and peers through the scope. “Drones. Two of them. Tell the boss.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Could this be Nomar? With my next breath, I give up on that brief moment of hope. Drones will do nothing against so many men. Against the twin guns on the roof.
Another drone approaches from the right. Still another skims the landscape directly in front of me. Four. Five. Six.
The first shot is so loud. My scream sounds far away. Muffled. The closest drone shatters into dust. The second swoops up so high, I have to crane my neck to see it, then plummets to the ground.
A plume of fire explodes from the impact, followed by dark smoke. The building shakes.
A second explosion. Then a third.
