Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen Smiles Shouldn’t Just Be Memories

The Waziri are the largest tribe on the border of Afghanistan, but their level of civilization is very low. A race of robbers and murderers. Waziri's name even made the nearby Mahong Midan clan fearful. Described as unruly, cruel, impulsive, indifferent, vain, The settled Mahonmis generally considered themselves barbarians at all. From "Encyclopedia Britannica", published in 1991 From his second-floor room in the fading Indian Haveli, Mortenson watches as a boy without legs sits on a sliding pillow as he drags himself through the chaos of the Khyber bazaar.The boy did not appear to be ten years old, and the scabs on his legs led Mortenson to believe he might have been a landmine victim.Children trudging past a roadside stand with several customers, and an old man in a turban stirring a vat of cardamom tea; his head is just as high as the exhaust pipe of a passing taxi.From a height, Mortenson saw a truck driving a prosthetic limb, climbing into a Nissan truck to start its engine.

Mortenson couldn't help but think how badly the boy needed those prosthetic limbs piled like firewood on the car, one pair was enough.But how unlikely that is, because these prosthetics are most likely to be contaminated by local charities like Changgaji.At this moment, Mortenson saw the truck driver backing up in the direction of the boy. Although he could not speak the local Pashto language, he still shouted in Urdu: Be careful!Hope the boy can understand.But Mortenson was too worried. The boy already had the self-protection ability to survive on the streets of Peshawar. When he felt danger, he quickly moved to the side and climbed onto the sidewalk.

Peshawar is the capital of the wild west of Pakistan.As Kerfei's school was about to be completed, Mortenson brought his new identity, the president of the Central Asia Association, to this border town straddling the old main road. At least, that's what he told himself. Peshawar is also the gate to the Khyber Pass. Countless historical forces have shuttled back and forth on this road connecting Pakistan and Afghanistan.Students at the Peshawa Madrasah traded their books for Russian-made rifles and magazines before heading to their destination on the other side of the pass to join the army to overthrow Afghanistan's despised leader.

In August 1996, the self-proclaimed Taliban (i.e. students of Islam), most of its soldiers were teenagers, stormed Jalalabad, an Afghan metropolis on the Khyber Pass.Hundreds of boxcars carried thousands of armed boy soldiers with beards, turbans and black eyeliner through the pass, while border militia guards stood on both sides of the road and looked on. Tens of thousands of weary refugees fleeing the fighting began pouring eastward, far outstripping the camps on the outskirts of Peshewa.Mortenson had planned to leave the area two days ago to scout out a few possible sites for a new school, but the commotion in Peshawar made him stay for two more days.Everyone in the teahouse is discussing how the Taliban won the victory like lightning, and men with automatic rifles shoot into the sky every now and then to celebrate.Various rumors spread faster than bullets: Taliban troops have entered the outskirts of Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan, or have occupied the capital; field was executed.

The seventeenth son of a wealthy Saudi family[Note] flew into the storm on an Arianna Airlines chartered flight from Afghanistan.The man's plane landed at an abandoned air base outside Jalalabad, carrying several suitcases filled with hundred-dollar bills with untraceable numbers, and soldiers who, like him, had experienced the war against the Soviets in Afghanistan; It is said that Osama.Bin Laden was in a bad mood.Pressure from the United States and Egypt drove him out of his comfortable mansion in the Sultan.While on the run, he was stripped of his Egyptian citizenship, so he chose Afghanistan, a chaotic place that suited him perfectly.

【Note】That is Osama.Bin Laden.Annotation It's just that the uncomfortable environment here made him very dissatisfied.After complaining to his Taliban hosts about the poor standard of housing, he took increasing anger at the very people he believed to be responsible for his expulsion: the Americans. Greg.The same week that Mortenson stayed in Peshawar, bin Laden issued his first call for armed resistance against Americans: after 5,000 U.S. troops moved into Saudi Arabia, he issued a warning against the American occupation of two holy sites. A public proclamation of jihad, encouraging his followers to attack Americans wherever they find them, and to do whatever it takes to inflict the greatest possible harm on them.

Like most Americans, Mortenson didn't know who bin Laden was at the time. He felt that it was rare for him to witness the war in history, and he was reluctant to leave like this.Another big problem is that he has a hard time finding the right people to be by his side.Before leaving Colefield, Mortenson worked with Hadji.Ali discusses his plans.Promise me one thing, the old village head said, don't go anywhere alone, find someone you can trust, preferably the village leader, and wait for him to invite you to his house for tea, only in this way can you be safe. Finding someone he could trust in Peshawar turned out to be more difficult than Mortenson had imagined.This stronghold of Pakistan's black market economy is full of scammers.Opium, ammunition, and carpets are the commodities on which this city depends, and the people he meets wherever he goes are as shoddy and notorious as the cheap hotels he lives in.The place where he lived for the past five days was a run-down old Haveli-style hotel, which was originally the house of a wealthy merchant, and his room happened to be an observation station for the women in the house: although the room faced the market, but Covered by grids carved in sandstone, women can watch the market without breaking the purdah order (that is, not being seen by men or strangers).

