The Fighting Season by Bram Connolly

Author:Bram Connolly [Connolly, Bram]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2016-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

23

ZABUL PROVINCE

Omar Defari fumbled in his pocket for the source of the vibration. Dropping the bag of fertiliser he had just hauled up the creek bank, he pressed the green answer button.

‘Omar Defari?’ a female American voice enquired.

‘Yes. Who’s this?’

‘My name is Steph. Faisal Khan gave me your number. I really hope that you are well and that your family are healthy and well too?’ Her fake courtesy grated on Omar.

‘I’m in good health, thanks be to God. Faisal told me that you would call someday.’

Steph explained to Omar how she might be able to help him and his family. Omar listened to her speak; although her arrogant American drawl irritated him, her naivety regarding the complex situation in Afghanistan actually amused him. But when she started to explain that she would pay for the information he provided, Omar took more notice. Perhaps, he thought, she could help him after all.

‘I was told that you’d like to meet to give me the information in person,’ the American said.

‘Are you able to send money first?’ Omar asked. ‘So we know that we can trust each other?’

‘I could give you half upfront and half after you have delivered the information,’ she offered, then named a sum that was more than Omar could ever have dared to imagine.

‘But, Omar, the information must be worth it,’ the American cautioned as they concluded their conversation.

‘It will be,’ he assured her.

Ending the call, Omar shouldered the twenty-kilo bag once again and walked slowly through the archway leading to the pomegranate orchard. He strolled along the narrow gravel path. On either side were the new pomegranate saplings, planted just last spring. He entered his family’s compound to the sound of children playing happily in the courtyard – just as children had done in Zabul for as long as he could remember. This area of the province had been left mostly untouched by the last ten years of war, and in the twenty years before that the Soviets had dared not venture too far up into these higher areas. It was peaceful here: the perfect spot for his younger brother to command a powerful legion that was determined to rule the surrounding valleys and beyond.

‘Mouza, how are you on this day?’ Omar asked the eldest of his brother’s wives. She was sitting on a stone step watching the children playing in the yard. She looked up at him through the narrow slit in her veil.

‘I’m well, Omar, thanks be to God. What have you here?’

‘This is for the orchard – it’s food to help with the new plants. Fasili in Arghandab brought it for me. You remember: he is the cousin of Faisal Khan. He dropped me off and has just left now.’ Omar settled down next to her, stroking his grey beard.

‘Oh, I should have liked to have seen him. His family, are they fine? Did you ask if they are in good health?’ She coughed gently into a piece of white embroidered cloth and then passed him the plate of dates that she had been picking at.

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