Chapter 2 - THE CHILDREN

THE CHILDREN:

We had arrived at the edge of what was obviously a village and wound up in a somewhat disheveled parking area comprised of hard earth or gravel in front of a fair-sized building that appeared to be a school. I had noted several vehicles parked, and most had had their windows shot or smashed out. Trust me. NOT a good sign.  

After Mustafa & I had gotten up a fairly steep grade on a path that would never be acceptable in the Hamptons (not even the poor ones), we came up to what I can only describe as an entrance to the building. You couldn't call it a doorway exactly because whatever normally had passed for doors here were obviously gone for the most part.

Reaching a wide stretch of level area directly in front, mostly dirt with a few blades of grass here and there, Mustafa suddenly stopped...again rather abruptly. (To be honest, I had begun to think this dude has TWO speeds. Fast as possible or immobilized...and he definitely needs some transmission work done. Either that or I am going to have to re-work MY shifter.) 

Mustafa stood looking at the building. Analyzing perhaps? 
Trying to discern what lay inside? 

I looked at him as his eyes moved around while his face had little emotion reflecting what was going on inside his mind. He cocked his head slightly and MY ears perked up. What? Does he have ultrasonic hearing TOO?

Perhaps he is the Batman of Afghanistan? Hmmm. By now that wouldn't surprise me any, but...

Suddenly he turned and pivoted so he was standing directly in front of me. He put his hands on my shoulders, got right up in my face, and whispered...
"YOU wait here, Mate. I'll be right back."

Okay, I contemplated that little number for about a nanosecond and decided that I didn't think that that was gonna fly. 
Oh HELL no.

"UH UH. OH no you don't. I'm going too," I said while my head did it's very best side-to-side shaking number. Really good for settling the gray cells, or WOULD be if I had any of them thingies.

He shot me a glance, but only a glancing blow fortunately. 
FAUX BULLETS, perhaps.

"Mate, no. PLEASE. Let ME go, ok?" 
He got an almost pleading look on his face.

He, and in truth me too, were talking in whispers, but...

"Mustafa."

"Yes?"

I was beginning to sense something and I realized I needed to clear the air. I needed to make sure he understood.

"Mustafa. I came here all the way from the United States."

"Yes," he replied, with a slightly detectable hint of exasperation in his voice...and I sympathized. BUT I knew this was important. I had to make him understand, and so I decided to get it out of the way right now.

"AND, Mate, I DID NOT COME ALL THIS WAY for the night life and the tourist attractions...LOVELY as I'm sure they  are."

I saw a bit more exasperation in his look, but I pressed on.

"NO. I came to get to know your country. To know its people. AND my friend, I CAME ALL THIS WAY FOR YOU. FOR YOU, Mustafa. 

I CAME to get to know you better, to get to know and understand what it is you DO, and HOW you do it. SO, I need to do it WITH you because, Buster Brown, I NEED TO BE ABLE TO TELL IT. 

No, WE need to be able to tell...a story that NEEDS to be told."

He stood looking at me...and I hoped I was getting through to him.

"Mustafa, THAT AIN'T gonna happen if you try to shield me and DO NOT try to BS me. I KNOW that's what you're doing," 
and I paused for a second as he stood digesting that little bit of Bear logic. Hehehe.

"Mustafa, I appreciate that, but you don't have to. I'm NOT a hot house plant."

I could see the wheels inside his head turning...and I could smell the smoke. FEEL the fire. God these Afghans are good at BBQing.

"It's OKAY, Mustafa, if you are here then I NEED to be too. It's THAT simple. You need to let me be at your side, at your back, whatever. But...WITH you. I GOTTA be, Mate. I just gotta."

He stood looking at me, in silence and I was afraid he was JEST ABOUT TO rain on whatever parade I may have thought we were gonna march in or into, like a really badly-financed Macy's one. But...I also knew. I KNEW. 

To Mustafa I am a real novice. This terribly adorable (yeh right) but completely nutty and very bright, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed total doofus who had just arrived from the life of affluence and from the BOONIES (relatively speaking) in America he was used to...

 "Yeh, but BESIDE that..." I was thinking. 
"That your best shot, 
my 'you underestimate my determination' friend? PFFT."

