For the Love of a Son: One Afghan Woman's Quest for Her Stolen Child

small step.’
    ‘What? What are you saying, Farid?’
    I sensed my cousin was choosing his words
very carefully, too carefully. ‘He is your son, Maryam, but I feel
I do not know him. Just do as I tell you. Be very careful.’
    I knew Farid as well as I knew myself. He was
apprehensive. What had happened to make him become suspicious of my
son?
    I was plagued with worry, but I was too close
to a reunion I had dreamed of for nearly eighteen years.
    Nothing could keep me from Duran.

    The long-lost son on
the phone to Maryam for the first time
     

Chapter
XXV
    Khalid was very troubled that I was going to
Pakistan to meet Duran alone for our first meeting. ‘What if you
are met by Kaiss? This could be a trick, Maryam.’
    I shook my head and held out my hands,
pushing Khalid away. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from my
son.’
    Khalid sighed deeply.
    ‘I have not seen my son since 1986, Khalid.
This is the chance I have been waiting for.’
    Khalid plopped down heavily on the sofa,
staring at me.
    I tried to make him understand. ‘Think how
you would feel, Khalid, if someone had Little Duran. No one could
stop you. I must go. I am sorry. But promise me, if anything
happens to me in Pakistan, please look after Little Duran.’
    Khalid choked up. ‘I will, my love. I
will.’
    And I knew he would. My Saudi husband was
nothing like most Saudi men. He had never changed from the
considerate suitor he had been when I first met him. I was lucky,
and I knew it.
    Four days later, on 25 July 2003, Duran
departed Kabul for Peshawar in the company of five smugglers. The
following day I flew from Jeddah to Islamabad. From Islamabad, I
boarded a bus to Peshawar. Some of the windows on the bus were
broken and it was hot and crowded, but I didn’t care. I was going
to see my son.
    When I left Islamabad, the sun was rising
over the landscape, turning buildings pink and tree shadows indigo.
Swirls of dust rose in the air from the vehicles in front. I felt
that fine dust in my nose and between my teeth. All the sights and
sounds of the world I had grown up in came rushing into my head.
Suddenly I was conscious of my age, for I had not been back to the
area for over twenty years, since my father and I left Mother in a
grave in India and escaped to America. Papa and I had left the area
crippled in spirit, for Mother’s loss had felt too much to bear.
Now I was returning quite alone. If only Papa had lived to see
Duran once again.
    Duran! I really was going to see my son at
last! In my mind, he was still the little fat-faced baby laughing
at his Mano. It was nearly impossible to think of my stolen baby as
the grown man he must now be.
    I daydreamed my way to Peshawar. Neither the
pock-marked face of an overburdened mother sitting beside me nor
the singing driver of the bus made much impact on me. All I could
see was baby Duran’s face. I had memorized the place we were to
meet. The Green Hotel in Peshawar, in room 114.
    I didn’t knock as I rushed into the room. The
first thing I saw were five men, all with long beards and dressed
in traditional Afghan clothing, the people smugglers who had
transported my son across the border. I gave a small cry when I
spotted a young unbearded man sitting on the bed. He was dressed
casually in western clothes. I ran up to him and stared deep into
his face. A profound and unprecedented happiness rolled over me. I
grabbed him to me, crying out, ‘If this is a dream, Allah, please
don’t wake me up! My son! My son!’
    It felt like the happiest moment of my
life.
    Duran said nothing in reply.
    ‘You are so handsome, son,’ I told him,
trying to regain my self-control.
    My son held himself aloof, and stared at me
coldly. ‘Do you think I should have plastic surgery?’ he asked
unexpectedly. ‘I really despise my bony cheeks!’
    The five smugglers laughed heartily. One of
them shouted through his guffaws: ‘The mother cries to see her son.
The son is preoccupied with his face!’
    My son stared at the men, then at me, and
looked embarrassed. ‘I am glad you came for me,’ he finally
admitted.
    My face flushed with pleasure, ‘Duran, my
son. My son, you will never know how long I have lived for this
moment.’
    The smugglers exchanged glances, then stood
up. ‘We will leave you,’ the leader said. ‘You should talk
privately.’
    I smiled, urging them to leave quickly. I was
eager to be alone with Duran. I longed to close the schism created
by time. To accomplish my goal, we must