"For the summer," he said imprecisely.
Perhaps he would not spend much time around Jean-Pierre. "Where will you live?" she asked him.
"In this village."
"Oh."
He heard the disappointment in her voice and gave a wry smile. "I guess I shouldn't have expected you to be glad to see me. . . ."
Jane's mind was racing ahead. If she could make Jean-Pierre quit, he would be in no further danger. Suddenly she felt able to confront him. Why is that? she wondered. It's because I'm not afraid of him anymore. Why am I not afraid of him? Because Ellis is here.
I hadn't realized I was afraid of my husband.
"On the contrary," she said to Ellis, thinking: How cool I am! "I'm happy you're here."
There was a silence. Ellis clearly did not know what to make of Jane's reaction. After a moment he said: "Uh, I have a lot of explosives and stuff somewhere in this zoo. I'd better get to it."
Jane nodded. "Okay."
Ellis turned away and disappeared into the melée. Jane walked slowly out of the courtyard, feeling a little stunned. Ellis was here, in the Five Lions Valley, and apparently still in love with her.
As she reached the shopkeeper's house, Jean-Pierre came out. He had stopped there on his way to the mosque, probably to put away his medical bag. Jane was not sure what to say to him. "The convoy brought someone you know," she began.
"A European?"
"Yes."
"Well, who?"
"Go and see. You'll be surprised."
He hurried off. Jane went inside. What would Jean-Pierre do about Ellis? she wondered. Well, he would want to tell the Russians. And the Russians would want to kill Ellis.
The thought made her angry. "There is to be no more killing!" she said aloud. "I will not permit it!" Her voice made Chantal cry. Jane rocked her and she became quiet.
What am I going to do about it? thought Jane.
I have to stop him getting in touch with the Russians.
How?
His contact can't meet him here in the village. So all I have to do is keep Jean-Pierre here.
I'll say to him: You must promise not to leave the village. If you refuse I'll tell Ellis that you're a spy and he will make sure you don't leave the village.
Suppose Jean-Pierre makes the promise then breaks it?
Well, I would know he had gone out of the village, and I would know he was meeting his contact, and I could then warn Ellis.
Has he any other way of communicating with the Russians?
He must have some means of getting in touch with them in an emergency.
But there are no phones here, no mail, no courier service, no carrier pigeons—
He must have a radio.
If he has a radio there's no way I can stop him.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he had a radio. He needed to arrange those meetings in stone huts. In theory they might have all been scheduled before he left Paris, but in practice that was almost impossible: what would happen when he had to break an appointment, or when he was late, or when he needed to meet his contact urgently?
He must have a radio.
What can I do if he has a radio?
I can take it away from him.
She put Chantal down in her cradle and looked around the house. She went into the front room. There on the tiled counter in the middle of what had been the shop was Jean-Pierre's medical bag.
It was the obvious place. No one was allowed to open the bag except Jane, and she never had any reason to.
She undid the clasp and went through the contents, taking them out one by one.
There was no radio.
It was not going to be that easy.
He must have one, she thought, and I must find it: if I don't, either Ellis will kill him or he will kill Ellis.
She decided to search the house.
She checked through the medical supplies on the shopkeeper's shelves, looking in all the boxes and packets whose seals had been broken, hurrying for fear he would come back before she was finished. She found nothing.
She went into the bedroom. She rummaged through his clothes, then in the winter bedding which was stored in a corner. Nothing. Moving faster, she went into the living room and looked around frantically for possible hiding places. The map chest! She opened it. Only the maps were there. She closed the lid with a bang. Chantal stirred but did not cry, even though it was almost time for her feed. You're a good baby, thought Jane; thank God! She looked behind the food cupboard and lifted the rug in case there was a concealed hole in the floor.
Nothing.
It had to be here somewhere. She could not imagine that he would take the risk of hiding it outside the house, for there would be a terrible danger of its being found by accident.
She went back into the shop. If only she could find his radio everything would be all right—he would have no option but to give in.
His bag was so much the obvious place, for he took it with him wherever he went. She picked it up. It was heavy. She felt around inside it yet again. It had a thick base.
Suddenly she was inspired.
The bag could have a false bottom.
She probed the base with her fingers. It must be here, she thought; it must.
She pushed her fingers down beside the base and lifted.
The false bottom came up easily.
With her heart in her mouth, she looked inside.
There, in the hidden compartment, was a black plastic box. She took it out.
That's it, she thought; he calls them on this little radio.
Why does he meet them as well?
Perhaps he cannot tell them secrets over the radio for fear that someone is listening. Perhaps the radio is only for arranging meetings, and for emergencies.
Like when he can't leave the village.
She heard the back door open. Terrified, she dropped the radio to the floor and spun around, looking into the living room. It was only Fara with a broom. "Oh, Christ," she said aloud. She turned back, her heart racing.
She had to get rid of the radio before Jean-Pierre returned.
