A Far Away Home by Howard Faber Page B

being able to help them.
    ***
    Back in Muhshed, Ali told his father-in-law, Sayeed, about the flight to Sharidure.
Ali and Reza had first gone to Sayeed’s shop. Ali wished he knew more details about
his family and friends in Sharidure. He had only seen it from the air.
    Sayeed asked if the drop was successful. “Yes, we saw the packages drop to the ground.
I think the airfield was a good place to drop them because it’s a downhill short
trip from there to the town. It won’t be hard for the people to get them to their
homes. We saw people, but we were too high to recognize anyone.” Ali didn’t tell
them about his note. He didn’t quite know if there could be any way for the people
in Sharidure to respond to him or even if anyone would know it was him.
    When he got home, Nafisa had more questions. “Did it look the same? Could you see
your home? Did you see anyone you recognized?” Ali answered each question as best
he could. Then Nafisa surprised him with two questions he hadn’t thought about. “Were
there any Russians there?”
    He said he hadn’t seen any, but he couldn’t be sure.
    â€œDo you think there might be any Russian planes around Sharidure?”
    He paused, then said, “We didn’t see any.” That was the truth. “There haven’t been
any in the area.” That was only the truth for the last week. There had been flights
when the Iranian pilots had to dodge and fly low and scramble back to Iran, but Ali
didn’t want to worry Nafisa.
    Every week, Ali flew to Afghanistan, mostly to Sharidure. The Iranians had been told
that no Russians had come to Sharidure, and the towns around there were safely getting
supplies from their airfield. Someone in the area was getting out the word that people
could get food and supplies safely there. There seemed to be an organized system
for receiving and distributing the supplies. Ali suspected he knew who that someone
was, probably Askgar, his father’s friend who was in charge of the resistance. Each
flight, Ali dropped a note, always signing it “Slingshot.” He also asked Reza to
wave the plane’s wings when flying over Sharidure, just the way he and Dan used to
do when flying there from Kabul. When Shireen saw the plane waving at them, she now
knew it was Ali, and told her family. They never told anyone else, not wanting any
unfriendly ears to know who it was.
    ***
    Ali’s family grew in Muhshed when he and Nafisa had a daughter. Ali asked if her
name could be Shireen. He was at first worried that Shireen might have a knee that
wouldn’t bend, like he had, so he was relieved to see her wiggling and bending both
of her knees. Several years later, they had a son, who they named Hassan. Again,
Ali hoped and prayed Hassan wouldn’t have a problem with his knees, and again, he
was relieved to see both legs kicking and moving. As they grew, he told them stories
about Afghanistan and Sharidure. He taught them to fly kites and how to play tope
donda. They heard many stories about Mullah Nasrudeen, especially liking the one
about how the Mullah outwitted the children, when they bet him they were better chickens
than they were.
    The children in Mullah Nasrudeen’s village loved him and his stories, but they also
loved to try to outwit him. One of them thought up a way to get the best of him.
They would all conceal an egg in their shirts, then bet him they were better chickens
than he was. They knew he would be too proud not to bet. He thought he was smarter,
stronger, and better in every way. They also knew he went every morning to the teahouse,
so they met him on the way. They asked him if he was better than they were in every
way. Of course he said, “Yes.” They asked him if he would take a bet about this.
He didn’t even hesitate and said he would take the bet.
    The children said together, “We are better chickens than you.”
    The mullah hesitated a