Prince of Afghanistan by Louis Nowra

Author:Louis Nowra
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2015-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

9

Before long I slow down to a walk. I stop often to see any signs of Prince, but it’s as if he’s been swallowed up by the earth. The only thing I can do is aim for the valley. I’m counting on the fact that he will smell the water and is making for the river too. I feel awfully weary, and my insides are still quivering from the explosions, but I keep moving.

A few days ago I would have been annoyed that Prince had run off but now I can understand why he did. I know I’m in a war, he doesn’t. The sniffing out of roadside mines is a game to him. After he’s found one, the only reward he wants is to play with his square ball. This is a war between humans and he has been caught up in it through no wish of his own. Now he’s deaf, he’s been shot, he’s struggled through unbearable heat, and he’s had the ground blow up around him. On top of that he’s lost Casey and he’s ended up with me. No wonder he took off.

I can’t let him or Casey down. Prince is my comrade now and my friend, so I’m not going to leave him behind. The very thought that he may die or I won’t be able to find him eats away at me.

I travel across ridges and dips, swells and bluffs. Night’s coming when I crest a flat-topped mound, and my heart soars when I see the dark ribbon of the stream winding its way along the valley floor. A couple of kilometres to the right are the lights of a hamlet. That means there are fields nearby and therefore fruit and vegetables. I sip the last of my warm water and walk carefully down the steep hill, in a zigzagging pattern. My hope is that Prince is already there, having found the water.

When I reach the valley I walk alongside the stream, searching for him. The waning moon isn’t as bright as it’s been the past few days so it’s harder to see. A shadow seems to move, as if it’s Prince. My heart prickles with hope but it’s not him. I continue for several hours moving back and forth across the stream, eating pomegranates, the only ripe food available.

My exhaustion finally gets the better of me and I flop down beside the stream, remove my boots and soak my aching, blistered feet in the water, wondering what to do next. Where is he? Has he already found the stream and having rested is now making for . . . making for where? What would have been on his mind after he stopped running and found himself alone? Would he have doubled back to search for me, or is he still spooked and wandering aimlessly? There are those other terrible thoughts: what if he’s been shot? Or has died in the heat?

The possibilities are endless and I realise I that I will have to search for him during the day, as it will be easy to miss him at night.

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