Khader made it worse, I think."
"How?"
"He put her to work for him. He saved her, when he met her, and he protected her from what she was scared of, back in the States.
But then she met this guy, a politician, and he fell for her pretty hard. Khader needed the guy, so he got her to work for him, and I don't think she was cut out for it."
"What kind of work?"
"You know how beautiful she is-those green eyes, and that white, white skin."
"Ah, fuck," I sighed, remembering a lecture Khader had given me once, about the amount of crime in the sin, and the sin in the crime.
"I don't know what was in Khader's head," Khaled concluded, shaking his own head in doubt and wonder. "It was... out of character, to say the least. I honestly don't think he saw it as ... damaging her. But she, kind of, froze up, inside. It was like her own father... was getting her to do that shit. And I don't think she forgave him for it. But she was incredibly loyal to him, all the same. I never understood it. But that's how I got together with her-I saw all that happening, and I felt kind of sorry for her, if you know what I mean. After a while, one thing led to another. But I never really got through to her. And you didn't, neither. I don't think anyone will. Ever." "Ever is a long time."
"Okay, you got a point. But I'm just trying to warn you. I don't want you to get hurt any more, brother. We've been through too much, na? And I don't want her to get hurt."
He fell silent again. We stared at the rocks and the frosty ground, avoiding one another's eyes. A few shivering minutes passed. At last he took a deep breath and stood up, slapping at the chill in his arms and legs. I stood as well, trembling with cold and stamping my numb feet. At the last possible moment, and with an impulsive rush as if he was breaking through a tangle of vines, Khaled flung his arms around me and hugged me. The strength in his arms was fierce, but his head slowly came to rest against mine as tenderly as the lolling head of a sleeping child.
When he pulled away from me, his face was averted and I couldn't see his eyes. He walked off, and I followed more slowly, hugging my hands under my arms to fight off the cold. It was only when I was alone that I recalled what he'd said to me: I got a bad feeling, Lin. A real bad feeling...
I resolved to talk to him about it, but just at that moment Habib stepped out of a shadow beside me, and I jumped in fright.
"For fuck's sake!" I hissed. "You scared the fuckin' shit outta me! Don't do that shit, Habib!"
"It's okay, it's okay," Mahmoud Melbaaf said, stepping up beside the madman.
Habib garbled something at me, speaking so quickly that I couldn't make out a single clear syllable. His eyes were starting from his head. The effect was exaggerated by the dark, heavy pouches beneath his eyes, which dragged the lower lids with them and showed too much white below the fractured, scattered wheel of the iris.
"What?"
"It's okay," Mahmoud repeated. "He wants to talk with everybody.
He talks to every man, tonight. He comes to me. He asks me to make it English for you, what he says. You are the last, before Khaled. He wants to speak to Khaled last."
"What did he say?"
Mahmoud asked him to repeat what he'd said to me. Habib did speak again, in exactly the same too-rapid, hyper-energetic manner, staring into my eyes as if he expected an enemy or a monstrous beast to emerge from them. I was just as steadfast in returning the stare: I'd been locked up with violent, crazy men, and I knew better than to take my eyes off him.
"He says that strong men make the luck to happen," Mahmoud translated for us.
"What?"
"Strong men, they make it for itself, the luck."
"Strong men make their own luck? Is that what he means?"
"Yes, exactly so," Mahmoud agreed. "A strong man can make his own luck."
"What does he mean?"
"I do not know," Mahmoud replied, smiling patiently. "He just says it."
"He's just going around, telling everybody this?" I asked. "That a strong man makes his own luck?"
"No. For me, he said that the Prophet, peace be upon Him, was a great soldier before he was a great teacher. For Jalalaad, he said that the stars shine because they are full with secrets. It is different for every man. And he was in too much a hurry for telling us these things. It is very important for him. I do not understand, Lin. I think it is because we fight tomorrow morning."
"Was there anything else?" I asked, mystified by the exchange.
Mahmoud asked Habib if there was anything else that he wanted to say. Holding the stare into my eyes, Habib rattled away in Pashto and Farsi.
"He says only that there is no such a thing as luck. He wants you to believe him. He says again that a strong man-"
"Makes his own luck," I completed the translation for him. "Well, tell him I appreciate the message."
