1943, NOVEMBER 23, TUESDAY, EASTERN AFGHANISTAN
er sudden self-awareness might not have been quite so trau-H matic for little Isobel Brahamms, had it come later in life, after she had learned to speak, perhaps, or after her eyes had learned to focus on the world into which she’d been born. Even if self-awareness had had the courtesy to wait a few short minutes while she indulged in her first feeding before it latched on to her psyche, she would at least have had that comforting meal in her tummy before facing the second traumatic event in her life. Coming, however, mere seconds after an unknown thug had wrenched her from the only home she had ever known, pulled her naked, wet and cold into the vastness of the world, the otherwise wondrous awareness-of-self that pulsed across her mind was anything but wondrous.
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Railing against her removal and awareness, Isobel screamed louder than any other babe encountered by the seasoned delivery team responsible for her unhappiness. Awareness, perceived not as words to this newborn lacking a language, but as severe, instinctive perception. Awareness infinite but selective: her small body, where it ended, where the cold world began, but nothing of things beyond her. Those unknown and unknowable bright lights, fuzzy images and rough hands were more fearsome when considered against the total knowledge of self that had been thrust upon her without her consent, so she showed her displeasure the only way she could.
She screamed until she had expelled all the air from her lungs and her face turned blue, then she paused long enough to draw in another full measure of wind and belted out her next aria of discontent. She continued until she had worn herself out. When she awoke 20 minutes later, now clean, dry and bundled in a warm blanket, her awareness was of hunger. She screamed again, but quieted when the nipple was pressed to her lips. As she fed, self-awareness once again intruded upon her mind, but familiar now, welcomed.
She would not, for several years, wonder as to the meaning of that self-awareness. She accepted IT the way infants accept. IT settled comfortably into her core and curled up like a sleepy kitten, purring with an air of quiet assurance. IT was constant, but inobtru-sive. IT grew stronger as IT became a part of her, and as IT became a part of her, IT faded to It, then to it, and by age one it had melded complete into Isobel’s essence and disappeared, even to Isobel.
On the day and hour Isobel turned one, she felt a strong need to go Somewhere, but the need was stronger and more matured than her comprehension of it. She didn’t know how to put the need into action. It frustrated her. She had crawled every square foot of the two rooms she knew as Home, and she had glided with Mother through Door to the vastness of Outside. Even Outside, however, didn’t measure up to her mental image of Somewhere. Somewhere was beyond Outside, beyond her knowledge, and therefore scary.
But her need trumped her fear.
Undaunted, she set out, and crawled to Door before Mother, 9
laughing at her child’s sudden industriousness, plucked her up and returned her to her toys. Twice more Isobel crawled to Door, twice more thwarted by a puzzled Mother. Isobel sat then, frustrated, as she struggled with the still-overwhelming need to follow the path she could almost see. Her frustration built as she sat among her toys, casting about for another means to achieve her goal. But there were no other options to consider. As she repeatedly considered and rejected her only option, her frustration level rose, and just as it reached the screaming level, something unexpected happened.
Mother walked to Door, pulled open the inner one, pushed open the outer one, and held it there, staring out.
November air chilled the two-room Home, but Mother appeared not to notice. Crawling at top speed, Isobel darted through Door, fell to the single masonry step and somersaulted to the frozen ground. The bump on her head and skinned right knee brought wails of pain, but she continued to crawl away from the house. Her cries snapped Mother out of her languor. Confused, unable to recall the reason she’d opened the door, and incredulous that she had stood by as her infant daughter crawled past her and out the door, Isobel’s mother rushed to scoop her up and hustle her back into the house.
She stood with Isobel in front of the fireplace then, cooing and cod-dling the child, as the room warmed. It took 30 minutes to quiet her, and then she was afraid to let go of her.
The frightened young mother needn’t have worried, however.
Her need to travel sated for the moment, Isobel was, for the first time, considering a concept, now with actual words skimmed from her mother’s language: “I am one,” she thought. “I am old.”
Is it possible for a one-year-old to have such well-formed thoughts? Humans cannot remember the age of one, so who can say with any certainty? The fact that a thought is not remembered, after all, does not preclude the possibility that it occurred.
Her need to travel returned, but less urgent, less demanding, and in that manner the need became a part of her, a thread that twined itself into her life. While at first, she could feel it, hear it, see, smell and even taste it, by age two it was gone as a constant, 10
and after that it only occurred to her fleetingly on rare occasions when the thought of Somewhere would pop into her mind. By age two and one-half years, with her need now blanketing her entire village and the mountain beyond, her active young mind took its well-deserved rest.
