ILEVEN DELIVERY (in french)

Dans le peace hostel l´ambiant etait très similaire au jour antérieur et Macri a pensé que la vie à Kaboul devait être, en grand partie, un éternel jour de la marmotte. Joe était, avec ses lunettes de pâte, d'intellectuel américain et en lisant un livre tandis qu'il fumait avec une pose d’intellectuel américain. À son côté, comme s'ils ne le connaissaient pas du tout, étaient le clown sans frontières et un volontaire irlandais criblé de taches de rousseur. Ils chuchotaient et fumaient avec aspect d’être en train de sauver au monde. Bien entendu que Macri et Maru ont salué seulement Joe. C’est incroyable, la facilité avec laquelle on choisit des amis à Kaboul.

Maru a cuit des macarons, Macri leur a versé une sauce de tomate dessus et tous ensemble les ont mangés. Pendant le dîner ils ont eu un bavardage animé sur la Cabale. Il résultait que Maru avait effectivement lu beaucoup sur le sujet. Elle a insisté pour ce que c'était plus philosophie que un type de sorcellerie ou de divination, mais il sonnait peu convaincant. Macri, que jusqu’à ce moment ne savait rien du sujet a tiré ses propres conclusions.

Par ce qu’il a conclut, au moins à Kaboul, la Cabale était plus une méthode de prédiction de l'avenir. En fait Zebulón, à ce qu'il semble, gagnée sa vie en lisant l'avenir aux afghans qui venaient, même depuis très loin, le voir. Selon Maru, bien que la Cabale essaie de donner à l'homme des recours pour en profiter du monde, cette habilité a été originairement fait à travers des nombres. Par cela les cabalistas les plus initiés disent que c'est la science des nombres et savent prédire à travers les mathématiques. Macri ne s'est pas dérangée en disant son impression de qu’il n’y a pas de liason entre les mathématiques que sont une science et une superstition pour decouvrir l'avenir. Joe entra a la converstaion a ce moment en racontant qu’il existent des cabalistes qu'ils croient que l'origine de tout est le langage. Il a mis un regard mystique tandis qu'il fumait et s'est expliqué :

- Selon quelques maîtres de la cabale le nom de Dieu est formé par toutes les lettres de l'alphabet et ce pour cela que ses combinaisons infinies servent à expliquer le monde. Tout ce que l'on dit, tout ce qui est fait dans le monde, était déjà dans le nom de Dieu.

- cela sonne à Borges.

- parce que Borges était cabalista.

- Hmmm .. allez, je commece a avoir sommeil -Macri il a bâillé par la premier fois. - De toutes façons ce que je n'entends pas est ce-là du livre ce, le Tohar que Zebulón disait.

Lui réponda Joe, qui résultait être un érudit en matière de doctrine juive :

- le Zohar est le livre que Moïse ben Semtob a écrit. Il était un savant sefardí du siècle treize, qui a vécu en Espagne. Le Zohar est une espèce d'interprétation de la Torá, comme quelques commentaires à chaque livre des textes sacrés. Dans une version la Cabale surgit à partir de ce livre.

- Ah oui ?-Maru liait une cigarette sans cesser de regarder fixement Joe, comme si elle venait de découvrir que c'était un puits de sagesse. -Et sais-tu quelque chose de ce qu'il a à voir avec Kaboul et Zebulón ?

- je ne suis jamais arrivé la voir, mais ils disent qu'à Kaboul on gardait une Torah avec les commentaires de David Alroy.

- oui, il a dit un peu de cela. Qui est-ce qui est ce David ?

- David Alroy a été un Juif qui se considérait à soi même un messie. Vous savez ça, pour les Juifs le messie est toujours pour arriver. Ce David a été un Juif kurde qui dans l'époque des croisades a pris la tête d'une révolte des Juifs de Bagdad contre le sultan musulman. C'était un type intéressant; il avait profondément étudié la Bible et le Talmud et ils disent qu'il avait des pouvoirs magiques. Il a eté quelqu’un d’avancé à son temps, parce qu'il voulait que tous les Juifs s'échappassent à Jérusalem pour instaurer là son propre état indépendant. Erezt Israël.

- un visionnaire. Le premier sioniste!