"BESIDES," I grinned, 
"I...GOT...THE...CAMERA," 
and with that I pulled it around behind me. That got him. HAH! That teach you, Mistah hot stuff combat mucky-muck perthun. 

He looked for about one second AS IF HE SERIOUSLY THOUGHT he might try to get it away from me, but then thought better of it. (Must be mah impeccable charm, I'm sure of it).

AND, although I could see that he still wasn't totally sold on the idea, perhaps still thinking I wasn't up to something like this, BUT...I had him and we both knew it and he relented.

"OK. Mate. Ok," and with that he put an arm around my shoulders and began to once again PROPEL me forward and TO what I wasn't sure...but I WAS sure getting good at that PROPEL thingy.

In my next life I might even be promoted to PROPELLER.

Ok, perhaps not.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

ON THE INSIDE: GRIM REALITY HITS HOME...WITH A BANG

Stepping through the open entrance, we entered what I could vaguely tell was a fairly large open area, with dim lighting...but as my eyes began to adjust, I was almost but not quite convinced that perhaps Mustafa had been right.

I, rather we...stood looking into a room, a scene that I INSTANTLY knew I NEVER wanted to see again. Horrible. Unbelievably horrible. I felt my heart doing something terrible, and my stomach we won't get into.

There was furniture of sorts that looked as if it had been tossed around by some major monster doofus, and also scattered around were...CHILDREN. Lots of them. DOZENS of them...

CHILDREN.

It was obvious that this was indeed a school, and that it had been attacked. By who? WHY? I had no answers, and I was afraid that pretty quickly I wasn't going to have any lunch downstairs either. 

I stood, trying to take it all in and feeling SICK...when all of a sudden as I had started to turn I felt something. I looked...down and I saw then what I hadn't seen before which is to say I was looking down into the face of a young boy. From what I could tell, he was probably 10 or maybe a year or so older. But small. SO small. Then I found myself being absolutely RIVETED by his eyes. His big brown eyes, set into a very cute and very young looking face, topped with tousled black hair. Dark complected, and...wounded. 

As I started to move, he moved with me and I felt his arms come around my right leg as if he was starving and I was the buffet.
Ok, under other circumstances...

He said nothing. NOTHING. Just kept looking up at me and clutching my leg, and I just about lost it right there. I knew time was gold and I needed to keep moving, and somehow managed to get down on my knees which wasn't easy given the entanglement...but I managed. 

I looked closely at him. At his eyes.

"OH MY GOD...oh my good God," I thought as I looked into those deeply penetrating eyes so filled with FEAR. I couldn't detect any hint of pain (at least not the physical kind), but fear...and something else too. A question, not on his lips. In his eyes. That question, WHY? And at that moment I would have given my world to be able to answer it. But I didn't know. God help me but I didn't and I knew Mustafa didn't either. Least I didn't think he did. 

I glanced over at him. He looked back hurriedly as he too had a young child in his care...but I began to realize he was keeping a very watchful eye on me. I considered feeling a bit insulted but settled for grateful. I KNEW why. NOT for any reason other than the fact that this is just one very caring dude.

I looked back and now more closely at the boy. I could see in the dim light he had numerous wounds on his face, and on his left shoulder where his shirt had been nearly torn off his body. 

Reaching around behind me, I grabbed for my medical kit. Thank GOD I had had presence of mind to snatch it as Mustafa had pulled me out of the Hummer. I reached in and pulled out some alcohol swabs, some bandages, bactine spray, a little scrub brush and soappads, and began to tend to his wounds. Now normally, I would expect high level resistance from anyone seeing ME going for 'The Nurse-Of-The-Day' award. I wouldn't let me either, but that was then and this is now was my attitude and I went for it. I am NO Florence Nightingale, nor even Dr. Daffy Duck, but some things I have learned come by instinct when they have to...and they definitely needed to RIGHT NOW.

This young kid hadn't uttered a sound, and was scared SHITLESS was MY guess. I didn't know his name or anything about him and...I wanted to. There's something about dressing someone else's wounds that causes a personal connection to form. Yeh, I wanted to know EVERYTHING about this young kid. But, no time now I knew. Maybe later, but...

