Caged Nightingale

4 years later- Ameer

The Pashtoons are slippery fuckers.  One minute you can see the spark of mischief in their eyes, the next they turn to stone and you just know they're the kind of people that would shoot you right there if you looked at them wrong. They hear more that what is said and they see more than what you show them.  They've got eagle eyes that don't miss a thing.
So when I sit across the table from a man who looks like a goat  farmer, I know not to take anything at face value. With his wool turban, sitting in this heat as if he's in the middle of  winter. I know he's prob carrying his low temperature around with him. He has the calm of someone who knows life and his wrinkled face is a testament to that, but his eyes are stormy. He says something I don't understand  -to his man. It sounds like someone crushing stones. The brittle, harsh sounds are jarring even when he speaks quietly.
I let my eyes travel slowly to the younger man at his side. He's got the same shoulder length black hair and hard look in his weathered face.  He looks at me like he wants to put a bullet in the middle of my eyes. Murderous. But says nothing. Just nods slowly in acknowledgment.
I turn back to our contact. "That's not the price we agreed on." I say to Jahangir not taking my eyes off the men in-front of me- my man translates.
The two men don't even flinch. it's almost as if they are indifferent to the interpreter. They carry on watching me.
Interesting.  I hate to admit it. But it's clear now why my dad sent me. There's definitely a skill involved in being able to negotiate a difficult deal. And that's what people are like: difficult. Nothing is ever as simple or as straightforward as you would expect. Why would it be? Every fucker wants a piece of you. Some are sly and hide behind acquiesce smiles, others openly defiant and then there are those who are uncompromising on a level that makes you think you are on two different planes altogether. I have to admit begrudgingly there is something admirable about the way they conduct themselves.
I school my face to be passive, the way dad does. Reflect their calm. See most people panic when they face silence, they feel the need to fill the space with words and dig their own grave. But the real skill is to be able to hold your nerve. Say the least and watch the room. Reflect back what you see.
It's harder to do than you would expect.  I mean they could just kill me and just take the money anyway. It might cause a war, but they don't really look like they care. They could make me disappear like a grain of sand in the desert. They could hack me to pieces and feed me to their dogs, or throw me in a shallow grave and forget about me before supper! They're capable of it. I don't doubt it for a second. They look like the kind of people who use machetes even though they have guns. And they definitely have guns. These men are armed to the teeth. The man in the corner has an AK47 slung over his shoulder and looks like he knows how to use it.

This feels like something else.

And just like that I know: they want something else, I'm sure of it. So I sit and wait. I do a mental once over like dad taught me: no twitching, fidgeting, nervous tick. Steady gaze, definitely no nervous restless eyes. "Whatever you do don't make the mistake of looking bored: there's nothing more insulting that insolence," dad said. The guy is literally a genius. "Whatever you do. Do not get yourself killed." I thought he was joking- now I know he wasn't. Nothing feels more grave than those words. I don't suppose I would have believed him if he'd warned me about these people. You have to be sat in a mud house, in the blazing heat, opposite death itself to appreciate that statement. 
So I sit and wait. Not tense, not relaxed. The room is stuffy and the fan over head ticks away slowly pushing the hot air around the room. It is sweltering, oppressively so. But I don't think about that, don't allow my mind to go to the discomfort. The kameez I'm wearing is sticking to my shoulders and arms and the jeans heavy. Raw and sweaty.
Instead I take a deep breath. Relax my shoulders. Lean in a little. " I want to walk away from this meeting happy and I want you to be happy." I say and then pause. " I can try and do what I can but that difference in the new price is too big. I can't make that happen. " pause- Jahangir translates. Nothing, not so much as a flinch. Hard as fucking stone. "If there is something else you need or I can do for you..." again I pause. Look from one to the other.
Ever so imperceptibly, I see the very corners of the big man's lips lift. And then it's gone just as suddenly. His fellow, on the other hand, looks darker than ever. Fury fills his face. And I realise this is an audition not a negotiation.