Mortenson is grateful to have this observatory hidden behind a pane.In the morning, the concierge of the hotel reminded him that foreigners had better be careful not to go out.Today is Friday, and the mullahs will deliver their harshest admonitions to fanatical youths in overcrowded mosques.The Sunday frenzy combined with the explosive news from Afghanistan could have a devastating effect on foreigners caught in the fighting. Mortenson heard a knock on the door in his room, and answered the door immediately.Badan with a cigarette in his mouth, a bag under his arm, and a pot of tea in his hand.Gul turned around lightly and entered the door.Mortenson had run into this man before, and he was also a guest at the hotel.The night before they had listened to the BBC's report on the Taliban's invasion of Kabul by the tape recorder in the lobby.

Gur told Mortenson that he was from Waziristan and was engaged in a lucrative business: collecting rare butterflies from Central Asia and selling them to European museums.Mortenson guessed he was transporting more than butterflies back and forth across the border, but didn't press further.When Gul learned that Mortenson intended to visit his tribal area, south of Peshawar, he volunteered as a tour guide to take Mortenson to his village, Radha.If Haji.Ali knew this, and would definitely not agree to it, but Tara was due to give birth in another month, and this clean-looking Gul looked quite respectable, and Mortenson didn't have time to be picky.

After pouring tea, Gull opened the newspaper wrapped in the small package he had brought, and there were pictures of bearded boys marching to war everywhere.Mortenson picked up a large set of white collarless shwara kameez with nice silver embroidery on the chest and dark gray vest. Same as Waziri wear.Gull said, shaking off the butt and lighting a second cigarette, I found this set from all over the market in a larger size.can you pay me now Gul counted the rupees carefully before pocketing the money.The two agreed to set off at dawn.Mortenson booked a three-minute international call with the hotel operator, told Tara he would be going to a place without a phone for a few days, and promised to be home in time for the arrival of their first child.

In the early hours of the morning, Mortenson walked down the stairs of the hotel carefully, fearing that the seams of his clothes might be torn if he tried hard. A gray Toyota was already waiting in front of the door.The kameez on his body was tight on his shoulders, and the pants were so short that they were no more than the calf length.With a reassuring smile, Gul told Mortenson that he had a sudden business trip to Afghanistan, but the good news was that Mr. Khan, the driver from a small village near Rada, was willing to take him there.Although Mortenson flashed the idea that he didn't want to go, he finally lowered his head carefully and climbed into the car. Heading south at sunrise, Mortenson drew the white lace curtains in the back seat to keep prying eyes out of the car.Above the gradually receding town, the tall and winding city wall of Balahisar appeared dimly, looking like a long burning belt in the bright sunlight, like a dormant volcano that was about to wake up and erupt. After walking about 100 kilometers south from the city, they entered Waziristan, the wildest frontier province in the northwest of Pakistan, occupied by fierce and aggressive tribes, forming a buffer zone between Pakistan and Afghanistan, and also Therefore, Waziris, who are regarded as aliens, attracted Mortenson's attention. I think that part of the reason why the Bati people attract me is because they are a disadvantaged ethnic group.Mortenson says their resources and manpower are being exploited by the Pakistani government, which pays them so little that they don't even have the right to vote. Mortenson feels that the Waziri are also a disadvantaged ethnic group.Now that Hoerney has assigned him the head of a new organization, a title he is not yet familiar with: president of the Central Asia Society, he vows to become an expert in the field.So all winter, in addition to accompanying Tara to the midwife's check-ups, and preparing the upstairs room for the unborn child, including putting up wallpaper and setting up a full baby kit, he spent all his time reading everything he could find about Central Asia. Book.Soon he discovered the problem in this area: several factions of tribal forces were arbitrarily classified into different countries by Europeans, regardless of the strong ethnic identity of the tribal people since ancient times. But no tribe caught his attention