Green on Blue Read Online Free Page B

not seem like a place where work was done.
    Come in, come in, said the supervisor to Taqbir. Who is your young friend?
    The supervisor was a small fat man. On his bald head, the ceiling lights shined in a crown. His neck and cheeks hung toward the ground, heavy with age and fat. He took out a cheap paper packet of Seven Stars. Before he could open them, Taqbir tossed him a pack of Marlboro Reds. The supervisor smiled, pulled back the cardboard top, and sniffed them. He smiled again and extended the cigarettes toward us. Taqbir held up his palm. The supervisor lit one and greedily inhaled. As the rich American tobacco filled his lungs, he hacked into the bend of his elbow. While he did, Taqbir spoke: This is Aziz. His brother was very badly wounded in yesterday’s bombing.
    The supervisor shook his head and slowly regained his breath. Gazan is a dog to do these things, he said. He’s become bold. A bombing in the bazaar! And what will the Americans do? They give so little to those who support them. Perhaps after this bombing they will be more generous, but enough of this. Please, you must be hungry.
    He gestured toward the plates on the glass table. I hadn’t eaten since the day before. I filled one hand with raisins and the other with pine nuts.
    How can I help you? asked the supervisor.
    My brother is in the outpatient ward after only one night, but his wounds are still serious.
    This is a hard thing, he answered. These days a hospital is less a place for healing than for dying.
    The supervisor moved to the opposite sofa. He leaned forward, picking at a few pistachios. As he ate white spittle formed on the corners of his lips. He looked around the room with an empty stare as though he were solving an equation—my brother’s life, my livelihood, and his hospital’s vacancies divided one into the other. Turning toward his desk, he continued: It is as the Aayaath says, healing for all mankind . I must weigh each man against another. My position is very difficult.
    Surely something can be done, said Taqbir.
    There is only so much I can do, said the supervisor. My heart wants to help this boy, but we must be practical.
    He turned his eyes toward the ceiling.
    If there were more, said Taqbir, could his brother be kept here?
    The supervisor stood from the sofa. With a fresh handful of pistachios, he circled the room. Of course, he said, but more of what? Where is there more of anything these days?
    More money, said Taqbir.
    If I had such money, I would pay the fees myself, said the supervisor. Do not misunderstand me. My every desire is to help.
    And if I paid the fees? asked Taqbir.
    I can’t repay you, I interrupted, but Taqbir’s outstretched hand silenced me.
    The supervisor stroked his fat face, and said: If expenses are covered there will be no problem.
    Then the matter is settled, replied Taqbir.
    He stood, bowed, and motioned for the two of us to leave. The supervisor sat back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. He reached forward, took the remote from his in-box, and turned on the Hitachi. As I walked out the door, he called behind me: Taqbir is a man of great generosity. You are blessed to call him a friend.
    I never saw the hospital supervisor again.
    –
    We left the office and stood in the corridor. Taqbir took a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket. He lit one and looked at me. He frowned with disappointment.
    You are not happy that your brother is saved? he asked.
    I am.
    He took another pull on his cigarette. You know from my uniform that I am a military man, he said, but do you know about the Special Lashkar?
    I shook my head.
    We work in the south of the province, he added. Near a town called Shkin. You know of Shkin, yes?
    I nodded, but had never been. Shkin was a day’s drive south. As I would learn, to call it a town was generous. It was really fifteen mud huts along the high desert plain of the Pakistani border. To the south of it, the plain rose into wild mountains, remote villages, and