- oui, et avec des pouvoirs magiques. On dit qu'il était capable de devenir invisible et grâce à cela il a pu s'échapper de la prison du Sultan quand sa révolte a échoué. Entre les Juifs il y a quelqu’un qui raconte que le mythe des tapis volants de la Perse est aussi né avec David Alroy. À ce qu'il semble quelques Juifs, entre ceux-ci son beau-père, ont fini pour le trahir et les soldats du Sultan l’ont tendu une embuscade, mais quand ils l’avaient déjà complètement dans un enclos il est sorti d'entre les ruelles de Bagdad assis dans un tapis qui a disparu en volant …

- Et il a fini à Kaboul, non ?

- Selon certains il s’est fait passer par vagabond et il est arrivé jusqu'à l'Afghanistan, où il s’est installé pour un beau temps. En tout cas la tradition dit que son torah, dont il ne se séparait jamais, est restée ici, déposée dans la synagogue. À paraître, Moïse ben Semtob a écrit le Zohar en s'inspirant d'un résumé des commentaires d'Alroy que lui avait portés Benjamin de Tudela, un savant voyageur sefardí qui a parcouru l'Asie à cette époque. Mais l'original de Alroy est resté ici, á l’attente de quelqu'un si savant comme lui, qui puisse complètement les déchiffrer. Beaucoup de gens croient que ces commentaires cachent le secret de sa magie.

- Alors ça va être difficile de les récupérer - interrompa Macri.

- pourquoi ?

- parce que celui qui les a emportés est devenu invisible. Il a découvert le truc et maintenant il n’y aura personne capable de le trouver. - Maru et Joe ont cassé dans des éclats de rire et ça a été la fin du bavardage érudit. La fille a fumé son cigare lié, Joe l'a accompagnée d'une cigarette et Macri le se a servi un coup de vin de la bouteille de Lionel.

Au bout du moment Macri a perça que Maru lui regardait intensément et il a conclu, avec réussite, que c'était le moment de partir au lit. Il a mis le verre sur la table.

- On y va se coucher, Maru ?

- Perfait, je suis fatiguée - Lionel les regardait avec yeux comme plats et on n'a pas pu réprimer une question :

- ensemble ? Allez-vous dormir ensemble ?

- oui. Un problème ?-Maru savait regarder en provocant.

- non. Rien. Chacun avec sa vie, mais … vous étés rapides.

- Laissez tomber - Joe les regardait depuis ses lunettes de pâte avec certain sourire paternel.

- bon, alors bonne nuit - lui réponds Macri tranquille. - Mais avant de partir dis-moi une chose, Joe.

- quoi ?

- Ce comment que tu sais tant de la cabale et de ces légendes antiques.

- c'est parce que je suis juif. Et voilà que je ne suis pas sûr qu’il soient des légendes seulement. Bonne nuit.

12th DELIVERY (in french. Automatic translation. Not corrected)

À peine entrés dans la chambre ils se sont embrassés. Plus que embrasser semblerait que les lèvres leur sont restéescollées , puisque, sans qu'un millimètre les ait séparés, ils se ont mutuellement retiré les vêtements tout en s'approchant du lit. Macri a démontré son habileté pour ouvrir la fermeture du soutien-gorge avec une seule une main, mais Maru ne l'a pas apprécié parce qu'elle était amusée en essayant d'ouvrir les boutons de la fermeture de son pantalon, que le garçon n'utilisait pas de fermeture éclair. Sans cesser de s'embrasser, en se mordant les lèvres et en se délectant les deux sont restés tout nus. Macri a eu peur un second de la capacité préhensile des doigts des pieds de la française, qui lui a retiré les chaussettes presque sans qu'il ne se rendît compte.

Maru s'est permis de tomber bocarriba dans le lit et a apporté avec elle à Macri, qui il est tombé dessus mais il s'est commodément jeté place. Pour ne pas l'aplatir, et pour la regarder. De tôt elle lui a semblé très belle. Les rastas le tombaient d’ un côté et marquaient le contour du visage, en la faisant plus attractive. Les poitrines dans cette position lui semblaient plus rondes. La nuit antérieure Macri à peine il avait pu observer sur son corps. Maintenant les bouts lui ont semblé parfaits : des oranges, saillants, durs. À peine il avait un duvet à tout le corps, et celui-là du pubis le passait découpé, peu abondant.

