Zan Zar Zameen: Kicking Up Dust

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

Farouk closed the door behind Kane and looked at it for a long moment, before shaking his head in a faintly amazed expression. Well that went sideways and all to shit in a hurry. Now what?

He walked slowly back to his chair, reclaiming his cigar and staring outside the window, thinking. It seemed Kane was all set on charging heroically into the unknown and getting himself killed horribly. Which would probably bring Farouk no end of grief from the Daddy Dearest and possibly Xavier.

He swore softly but vilely. Words could not contain his burning desire NOT to stand in Junior's way to martyrdom and making a complete ass of himself. Dammit.

He wagged the cigar irritably, shaking off the ash on the carpet. Well. No help for it, I suppose. But I'll be damned if I let that ham-fisted amateur anywhere near Nasrallah's network....

Which left only...

He smiled frostily. Ruslan... Oh, yes, by all means.

The smile froze suddenly, however, and slowly slid off his face as he considered his options.

He couldn't call Kane back and give him the data, for the same reason he couldn't do it during the conversation. Buckling under to anyone would make him a target for everyone.

Besides, he was beginning to nurture a rather active dislike for the self-righteous little prick.

He supposed he could contact Ruslan... but that would take much too long. Ruslan didn't even know who Farouk was, and reaching his through the cut-outs… There wasn't time.

Not to mention being chancy. He knew next to nothing about Kane's plans, except the madrasah's location.

No. Too many things that could go wrong.

He drummed his fingers on the windowsill, thinking.

Outside a couple of students were chasing a terrified cat, the noise levels rising steadily until Farouk frowned, scowling at the cloud of dust.

Dust.

"Ah, hell."

____


As any student in the mansion could attest, being called to a teacher's office was a somewhat nerve-wracking occurrence. Especially if you didn't know why you had been summoned. Especially if you had never met the teacher before in your life.

Sooraya was reasonably sure that she had found the correct door. What she wasn't so sure of was whether she wanted to go through it. She hesitated for a long time in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot and plucking at the edges of her sleeves with her fingertips while she wondered what to do. She couldn't exactly not show up; after all, Mr. Amahl was a teacher, and she couldn't disobey a member of the faculty. Eventually this logic spurred her into motion and she knocked at the door, repeating the action when she feared the first time had been too quiet.

"Come in, come in" Farouk shouted, putting as much joviality into his tone as he dared without it sliding into patent insincerity. He paused for a second, his face gathering into a satyr-like mask on consternation, and than sneezed loudly and in quick succession.

"Fucking onions." He muttered balefully and blinked away tears. His dark eyes smiling dark promises of doom he advanced toward the cutting board with iron sense of purpose, twirling the knife with a grim relish.

The sound of the door opening and closing was timid enough that he almost missed it, and he paused his march toward the hapless produce to roll his eyes briefly. "I am in the kitchen! Second door on your left!"

The... kitchen? Sooraya frowned and shuffled down the hallway towards the aforementioned door. Obviously the teachers lived at the school the same as the students, but she had never met with one in their kitchen before. Clearly this was an unorthodox man.

"Hello?" she asked softly, peering through the doorway with her brows knit in consternation over her eyes. "Mr. Farouk?"

"Hi." Farouk grinned at the girl over his shoulder and raised his hand in greeting. The bright eyes flicked up at the movement and widened in sudden alarm under the headscarf, Sooraya falling back a step.

"Oooh! Sorry." Farouk chuckled somewhat embarrassedly and, putting down the knife, raised his hand again, "I come in peace. Honest."

The girl's eye dropped again and he swallowed an exasperated sigh. It had been a while since he had dealt with the Pathan women. The months of being a schoolgirl in Massachusetts would matter little compared to the years of conditioning that she was worth less than a beast of burden, there to work and to produce heirs for the clan.

He turned fully and gave a very measured bow. "Peace be upon you, Daughter of Misfortune. May the Prophet lighten your steps and may the Allah be a shade over the path of your days. In the name of God, most Gracious, most Compassionate be welcome in my abode and partake of what my table may offer."

His Farsi used to be good enough to make himself understood to Dari speakers. Hopefully this was one of those times. This kid needed something to settle her down a little bit.

He pointed for her to sit down at the small table, next to a plate. That was clear enough – offer of food made her inviolate and under his protection.

It was hard to tell which shocked the girl more - the sudden shift in Farouk's attitude, or the words he offered a moment later, words that were as familiar to her as the alphabet was to her friends and peers. Her eyes darted up to his face just for a second, flitting over his features like a nervous bird before she dropped them again and took the chair he had gestured to.

