Nadia Hashimi - When the Moon Is Low

Asim and Shabnam lived in a three-room home that had not gone unscathed in the rocket attacks. Parts of the roof had been patched, and the windows were boarded up. With her burqa off, Shabnam’s resemblance to Raisa was even more apparent. Saleem and Samira smiled to see her familiar face. I listened intently as Asim went on.

“You’ll be traveling in a small van. Usually, they are very full and there’s hardly room to breathe, so keep your little ones at your side. They’ll be nervous. The driver should take you across the border and into Iran. The price for the passage has already been settled, but they will try to wheedle more from you. Keep all your monies and valuables well hidden. Look very reluctant and give him a little token piece. Make the driver believe that’s the very last thing you have.”

I looked at Saleem, wanting to tell him to run off and play so he could be spared this conversation. On the other hand, maybe he deserved to know what he was about to be involved in.

“Bear in mind that the van will only take you to the border. You’ll have to walk across on foot. The smugglers make the crossing under cover of night. Once you get to the Iranian side, there will be another van waiting for you. This van will take you to Mashhad. I believe Abdul Rahim has given you the address for your contact there. There are many Afghans in Mashhad and, inshallah, they will help you to find your way. I understand that you’ll be going on to Europe. The road ahead of you is difficult, but many have traveled it.”

I sighed heavily. Saleem took notice.

“I pray God will make us among the many who successfully pass through it. This is the only way I see for my children. I hope I’m making the right decision.”

Shabnam nodded sympathetically.

“You are a mother and a mother’s heart never guides her children down the wrong path,” Shabnam reassured, her plump hand squeezing mine.

The children, exhausted from the bus ride, slept well while I nodded off, waking periodically to find myself still in Herat, unable to believe that I’d actually set off on a journey so dangerous with three small children. In the dark room, amid the hush of night breathing, I still wondered if I’d made the right choice.

What was it that my orchard angel had promised me so many years ago?

In the darkness, when you cannot see the ground under your feet and when your fingers touch nothing but night, you are not alone. I will stay with you as moonlight stays on water.

I closed my eyes and prayed he hadn’t forgotten me.

THERE WASN’T MUCH TIME FOR ME TO RECONSIDER. IF I’D HAD just one more day, I might have lost my nerve. The desert before us made me dizzy with fear.

Aziz was not nursing well. He was sleeping more and fussy when awake. The journey to Herat had not been an easy one and we were all exhausted.

In the afternoon, I leaned over my sleeping children and kissed their foreheads gently, whispering to them to coax their eyes open. Night, the time when the border was most vulnerable to trespass, was approaching. Holes opened up and scared, desperate people crawled through. While war had turned some Afghans into lions, it had turned a good number of us into mice as well.

Shabnam gave us bread for our journey. Asim led us to the meeting point. Saleem and Samira followed his footsteps. They held hands as dusk settled in, a half-moon luminous in the cloudless sky. We stood at the storefront of a mechanic’s shop and waited. It could be minutes or hours, Asim had said with a shrug, but the van would come.

Forty minutes later, with Aziz twisting and grunting uncomfortably, a van rounded the corner. I pushed the children behind me, pressing them against the shop’s façade. The van came to a stop just a few feet from us.

“ Get in, ” whispered the driver. “ Quickly. ”

This was Mahmood’s plan for us, I reminded myself, as I ushered my children into the van. Trust him that this is the right thing to do.

Two other families were packed into the van, each with four or five children. I whispered a greeting and led my family into a corner of the hollowed-out vehicle.

There was no room for idle chatter. Too much weighed on our minds. Thick silence was cut by Aziz’s noisy breathing as it harmonized with the rusted engine.

Just outside Herat, the driver stopped the van and leaned over the back of his seat.

“From here, we cross the desert and then the border. You will all pay now or be left here.” His tone was dry.

The driver got out of the van and opened the back door. He pointed at the man sitting across from me who crept out to settle his family’s fare. His wife and children watched on anxiously, nervous to be even a few feet apart from their father.

Next went the father of the second family. I looked at my children, watched them stare unabashedly at the fathers.

I must be everything to them, I told myself.

I stepped down to meet the driver, leaving Aziz on Saleem’s lap. I handed over a small envelope and waited while the driver nimbly thumbed through the bills I’d already counted and recounted.

“You and your children are traveling alone.”

I nodded.

“That’s a problem. I don’t think we can take you.”

I tried to steady my voice.

“What’s the problem? The money is all there.”

“You know how it is. I’m taking a risk by bringing people across. But you, an unescorted woman. . you understand? This is a much bigger risk for me and not one I can do for this price. It’s not fair to me.”

Though Asim had predicted this, I seethed to hear the driver’s reasoning. If we were stopped, no one would pay a bigger price than I. But I was prepared. I would play his game.

“Please. Have mercy on me and my children. We have nothing left. What are we to do for food?”

“Sister, what is anyone to do for food? I have children too. Do I look like a king? Who will have mercy on me?”

The border was so close I could taste it.

“This is all I have left,” I said and reluctantly slipped a gold ring with a turquoise stone off my finger. “This was a wedding gift from my late mother-in-law, God give her peace. Now I pray I’ll find a way to feed my children.”

“God is great, my sister,” he said as he stole a quick glance at the stone before stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “Your children will be provided for.”

THE ROAD ROUGHENED AS WE LEFT HERAT’S LIMITS. WHEN THE van came to a stop, we all held our breath. I put my hand on Saleem’s.

“This is the border,” the driver announced. “The guarded passage is ten kilometers that way. There’s a trail that cuts through the mountains. I’ll lead you across. It’s not easy, but many have crossed it before you. Keep your children close and keep them quiet. Watch your feet. There are loose stones, scorpions, and snakes to worry about. Watch for my flashlight.”

Saleem and Samira pressed themselves against me, terrified by the driver’s warnings. Under my burqa, Aziz’s breaths felt moist and rapid on my neck, as if even he felt nervous.

We trod carefully, following the distant yellow glow of our guide’s flashlight. When I heard a hiss, I nudged the children along without breathing a word. They were frightened enough without naming the shadows. For hours, we stumbled through the dark, falling and scraping knees, bending ankles. I’d flipped my burqa back and let it drape behind me, like the other women. I’d swaddled Aziz with a long muslin cloth and tied him around my torso. I held my children’s hands as we did our best to tread carefully.

Samira’s hand pulled out of mine and I heard a yelp.