But how? She could not throw it away—it would be found.
She had to smash it.
With what?
She did not have a hammer.
A stone, then.
She hurried through the living room and into the courtyard. The courtyard wall was made of rough stones held together with sandy mortar. She reached up and wiggled one of the top row of stones. It seemed firm. She tried the next, and the next. The fourth stone seemed a little loose. She reached up and tugged at it. It moved a little. "Come on, come on," she cried. She pulled hard. The rough stone cut into the skin of her hands. She gave a mighty heave and the stone came loose. She jumped back as it fell to the ground. It was about the size of a can of beans: just right. She picked it up in both hands and hurried back into the house.
She went into the front room. She picked up the black plastic radio transmitter from the floor and placed it on the tiled counter. Then she lifted the stone above her head and brought it down with all her might on the radio.
The plastic casing cracked.
She would have to hit it harder.
She lifted the stone and brought it down again. This time the casing broke, revealing the innards of the instrument: she saw a printed circuit, a loudspeaker cone and a pair of batteries with Russian script on them. She took out the batteries and threw them on the floor, then started to smash the mechanism.
She was grabbed from behind suddenly, and Jean-Pierre's voice shouted: "What are you doing?"
She struggled against his grip, got free for a moment and struck another blow at the little radio.
He grasped her shoulders and hurled her aside. She stumbled and fell to the floor. She landed awkwardly, twisting her wrist.
He stared at the radio. "It's ruined!" he said. "It's irreparable!" He grabbed her by the shirt and hauled her to her feet. "You don't know what you've done!" he screamed. There was despair and hot rage in his eyes.
"Let me go!" she shouted at him. He had no right to act like this when it was he who had lied to her. "How dare you manhandle me!"
"How dare I?" He let go of her shirt, drew back his arm and punched her hard. The blow landed in the middle of her abdomen. For a split second she was simply paralyzed with shock; then the pain came, deep inside where she was still sore from having had Chantal, and she cried out and bent over with her hands clutching her middle.
Her eyes were shut tight, so she did not see the second blow coming.
His punch landed full on her mouth. She screamed. She could hardly believe he was doing this to her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, terrified that he would hit her again.
"How dare I?" he screamed. "How dare I?"
She fell to her knees on the dirt floor, and began to sob with shock and pain and misery. Her mouth hurt so much she could hardly speak. "Please don't hit me," she managed. "Don't hit me again." She held a hand in front of her face defensively.
He knelt down, shoved her hand aside and thrust his face into hers. "How long have you known?" he hissed.
She licked her lips. They were swelling already. She dabbed at them with her sleeve, and it came away bloody. She said: "Since I saw you in the stone hut ... on the way to Cobak."
"But you didn't see anything!"
"He spoke with a Russian accent, and said he had blisters. I figured it out from there."
There was a pause while that sank in. "Why now?" he said. "Why didn't you break the radio before?"
"I didn't dare to."
"And now?"
"Ellis is here."
"So?"
Jane summoned up what little courage she had left. "If you don't stop this . . . spying . . . I'll tell Ellis, and he will stop you."
He took her by the throat. "And what if I strangle you, you bitch?"
"If any harm comes to me ... Ellis will want to know why. He's still in love with me."
She stared at him. Hatred burned in his eyes. "Now I'll never get him!" he said. She wondered who he meant. Ellis? No. Masud? Could it be that Jean-Pierre's ultimate purpose was to kill Masud? His hands were still around her throat. She felt his grip tighten. She watched his face fearfully.
Then Chantal cried.
Jean-Pierre's expression changed dramatically. The hostility went from his eyes, and the fixed, taut look of anger crumpled; and finally, to Jane's amazement, he put his hands over his eyes and began to cry.
She gazed at him with incredulity. She found herself feeling pity for him, and thought: Don't be a fool, the bastard just beat you up. But despite herself she was touched by his tears. "Don't cry," she said quietly. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. She touched his cheek.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. My life's work ... all for nothing."
She realized with astonishment and a trace of self-disgust that she was no longer angry with him, despite her swollen lips and the continuing pain in her tummy. She gave in to the sentiment, and put her arms around him, patting his back as if comforting a child.
"Just because of Anatoly's accent," he mumbled. "Just because of that."
"Forget Anatoly," she said, "We'll leave Afghanistan and go back to Europe. We'll go with the next convoy."
He took his hands from his face and looked at her. "When we get back to Paris ..."
"Yes?"
"When we're home ... I still want us to be together. Can you forgive me? I love you—truly, I always loved you. And we're married. And there's Chantal. Please, Jane—please don't leave me. Please?"
To her surprise she felt no hesitation. He was the man she loved, her husband, the father of her child; and he was in trouble and appealing for help. "I'm not going anywhere," she replied.
"Promise," he said. "Promise you won't leave me."
She smiled at him with her bleeding mouth. "I love you," she said. "I promise I won't leave you."