Clearly the man was even stranger than she had first thought. "Thank you," she said when she had remembered her manners, sticking to English despite the fact that he had spoken in Farsi. And then she waited. He had summoned her, after all.

English it was. "I apologize that I have interrupted your afternoon with my summons, Ms. Qadir." Farouk appended the cutting board, scraping the remnants of the onion into the pot. "No doubt your schedule is hectic enough with the upcoming school year and other inevitable disturbances that always seem to crop up."

He smiled at her over his shoulder. "I was wondering if you could help me, you see. I am working on a little project having to do with the evolution of the Hanafi school of thought in Northern Afghanistan. That's where you are from, isn't that right?"

It was debatable whether Mr. Amahl's English was more decipherable than his Farsi; Sooraya had to concentrate very hard to put together the meaning of the words he was using. "Yes... yes, I am from the north," she replied when she had determined that was the only question he had asked her. "But I do not know how I can help you... I am just a student." Certainly not a scholar, which was what Farouk needed, from the sounds of it.

Farouk pulled on his mustache. The girl was still wound tight enough that it set his teeth on edge. He'd talked with former KGB operatives who we easier to chat up.

"We are all students, Ms. Qadir, one way or another. Only to Allah, the All Knowing, the All Encompassing is it given to see all Truth."

He shrugged minutely. "Doubt is the mother of wisdom as the sage said. The certainty gives birth to blindness – as I am afraid your country had found out to its cost." He shook his head, his face easily assuming the expression of sorrow. "I am looking forward to coming back to Afghanistan one day, when it is free of students who had become so terribly certain."

He watched the girl's distorted reflection in the teakettle's shiny surface carefully but still almost missed Sooraya's eyes flicking upward, and widening for a split second at the recognition of his play on words.

In Dari and Urdu, after all, 'students' meant 'taliban.'

Farouk waited until the familiar mask of propriety settled over her again to push a bit farther when suddenly he felt his hand burning.

His yelp was surprisingly loud in the confines of the small kitchen.

Recoiling from the stove, he glared at the pot murderously and shook his hand furiously in an instinctual reflex. "Ow! Son of…"

His eyes fell on the kettle again and suddenly the pain seemed less important. For the first time since she entered the kitchen Sooraya's face showed something else besides a modesty becoming of an un-married Pathan girl.

Right. She would have been responsible for cooking back home… Plus it's rather hard to be intimidated by someone dancing around waving his hand in the air like a complete idiot, I suppose.

Amahl sucked on his burned thumb and glanced at her. "So. Uh…. As you might have been told I have a servant. Uhm. There's not really any need for him to know about… uh… Any sort of mishaps that you might have witnessed here."

He winked at Sooraya. "For some reason he's somewhat reluctant to let me practice my cooking unsupervised, you might say."

And there's no reason for you to know about the Great Kitchen Fire of 1998. Or the Unfortunate Barbeque Incident of 2002.

He tugged on his mustache and squinted at the girl before glancing back at the stove. "What do you think. Fire too high?"

Sooraya couldn't help it; she cracked a smile. Something about the man who used incredibly large, difficult words and yet couldn't tell if the burner was at the correct setting made her relax, just a little, and she leaned forward in her seat to look at the stove as well.

"Yes, it is too high, I think. It is good to cook with a more low heat for longer, then you will not risk to burn anything. Or you." With a shy grin she considered telling him more of the logic behind that reasoning that she had learned in Lorna's Advanced Cooking class, but decided not to. He seemed to grasp the concept well enough anyway, and she watched as he adjusted the knobs and lowered the heat to a better setting.

"May I help?" she offered next - as much to keep him from hurting himself again as out of politeness.

Farouk let a soft but clearly audible sigh of relief. "Yes, please!"

He stepped back gratefully as the girl moved shyly but firmly toward the stove checking the pot and pan and reaching unerringly for the wooden spoon, as if she's been in the kitchen a thousand times.

Starting this whole jambalaya adventure seemed like a good idea at the time, but, between the near miss with a knife early on and his old nemesis the Fire, it was looking increasingly like he was going to qualify for a disability check in the near future.

He watched as Sooraya's increasingly confident movements and straightened his mustache, hiding a smile. Better be lucky than good. He thought as the Pathan shot him a quick, shy grin. God only knew how long it would have taken him to break the ice if he met her in the living room. Somehow he suspected offering her a cigar and a brandy wouldn't have done the trick.

"So." She frowned fractionally as she tasted the sauce and he passed her the salt without waiting to be asked. "Do you miss it? Ever wish you could go back?"