quite like Waziristan.They neither pledge allegiance to Pakistan nor surrender to Afghanistan.These tribes, which belong to the Pashtun people, are allied with each other with the tribe as the highest allegiance.From the time of Alexander the Great, any foreign conqueror who wanted to send troops here met with fierce resistance.As ever larger and better equipped armies arrived in Waziristan, only to be repeatedly repulsed, the region's notoriety grew.After a small band of local guerrillas wiped out several thousand of Alexander's elite troops, he ordered his troops to bypass the area known as the Desert Devil.The British fared little better, losing two battles to the Waziri and the larger tribe, the Pashtuns. In 1893, the bloody British army retreated from Waziristan to the Durand Line, the border line between British India and Afghanistan. It is the strategy of the British who hope to divide and conquer this tribe.But no one was able to conquer the Waziri.Although Waziristan has been officially listed as part of the land of Pakistan since 1947, Islamabad has very little influence on Waziristan. At best, it only sends tribute to tribal leaders and garrisons in the form of fortresses. Except for a small area where the soldiers pointed their guns at, there was almost no control over other areas. Mortenson admired the tribe's fierce resistance to the world's most powerful force in order to continue its ethnic group.Before climbing K2, he had also read many negative reports about the Bati people, so he was not sure whether the Waziri people were also misunderstood by outsiders.Mortenson had heard many stories, including how rough and unfriendly the Baati were to outsiders.Now his personal experience makes him believe that all these rumors are not true, and there are more people who have been rejected by the world who need his services. The Toyota passed six military checkpoints before entering Waziristan, and each time Mortenson was certain he would be stopped and ordered to turn back.At each checkpoint, the sentries would draw the curtains of the car windows to take a closer look at the big foreigner, sweating profusely in his ridiculously small Shawar suit, but every time, the Khan would Pulled enough rupees out of the pocket of his leather aviator jacket to keep the car going. Mortenson's first impression of Waziristan was that the people here can survive in such a harsh environment, which is really admirable.They drove down a gravel road through a flat river valley of black pebbles and no vegetation.The stones on the river valley collected the sunlight in the desert, and at the same time emitted heat. The whole place looked like a dream seen during a high fever. Ten miles to the west, half of the brown and yellow barren mountains on the map belonged to Pakistan, and the other half belonged to Afghanistan.The British have a sense of humor, Mortenson thought, drawing the line in this defenseless wasteland.Five years from now, the U.S. military will learn that hunting guerrillas familiar with the terrain is simply impossible.There are as many caves here as there are mountains, and the generations of smugglers who have come and gone in the pass know the location of each cave like the back of their hands.According to the locals who claimed to have protected bin Laden, in the Tora Bora maze just across the border, American intelligence personnel are bound to be hindered, making it impossible to block Osama.Bin Laden and his al-Qaeda henchmen fled into Waziristan. After the car passed the area covered with black pebbles, Mortenson suddenly felt that he had entered the scene of a battle in the Middle Ages.Pakistani soldiers served a year of hard service in former British forts, and Waziri military buildings rose one after another on the rocky elevations that lined the road, each almost imperceptible to its surroundings. It is surrounded by a twenty-foot high earthen wall, with gun towers added on top.Mortenson thought the dangling figure on the top of the gun tower was a scarecrow until the car got closer and realized that there was actually a gunman, watching them through the rifle scope of his rifle as he drove all the way from the bottom of the valley to here. The Waziri also have a boudoir system, which not only applies to women internally, but also guards against all outsiders externally.Since at least 600 BC, the Waziri have rejected outside influence, preferring that all Waziri people wear veils like their women to keep them pure. They passed by illegal gun factories, where Waziri craftsmen were using their skilled skills to make all kinds of automatic weapons in the