Homeward Bound Ch 14

Crowd, noise, dust and exhausted gas. After the silence and the clean air of the mountains and the hills, Kabul looked like a dirty, messy metropolis, and the medic, Katya and Yury were stunned, especially after a day of walking without eating. Ahmad had been generous, letting them go, even with no food. Nobody had any doubt, about it. And nobody had complaints towards the medic, which had negotiated the deal, and obtained those conditions. It was the best he could do. The best anyone could have done.

They slipped into the town with no hindrances. Two Russians and an "Afghan" who was "with them". No Afghan policeman or soldier had had nothing to say. The medic had looked at himself in the reflections in the shop windows, and he was surprised by how he was similar to any local dweller. The long beard, the run down, dusty dress, the face hardened and tanned by the sun... No street rep. Thank God.

After a long walk, they saw a building with a Soviet flag above the entrance, and two Russian soldiers guarding it. A command center, or maybe just barracks rooms. Anyway, that was where Yuri had to go, to tell someone that he was still alive, and not a deserter. And Katya had to go with him. It was time to say goodbye. The medic just could not go there, at all...

"Well... Now I just have to go all round the town looking for an embassy..." the medic said. Since Katya had understood that this was his plan, there was no use to hide it, anymore.

"No need for that... "Yuri said. He took off a shoe, and pull up some dollars and some Afghan banknotes. The men of Ahmad thought that only the medic, the Western man, could have money. But they were wrong.

The medic did not ask where that money came from. He looked at Yuri and snorted.

"The dead men don't need money, right?"

"Right. And I don't need that money too, now. Whatever happens... You just use that money to get a ride to where you want to go. "

"A not disinterested ride... "the medic said. Yuri and Katya snorted. "And what if the driver takes me to the police?"

"No! First, get to the place, then, give him the money. THEN he can denounce you to the police... "

"Hmm... "the medic snorted. There was nothing more to say, so Yuri hugged the medic.

"You can come when you want. I will find a place for you... If you don't want to go in a hotel... "

"And why not?" the medic asked. Yuri stepped back and shrugged.

"Well... you know... Hotels are expensive... "

"And they are full of "blyàdi"!" said Katya, looking at the medic, frowned.

"Oh... I've got it... "

Katya took his pen from his blouse's pocket and wrote her address on an Afghan banknote.

"Write to me. And let me know your address." she said, with an operative tone.

"Hmm!" said the medic. They looked at each other and hugged. Then Katya a Yuri went to the soldiers, talked with him, presented their documents, and entered the building, accompanied by a soldier. After a while, the soldier come back alone and retook his watch post. Surely he had reported, and now, Katya and Yuri were talking with someone in some office. They were virtually at home. The medic smiled, gave a military salute, taking care that the soldiers did not watch to his side, and walked away.

He decided not to use the money to get a ride. It could be more useful to grease some hands where he intended to go: an embassy, a consulate... The Red Cross, or the Red Crescent, if they called it that way down there, was not a good idea. Likely it was linked with the government, that is, with the police. And that meant, too many questions about what he was doing with the "Dushmani", before to meet Yuri...

Even the Italian embassy was closed, because the pro-Russian government has not acknowledged by Italy since 1979. But the medic knew that there was the Swiss embassy, which cared about the Italian interests in the country. Assuming that there WERE Italian interests down there...

Well, NOW there was ONE...

"And here I am!" the man with the book said, shrugging and widening his arms.

"You are saying that you have KILLED... How many men?"

"Well, at a certain point, I had stopped counting! "the man said, shrugging again. "It was us or them. Thank god, they had trained with me for one year, in the army to do that... And they had trained me very well!"

"But they trained you to do it against the... "

"Against the Russians? Well, I've told you, sir, the enemies change, they were changing, they ARE changed. And you know it better than me!"

The man with the book looked at the Russian lady with a smile. The Russian lady nodded. The married man thought a bit and nodded too. Indeed...

"But how have you found the Swiss embassy?"

"Quite easy. Since I can be mistaken with an Afghan, I just asked to the locals where it was. I told them that I was looking for a good doctor I had heard of, who had the cabinet near the embassy. I found the zone in less than half an hour."

"And nobody has suspected you?"