"Yes, of course," came the almost-immediate answer as Sooraya sprinkled in the tiny white grains and then stirred the mixture once again. "I miss my home very much." Well, perhaps a qualification was in order there. "I miss my family." Farouk seemed to know some of her history - at least enough to know where she had come from, and her language - but she wasn't sure if he knew it all. And she wasn't sure if she wanted to share it.

"I will go back, one day. I am happy here, and I am very... grateful for Nathan for bringing me here. But I will like to see my country again, and find my family." She pointed at another container of spices on the counter and carefully tapped a few flakes in once he had passed it to her. "But I know this may not be possible for some time."

Farouk suppressed a snort. To each his own, I suppose. Couldn't pay enough to go back to that hellhole even peace does suddenly break out. Which was unlikely enough. Taliban may have solidified its hold on majority of the country but the Northern Allaince was still stubbornly hanging on, the Hazara, Tajiks and Uzbeks of the north none to eager to come under the benevolent rule of the southern Pashtun tribes. Meanwhile the trickle of money and equipment coming to them continued to strengthen. Russia was not eager to have Taliban looming over the borders of its near abroad.

Neither was Shia Iran all that comfortable with the Sunni fundamentalists centralizing their power. Not surprising really – Afghanistan was always the faux-Scotland of the region. Any time they stopped fighting each other, everybody in the neighborhood began having a real bad day.

Even the West was beginning to become more active in the region. Originally gripped by the religious fervor, the Taliban almost completely eradicated the opium production in the country. But as the years dragged on and their policies exacerbated the already poverty stricken condition of the country even their… zeal proved inadequate at preventing the return of the drug gangs. And since most of opium was grown in Pashtun tribal areas, the new government was leery of antagonizing their strongest supporters.

So they just settled for taking their cut off the top and looked the other way.

All of which made Afghanistan a very 'exciting' place these days.

Farouk narrowed his eyes slightly and chose his next words very carefully.

"Yes. It's an unsettled time there now. Dangerous. Especially so for an unwary Nasrani. I tried to tell young Mr. Kane as much."

Farouk again shuddered mentally picturing Kane in a middle of an Afghan bazaar. The rueful shake of his head was completely unfeigned.

If anyone qualified for a poster boy of a Nazarene, a Westerner it was the Canadian.

Come on, girl. Take the bait.

Sooraya interest was piqued, of course, and she cast a sidelong glance at the man, wondering what exactly he was implying. She didn't know of any reason Mr. Kane would have to go to Afghanistan, but then, plenty of strange things happened to the people of the school without reason or logic entering into the picture.

"He is going to visit my country?" she asked curiously. "Why?"

Farouk was nearly reduced to gaping, drooling incomprehension by that simple question. He hid his shock by the subtle-as-a-brick method of having a convenient coughing fit.

He hasn't spoken to her? The native of the region who also happens to be a mutant and talking to her is not the first thing on his to-do list? What in the world is going on in that young imbecile's head?!

"Excuse me," He gave another soft cough. "Must be the pepper. I have to admit, however, I am a little surprised. I half expected that Garrison already had spoken to you, to be frank. He's traveling to the Balkh province, after all. Your backyard, so to speak. Apparently to investigate some mutant murders related to a radical religious movement operating in the vicinity pf the refugee camps. "

Amahl shook his head, letting concern show. "I am rather afraid that Mr. Kane substantially underestimates the difficulty that he will encounter infiltrating the people he apparently expects to deal with."

Sooraya's expression grew grave, though even in her distraction she didn't stop stirring the stew in the pot that was simmering away. Mr. Amahl wasn't exaggerating - it seemed that what the other teacher was proposing to do was to undertake a very dangerous investigation. She didn't know how well-versed Mr. Garrison was in the culture and politics of that region, but it was a chilling prospect to think he might undertake it less than perfectly prepared.

"Maybe he is bringing the other teachers with him?" she suggested hopefully then, knowing that the 'leather brigade' as she had heard them called would make sure that everyone involved stayed safe.

Farouk almost suffered another, possibly a fatal aneurism-inducing, coughing fit but held it back by a supreme force of will. Yes, that will make everything all right. Bring more amateurs into the mix. That's bound to turn out well.

"I honestly couldn't tell you. My impression was that this is an official Canadian investigation, so I am inclined to doubt that the school was contacted, but I might be mistaken." He shrugged, "As I have said, I expected that Mr. Garrison would have spoken to you among the first. The fact that he hasn't, again, leads me to believe that he's handling this manner on his own. He gave me the impression of being a very… determined young man."

