A Far Away Home by Howard Faber Page A

a good place might be to make the food drop. Ali
had him turn around to fly over the little airfield where he had taken off and landed.
That was probably the best place. The residents of Sharidure could get there easily
and haul the supplies downhill to their homes.
    Ali noticed some people walking on the main street. He also noticed that the bridge
was back up. He couldn’t see if any Russian vehicles or personnel were around. He
wondered how his family was and if they even still lived there. He had received no
news about Sharidure.
    The pilot decided the airfield was a good place to drop the supplies. He flew over
it once, then returned to make the drop. The small parachutes opened perfectly as
they left the plane, and Ali watched them float down to the airfield. He attached
a note on one of the packages. It just said he hoped the people of Sharidure were
well, particularly the children attending the school. This was a reference to the
secret school, because the other school would not be in session during the winter.
He signed the note, “Slingshot,” hoping someone would know it was from him.
    ***
    Several people saw the parachutes floating down. They told others, and soon about
thirty people were on their way up to the airfield. They shouted with joy when they
saw what was in the packages, because there was a shortage of food in the village.
One of the children found the note from Ali and passed it around for others to read.
No one seemed to know who “Slingshot” was. Eventually, the note found its way to
Askgar, the leader of the Sharidure resistance. He smiled when he saw the name, because
he was pretty sure who “Slingshot” was. He walked into Hassan’s carpentry shop that
afternoon, carrying the note in his hand. Hassan knew about Ali’s skill with a slingshot,
but he didn’t know Askgar knew. “How do you know about Ali and his slingshot?” he
asked Askgar.
    Askgar was reluctant to tell Hassan about the principal’s office and the bridge.
“Several of his friends told me about his accuracy with a slingshot, but I never
really saw him use it.” He didn’t want Hassan to even know about how Ali helped ambush
the Russian soldiers, so if the Russians ever tried to get Hassan to tell what he
knew about it, Hassan would never know to tell. “Do you think it might be from him?”
Askgar asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe his sister could recognize the handwriting.” So the note went
to Shireen. She heard about the food and how it came to Sharidure. She heard about
the note and now she saw it. Her father asked her to look at the note, to see if
it might be from Ali.
    She read it, examining the handwriting. It was Ali’s handwriting, she was sure. She
helped him learn to write and could be sure it was his. She looked at her father
and at Askgar. She wasn’t sure if it was dangerous for Ali or them to say it was
his.
    â€œIt’s all right to say. Askgar is not an agent of the Russians.” Hassan nodded to
her.
    â€œYes, I am sure it is from him. I know especially from how he writes his final letters.
He always adds a flourish on them. How did he get on a plane and how did he get food
for us? Do you think he will come back?”
    â€œWe think he went to Iran, but I don’t know how he got on a plane. He did always
want to be a pilot.” Hassan spoke proudly of his son.
    â€œThe Iranians have been dropping supplies in the Bamiyan area. We have not received
any until today.” Askgar told them about other towns that received food. He also
told them the Russians were on the lookout for such drops and that Russian fighters
were patrolling to shoot down any Iranian planes. “The Russians want villagers to
move to bigger cities where they can watch them and control them. They want to make
us dependent on them.”
    They talked late into the night, drinking tea and enjoying the thought of someone
from their village