world.Then they arrived in Waziristan's largest city, Bennu. The car shuttled among the crowded donkey carts and trucks, preparing to find a place to park for the two to have lunch.In a teahouse, when the driver Khan went to the store to sell the cigarettes he had brought, Mortenson stretched well while making sure that the traditional Indian-Pakistani clothing on his body would not be torn, and tried Chat with the elders at the table for a haji.The kind of elder Ali advised him to find.It's just that his Urdu language only got a bunch of blank eyes.He made up his mind that when he returned to Bozeman, Montana, he would spend some time learning Pashto. Walking through the dusty streets, behind the high wall is the Arab school built by the Saudis.Two years later, American Taliban member John.Walker.Lindh would come here to study a branch of Islamic fundamentalism known as Wahhabism.Lind, who came here from the fine weather of Marin County, California, is said to have crossed a pass into milder Afghanistan, another Saudi state, after being dazzled by the Waziristan sun. The sponsor of the Islamic school aided by the Arabs is Osama.Bin Laden. All afternoon, they continued driving deep into Waziristan, Mortenson putting to use the few Pashto greetings the driver had taught him. The local scenery is so desolate that it is unimaginable, but it is also quite beautiful."We're really getting into the heart of where the tribe lives," Mortenson said. "I'm very excited to have traveled this far. Just after the sun had set in Afghanistan, south of the town of Rada, they reached the village of Karangakr, the hometown of the driver Khan.The village is just two grocery stores on the left and right sides of the sandstone mosque, which makes people feel desolate at the end of the world. A dusty goat of various colors is lying lazily in the middle of the road, with its feet wide open, making people think it has already passed away. was killed.There was a warehouse at the back of the larger shop, and Khan greeted the people inside, who told him to bring his car in because it would be safer to spend the night. The sight of the warehouse made Mortenson tense immediately.A half-dozen Waziri men with shotgun belts crossed across their chests sat on stacked crates, half sunk in them, smoking weed from hookahs.Stacked against the wall are boxes of bazookas, bazookas, and brand new Soviet AK︱47 rifles.He also noticed a military-grade field radio receiver antenna sticking out from the back of the box of juice-flavored Gatorade and O'Reilly. He knew he had made a big mistake breaking into the stronghold of an organized smuggling ring. up. Like all Pashtuns, the Waziri adhere to the unwritten moral code of their people. The central idea includes revenge and the defense of family, property and land, but an equally important spirit includes patronage. Hospitality and shelter are offered to guests who seek help.So the trick is to appear as a guest, not an intruder.Mortenson climbed out of the car in his ridiculous outfit, trying to make himself the former, since it's just too dangerous to find another place to sleep after dark. I used all the bati words I could speak, and greeted everyone as respectfully as possible.With some Pashto Khan taught me along the way, I asked everyone if they were healthy and if their families were healthy, Mortenson said. Many Waziris fought alongside American intelligence during the jihad against the Soviet army in an attempt to drive the Soviets from Pashtun land in Afghanistan, so they still greeted the Americans warmly But when the American B52 bombers carried out carpet bombing on this mountain area five years later, their attitude towards the Americans was completely different. The dirtiest of them all, who smelled like hashish oil oozing from his pores, offered Mortenson a pipe, but Mortenson declined as politely as he could.I'm supposed to smoke a couple of blowjobs and make a friend, but I really don't want to make myself feel worse when I'm already nervous enough.Mortenson said. [Note] powerful marijuana drugs.Annotation Khan and the taller, older man in the gang chatted enthusiastically in Pashto about what to do with the foreigner.The man wore rose-colored aviator glasses and a bushy mustache perched over his lips like a bat.After their conversation was over, the driver took a deep breath from the hookah and turned to Mortenson, Haji.Mirza is happy to invite you to his home.He said the smoke was flowing between his teeth.Mortenson's originally tense shoulders and the tension in the muscles of Shaval's suit finally let go.Now he'll be all right, he's a guest. They