On remarquait la fille excitée, impatiente, à l'attente. Macri lui a passé un doigt par le front, en la caressant. Sous le doigt par le nez, par le menton, entre les poitrines .. il la caressait avec ce doigt unique, en parcourant la ligne imaginaire qu'il divise à n'importe quel corps en deux. Après avoir passé sur le nombril elle a donné une résistance, mais il s'est efforcé dans rester immobile. Il a arrêté le doigt après être arrivé à son clitoris et après avoir perçu certaine humidité là. Elle le regardait en silence.

Il a frôlé le bout gauche, en le nourrissant avec la gemme du doigt, et a remarqué qu'elle s'altérait à peine. Macri avait une théorie sur les bouts des filles. Selon son expérience, les bouts des filles avec de grandes poitrines sont moins sensibles. Par cela il a douté si redoubler; il a été pensé; il s'est mordu la lèvre; et voilà qu'il a appuyé le bout entre deux doigts. La force a augmenté avec celle qui le serrait jusqu'à ce qu'elle gimió légèrement :

- Eyy, me fait mal.

- Vrai ? Tu n'as pas de visage de douleur.

- il me fait mal, mais il me plaît.

- Et maintenant ?-Macri a serré fort le bout entre ses doigts. Maru a fermé les yeux et a serré la bouche, mais il ne s'est pas plaint. Il lui a parlé à une voix très douce :

- il me plaît. Ce point me plaît où sont mêlés la limite du plaisir et le principe du plaisir. Il me plaît d'exister dans ce point, que tu ne sais pas s'il te fait mal, ou te plaît, ou les deux choses-Maru gimió reste - : sais-tu ? Tu as un nerf spécial qui connecte chaque bout avec ton clitoris. Te serre j'ici - il a redoublé - et un courant électrique te parcourt par-ci, par-ci - avec la gemme du doigt il dessinait un chemin depuis sa poitrine, par la peau de l'abdomen, en laissant place le nombril et jusqu'au point le plus sensible du corps de la fille, qu’il a légèrement frôlé en finissant. - Le sens-tu ? Regarde je te recommence à redoubler et tu verras comme si tu te concentres tout ce que je te fais dans ton bout tu le sens dans ton con. Tu le remarques.

- oui. Je ne sais pas si c'est ce nerf ou est autosuggestion, mais il l'a remarqué ... ayyyyy - Macri a déjà serré sans pudeur le pincement sur la poitrine de la Française, qui ne se plaignait pas, simplement gemía concentrée. De fait, il a serré les deux bouts à la fois, chacun avec une main, avec toutes ses forces, une pression constante qui fatiguait à lui même les doigts. Très fort. Le corps de Maru s'agitait, était très évidemment excité, abandonnée. Si négligée que très tôt les gémissements se sont convertis dans des petits cries, de plus en plus fort. Il a doublé la tête vers un côté, comme beaucoup de femmes font quand se pousser. Il a maintenu la pression dans les bouts et le mouvement doux rotatoire de ses mains tandis que la jeune fille arquait l’epaule, en respirant très fort, gimiendo à l'intérieur à la fois qui hurlait tout bas. Macri a remarqué qu'il était tout près d'arriver à un orgasme et effectivement il ne s'est pas arrêté jusqu'à sentir que tout le corps d'elle tremblait comme dans un frisson étendu et semblait pleurnicher. Alors il s'est arrêté et a doucement embrassé les deux bouts, avec les lèvres très humides, en les calmant après ce jeu. Maru se a fait une pelote. Toujours il a tiré des forces pour lui parler, avec voix de petite petite fille, à son amour :

- Uuufff, que joli!!! tu vas me tuer! Mmmmm, maintenant je veux que tu me fasses l'amour, Macri, s'il te plaît, baise-moi, s'il te plaît.

- non, petite française.. Parler de cela. Je veux qu'aujourd'hui tu dormes ainsi, sans perdre ton excitation, sans cesser de se sentir et de me désirer.

- mais je suis très mouillée. Je t'aime à l'intérieur.

- qui va petite, parler - il lui a passé une main par la joue et le front, en la caressant affectueux.

- Hmmmm ... puisque tu es aussi excité. Très excité - il a remarqué son sexe. Tout dur et inhiesto.

- les envies, moi me tairai aussi.

- puisqu'il semble que tu es aussi humide - Il A nourri avec un doigt la pointe du polla du garçon et il le lui a passé, mouiller à lèvres.-Uauuu ... quel bien il sait! Il ressemble de la confiture!

- N'exagères pas, Maru.