"And why suspect a man who looks for a doctor? I could be a guy from the provinces, who did not know the city. Nothing more normal!"

"And when you have found the embassy, what did you do?"

"Well, I have got the Afghan guard on the door to look by the other side when I slipped into the office: I gave him all the money I had, except some local bills I have spent to eat something. Dollars were dollars, even in Afghanistan... "

"And once you were in?"

"I stopped talking Pashtu or Dari, and started speaking Italian. With great relief, I must say. They got the picture at once: I was an Italian citizen with a problem. And they had to help me. And the Swiss took their duty very seriously... "

"Did you tell them the truth?"

"Well, for starting, indeed, I told them almost nothing. They were sure I was escaping from the Russians, and I let them think that way... All I told them was "I need to get away from here". And I meant "from Afghanistan", of course... And that was surely the truth. Or at least, the core of the truth, in that moment. I needed an escape... "

"They could refuse to help you. You were quite a complication for them. They were clerks, not secret agents... "

"There were surely some secret agents too, at least for the counterespionage and the security. It's the same in every embassy of every country everywhere in the world. But I did not ask to be sent rolled in a carpet or as diplomatic pouch, or bag... I just need their help to get a plane and go."

"Not so easy. What if they refused?"

"Well, I could always go to the Russians... " the man said, with a seraphic smile.

"The Russians?" the other man wondered.

"Of course. It was the B plan. I could not remain in Kabul without a dime: it would have meant, sorry for the terms, madam, to be in the shit without a paddle... at the mercy not only of the Russians to the government, but even of any bandits. or simply of the hunger. "

"So you were ready to surrender... "

"What could I lose? Maybe Katya and Yuri had explained what I had done for them. But even if not, I could keep mum about that, and be jailed as an American agent, or the like, or even pretend to be a defector, disgusted by the support from the West to Islamic Fundamentalism. Since the alternative was to remain there. Of course, if I ever had the chance to talk with some journalists, I would have denounced the very scarce cooperation of the Swiss diplomats in Kabul... And this would have ruined their careers... "

"But this was a blackmail!"

"Exactly. Not a gentlemen's deal, but... desperate cases need desperate solutions... However, it was not necessary to get so far... "

The Russian lady smiled. That man was really more than expected. Strangely, even his husband smiled.

"You know, sir... Don't be offended... I have the feeling that you have told us a story... An interesting story, but... "

"But?" the man with the book asked. The married man looked at him.

"Unlikely. Far fetched, I would say."

"Really?" the other man said. He did not seem offended, not even surprised.

"Sure! A medic in Afghanistan who saves a Russian because he sees a picture of his girl, then wanders across the country at war without getting a scarf, meets a Russian girl who shoots like Hell, and another one who dies, and then saves himself and TWO Russians because he had saved the wife and children of those who should kill him... And then he gets to Kabul, slipped in an embassy, and get the people there to help him, menacing to surrender to the Russians and ruined their careers in the opposite case... Too muck good luck, don't you think? too many... well, unlikely things!"

"And why would I tell you a false story? I did not ask money, I am not drunk, I am not mad... "

"I don't know! Maybe you are a writer, and you wanted to test a story. Or maybe this is your pastime when you travel: to tell story to yourself, or your eventual fellow travellers. And It's a good story, I've said it: we have passed the time well... "

"You know... Once Virginia Wolf and his niece found a sleeping man on a train, a Virginia Wolf invented a story for his niece, about that gentleman... She said he was a hatter, and he came from Manchester... I have read it in a book... "

"You did nothing wrong, I repeat... " the married man said. "Maybe you could really make a novel from it... Cutting away the most unlikely parts, of course... "

"It's ALL unlikely, from the start up to the ending. You are perfectly right,.. " the man said.

"Not more than many novels you can find," the other man shrugged. He looked through the window of the train. "We have almost arrived at our station. We must prepare to get off the train... "

"I get off at Santa Maria Novella. It's closer to home. "

"Oh! You too are from Florence! Then we can meet again! "

"May be... " the man with the book said. The couple pulled down the luggage, then the married man helped his wife to wear her trench coat, and she thanked him with a smile. "Ah, just in case: we haven't been introduced. My name is Marco Paoli, and you?"

