stillness among gesticulating hands, bobbing heads. They’d hung their headscarves with their jackets or wore them around their necks. The pulsing music was loud and impersonal.
Frank was in the corner, holding a beer, his listeners offering up resigned nods. To live here for so long, Justin thought, with so few means, maybe Frank needed an audience to convince himself daily of his purpose.
Justin moved closer to the bukhari. He had the cell Idris had bought him and was debating whether to call and ask him for a ride home. He rubbed his hands in the heat and scanned the room perfunctorily. In the uneven radiance of dim lights — the lamps at tables and the bulbs near the bar — the fine bones of Alexandra’s face gained definition. She interrupted her conversation, placing her hand on the arm of a sturdy redhead, and walked toward Justin.
I didn’t expect to see you here, she said.
I didn’t expect to be here.
You didn’t cross the planet to join a club of people who’ve spent their lives searching for a club that’s worthy of them?
She smiled so faintly her skin hardly creased. She was different than at the airport, but then again, he’d met her only briefly, in a stressful moment.
I was about to leave, she said. Be a gentleman and walk me. I’ll call you a taxi from my place.
People in the bar watched them go. Justin followed her through the courtyard, grateful to be out of the bar even if he regretted being back in the cold and was wary of the pleasure he felt in her company.
She looped her scarf over her head and turned right along the dark street.
I didn’t expect it to be like this, she said.
Like what?
For everyone to be so self-satisfied. These people are all so proud of themselves.
Shouldn’t they be?
Not like this. They’ve already decided what this experience means to them. They might as well stay home and lie about it.
She found a path along the heaped earth beneath the walls. She lifted her hands for balance but never reached for him. The street made him think of an exitless corridor. He considered asking if she was afraid. Anyone driving by could shoot them.
Are you afraid? she asked, as if reading his mind.
Justin didn’t reply, aware of a car behind them. It had slowed on a cross street and veered in their direction, thousands of tiny airborne particles glinting against the headlights.
I think you’re afraid, she said.
I’m not. Where’s your house?
Three streets over. There’s a shortcut through the alleyway we can take.
Their shadows lengthened as the car crept up behind them. He squinted into its light.
The car wobbled and jerked to a stop, the driver only now seeming to realize they were in the way. It revved its engine and swerved around them, into the middle of the street, and plunged through a puddle three times its length, a chunk of ice banging against its fender.
They cut into the alleyway, where silhouettes of concertina wire spooled above them. He asked Alexandra why she wanted to walk like this, and she said that she didn’t come to Kabul to live in a box — that there must be expats who led normal lives, eating in places without guards, speaking the language and doing good work.
You don’t say much, she told him.
I’m thinking, he said. She’d described how he wanted to live in Kabul.
I’m sorry. I must be doing what I see others here do. This place makes people anxious. They talk too much or laugh too hard, or get so angry.
Suddenly, she whispered in French — a breathy, urgent sound, like a curse.
Look. She pointed ahead. Do you see them?
Where the alley joined the next street, the darkness shifted and rippled.
His heart was racing. He made himself step past her.
There was faint rustling, the sound of padding through mud, followed by a low growl. She backed against the wall and into a doorway, and Justin joined her. His fear emptied him of everything but faith. He squatted and felt around for a rock.
Three dogs appeared, followed by more than a dozen rangy mongrels, their heads down as they sniffed at the ground. Alexandra turned on her cellphone’s flashlight. The dogs jerked their heads, wincing like old men. Their eyes glowed green or blue, their lids red and crusted. Their coats had bald spots and tufts, piebald from filth or injuries, from scabs, mange, and scars. An occasional growl came from the pack. There were at least twenty dogs now, some as broadly built as rottweilers. Others were painfully thin.
Two slowed, one with strips of muddy fur hanging from its flank. Alexandra shone her light in its eyes, and it drew its lips back from its teeth before filing past.
It’s as if they know better, she said. They’re afraid of people.
As they began walking again, Justin wanted to touch her and feel the warmth of her skin. He knew nothing about Quebec. He saw Canada as a great northern backwater, freeloading off America’s hard-earned liberty. Louisiana had French history too, though Cajuns had never seemed very different from normal Americans.
As a muddy UN Land Cruiser passed, Alexandra knocked on a gate so softly he didn’t think anyone would hear. But the peephole slid open on two eyes. The bolt snapped back, and a small man in a leather jacket let them in.
Thank you, Fahim, she said. This is Justin.
They shook hands. Fahim smiled and retreated to his guardhouse.
Two dogs ran up and pushed their muzzles into Justin’s fingers to be petted. They resembled those in the street, yellow with squarish heads, but friendly and clean.
When I was a girl, she said, I spied on neighbors. I hid in their yards. I liked watching people who were alone best. I could see them relax. It made me wonder how the world would be if we lived alongside each other the way we are when we’re alone.
It would still be messy, he said.
But peaceful. That’s how you looked in the bar. You were aware of yourself, but then you’d forget. It was more honest than in the airport.
Justin never felt alone. He always sensed others beyond his wedge of sight, and an invisible eye mapping his life. He thought of the car in the street, the dogs, and her calm. He was certain Alexandra must be profoundly spiritual.
God protected us this evening, he said, and she shook her head, seeming to come to.
Do you want me to call you a taxi? she asked.
No, I’ll call my driver. When he took out his cell, a furrow appeared between her eyebrows, giving the impression she regretted speaking so quickly.
Justin asked her for the address, repeated it to Idris, and hung up. She said they should exchange numbers. The car soon approached outside. The