- tu ne sais rien, il est doux, vraiment. - la Française se leva le juste pour arriver a se mettre la pointe rose de ce sexe dur entre les lèvres et le lacha à conscience, comme si elle savourait un bonbon. Puis elle a recommencé à s’appuyer relamiéndose les lèvres.

- Oyeee, que e suis excité.

- tant pis. Maintenant tu te tais. À dormir!

Les deux ont été pris dans les bras, souriants. Elle s'est installée sur sa poitrine et quand déjà presque les deux étaient dormi a dit à l'entendu la seule phrase dont il s'éveillerait au jour suivant :

- le goût de ton liquide preseminel m'enchante.

Ils ont dormi ainsi. Pendant la nuit ils se sont séparés un peu ; chacun s'est installé dans son coté du lit. Macri s'est éveillé la nuit mais il s’est rendormi tout de suit avec le confort de ses deux culs en se frôlant.

Par le matin le bruit d'une alarme les a réveillés tôt. Sans s'étirer, Maru tel n'a pas refréné les envies d'embrasser son aimé. Il l’a souris, pour ne pas être moins :

- j'adore me réveiller avec tes baisers, sais-tu ?

- tu n'es pas de mauvais goût! tu t'es éveillé avec l'alarme de mon mobile!

- D’accord, mais tes baisers récemment un son levé très accueillants.

- cela est parce que tu as quelques délicieuses lèvres, on ne peut pas se priver de les embrasser.

- Pourtant à toi, petite française, la respiration te sent mal.

- Hmmmm ... cela est parce que tu ne me donnes pas de bonbon de le chocolat.

- je me suis oublié de t’ en apporter.

- il y a un paquet ouvert là, sur la table - Macri, a étiré le bras et après avoir recherché un instant à l'aveuglette, il s'est heurté, effectivement, avec un paquet craquant. Il l'a pris

- seulement trois restent.-Maru il l'a regardé et s'est limité à sourire, avec un sourire long et brillant.

- il vaut, compris. Un bonbon pour la petite fille - il a pris l'un, d'une couleur rouge, et il l'a utilisé pour nourrir les lèvres d'elle - Hmmm ... quelle faim, vérité ? - il a suivi en le se frôlant par les lèvres, sans lui donner une option à le manger. Ils ont commencé à jouer à nouveau.

10th DELIVERY (In french and automatic translation)

Les choses ne sortent pas toujours comme l'un il les projète. Macri et Maru sont montés aux Toyota heureux, de travers et presque excités. Disposés à passer le reste du jour dans le quart de Maru, avec le chauffage allumé et en buvant un vin très interdit. Ils sont entrés en se taisant les envies de même être pris de la main en public.
Macri a ce moment la, a eu un grimace de sociabilité, et cela a fait qu'ils changeaient ses plans. À nouveau.
Juste après s'installer dans le fauteuil postérieur du tout-terrain, qui sentait à un plastique et à nouveau, comme s'il était aux milliers de kilomètres des rues de Kaboul, il a pensé à qu'il ne devait pas traiter le chauffeur, dont seul il savait qu'il s'appelait Abdul, comme une chose ou un domestique antique. Donc il a profité pour lui donner une conversation et, du mème chemin, s'informer.
- tu qui sais-tu des kuchis, Abul ?