"Yes... but maybe Mr. Garrison does not know that I will help. Or maybe he does not think I can," Sooraya offered logically, no hint of hurt in her voice over this option. She turned down the stove burner and turned to face Farouk, though she didn't quite lift her eyes to his face, somehow managing to give him her attention while keeping her gaze fixed on a point near his right ear.

Farouk reached inside his suit jacket and came up with a cigar. He looked at it for a long moment before brining it up to his nose and inhaling the scent. "Will you?" He asked softly.



This was not good. Dayspring was going to jump up and down on his neck until splintery death occured, and after that, it would be Heather's turn. She'd use the melon baller this time. The young teen sitting in front of him had no idea what she'd just dropped him into, and he couldn't tell her without making her cry or something. Kane sighed. Why were things never easy?

"Sorry, let's try this again, eh?" Garrison took a deep breath. "You want to go with me where?"

"I would like to go with you to Afghanistan." Sooraya's lips were turned downward into a tiny frown; she thought she had said it correctly the first time. Of course, her English wasn't perfect, but seeing as she had praticed this phrase nearly three dozen times before going to Mr. Kane's office, it was strange to think he hadn't understood. "Please."

"Um," Well, he had been right after all; splintery death. "Sooraya, I'm going over there to perform an investigation. It's like a business trip. If you just wanted to take a trip back to your home country, I'm sure that Nate would be happy to take you."

This caused the girl to pick up her chin, brow furrowing as she looked up at the taller man. Not quite meeting his eyes, but close enough. "It is not for a visit I want to go. I would like to help. I think I can." No, more than that, she knew she could. "Please. It is a thing I would like to do, very much."

This was the trouble with letting kids hang out with X-Men. "Look, I'd like to be able to say yes, but-- well, you're only fifteen years old. And while I doubt there's any real danger, it's still pretty risky to bring you back into that environment. You might not be safe."

The issue was that Garrison didn't feel right telling her no. Yes, she was only fifteen, but this was her home he was talking about. She'd lost everything prior to coming to the mansion, and telling her he wouldn't take her made him feel like a fink.

Ah, now there was an argument she had been expecting. "I know it will not be safe, but it is not always safe here, either. Many times bad things have happened when we have not expected them. But in Afghanistan I will know what to expect. And I will help you to know too." Perhaps it was a presumptuous thing to say, but Sooraya didn't care. She was going to go, one way or another. Anything to keep her friends safe.

She knew the culture, the language, and even the area better than he did. She fit it where he couldn't. Most importantly, she had the right to go even if he said 'no'. "Look, Sooraya, why is this important to you? Seriously, no jokes or anything. You've been here for, what, over a year? At any time you could have gone back. What makes now so important?"

"I want to help." She let this statement sit in the air for a moment as she tried to figure out how best to explain her motivations - it was very important that she make herself understood the first time. "Before, if I would go back, it would just be for me. To try and find my mother, or to see my country. But I cannot ask to go if it is just for me. But now I think I will help if I go, and I wish to help, very much. That is why I wish to go now. Because it is not just for me."

Garrison scrubbed his face with his hands for a moment and sighed. He didn't want to take her, but he couldn't tell her no. She had the right to make this kind of decision, not him. "If you want to come, Sooraya, it's your decision. But make sure you clear it through the school, eh? At least let them know what you're planning on doing."

"Yes, I will. I will tell them." Of course, she wasn't expecting it to be the easiest job in the world, convincing one of her guardians to allow her to go, but in this she was determined. She would make it work. "Thank you, Mr. Kane." A pause, and then Sooraya leaned forward, looking almost conspiratorial. "And I think I will help much when I come... there are people I know. A friend... a friend of my father. He will help us when we are there." This was, of course, a lie; she did have information that would aid them, but it came from Mr. Amahl, not any friend of her family's. She hoped Garrison wouldn't catch on, though. Mr. Amahl had been quite emphatic about this point.

"A friend?" Kane leaned forward. He'd meant to ask Sooraya a few questions about the region, especially since after speaking with Xavier, they'd need her help in the language department. But getting her involved or asking about contacts? The poor kid had been bought from slavers. He couldn't imagine anything she'd want to willing revisit, and now she was not only demanding to go, but also had some family contacts?

He couldn't explain why, but something didn't fit. Still, looking at Sooraya, he couldn't imagine why that was. If any one in the mansion was less suited at lying than her, he hadn't met them. Maybe it was just a coinincidence.

"Alright, I'm going to give a quick ring the Professor. While they're getting here, you can tell me about your friend, and what he can do for us, eh."