climbed for half an hour in the dark, passing ripe fig trees that smelled as sweet as hashish oil wafting from Waziri clothes.A group of people walked quietly, only hearing the regular sound of the butt of the gun hitting the belt.The last sliver of daylight before nightfall, blood red against Afghanistan, fades away.Outside a house on a hilltop, Haji.Mirza yelled a few times, and a heavy wooden door embedded in the 24-foot-high earth wall made the sound of unbolting, and then the door was slowly pushed open.A wide-eyed guard scrutinized Mortenson with a kerosene lamp, looking as if he was going to use his AK︱47 bullets on Mortenson.Haji.After Mirza said a few words in a low voice, the guard stood aside and let the group of people enter. We were only a day's drive from the modern world, but it really felt like we were in the middle ages.Mortenson said that although there is no moat there, walking inside has the feeling of walking through a moat.Not to mention the huge walls of the house, the flickering oil lamps can barely give a glimmer of light to the cave-like room.There is a fifty-foot-high gun tower in the yard, snipers can easily deal with any uninvited visitors. Mortenson and his driver were led into the center of the house, a room piled high with cushions.Before the traditional tea drink, Xincha, green tea flavored with cardamom, was delivered, the driver had already slumped on the mat with his leather jacket covering his head, snoring hard.Haji.Mirza left first to see how the dinner was being prepared, so before the dinner was delivered, Mortenson could only sit in the room and drink tea in an unusually quiet two hours facing his four accomplices who had left behind. All over the south.Haji.Mirza returned to the room and announced in Pashto, which means dinner.The smell of roasted lamb dug Khan up from under his leather jacket.Although the driver looked quite urban, when he saw mutton, he picked up a dagger to cut up large pieces of meat like a dozen other Waziri people.Haji.Mirza's servants also brought up a large plate of smoking kabripilao, a rice dish cooked with carrots, cloves, and raisins, but they only had eyes for roast lamb.They slashed at the animal with long daggers, tore the sinews from the bones, and stuffed the meat into their mouths with the back of their knives.I thought the Bati had enough relish for meat, Mortenson said, but it was one of the most primitive, savage meals I've ever had.After ten minutes of tearing and feasting, the whole sheep was left with only bones, while the men burped and wiped the grease from their beards with their hands. Stuffed Waziri lie on mats and babble while lighting hookahs and cigarettes.Mortenson took the mutton cigarette offered by one of them and smoked it faithfully until there was only a stub left, as an honored guest would do.It was not yet midnight, and Mortenson's eyelids were nearly closed, so one of the men rolled up a shoji for him to sleep on.Just before falling asleep, Mortenson watched the figure of the hooded man approaching and distant, thinking that he was doing well, at least he had contact with a tribal leader, no matter how obsessed that person seemed Hash, oil and drugs, I will ask him to introduce more people tomorrow, and then find out what the village thinks about building a school. A shout broke into Mortenson's dream, and just before waking up, Mortenson was in the village of Koan when he heard General Dzongpa yelling at Akmal Road, explaining why the village needed a mountaineering training school instead of a school for mountaineering. An average school for an average kid.Then he sat up, confused about what was happening before him: a vaporized lamp flickered in front of him, causing the eerie shadow projected on the wall to dangle too.Behind the lamp, Mortenson saw the barrel of an AK︱47 and woke up immediately, because the barrel was pointed at his chest. Standing with a gun was a bearded man with a tangled beard and a gray turban wrapped around his head, screaming in a language Mortenson could not understand.At 2 a.m., Mortenson had only slept for two hours and was still trying to figure out what had happened.Waking up from a much-needed sleep was worse than the fact that there were eight men with weapons pointed at him. They jerked Mortenson by the feet and dragged him to the door.Mortenson looked for Khan and Haji in the dark room.Mirza's accomplices found him almost alone.Gripping his arms in cold hands, the men dragged him through the unlatched door of the house. Someone quickly covered Mortenson's head and eyes from behind with a long hood and tied it tightly. I remember