- Hmmm, plus ou moins que tout le monde par-ci, monsieur Kibris -Macri, mentalement, avait mis un "sahib" à la fin de la phrase, comme les domestiques indiens des films coloniaux. Et encore il l'a encouragé à suivre :
- mais tu connais Hasmat Ghani et Naim Kuchi?
- Jajajaja! Bien sur! Tout le monde connaît ces deux, ils emportent comme le chien et le chat. On est sures que très tôt l'un des deux tuera à l'autre. Des choses de nomades.
- et tu qui penses-tu de cela ?
- bon, il semble que parfois il est plus facile de se battre avec ce qui se ressemble plus à toi: non ?
- dans nos pays il se passe la mème chose, surtout avec les partis de gauche. Nous avons des millions de partis radicaux de gauche révolutionnaire qui se détestént entre-soi mème... ses plus grand ennemis ne sont jamais les capitalistes, mais les dissidents.
- ici succèdele même . Bien qu'en réalité dans la bataille entre Naim Kuchi et Ghani il y ait quelque chose de plus, il y a aussi une lutte mafieuse pour devenir le représentant des kuchi devant les américains et pour obtenir quelque part des millions de dollars qu' offrent à n'importe quel chef pour pacifier le pays, mais en tout cas l'Afghanistan a une tradition considérable de détester d'avantage ton frère qu'à ton ennemi. Et sinon voilà le cas des Juifs de Kaboul.
- Y a-t-il aussi deux groupes de Juifs battus ?-Macri a mis un visage de stupéfaction amusante, en regardant Maru, qui s'est encouragé même à dire quelque chose.
- allez, un Juif ne m'a jamais séquestré, mais quelque chose me dit que je manque de peu dejà.
- pas du tout! Il n'y a pas, pour rien, de deux groupes de Juifs. Ce qui existe ils sont deux Juifs.
- Pardon? Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire ?
- seulement cela. Dans Kaboul ils restent seulement deux Juifs . Tout le monde les connaît, ils vivent, ensemble, ici au côté, dans la synagogue. L'un s'apelle Isaac et l'autre Zebulon. Et ils se détestent. Ils passent le jour à s'insulter de grands cris dans la rue et l'un a été dénoncé à l'autre beaucoup de fois.
- cela ne peut pas être - Macri et Maru regardaient le chauffeur à travers du rétroviseur avec la bouche ouverte.
- mais oui. C'est une histoire très connue. Même ils ont fait un film.
- Un film ?-maru riait.
- oui. pendant des anneés tous les journalistes européens qui passaient pour Kaboul dédiaient une après-midi à avoir une entrevue avec eux et à raconter son histoire. Après un Français est venu et il est passé six mois en vivant avec ceux-ci et a roulé un film.
- Et encore continuent-ils à se battre ?
- naturellement. Sûrement maintenant ils sont déjà un peu de prisonniers de ses personnages. Ils ont donné une raclée à l'un d'eux il fait peu, je crois que parce que s'est poussée la voix dont ils leur ont payé par lui du film, mais je crois que non. S'il vous fait envie nous pouvons aller les visiter.
- Une forme part-elle du show touristique kabul 2008 ?-, inévitablement, l'ironie était de Macri.
- quelque chose de pareil.
- je veux aller - il a crié de Maru prompt. Et ils sont été.
Abdul le chauffeur s'est rangé dans une rue large et poussiéreuse, tout près d'où ils étaient. En anglais, la plaque indiquait que c'était la rue des Fleurs. Devant une maison grande et carrée. Ils sont entrés à une cour commune. On semblait être une maison de voisins de deux plantes, assez branlante. Au centre une ample cour de terre où quelques buissons croissaient et par celui qui avait disséminé quelques outils vieux et oxydés. Tout était si poussiéreux comme le reste de Kaboul bien que peut-être un peu plus abîmé toujours de l'habituel. Abdul a passé à la cour et a commencé à appeler Isaac de grands cris. Au moment un vieux courbé, similaire a abouti à tout autre vieux de Kaboul, je sauve par un gorrito noir qui évoquait lejanamente un kipa juif.
- Isaac regarde, cela ce sont deux cooperantes des étrangers, l'un est anglais et l'autre Française, ils finissent d'arriver à Kaboul et ils mouraient d'un appétit de connaître le dernier Juif de la ville.
- bienvenus, bienvenus. Je ne sais pas comme il vous arrive de venir à l'Afghanistan. Déjà la peine ne mérite pas ce pays, ce n'est pas un endroit agréable pour vivre.
- Et vous pourquoi reste-t-il ?
