Children of Dust_ A Memoir of Pakistan - Ali Eteraz [96]
Night fell and we took our charpais up to the second roof. Dadi Ma and Nyla bravely came to join us.
Majid’s sons showed up soon after. They carried huge assault rifles and wore holsters with heavy pistols; bandoliers of ammunition crisscrossed their bodies. Two of them took a position on the ledge hanging over the main wall of the house to prevent anyone from climbing over and jumping onto the veranda. A third son went up to the first roof and sat in a chair. He couldn’t be seen from the outside but could pounce on anyone trying to climb up the back of the house. His position seemed the most important, since he could see up and down the street as well. He was given a flask of tea to keep himself awake. My younger uncle and Tau paced up and down the staircase running from the veranda up to the second roof, where we were located. Dada Abu sat downstairs holding the revolver that might not work.
As the sky darkened, I lay down with a knife under the pillow. I had walked around the house to see how exactly the defenses might be breached. The most likely plan by the assailants would involve coming over with seven or eight men. Two or three would directly engage Majid’s sons at the front while a couple went to the back and tried to clamber up. A lot depended on how the assailants wanted to attack. If they wanted to do things secretly, it would be a bit difficult for them, but if they were willing to shoot they could simply blast the door open and overrun Dada Abu. Trying to remain calm, I stared at the stars. They were bigger and brighter in the desert, and they made different patterns than they did in America.
It struck me as absurd that someone was willing to go through all this effort just to get to me—insignificant little me.
Then I fell asleep.
When I woke up it was still dark, and the house was quiet. I worried that the guards weren’t doing their job. For a moment I imagined that everyone else had been quietly killed and I alone had been spared. I got up and ran upstairs to check: there was the guard, sleeping with the Thermos in his hand. After shaking him by the shoulder, I ran downstairs to see if anyone was on the veranda.
Everyone, I discovered, was accounted for and alive, and nothing untoward had happened thus far.
I was settling back on my charpai when Ammi started me by whispering a greeting. She had been awake the whole time, she said, taking care of a few things and reading from the Quran. She gave me a comforting smile and I relaxed and soon fell asleep again.
I opened my eyes when the azan rang out in the morning. That call to prayer signaled a cessation of anxiety. A ripple of muted jubilation passed through the house.
As I rubbed my eyes Ammi threw a bag in my lap.
“Get up,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
“What?”
“We’re leaving. Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Lahore. Karachi. Islamabad. I don’t know. Just away from here.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t stay here one more day. I already called your father to let him know we’re coming.”
“How will we get though town without trouble?”
“With the commandoes,” she announced.
“What commandoes?”
Then I heard the loud rumble of a Humvee in the alley.
The previous night Ammi had managed to get in touch with Uncle Saad in Karachi, and he had called out a contingent of army Rangers to drive down from Pindi and escort us out of town.
When I went downstairs I saw that the entire family was awake. Children ran excitedly from the house to the Humvee and patted it with awe in their eyes. A pair of toddlers pulled at a stoic soldier’s legs and tried to undo his shoelaces. A pair of well-armed Rangers walked up and down the alley to make sure everything was clear.
Ammi had already made her haphazard goodbyes and sat firmly in the backseat, yelling at Flim and me to hurry up. I hurried out to join her, sadness coursing through my body as I realized that I hadn’t been able to accomplish any of the things that I’d come to the