thinking to myself, it's so dark, what can I see?Mortenson said.A group of people led him down a mountain road in the double darkness, forcing him to go faster, and when he kicked a stone and fell in his shoes without heels, they pulled him up.When he came to the entrance of the mountain, a group of people hurriedly guided him to climb onto a truck, and then piled things up beside him. We drove for about forty-five minutes, Mortenson said. At this time, I was finally awake and shaking, partly because it was really cold in the open truck in the desert, and partly because I was really scared.The men pressing Mortenson began to argue furiously in Pashto, and Mortenson assumed they were discussing what to do with him.But why are they arresting him?When these bandits broke in, why did Haji.Mirza's armed guards didn't shoot?When Mortenson thought that this group of people might be Mirza's accomplices, it was as if he had been punched hard in the face.The kidnappers who pressed against him smelled of smoke and unwashed body odor. Mortenson felt that every minute the truck moved forward, he was a mile further away from his beloved wife. . The truck came off the road and climbed up a rutted road.Mortenson felt the driver hit the brakes and swerved before coming to a stop.The men's strong hands took him out of the car and pressed him to the ground. He heard the sound of someone unlocking, and then a large iron gate opened.Mortenson was staggered through the door, the man who grabbed his arm with such force that his forearm was blue.A group of people walked into a corridor, only the sound of footsteps echoed in the long corridor, and then Mortenson was taken into a dark room. After he heard the sound of a heavy door closing, someone untied him. blindfold. He was in a small room with a high ceiling, about ten feet wide by twenty feet long.The only small window inside was closed from the outside, and a kerosene lamp was lit on the windowsill.He turned to the people who brought him here and told himself not to panic, to try to control his mind, to do something witty and humorous, any little thing that would make these people feel a little compassion but what he saw But the heavy door was closed, and through the door, the depressing sound of the padlock being snapped on was heard. At the far end of the darkened room, Mortenson saw a blanket and rug on the dirty floor.The basic reaction told him that instead of walking anxiously in the room, worrying about not knowing what will happen, it is better to have a good sleep first.So he lay down on the thin mattress, and although his feet were largely exposed, he pulled the musty woolen blanket over his chest, and slept a peaceful, dreamless sleep. When Mortenson opened his eyes again, he saw the two men who had kidnapped him squatting beside his bed, daylight streaming in through the slats of the window.Tea.The man closest to him said he poured him a cup of warm green tea.Mortenson pretended to be enjoying the tea in the plastic cup, smiling at the two and taking the opportunity to look at them. The faces of both men show the hard weather of long-term outdoor life, and the traces of a life of poverty can be clearly seen.He guessed that both of them should be in their fifties, with tangled beards as thick as wolf's winter coats.The man who served Mortenson the tea had a deep red welt on his forehead that Mortenson guessed must have been from a shell fragment, or had been grazed by a bullet that nearly killed him.Mortenson concluded that they were Afghan guerrilla soldiers who fought against the Soviet army.But what are these long overdue veterans doing here?What are they going to do with him? Mortenson finished his tea and gestured that he wanted to go to the toilet.The guards slung Russian-made rifles over their shoulders and led him into the courtyard.The twenty-foot walls were so high that Mortenson couldn't see out at all, and he noticed a guard standing high in the far corner of the room.The man with the scar on his face compared the door next to him with the barrel of a gun. Mortenson walked into a squatting toilet. He tried to close the door. The man immediately blocked the door with his foot, kept the door open, and then stood into the toilet; Another man has been watching outside the door. I've been using this kind of squat toilet in the local area where you have to flush with water, Mortenson said, but with two big men watching, you know, cleaning yourself up after using the toilet, but someone Staring at you is really mental torture. After using the toilet, the guards pointed their guns the way they had just walked, poking Mortenson