- ma famille a émigré toute à Israël mais je ne pense pas partir. j'aimerais visiter Israël, Jerusalem, mais de revenir ici. Je suis né ici, je suis afghan, il ne pourrait vivre dans aucun autre endroit. De plus, je ne pourrais pas partir jusqu'à ce que le Torá de Alroy recommence à apparaître.
- Quel Torá est-il ce ?
- on voit que ce ne sont pas vous juifs. Tous les Juifs du monde savent que Kaboul se garde le Torá de David Alroy. Les commentaires d'Alroy que l'on a levés contre les musulmans pour défendre les Juifs il inclut tous les commentaires faits de sa propre main. La même que Moïse ben Semtob a usé tout de suite pour écrire le Zohar. Dans le Torá de Alroy on garde la première explication de la Kábala; beaucoup de secrets et prédictions. Savez-vous ce qui est le kábala ?
- naturellement, c'est une philosophie mystique juive - Maru, qui écoutait concentrée le Juif, a répondu avec assurance, on voit que le mystique l'attirait et avait lu des livres sur la Kábala. Macri s'est dit à oui même qu'il lui avait déjà remarqué la Française certain paru avec Madone, mais comme ce n'était pas le moment d ebromear avec tout cela, il n'a rien dit.
- non seulement cela. La Kabalah est l'essence de nos textes sacrés; l'explication du monde à partir de la Torá. Le kabalah permie la découverte du monde que l'on cache sous la lettre des textes c'est-à-dire de la réalité de la vie humaine.-Isaac parlait lentement, on voit que ce n'était pas la première fois qui faisait cette narration - À travers du kábala tu peux te connaître à toi même, et peux prevér ton avenir comme homme. Dans le Torá de Alroy et dans le Zohar, pour qui il sait interpetrarlo, vient la prédiction de toute l'histoire. Cela oui, la ligne maîtresse du kabala est la rectification, pour entendre le kabalah il faut apprendre pour être meilleur chaque fois ... mais cela ne sait pas ce rat sale de Zebulón.
- je suppose qu'il se rapporte à son ami, le "autre" dernier Juif de Kaboul - il a interrompu Macri ... et un regard assassin de Maru a été gagné.
- ce porc n'est pas juif ni rien. Il est un imposteur. Il a renoncé à son fé et est un voleur ... je sais que c'était il celui que la Torá a volé, pour elle est donnée à un de ses amis musulmans.
La conversation se développait dans la cour poussiéreuse, dans pastun et avec Abdul en traduisant. Macri s'est rendu compte qu'à maru le sujet lui intéressait ainsi qu'il s'est amusé à faire un peu d'un mécène de la communauté juive et a trouvé la manière de le faire savoir Isaac qui comme admirateur de sa capacité de résistance dans un environnement si hostile se sentait dans l'obligation morale de lui offrir quelque chose. Il lui a pris des nouvelles Abdul du prix d'un sac de farine et a insisté jusqu'à ce qu'Isaac a accepté la donation en espèces. Il ne lui a pas été difficile trop cher (moins, que manger dans un bar de menu bon marché à Londres) et à un changement Isaac les a invités à son habilitation, il leur a offert du thé et ils ont été un bon moment en bavardant.
Il les a racontés qu'il était né dans Herat, mais très jeune il est parti pour étudier Téhéran. Là estudión sept ans avec un grand rabbin qui lui a donné un titre qui l'autorise à diriger les prières dans la synagogue. Isaac leur a appris le document, jaunâtre, ecsrito intégral chez un Juif et un coup à l'intérieur d'une doublure de plastique. Il leur a aussi parlé de sa relation à Zebulón. Il y a années étaient très amies, et les deux sont partis pour vivre à la fois à la synagogue de la rue des fleurs. Ils ont commencé à emporter mla quand en 1992 les derniers Juifs se sont échappés de Kaboul. Selon Isaac, Zebulón avait collaboré avec les talibans et par cela pendant les années d'occupation personne ne l'a gêné. même il a dit qu'il croyait que dans ces années son collègue s'est converti à l'islam. D'un fait il se rapportait à lui en le nommant Mulá Zebulón. Tous ont tiré dans un espace que l'épisode déterminant pour son inimité avait été la disparition de la Torá cette si antique. Ils s'accusaient mutuellement et ils il étaient arrivés à accuser isaac devant les talibans du vol. on voit que même talibans n'ont pas eu d'âme pour deux Juifs se sont mis aux disputes de lso et le sujet n'est été à plus.
Quand ils sont sortis de la synagogue il était déjà de nuit.