"I am Guido Bianchi. She is... Katya!" he snorted.

"Ah... Katya... "the man said. No, she was not THAT Katya. She did not shoot like hell. Likely she had never seen a machine gun. She was a gentle Russian girl, born to love his man, till he loved her. Or else, all the worse on him... But he pointed a finger at her and talked to the husband: "Be careful with her... VERY careful!"

The Russian lady and his man laughed, said some words of parting, waived their hands and left the compartment. The man with the book relaxed, but did not retook his book to read it. He searched something in the inner pocket of his jacket. An envelope with a letter inside. He had forgotten the letter in the jacket some weeks before, when he received and read it first, then he had put the jacket in his suitcase, before to leave, and had noticed the envelope in the jacket that morning, when he wore it. before taking the train to come back home. He smiled reading the address, written down it that strange way: first the Country, then the town, then the street, then the addressee... Then pull out the sheet of paper and read it. Again.

"I greet you, distinguished doctor!

I'm sorry I haven't written to you for a lot of time, but I have been very busy with the job. If you wanted to keep your job, you need to work. It seems obvious, ain't it? Once it was not this way...Have I already told you that last year I have voted for Zjugànov, for the KPRF, for the "Communists"?" Yes, I have said it. No secrets between us: we old brothers in arms...

Yuri is fine and wish you well (so you don't think that I am writing you to his shoulders). Now he has changed jobs, but he keeps working for the association of the "Afghanzi", the veterans of Afghanistan. You know. they have helped him a lot. And you are always the one and only "honorary Afghànez", and the only one who is resident of Florence... Did you like the "panàma?" You can wear it at sea, it serves exactly to protect the head from the sun, and it dries the sweat well too. You can remove the red star, if you want (no worry: we will be not offended). But you must not give it away: keep it for you. See it as if it was a medal on our behalf, on Russia's behalf: you have deserved it. .

And the medals, cannot be given away as a gift, or buy and sold. It's illegal. Otherwise, I swear, we would have sent you a true one...

I assure you that the association of Yuri is a serious thing: it has nothing to do with the bad things that you will have surely read about "certain" associations, But here around, in the 90es, it was really a mess. And even now, even if there are no breadlines anymore, I don't advise you to move here with "weapons and baggages", as you say in Italy...

But let's forget the sad things. You say you didn't come to our wedding, even because Yuri could be uncomfortable about what we had over there. What it was between us, over there... I understand your scruples, but I assure you, even Yuri would be happy to see you now. Even because we have a surprise for you.

There is a girlfriend of mine, divorced, who wants to live in the West (yes, even in "democracy" certain things happen). It's not a "scamer", it's not looking for a chicken to pluck, I wouldn't tell you about her, if she was. It's just sick and tired of Russian men, poor thing.

I have met three wonderful men, in my life: two Russians, and the third is you, But she was not so lucky. And before she gets involved with a scoundrel who might throw her on the sidewalk, I have thought about you.

Apart from the deplorable intention to leave "Màtyuska Rossìya", I assure you that she is a sensitive, beautiful, wise girl, and she cooks better than me (get her off my back before Yuri... gets strange ideas! ). In short, she is a good girl and she is going to be a good wife. As you, I'm sure, will be a good husband. You can trust me: I vouch for her. I have told her about you, I told her that you are better than an American, that you are good, smart, and that, in bed, you touch damn well (even Yuri is good at it: he says he has learned with a saxophone... Weird!). And above all, I told her that if she teases you, if she makes you suffer, or if she leaves you, or, "niè day bog", if she betrays you, she will deal with ME. And you know how unpleasant this can be... Even without a "Kalash", I assure you!

A rocket thrower who is fond of you.

Katya."

The man put the envelope back in his jacket, and when the train stop at the main station of Florence, he put down his luggage, got off the train and mingled with the light-robed crowd. Should he have showed the letter to the man and his wife? Why? He was a sympathetic man, why put his nose down in his mistakes? Whether he believed in his story or not, it did not change his own life. And after all, he was absolutely right: his story was really "unlikely". Not far fetched, but "unlikely", for sure.

