The Deadliest Strain

Chapter Fifty-One

Austyn was told that Kurds got together for only two formal social gatherings — weddings and funerals.

People had arrived from other camps, from Iranian villages and from Iraqi Kurdish villages. People had come all the way from Turkey. As he watched what seemed to be thousands gather on a green hillside to celebrate the life and mourn the death of the woman who'd worked courageously and tirelessly to help them, he was only interested in one.

As he watched her, he could see the resolve in Fahimah's face.

Wave after wave of people approached her. Austyn didn't understand most of the words spoken to her. But the signs of gratitude, affection and condolence were unmistakable.

Austyn was certain that Fahimah now understood the magnitude of the gift she'd given, not only to her sister, but all these people during the five years that she had been imprisoned.

Two men played the ney, a smaller version of the flute, while another played a stringed instrument called the tanbun The melody was heartrendingly sad. A woman sang. Austyn recognized the names of Rahaf 's family members mentioned in the song.

Dr. Mansori came from Kermanshah and attended the funeral. He stood with Austyn and explained the customs as the ceremony proceeded.

Rahaf's body was shrouded in white. She had been placed on a flat board that was like an open casket. Flowers covered her. Sometime around midday, a group of young men approached the corpse and lifted the casket onto their shoulders. They started a procession that wound through the crowds. People threw flowers at the body and then joined the line of mourners. Fahimah led the group to the small burial ground on the hill. In the distance, the rugged peaks of the mountains pierced the clear blue sky.

Austyn was in awe of Fahimah's strength. For one burying the last member of her family, she displayed tremendous courage.

He had to leave today. The same private plane that had brought him over from Halabja was taking him back. He would drive back with Dr. Mansori to Kermanshah to catch the plane. Fahimah knew he was leaving.

Austyn had spoken to a number of top officials in the U.S. Every kind of arrangement was being made possible. From a teaching position at Salahaddin University in Erbil to financial settlements so that she could start her life again in Kurdistan, he was leaving no stone unturned for her. He had even cleared the way for her to go to America, though he knew she would never accept that path. When they talked, she told him her wish, for now, was to stay in Kurdistan.

After the funeral she stayed with him at the cemetery as everyone else moved down to the tents that had been set up to feed the crowds.

"Thank you," he told her, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her palm.

"If it were not for you, I would never have seen Rahaf before she died," she told him, smiling sadly at the spot where fresh flowers covered the dirt where her sister had just been buried.

"I'm sorry. It didn't have to be like this."

She nodded. "As Rahaf said, we are all victims of the actions of those who govern our countries. The past is behind me. Now I have to decide where I want to go from here."

"I told you that you can come to the U.S.," he immediately offered again. "I know you will get an invitation from the president if you choose to come. You can teach… or do whatever you want to do."

"No. My place is here… for now, at least," she said gently. "These are my people. We are only starting the fight."

"What fight?" he asked.

"The road to independence," she said. "I cannot act the part of a physician like Rahaf, but perhaps I can be my people's voice."

Austyn was honestly happy for her. She'd already found a purpose. He told her that. About the sadness he was feeling for himself, he said nothing.

A car horn beeped at the foot of the hill. They were waiting for him.

"You need to go," she said encouragingly.

"Do you think our paths will ever cross again?" he asked.

She smiled, looked up at the blue sky above. Her green eyes startled him still.

"I cannot say. Perhaps not." She raised herself on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek. "But we have a saying…. No matter where you go, your destiny follows you."

Austyn's climb down that hill to the waiting car was the hardest path he had ever traveled. Reaching the road, he looked back.

At the top of the hill, Fahimah stood in the breeze… alone, strong, her clear eyes fixed on the distant peaks.