As I was finishing dressing his last wound, I moved him slightly so I could check his limbs...and again it wasn't easy since he had not released his BEARHUG grip ONE IOTA the entire time. I knew my right leg was asleep if not downright comatose...but I figured I would jump up and down later. Probably have to. Which I knew was going to seem HORRIBLY out of place but...ah well. 
Perhaps during the final DANCE number? Uhhh. Probably not.

His arms and legs seemed to be in perfect working order (more than I could say for mine), and I sat up a bit. My back was now in perfect position for me to do my world-famous impression of
 'THE GATEWAY ARCH' in St Louis, but so be it.

I glanced over at Mustafa. He was busy tending to a second child and I figured it was time I did the same. Looking over the boy I had been tending to, I saw a young girl...maybe 8 or 9 and she too had glass fragment cuts and I could see bruising. I signalled to my young CAPTOR that she needed help and with a nod WE SHUFFLED over to her. She smiled a bit but said nothing and when I had gotten close enough SHE decided I would do as a hugging post.

Okay, I either need to be a whole lot taller or have less children. ONE or the other. But, God knows I understood and it was fine.

I dressed her wounds as quickly as I could because I could tell there were a lot of kids in here who needed help. 

HELP! OH HELL YES...HELP. Where ARE the medics? Anyone? 
I didn't know the answer to that one either. This was gruesome but as my grandfather used to say, you see need...you DO. 

 "I'mma doing it, grampa...bestest I know how. Maybe you are proud of me today, Grampa, I don't know. But I'm trying to do like you taught me."

Okay, that was not helping my mood, although I had hoped it would.

I looked for Mustafa and could see he was working hard and fast...and I thought ok, we have a contest. The first one to 
HEAL THIS WHOLE DAMN COUNTRY WINS. GEEZ. 

Shit, DAMMIT...God, now is NOT the time for Comedy Central, but that's always been kinda the way I deal with stress. 

As I began to rise where I was kneeling by the girl I looked over behind her. SHIT. DAMN. My new phrase du jour you notice. Kinda Johnny one-note, but that's all the intelligent response I could muster, for over by one wall or what was left of it, I saw another kid. A younger boy, and when I looked and realized he was NEVER going to get up and hate going to school EVER again, I just felt my heart sink. 

My eyes misted a bit but I was NOT going to give in to waterworks. It was pretty gruesome, and I finally turned my head...and when I did I saw another kid needing help and then another and...

Finally I turned and caught Mustafa's eye. 

"WHERE ARE THE MEDICS," I mouthed, and he shrugged. "Probably other places as bad or worse," he mouthed back but he needn't have. I had already figured that out for myself. 

DUSTY 1, MEDICS not here...grr.

But just about the time I had decided that Mustafa and I would just do what we could, I noticed someone else I hadn't seen. A woman, looked to be somewhere in her thirties maybe. She was looking at me, and nodded. How in the HELL had I missed her. 
Oh yeh. Not much light in here. I saw she also had a first aid kit and was busily attending to the wounded as fast as she could. "

THANK GOD, I thought," as I moved on to the next victim with now three in tow hanging on for DEAR life.

"I must look like some damn Redneck RV caravan, geez," 
I decided and immediately didn't care. 
"ALL I need is a rajun cajun bbq going on my heinie and I am..." 

Ok that's it. I am CERTIFIABLY certifiable. 
CALL THE HOME...I AM READY. Really, Home? 
CAN I MUSTAFA HUH HUH HUH Pl...

NO?

CRAP.

Sometimes that tension releasing thingy is a bit too warped even for me, but...

The next thing I knew, the woman I had seen was right next to me as I moved in by a boy about 13 or so. WITH entourage I might add. OKAY, this standing up thing is gonna get REALLLL interesting. Sooner or later. Later, 
I figured. MUCH later from the looks of things.

"Hello," she said in more than passable English...
and now that I could see her up close I realized that she didn't look particularly Afghan and the accent I detected had a bit of a British tinge. 

 "Hello," I said back.

"Hello honey," she said to that first boy I had tended to and who was STILL hanging on to me for dear life. 
"You know him?" I asked her. 
"Yes," she answered softly. "He is my son." 
I almost fell over.

"I'm a teacher here, and all three of my children go here. Well, now two of them will," and before I could connect THAT to anything relevant, she looked over at the boy I had seen lying dead against the wall...in a large pool of his own blood. 

