The man’s smile faded and a confused expression fell across his face. He looked around the room for his rifle like a child suddenly gripped by the fear that a cherished blanket or stuffed animal had disappeared.

Spotting his rifle, Zwak visibly relaxed and turned back to face the elder. As the man was about to repeat the question, Mullah Massoud stepped in and came to his brother’s defense. “What are you talking about?”

Baseer recounted his meeting with Elam Badar from the previous evening and how his son Asadoulah’s jaw had allegedly been broken.

“Why did he not come to discuss this with me?” demanded Massoud.

“You are a Taliban commander,” replied the elder. “Elam Badar is a farmer. It is understandable that he came to speak to us first.”

The Taliban commander shook his head. “This should have been settled between us like fathers, but he did not have the courage to come to me. What else did he say?”

Baseer shrugged. “This was his primary concern.”

Massoud laughed. “He spoke of nothing else? He attempted to build no further case against my brother?”

Seconds passed before the elder spoke. “He did raise concern over Zwak’s behavior in the past.”

“What kind of behavior?”

“His aggressive behavior.”

“Aggressive behavior? That is ridiculous,” scoffed the commander.

Baseer fixed him with a hard stare. “Massoud, you yourself encourage this behavior. You have given him a rifle-”

“Which you know has been specially modified for him.”

“Be that as it may, you are well aware of how he acts toward people from outside our village. He accuses them of spying or trying to poison our water.”

The commander looked at his brother and smiled. “Because of his hard work, our water is pure and we have not had one spy in our village.”

Zwak, who had grown more agitated as the conversation grew more intense, stared nervously at his brother. “No spies,” he said. “Clean water. Safe water.”

“Do you feel that your brother was the best choice to guard the woman?” asked Baseer.

“In conjunction with the lock upon the door, yes I do,” said Massoud. “He is very attentive and has watched prisoners for us before.”

The elders had all known Zwak since he was a boy. He was just as much a member of their family as he was of Massoud’s. “Zwak is a very important member of our village, and in respect to the well and chasing away spies, he has done a very good job,” offered the elder, careful not to demean Zwak or his powerful brother.

“And he has never harmed anyone,” added Massoud. “Not once. If his behavior frightens people, Elam Badar is the only one complaining. If he is so delicate, maybe he should stay home and tend his children while his wife tends his affairs.”

The commander had paid Elam Badar a very egregious shkanza and the elder was glad the man was not present to have heard the insult uttered. “Maybe we should ask Zwak what happened,” stated Baseer.

Massoud turned to his brother. “Zwak, do you know the boy we are taking about, Asadoulah?”

Zwak nodded and repeated the words, “Bad boy, bad boy,” several times.

“Did you see him yesterday?”

Zwak was frightened and his eyes darted from side to side. Slowly, he nodded.

“Did he come to where you were watching over the American woman?”

“Protecting,” said Zwak, correcting his brother.

It was an odd choice of words, but Massoud had learned long ago that it was easier to communicate with his brother using the words he chose. “Did he come to where you were protecting the American woman?”

Zwak nodded and began repeating the words “bad boy, bad boy,” again.

“Did he make you angry?”

Zwak began to rock back and forth as he nodded.

“What did he do?”

Zwak didn’t want to answer and put his arms around himself as he continued to rock.

Massoud repeated the question. “Zwak, what did he do to make you angry?”

He still wouldn’t answer, and Massoud pushed him by raising his voice.

The mentally challenged man began to cry as his brother pressed the question. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

Unable to take it any longer, his eyes filled with tears, Zwak yelled at the top of his lungs, “Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!” and wouldn’t stop.

The commotion brought people running to Massoud’s door, and he ordered them to go away. Standing up, he walked over to the door, bolted it, then came back and put his arm around his brother’s shoulder.

It took more than five minutes for Zwak to calm down and to stop trembling. The only sound in the room came from the hiss of the propane heater and the short, quick gasps of air Zwak took as he tried to stop crying.

“Elam Badar is concerned that someone could inform the authorities about the American woman and that it would be bad for our villages,” Baseer interjected into the relative silence.

Massoud looked up from comforting his brother. “I suspected there was more said during your meeting. It sounds like Elam Badar is threatening us, and it wouldn’t be the first time he has caused trouble. He does not care for the Taliban.”

The elder locked eyes with the commander. “Be that as it may, on this point, his concern may be justified.”

Massoud was getting angrier by the second and fought to keep himself under control. “Elam Badar is a fool. He has no idea what he is talking about.”

“So, we’re wrong to be concerned then? The woman’s presence is no danger to us at all?”

The Taliban commander did not care for the elder’s facetiousness. “If Elam Badar keeps his mouth shut there is no danger, especially to Elam Badar and his village.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Massoud spoke slowly and clearly so that the elder would understand that the topic was no longer open for discussion. “I will worry about Elam Badar. And as far as the woman is concerned, her presence, at least for the time being, is necessary and will also benefit our cause.”

“So you have said, but what exactly is our cause, Massoud?”

It was all the commander could do not to reach out and slap this arrogant old man. Silently, he vowed that he would make Elam Badar pay for his interference. “You know full well what our cause is.”

“I do,” replied Baseer, “but I remain confused about why our cause needs to be intertwined with the Russians.”

“You know why.”

“I know only what you have told me. But regardless, right now we must focus on making compensation to Elam Badar and his family.”

“Compensation,” exclaimed Massoud. “For what?”

“For his son’s broken jaw,” snapped the elder.

“We still don’t even know what happened.”

“We know enough,” replied Baseer, as he rose to his feet and was joined by his three silent colleagues. “I will let you decide what is appropriate, but I want it done quickly. If his grievance is left too long, Elam Badar could become a very serious problem for us-and by us I mean our entire village.

“I am counting on you to do the sensible thing. And I expect you to see that no harm comes to him or his family.”

Massoud embraced the elders, but as soon as they had left the compound he crossed the courtyard to Simonov’s room and pounded on the door.

When the Russian answered, it was obvious he had been sleeping. “What is it?”

“I need you to do something for me,” replied the Taliban commander, “and I need it to look like an accident.”