Harry Parker - Anatomy of a Soldier

Faridun unlocked the door and pushed me into the small room. ‘You will be safe in here,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ Latif said. He coughed and looked up at Faridun.

They came in and lowered the injured man down onto the slab floor. Faridun saw Latif stagger away towards the wall and crash into a stack of shovels. He steadied himself.

‘What should we do with Paugi? He might die,’ Latif said still coughing.

‘I will go for the doctor,’ the man said. He came over to me and unhooked one of the weapons from my handlebars. He was in the doorway now with his weapon and glanced back down at the body but didn’t seem to know what to say.

Faridun went over to the injured man and crouched beside him. ‘You must stop the blood leaving him. Here, let me,’ he said and tore off a piece of his shirt. He lifted the leg up and fed the cloth under, wrapping it around the thigh. He pulled it tight and tied it off.

‘Thank you, Faridun,’ Latif said and joined him, ripping his own shirt.

The man who’d threatened Faridun and kicked me over at the checkpoint looked down at Latif and Faridun tending to the bleeding man and told them to do what they could. He stepped out of the door and the other man went with him to guard the hut.

They tore more strips and helped each other wrap the man’s leg but he had stopped moving and his breathing was shallow; they didn’t know what else they could do. They sat back against the wall between the upright tools and waited, their shoulders touching, each feeling the other’s body heat. Neither spoke for a while.

‘Do you remember when we used to ride that bike to the river?’ Latif finally said.

Faridun looked at me and thought of all the times they had spent together when they were young. When they were best friends.

‘Why did you join them, Latif?’ he said.

‘Why do you not?’ He looked across at him. ‘Do not judge me, Faridun. I have family duty to them.’

‘But at the checkpoint? After everything?’

‘I am sorry,’ Latif said.

In the silence they both gazed at me over the dying man and Faridun remembered the time they’d tied a kite to me, trying to make it fly.

The guard came in from outside and nodded at the man on the floor. ‘How is Paugi?’

‘I cannot tell, Abdul,’ Latif said. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Aktar will soon return with the doctor,’ the man said. ‘He may survive that long. It is quiet out here, the infidels haven’t followed,’ he said and ducked back out.

‘I am scared, Faridun.’

‘You will be safe here.’ He reached for his friend’s hand and held it between them.

‘I am always scared. I am scared of what they think of me and whether I will be able to live up to what they expect. And I am scared when they send me to dig bombs under the roads or shoot at the infidels. I am scared of them when they have been trained in the mountains and are hard and know only fighting and God.’

‘You must leave them,’ Faridun said.

‘Today I didn’t think I could shoot at the camp again. We try and do it every day, but this time I was so scared I could hardly walk. Other times I make peace with it, with God.’ He fidgeted with his assault vest and spoke slowly. ‘I do not mind dying. It would be an honour to be martyred. I have lived and it would not matter if it were all over. But today I could hardly lift my weapon or follow them and my legs went forward without me. I wanted to be anywhere else. And then the fighting started and it was breathtaking. I was with them and I loved them. It is so exciting, Faridun.’

‘You are safe now, Latif,’ Faridun said, releasing his hand. The room had grown darker and the horizon was silhouetted through the door. ‘I should go home. You can stay here until your friend returns,’ he said as he stood up.

‘No, please stay, for just a minute; it is good to talk to you.’

‘You have your friends now. I have to go to my family.’

‘These are not bad people. They are better than the government. They just want what is best. I have tried to make sure they won’t hurt your family, Faridun. But your father—’

‘I must go, Latif. If this ends, maybe we shall talk again.’

‘It will never end,’ he said and looked down at his lap.

Faridun stepped over to the injured man, crouched and rested his hand on his chest. ‘Your friend is dead,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Latif said, his eyes following Faridun over to me.

Faridun placed his hands on my grips and wheeled me towards the door, then looked back.

‘Peace be upon you, Latif.’

The young man inhaled to reply.

Faridun held me and was staring at his friend. In a flash, his existence became a dot, deprived of anything physical, and he couldn’t comprehend the extent of his body as his consciousness churned over, folding on itself, and slammed into a final moment. There was no time for pain but confusion turned to loneliness and the despair of knowing was complete.

I was ripped away from him in the vacuum and the walls smacked together with the farming equipment and humans and then thumped outwards in an explosion of dust and debris. I was flung into the air and cartwheeled away with rock and mud and landed in the field on my rear wheel. It buckled and I bounced on and then my front wheel broke free and rolled across the field through the dust, wobbling from side to side before it slowed and fell.

I was bent and dented and broken in two. The dust drifted away as my spinning rear wheel slowed and its squeaking stopped and the mound where the building had been settled in on itself.

The last glow of dusk was replaced by night and it was still.

*

The torch flashed across the field and then was switched off. Two figures were hurrying down the road. One of them had to run every few steps to keep up with the taller figure striding quickly towards me. It was Faridun’s father, the man who had bought me five years earlier. He was with Latif’s mother. He turned the torch back on and walked off the road into the edge of the field.

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, no,’ she was saying as she stumbled into the wheat. Faridun’s father stopped to help her to her feet.

‘It could be all right,’ he said. ‘Please, do not panic. Aktar might be playing with us.’

‘He was not lying this time. I could see it in his eyes.’

‘Try to be strong.’

‘Oh God,’ she said again. ‘I cannot bear it.’

The two figures were dark against the field as they approached the destroyed building they couldn’t yet see.

‘It is just over here,’ he said to her and swept the torch around the field. He saw the dark clods of earth and frowned and then the oval of light glinted on my spokes and he shone it over my wheel and recognised me. Faridun’s father knew it would not be all right.

They walked past my bent frame and the beam of light tunnelled through the dark, flecked with insects and dust. Then Latif’s mother saw the pile of rubble, let out a wail and ran ahead. He called for her to be careful but she climbed over the scattered debris and broken wall and started scrabbling at the earth.

‘My son,’ she cried. ‘Latif.’

They pulled the rock and earth away and flashed the torch into the gaps. They kept digging for the rest of the night. They found an older man they didn’t recognise and they hoped there might be some confusion. But then they found Faridun and hugged each other and sobbed together. There was another body and they shone the light over his distorted face. They didn’t know him either. It was dawn when they found Latif’s body and she wailed again for her son.

You pressed your stump into me and we became one for the first time. A man was crouched in front of you and guided us together.