Chapter 12: Rubbing Shoulders with Death - My Name Is Samim

Iran, spring 2021

Two men ordered us to climb out of the truck, and, one by one, we did. That’s when we saw that they both wore police uniforms.

“They are policemen! They are policemen!” I kept whispering to Zayn and my uncle in panic, but neither responded. Their eyes were locked on the guns.

The policemen told us to lie face down on the ground in front of the truck, and I was glad to do it because my legs were shaking. Zayn and my uncle lay on either side of me.

For almost an hour, the police officers were calling people, telling them about us, then waiting, calling back, shouting, and all the while we lay there, our faces pressed against the cold soil. Soon, the men on the ground grew restless and the officers got nervous.

The man beside my uncle whispered to him, “We should run.”

My uncle shook his head. “They’ll shoot us.”

“It’s dark. We’ll split up and run in different directions. They won’t know where to shoot.”

My uncle’s voice grew angry. “They’ll hit someone!”

The man turned his head to my uncle, trying to meet his eyes. “They’ll get all of us if we don’t move. And they will send us all back.”

My uncle’s face darkened with worry. ‘Back’ for us meant death.

Uncle Roshan stared at the ground for a few seconds, then sucked in a deep breath and told the man, “We will all do it together, when I say. Spread the word.”

He then turned to us and told us to run at the sound of his voice. “Run as fast as you can, and, no matter what: don’t stop, don’t slow down and don’t look back. Not even for each other.”

My heart curled up in my chest. I looked at Zayn, and he gave me a nod. I wanted to try to persuade Uncle Roshan not to run, but I didn’t get a chance.

The next thing I knew, he yelled, “Run!”

All fifteen of us erupted from the ground, scattering like startled rabbits into the darkness.

Seconds later, gunfire roared.

A bullet whizzed past my ear, and I thought I had just rubbed shoulders with Death.

The policemen kept shooting all over the place, and we ran blindly until a familiar voice screamed behind me. I whirled around to see Uncle Roshan was on his knees.

My uncle had told us not to stop, but I did. He had told us not to look back, but I did. I stopped, looked back, and ran back for him, too. Zayn was still ahead of us.

My uncle screamed at me, “Don’t! Don’t run back, you silly boy!”

That’s when Zayn heard him, too.

“Samim!” he shouted, racing back to us.

I grabbed my uncle under his arm, trying to help him up, but he pushed me away with both hands. I fell on my side but jumped straight up and grabbed his arm again. Uncle Roshan knew I wouldn’t leave him, and gave in. He leaned on me and stood up with a grunt. That’s when I saw a dark stain soaking his trousers around his knee. The bullets still blasted in the air, and I kept flinching under my uncle’s arm after every bang.

Seconds later, Zayn skidded to a halt beside us. He got under my uncle’s other arm and, together, we pulled him forward as fast as we could.

Soon our legs and arms started to ache, and we slowed to a crawl. I was about to suggest a break when Uncle Roshan’s head dropped and he became twice as heavy.

We stopped, shaking him in a panic. “Uncle?”

There was no answer. He was unconscious.

We lay him on the ground, and I pressed my hand against his chest. There was still a heartbeat. I grabbed my head in both relief and panic.

“What do we do?”

A glossy red puddle appeared underneath my uncle’s wounded leg, getting bigger by the second.

Zayn kneeled over Uncle Roshan and took the belt out of his trousers. He tied it tightly around my uncle’s knee, just above the bleeding wound. We had seen my father do it many times to injured men back in Ghazni. Uncle grumbled in pain, with his eyes still shut. Zayn stood, pacing back and forth.

“He needs help. He won’t survive long like this,” he kept repeating, while scratching his curly head with both hands.

I looked around. There was nothing but blackness surrounding us.

“Where should we go? Where can we find help and not get caught? What do we do?”

Zayn stopped. “I’m going to look for help,” he said firmly. “You stay with Uncle.”

Worries filled my chest like rocks, leaving no space for air.

I grabbed on to Zayn’s arm. “It’s too dark. You’ll get lost! You won’t find us again!”

Zayn put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “I’ll always find you, brother.”

His voice was calm, and it gave me hope.

It felt like Zayn was gone for an eternity while I waited for him, sitting beside my bleeding uncle. The desert night grew bitterly cold, and my body trembled.

What if Zayn doesn’t return? What if the police find us? What if my uncle… dies?

My shakes got worse, and I curled into myself. Hisses and rustles surrounded me, unseen threats in the darkness. I twisted my head from side to side, wincing at every sound, as panic stormed in my chest. But I couldn’t see a thing. It seemed as if the darkness itself was mocking me. I reached for my uncle’s hand for comfort. It was still warm, and my chest softened.

3.14159265358… I counted 230 digits of pi over and over again, and the darkness slowly quietened.

“Samim!” Zayn’s voice echoed in the distance, and I jumped.

Tears filled my eyes as his skinny figure emerged from the shadows, running towards me with a wheelbarrow. I bolted to him, embracing him tightly. His heart pounded against my chest as he gasped for breath.

“I thought I lost you,” I choked out.

“I told you I’d find you.” Zayn patted my back.

I released him from my arms, and he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath.

“There is a small farm not far from here,” he puffed. “An old woman lives there. She gave me the wheelbarrow and agreed to help.”

I hugged Zayn again. Thank God! She agreed to help. We will be okay. We will be okay!

It took us almost half an hour of panting and groaning to lift my uncle onto the wheelbarrow.

As we started walking, Zayn confessed, “By the way, I told the woman it was you who was injured. I figured she was more likely to help a child than a man.”

“What? And what will we do when she sees Uncle in the barrow?”

Zayn shrugged. “I don’t know. Pray that she finds pity in her heart and still helps us.”

We plodded through the desert for another half an hour before an old house with golden lights in its windows appeared in the distance.

I prayed that the woman who had lit those lights would be kind enough to let us in.