I looked at her and had NO WORDS. 
NONE.  DEVOID OF INTELLIGENCE...dats me.

"He was mine, now he is God's again," 
and how in HELL I didn't completely and totally FUCKING LOSE IT at that moment I have NO clue.
NONE.

"Your...son," I said shakily...

"Yes, my second son. He was a good boy too."

OHH SHIT...I am SOOO not ever gonna make it through this...DAMN. But then. I knew I would. 
I had to cause I was now DAMNED if I was gonna let Mustafa get the last word. THIS WAS NOW WAR...and I intended to WIN it. Come HELL...
and speaky of that, it already has, methinks.

"How old was he?" I heard someone else, 
named ME, ask...from some other universe 
where I was fine and the world was too...and...

"He just turned nine yesterday," she said...
looking like you would expect her to.

I just nodded. Fortunately the work we were doing made it easy to not start an in-depth conversation about anything and quickly once again, it got quiet...except for the moaning.

OH did I forget to mention that? 
GREAT background music. Some blues group called...
'The Groaners' 
or the...Shit. 

I could almost tune it out, while I was working feverishly...but then I would finish another wounded kid and in the moment or two it took to get to the next one, it would all come crashing back into my conciousness. Suddenly as I began to shuffle off to Buffalo and the next one while dragging this woman's son and several others, 
It hit me. HER SON. Uh, HER son. WHY in blue blazes am I daddy of the day or whatever. 
His MOM'S right here. 

MY mother would have pried MY sorry ass loose with whatever was handy and that would have been THE END of MY days being dragged around the schoolhouse floor clinging to some imperfect strangers leg and...

She must have sensed what I was thinking. She got right close to me and in a soft voice told me...

"His daddy was killed last year. They were close.  He hasn't really had anyone, not a man at least, to be close to since. But if he is bothering..." 

I cut her off at THAT Khyber Pass.

"He is FINE. It's FINE," trying to assure her AND me that it was.

"FINE? ARE YOU NUTS, STUPID BEAR?

You're in a schoolhouse that's just been blown to  smithereens by God knows what, and you're dealing with GOD KNOWS how many injured KIDS...and you think it's FINE?"

Oh I wanted to tell myself off REAL bad about then, but I figured that I was close enough to the edge as it is and let's not PUSH IT DOOFUS. For once I had to agree with myself, and so...

She and I were both reconfiguring the nest, trying to determine where the new WOUNDED CHILD should be placed...that wall or THAT wall, and I was contemplating drooling and foaming as an art form, when I heard noises and then voices coming from outside. 

"Oh isn't that lovely dear. Company. How nice. I just hope it's NOT YOUR MOTHE..."

As I turned to where I heard the sound coming from, I saw Mustafa getting up quickly and heading to the front (where there should be) doors. I considered joining him, and then remembered how I was 

DEAD FROM THE WAIST DOWN 

thank you very much, and no really I won't get up and please don't take it personal.

As I looked a bit more squintilly through the dimming light, I could see uniforms. HAH, and then Mustafa signalled to me. 

"YEH, ok mister smarty. Got a forklift?" 
But, I figured he would probably not be all that amused, and frankly...

SO...I did a STAND RIGHT UP AND...thud. Well, not quite but almost. Thank GOD for walls AND ladies strong enough to brace this silly skinny TWIT.

Then I walked EVAH SO SLOOOOWLY (while doing the cutest little dance number/anti-numb therapy) over to ye olde Combat Journalist and what (or who) I could now see were MEDICS.

JOY OH HALLLO...

"They are gonna take over now, Mate," Mustafa told me and I SWEAR if I weren't currently a candidate for traction, I would have done a cartwheel or twelve. I swear the fact that I am a STONE KLUTZ has NOTHING whatsoever to do with it.

I nodded. Big nod. Suddenly that was all I could muster. At the first sight of MEDICS, something inside me virtually collapsed. Not my brain, that went long ago. My CORE melted down methinks. 

After a couple minutes of conversation, this 
very-welcome group of true life-savers took over and Mustafa with arms around me and looking as if he wanted to either hug me or have me put down, once again...began to propel me to the door.

"DAMN DUDE, If I get any better at this propeller crap, you can rent me out as a boat on the weekends."

 Okay, I just thought that cause I didn't have the energy to say it.

CHAPTER 3-Click Here