with the barrels all the way back to the room.Mortenson sat cross-legged on a sleeping mat and tried to talk to them, but the guards showed little interest in interpreting his gesticulations, and the two sat by the door, smoking shisha pipe after pipe, ignoring them. Mortenson. I started feeling frustrated, Mortenson said, thinking, This could take a long time.That feeling is more overwhelming than, you know, when it's over in one fell swoop.The only small window in the room was closed, the flame of the oil lamp was getting smaller and smaller, and the whole room was as dark as night.Mortenson's frustration far outweighed his fear, and he dozed off as time passed. After finally regaining consciousness, Mortenson noticed something next to his sleeping mat. He picked it up and saw that it was an old American "Time" magazine, which was published in November 1979. Seventeen years out of date.Under the test of the will of the big cover title, the bright portrait of Iranian Islamic leader Khomeini frowns, looking at the defeated US President Jimmy Khomeini as if predicting death.Carter. Mortenson flipped through the pages of an old, limp magazine, this one detailing the hostage crisis in Iran.A few photos of the hostages made him confused: several blindfolded Americans were ridiculed and insulted by the crazy crowd.Is the magazine here on purpose to convey a message?Or was it some kind of hospitality, the only English book the host had on hand?He stole a glance at the guards at the gate, trying to read something from their faces, but the two continued to talk quietly over their hookahs and seemed completely uninterested in Mortenson. Nothing to do but keep reading magazines.Mortenson turned the book at an angle, and by the faint light of a kerosene lamp, he read an account of the brutal torture of American hostages in Tehran.After the occupation of the U.S. embassy in Tehran, five secretaries and seven black guards were held hostage and then released. This report explains the details of the abduction at that time.Only then did Mortenson know that the black hostages at the time were released during an arranged press conference. Banners hung at the press conference read: Oppressing black people, the US government is our common enemy. The kidnapped naval sergeant Landau.Maples said he was forced to tape read a proclamation praising the Iranian revolution, and they warned him that he would be shot if he got it wrong. Can speak some Persian Kathy.Qin.But Roth said she tried to chat with a female guard and wondered if that was the reason for her release. Mortenson read that the hostages were forced to sleep on the floor with their hands and feet bound, and their hands were only temporarily loosened when they ate, went to the toilet and wanted to smoke.Some of us really wanted to take longer to untie, so even the non-smokers started smoking later. "Time" magazine quoted a man named Elizabeth.The words of Montaigne's female hostages. The editors of TIME magazine issued a powerful but ominous prophecy as the conclusion of this special report: The White House is ready to accept the brutal but likely fact that the hostages will be in the Tehran embassy and Khomeini's militants Spend this Christmas together.With seventeen years of hindsight, Mortenson knew that the reporter would never have imagined that the nightmare of those hostages would finally end after four hundred and forty-four days, that is, two Christmases. Mortenson put down the magazine, at least his hands and feet were not tied, and no one threatened to shoot him yet.It could have been worse, Mortenson thought.But being locked up in a dark room for four hundred and forty-four days is too terrifying to imagine.He may not be able to speak Pashto, but he can try to use Kathy.Qin.But Roth made up his mind by the method he used, and he had to find some way to communicate with the guards. On the second night, after Dahl's bean soup and capripilao, Mortenson stayed up almost all night, thinking of every possible strategy, and then pushing back.The "Time" magazine mentioned that the Iranians who took the hostages suspected that some of the hostages were from the CIA. Is this the reason for Mortenson's kidnapping?Did they suspect that he was a CIA agent sent to detect new developments with the Taliban?It is indeed possible.But with limited language skills, it is absolutely impossible for me to explain clearly what I want to do for Pakistani children, so I have no choice but to give up the idea of ​​explaining. Or is it a ransom they want?While he still held out a glimmer of hope that the Waziri were a misunderstood good tribe, he had to admit that money was a possible motive.