Early in March 1946, Saji Tal, fifty, six-foot four and stout, watched from his small window as Isobel Brahamms skipped, walked, hopped and jumped her merry way down the stone path to the office behind his home. He smiled at the child’s carefree manner, and he thought once again about her given name. An old family name, they’d told him, from the mother’s side. He’d learned it was a Hebrew name meaning “God’s Promise,” one more element of mystery for this little girl already brimming over with it.
The village knew her as Bell. She was tall for her age, and a more adorable child was hard to imagine. She wore her long, jet-black hair pulled back and tied into a single braid today; her mother never tired of rearranging the child’s hairstyle. She had the most startling blue eyes Saji had ever seen, nearly perfect facial contours, and flawless skin appearing lightly tanned regardless of the season.
Tal opened the door just as Bell was about to knock.
“Good morning, Princess,” Tal said in English. The child had been speaking for nearly a year now. Tal had used English words whenever possible, and Bell had been catching on nicely.
“Good morning, Mr. Tal, Sir,” she said, her English still heavily accented.
Pointing a finger as if to scold, Tal switched to Dari and said,
“Now Bell, I thought we agreed you would call me Saji?”
Standing in the doorway, fidgeting with her fingers, Bell looked up at Tal as she said, “Um, yes Sir. But Uncle say not.”
“Well, we don’t want to disobey Uncle, do we? Oh, please, Bell,” Tal said as he stood aside, and motioned with his hand, “come in. Have a seat.”
Bell said, “Thank you, Sir,” as she crossed the room and hop–
ped onto her customary chair in front of Tal’s desk.
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“How would it be,” Tal said, as he rolled his large swivel chair out from behind his desk and placed it nearer Bell’s, “if you were to call me Saji only here in this office, when you and I are here? Do you think that would work?”
“Yes, Sir.”
When Saji said nothing, Bell realized her mistake and clamped her hand over her mouth, which seemed funny to them both. Bell tried to suppress her laugh for a few seconds, and they broke into uncontrolled laughter that hurt their stomachs.
When they had settled down, which took a few minutes, Bell sat up straighter in her chair and said, “S… Saji?’
“Yes, Bell?”
“Why?”
“Why what, child?”
“Why want you I call Saji?”
“Well,” said Saji, surprised, “I don’t know. Let me think for a moment.” He really had not thought about it until just now, but in doing so, he discovered he had an excellent reason.
“I think, Bell, that I want to know you for a long time. I want to hear from you, to hear what great things you are doing, and I think an inner voice told me you might remember me better if you knew me by my first name. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Bell, I wondered if we could talk more about the long journey you will make soon. Is that OK?”
“Yes, S… Yes.”
“I know you must leave us, Bell. I still don’t know why. Have you thought any more about that?”
She fiddled with her fingers as she looked at the floor for a few seconds, during which time Saji said nothing. He had discovered that allowing the child time to sort through her thoughts sometimes produced an unexpected answer. Far from clearing up the mystery of the girl, those answers had only added to the puzzle, but Saji was hopeful. After ten seconds, Bell raised her eyes and looked around Saji’s small office as if checking that they were still alone. Then she 12
leaned forward, and in a quiet, reluctant whisper she said, “Purpose…”
“Purpose?” Saji said, switching to a whisper himself. “You have a purpose for leaving? Do you know what the purpose is?”
Bell thought for a moment and then said, “Yes, yes, no.”
Tal smiled, “Will you ever know, do you think?”
Whispering again, she said, “I must only be in place.”
“Do you know what place?”
After thinking again for several seconds, Bell said, “In time.
Long time.”
“Bell, this is hard for me to understand. You are well loved by everyone here. No one wants you to leave. Yet everyone agrees you must leave. Even your mother. Do you know why?”
“No,” Bell said. Then she closed her eyes, cocked her head to the right, and wrinkled her brow, as if she were accessing an inner store of facts she’d just discovered. After holding that pose for several seconds, and switching to Dari, she said, “The mortal… must have… a strong visceral will.”
Saji was floored. This wasn’t the first time she’d blurted out something that made her sound much older than three. Or like she was being directed. No matter how right it felt to send her away to the west, he had misgivings, brought on by talks just like this.
The eerie implications in things she said made Saji want to abandon this plan to send her West, and keep her here instead, where he could protect her. From what, he didn’t know. He only knew that every time he thought about keeping Bell here, the feeling that she was needed elsewhere only got stronger.
He decided it was time to write to his old college roommate.
As an anthropology major at Emory College in Atlanta, Georgia, class of 1919, Saji had roomed with an American student named Britten Houston, a business major. He was the kindest, most ethical person Saji had ever met. Bell would be safe with him. They’d kept in touch for a few years after college, and Saji still had his address.
He’ll have to lie, and tell Britten that the girl’s parents are dead.
Even then, his request will sound preposterous.
13
Dealey
Plaza
Dallas