It was even more "unlikely", but true, that he could have come back home. Maybe Katya and Yuri had told their story in a way which stressed the way he had helped them, and so, to a certain extent, Russia. So the Russians had decided to believe them, and let the Swiss help him without meddling too much. They know that an Italian in Kabul could go only there, to the Swiss, if he was not a CIA agent, and of course he was not. So they made golden bridges for him. Go home, doctor. Let's all of us get out of this heck of a place. But they will regret us.

And in fact...

The Communist regime lasted more than anyone could forecast: it fell just after the fall of the USSR, when the "democratic" Russian leaders, to please their American friends, stopped supporting it, and then Massud got Kabul. But soon after that, the civil war divided the "freedom fighters". Kabul, which had passed almost intact from the Communists to Massud, was almost destroyed and seized by the Jihadists. And Massud? He became chummy with the Russians, first against Hekmatyar, who had received the bulk of American aid during the war, then against the Taliban, which the US still believed to manoeuvre through the Pakistanis. Politics makes strange bedfellows. Very, very, very strange...

The medic had contacted Katya as soon as he returned to Italy, just the time to rearranged his position with the hospital where he worked, which had almost reported him as missing. He had asked her to marry him again. To convince her, he had mentioned the difficulties of living in Russia, which at that time were really enormous. But he felt like Satan offering the earth kingdoms to Jesus Christ, who was fasting in the desert. Nothing to be proud of. She had asked him not to insist, "I love this fucking place", and he had not insisted. That's respect too.

Katya and Yuri had stayed in touch for a while after returning home, but after that, they had almost completely lost sight of each other: there was too much to do just to survive. They met quite later, in 1999, in Dagestan.

Shamil Basaev, "Prime Minister" of Chechnya, which was virtually independent, after the first Chechen war (the one started and lost by the "Democratic" president Eltsin), had invaded the republic. Officially, he did it just as a step to create a wide Muslim Caucasian "caliphate". But according to some sources, he did it "also" to sabotage a new pipeline wanted by the Russians, in order to bypass Chechnya, which was creating too much fuzz to the passage of the oil from the regions South of the Caspian sea to Russia. And the new pipeline was exactly in Dagestan. The Italian engineering firm Snam, of the State-controlled ENI group, had cooperated to build the pipeline. A nice "sorry about that" for the Italian anti-personnel mines in Afghanistan. Yeah: enemies change...

The Russians had reacted as they always do in these cases: invading them, is like inviting them to a wedding, but then you become a dish on the menu. The governor of the region did not trust President Yeltsin and those around him too much: there were people whodid business with the Chechens. So he had called up everyone who wanted to come to help. And many men had come to help, not only from Dagestan, but even from Russia, especially many "Afghànzy", veterans of Afghanistan. Including Yuri. Katya went there too, with a "sandrujìna" of volunteer nurses, but maybe she wouldn't mind shooting some more... In memory of the old times...

Two weeks later, the regular troops had arrived "en masse", especially airborne, speznaz and "morpek", the Russian marines: serious guys, And the amateurs had been sent back home. Five months later, independent Chechnya no longer existed, the Russia-ENI pipeline had come into operation, and Katya and Yuri were married. And they still remembered him. They had really invited him to Moscow, to the wedding, but he had preferred to refuse. He would have been in the way. "Trèty dòljen uidtì", the third has to leave, and he was the third...

He remembered that Yuri wanted to see Hollywood, so his wedding gift had been a couple of open tickets Moscow-Los Angeles and back, and the promise to book a hotel, when they would have chosen the dates. They had very much appreciated it.

Of course, now, if Yuri was not averse, and there was a girl who was worth it... He had to check!

He walked into the first bar he found in the station. He was craving for a coffee, but something was going on in there. Everyone was watching the big TV screen. Buildings on fire, a fire somewhere, why so much attention?

He looked a bit better at the screen, and immediately he understood why. It was not "anywhere", and it was not a "fire" as anyone. He was so amazed that he only caught a few words of the speaker. "New York... Twin Towers... two passenger planes... Al Qaeda... Bin laden... "...

Bin laden... Peshawar! The training camps! Muslims from all over the world, armed and trained with his own family's money, and with the American money too, directly or through Pakistani intelligence. For the "freedom fighters", sure, yes, sure... Of course...