但同樣的，他不可能用普什圖語說服他們相信自己沒錢這太好笑了。還是，他被綁架是因為他是異教徒？當門口的守衛們因為吸了一堆大麻而睡得格外香甜時，反覆思索的摩頓森越想越覺得最後一個答案的可能性最大。感謝他的裁縫師，或許自己不需要會說他們的語言，就能影響改變那些綁架他的人。 摩顏森在房裡的第二個早晨，當守衛來叫醒他喝茶時，他已經起床了。可蘭經？他說，模仿著虔誠翻閱經書者的動作。守衛馬上就明白了，因為阿拉伯語對全世界的穆斯林來說，就是值得尊敬的語言。頭上有傷痕的男子用普什圖語說了些摩頓森無法理解的話，不過他選擇把男子的話當成是他們已經接受了要求。 但直到第三天下午，摩頓森猜想是擔任村裡毛拉的一名長者，才帶著一本布滿灰塵的綠色絲絨封面可蘭經出現。摩頓森用烏爾都語謝謝他，但是老人臉上什麼表情都沒有。摩頓森把經書拿到床墊旁，在恭敬的翻開經書前，先進行儀式性的清洗動作烏都。 摩頓森彎著身假裝自己在讀經，口中誦唸他在拉瓦爾品第的裁縫店裡學會的一些可蘭經經文。灰髮毛拉點了一下頭彷彿很滿意的樣子，然後就離開，留下摩頓森和守衛在一起。摩頓森想起哈吉．阿里，他也看不懂阿拉伯文，但也和自己現在一樣溫柔的翻著經書。想到哈吉．阿里讓他心裡升起一陣溫暖，摩頓森忍不住微笑起來。 摩頓森一天祈禱五次。每當他聽到附近清真寺傳來的呼喊聲，就在桑尼派的土地用桑尼派的方式祈禱，然後凝視著可蘭經書。但是他不知道計畫到底有沒有效，兩名守衛對他的態度絲毫沒改變。摩頓森沒讀可蘭經的時候，就會翻《時代》雜誌解悶。 他決定不再讀人質危機的故事，因為發現自己每讀一次，整個人就嚴重焦慮一次。他把雜誌裡一名宣布要參選總統的人的諂媚介紹拿來擦拭周圍環境，整整花了他三十分鐘，那個人就是隆納德．雷根。 現在是我們該停止擔心別人喜不喜歡我們，讓世界再度尊敬我們的時候。雷根告訴《時代》雜誌的編輯，沒有獨裁者能夠再占領我們的大使館、挾持我們的人民。 摩頓森心想，十七年後，在柯林頓總統的努力下，世界對美國的尊敬終於穩定向上攀升，但是這對被囚在此地的他又能有什麼實際幫助？即使美國外交官願意拿國家的聲望來換取他的自由，但是，根本沒有人知道他在哪裡。 第四天和第五天緩慢過去，唯一的差別只有從窗條中透過的不同光線。在夜裡，短暫但激烈的自動武器交戰聲在屋外迴盪著，接著是槍樓上傳出的零星回擊。 白天，摩頓森從窗戶的百葉板空隙偷偷往外看，不過眼前的景象屋舍外牆一片空白，對想逃避單調房間的摩頓森而言，一點幫助也沒有。摩頓森急著找些方法讓自己不要一直擔心，但是《時代》雜誌裡的文章就那麼幾篇，越讀越沒力：像是對史丹福︱比奈智力量表文化偏差的評論，或是對向日葵為何能成為北達科他州新經濟作物的沉悶解釋。 廣告頁提供了解藥，它們是他眺望家鄉的窗戶。 摩頓森研判是第五天的夜晚，他感到一股黑色的絕望浪潮從腳底開始往上淹漫，湧到他的膝蓋，幾乎要把他整個人淹沒。他像隻小羊般思念塔拉，他想起電話訴她一、兩天後就會回家，想到自己完全沒辦法安慰即將分娩的她，讓他心痛不已。他心想他願意付任何代價，只求再看一眼他們結婚那天拍的照片。照片中，在那輛載著他們展開美妙街旅的電車前，她在他的臂膀中，整個人笑得發光那是他見過她最快樂的時刻。摩頓森咒罵自己竟然把放了照片的皮夾留在柏夏瓦旅館的露營背包裡。 憑著意志力，摩頓森不讓黑潮繼續接近，他翻著雜誌，在懷念的乾燥溫暖的世界中尋找一片立足之處。他的眼光在雪佛蘭汽車的廣告上逗留，看著那美麗的婦女坐在標榜安全、省油、有木質儀表板的前座，轉頭對後座兩個可愛的孩子笑。 有將近兩個小時的時間，摩頓森一直盯著一個柯達相機的跨頁廣告。一棵聖誕樹上，像掛裝飾品似的掛著一張張相片，看得出那是一個滿足快樂的家庭。氣質高貴的祖父穿著一件舒適的紅色睡袍，正在教他的完美金髮孫子如何操作他的新玩具一根釣竿。滿面笑容的母親看著有蘋果般粉頰的孩子拆開禮物，是美式足球安全護帽，並和剛出生的小狗玩鬧。摩頓森想起童年聖誕節都是在非洲度過，最接近照片中這棵聖誕樹的，是一棵他們每年都要擦拭一次灰塵的小小塑膠松樹。他在心中緊抓著從另一個世界拋過來的救生圈，一個沒有煤油味的房間、沒有這些凶惡男人的世界。 摩頓森被擄的第六天破曉，他的眼淚落在一張潔碧口腔衛生的家電用品廣告上。廣告標語寫著，笑容不該只是回憶。內文提供的是冷冰冰的資訊，說明一種叫做牙菌斑的細菌在牙齦線下生長繁殖。但摩頓森看到的不是這些語言，照片中一個三代同堂的美國家庭站在磚房陽台上，讓他無法控制自己的眼淚。他們一致的燦爛笑容和彼此依偎的姿態，隱含他們對彼此的愛與關心，也是他對塔拉的感情，但在這裡卻沒有人會這樣對他。 摩頓森感覺到有人站在他的床邊。他抬頭，迎接他眼光的是一位高大男人的眼睛。男子的銀色鬍子修剪成學者樣式，他用普什圖語和摩頓森打招呼，還帶著微笑。接著他用英文說，你一定是那個美國人。 摩頓森站起身跟他握手，覺得房間開始失去控制的旋轉。過去四天，由於他越來越沮喪，除了茶和米飯外，他拒絕吃其他食物。男子扶著他的肩膀把他穩住，然後要人把早餐送來。 一邊吃著溫暖的恰巴帝餅，摩頓森一邊彌補六天沒說話的痛苦。他問那位和善男子的姓名，男子停頓了好一會兒才說：你就叫我可汗吧。可汗是瓦濟里斯坦地區的菜市場名，載他到瓦濟里的司機也叫可汗。 雖然可汗是瓦濟里人，他卻曾在柏夏瓦的英國學校受過教育，還說著一口當年他在學校學到的漂亮發音。他沒解釋為什麼到這裡來，但是可以理解他是被找來評估這個美國人的情況。摩頓森告訴他自己在巴提斯坦的工作，連喝了好幾壺綠茶才把故事說完。他也解釋自己想為巴基斯坦最窮困的孩子蓋好幾所學校的計畫，因此到瓦濟里斯坦來看看這裡有沒有需要他的服務。 摩頓森焦慮的等著可汗的回應，希望聽到這一切不過是場誤會，自己很快就能回家，但他卻無法從眼前這個像熊一樣巨大的男子身上得到放心的答案。可汗拿起《時代》雜誌隨手翻著，停在一頁美軍的廣告上，摩頓森很快感受到危險。可汗指著一位在操作戰地收音機、身穿迷彩裝的女兵，對摩頓森說：現在你們美國軍隊都送女人來打仗，是不是？ 一般來說並不會，摩頓森回答，努力搜索著更好的辭彙和說法，但我們國家的女性有選擇職業的自由。他發現即便是這樣的回答，都含有冒犯的意思。他的腦子飛快轉著，想找些可能讓他們產生共鳴的話題。 我的妻子很快要生下我們第一個孩子，一個卓一，兒子。摩頓森說，我得回家迎接他的到來。 幾個月之前塔拉曾經照過超音波，摩頓森當時就見過他未出生女兒的模糊照片。但是我知道對穆斯林來說，第一個兒子出生是件大事，摩頓森事後說，說這個謊讓我很難過，但是我以為告訴他們我兒子要出生了，他們就有可能因此而放我走。 可汗繼續對著美軍的廣告皺眉頭，彷彿壓根沒聽到摩頓森說話。我已經告訴妻子我會回家，摩頓森懇求著，我想她一定非常擔心，我能不能打電話告訴她我沒事？ 這裡沒有電話。自稱可汗的人回答。 你能帶我到巴基斯坦的軍哨嗎？我可以從那裡打電話回家？ 可汗嘆了口氣，恐怕那是不可能的事。他說，然後他直視著摩頓森的眼睛，一抹逗留的眼神暗示了他不能自由表達的同情。別擔心，他說，一邊收拾茶具準備離開，你不會有事的。 到了第八天下午，可汗再次來看摩頓森，你是足球迷嗎？he asks. 摩頓森考慮這個問題潛藏的危險性，終於決定危險應該是零，當然，他說，我在大學時也踢球。當他從美式英文轉換成英式英文時，才想到可汗指的應該是英式足球，而不是美式足球。 那麼我們可以請你觀賞一場球賽。可汗說，招手示意摩頓森走到門邊，來吧。 他跟著可汗寬廣的背，走出了沒閂鎖的前門。當他走進寬闊的空地時，感到有些暈眩這是他來到此地一個星期，第一次有機會瞄到身處的環境。 在一條往下走的碎石路盡頭，一棟傾圮清真寺尖塔的旁邊，能看到有條公路把河谷分成兩半。比較遠的那一邊，還不到一英里路的距離，有個巴基斯坦的軍哨。摩頓森心裡閃過逃跑的念頭，但是立刻又想起槍樓上的狙擊手。於是他跟著可汗爬上山，到達一處寬闊的岩石地，出乎意外的看到二十多位大鬍子年輕人熟練的在踢足球，想把球踢進用空的軍火箱做成的球門。 可汗很給面子的帶他到球場邊一張白色塑膠椅坐下。摩頓森認真觀看球員們踢起陣陣塵土，沾到他們汗濕的夏瓦兒卡米茲上。突然間槍樓傳來一陣叫聲，哨兵偵測到巴基斯坦的軍哨有動靜。真是對不起。可汗說著，然後迅速將摩頓森帶回屋舍裡的高牆內。 那天晚上，摩頓森嘗試入睡，但是沒能成功。根據可汗的舉止和別人對他的尊敬，可汗很可能是一位新上任的塔利班指揮官。但是這對自己有什麼意義？足球賽是不是他很快會被釋放的跡象？或者是要處決他前的最後一根煙？ 凌晨四點鐘，當他們再度到摩頓森的小囚房時，他得到了答案。可汗親手幫他纏上眼罩，在摩頓森的肩上披了件毯子，客氣的領著他的手走出去，到載滿了人的卡車上。 那個時候，在九一一之前，把外國人斬首並不流行，摩頓森說，我也覺得被開槍射殺不算是太糟的死法。但是想到塔拉將要獨力把我們的孩子帶大，而且可能永遠不知道我究竟發生了什麼事，讓我難過得簡直要瘋掉。我可以預見她永無止境的痛苦和不確定，那是生命中最可怕的情況。 卡車上的風很大，有人給了他一根煙，但是他回絕了。他不需要再保持客氣的形象，加上煙味也不是他想留在口中的最後味道。卡車走了半個多小時，摩頓森拉緊毯子，還是忍不住直顫抖。但當卡車轉下一條泥巴路，駛向密集開火的聲響時，他整個人嚇出了一身汗。 司機踩下煞車，卡車滑進了震耳欲聾的巨大槍聲中，那是幾十隻ＡＫ︱４７步槍設定為自動發射的結果。可汗解開了摩頓森的眼罩，推推他的胸膛，你看，他說，我告訴過你橋到船頭自然直，萬事會有最好的結果。越過可汗的肩膀看去，幾百名高大蓄鬍的瓦濟里人正圍著營火跳舞，一邊朝天空開槍。從他們被火光照亮的臉上，摩頓森驚奇的看到歡喜，而非嗜血。 和他一起坐卡車來的那一票人跳下卡車歡呼，然後帶著武器加入連續齊發的陣列。天應該快亮了，摩頓森卻看到營火上煮著熱騰騰食物的大鍋和烤著的羊肉。 How is this going?他吼著，一邊跟著可汗走入狂舞的群眾中，不太相信八天來經歷的危險已經結束了。為什麼我會在這裡？ 我最好不要告訴你太多事。可汗吼回來，企圖蓋過槍聲。就說是我們考慮另外一種可能。有些爭執，可能讓我們有大麻煩。但是支爾格【註】把問題解決了，所以我們現在舉辦派對，把你送回柏夏瓦前的派對。 【註】伊斯蘭習俗的長老會議。Annotation 摩頓森仍然不太相信他，但是一把塞進他口袋的盧比讓他終於相信苦難已經結束那位額頭上有子彈擦傷的守衛踉踉蹌蹌走向他，咧嘴笑著的臉被營火和大麻一起照亮，他揮著一疊髒兮兮皺巴巴的粉紅色盧比鈔票，接著把紙鈔全部塞進摩頓森夏瓦兒上衣的胸前口袋裡。 一句話都說不出來的摩頓森，轉向可汗尋求解釋，給你的學校。他對著摩頓森的耳朵喊，所以，如果阿拉願意，你會蓋更多更多間！ 另外幾十位瓦濟里人也暫時停火擁抱摩頓森，或是幫他帶來冒著煙的烤羊肉，也同樣捐了一堆錢。天終於亮時，摩頓森的肚子和夏瓦兒上衣口袋都脹得鼓鼓的，八天來緊繃重壓在胸口的恐懼終於弭平了。 滿頭暈眩之際，他加入了慶祝的行列。羊肉的油脂從他長了八天的鬍子上滴下來，摩頓森跳著他以為早已遺忘的坦尚尼亞舞步，周圍的瓦濟里人大聲幫他助陣。他在狂喜中舞著、放縱的舞著為那失而復得的自由。