SEVENTH DELIVERY

They went out of the bed a little while later, after a very brief moment of kisses and caresses more tender than exciting. Maru went direct to the shower, using that at those hours there waswater, and Macri to the room where he had his bunk and his luggage. In the corridor he crossed Joe, that said to him good morning smiling animated and invited Macri to have breakfast with him. So, he just had time to come to his bed roll and to change his dirty t-shirt by other clean in the same black color, and went away to look for the American.
The house had been constructed, evidently, in the seventies. They had painted the room in pale green and had an enormous window by where already, so early, much sun entered. In the ground, llike in the rest of rooms, was moquette. The furniture also seemed to be from the seventies. Seated around the table and before individual bowls of coffee they were the clown and a red-haired and bearded boy in animated chat. Intellectual Chat, of course. Joe called him from the kitchen.
It was the kitchen where they had kissed the previous night for the first time. Joe was warming a teapot with water. He explained him that the electricity of the network did not have force enough to make the microwaves work. And indeed the apparatus was connected to a small stuck generator close to the window. Macri did not understand what relation could have the microwaves with the breakfast. After all coffee pots do not need electricity. In any case, Joe filled a water bowl and passed him the boat of nestcafé and the one of the sugar, neither too clean, by the way. Then arrived Maru with the hair still wet . She had put in a white shirt, aldo a man's one. He filled another cup.
- You only have man's shirts?
-In fact, I do have many frinds. - She said that, smiled, yawed the eye to him and gave him a fast kiss him in the lips. Macri did not have time to react and remained paralyzed but happy.
- She is ma petite - Joe, smiling, seemed proud of the girl. He gave a friendly tap in the shoulder to Macri and went to the hall with the coffee. They two remained both in the kitchen.
- Well, what plans do we have for today?
- I must go just a little while to the MEDERA office, and it would be also good you coming for to gather your airplane ticket to Herat. I do not know what will they have managed, for you but tomorrow I must go to visit a project there, it would be brilliant if we can go together, no?
- Tomorrow? I thought that I was going to be able to fly today. I asked to Gérard to organize everything as soon as possible. Also I do not go to Herat but to Chagcharag, that is where the famous Boris Paton said to me that he is destined.
- I do not know anything of that. Those things are just in charge of Gérard but I can take you to the office if you want. Later, if you do not go away today, we can make a tour in Kabul. I can show you a bit the city.
- Hmmm, war tourism? It sounds lovely… let's see what Gérard tells me.
Maru telephoned the driver of her organization and shortly later the sound of a horn indicated that her vehicle had arrived. A white Corolla. Maru covered again her hair with a handkerchief. This time one printed of flowers. Macri thought that it was a pity to cover those black curls and that under the handkerchief it was never going to dry. But he shutted up and raised the car.
In the door of the "peace hostel" they crossed a woman with burka. His first woman with burka.
Then Macri realised he was just half a day in Afghanistan. During that time he had taken a walk by Kabul at night, he had been kidnapped, he had slept with a girl and perhaps until had fallen in love. Everything too quickly.
After that one, many other women with burka came. Kabul, by day already, turned out to be a big city, modern, animated and more prosperous than what Macri expected.
They were at the beginning of April, but it was still cold. Kabul occupies an extensive valley, all surrounded by mountains. There was yet snow in mountains and although the dusty landscape transmitted heat sensation it was more confortable to stay in the heat of the vehicle.
After few streets they were suddenly surrounded by the chaotic traffic of the city. Maru commented to him that there only existed two traffic lights in all the city. It was the typical detail always told to the new arrived visitors. In some crossroads there were traffic policemen with surgical masks, Macri supposed it was because of the pollution. They all were carrying assault rifles and they were not too effective in their task of regulating the circulation. It is not possible to say that vehicles really were following any track. They tried to circulate avoiding the vehicles coming fast from the front and the pile of pedestrians rambling in the midle of the street. The majority were men, but he also saw some women. More as they were approacheting to the center.
Many of the women were without burka. The majority with a chador or a simple handkerchief. Even some with jeans. Macri even saw some young girls walking close to boys of their age, something incredible in such a fundamentalist country. That was right close to a commercial center. A hug mass in design, with enormous tinted glass windows, that absolutely shocked in the midle of the brown houses of the city.
They crossed some buses. They were old, of dark silver and blue color. People overflowed of them like in an African train while they advanced slowly in a cloud of dust .
They arrived at destination: a high building in the downtown. Impersonal, in an unequivocally Soviet style, as if they had never finished building it. The MEDERA office was in the second floor. They had to pass the already traditional control in the door of the building, and one more when entering the space of the NGO.
Inside there were several tables. People seated in front of their respective computers ignored Macri, that just followed Maru to another room where they entered after knocking discreetly to the door.
- This it is Macri. And this is Gerald.
- Welcome, how was the trip?
- It seems to me that it was one week ago when I came here.
They spoke a little  more of trivialities. Later Gérard explained him the complicated way the had to follow for to reserve a place in the United Nations flight to Herat and that they had only been able to find one him for the following day. Also he explained to him that personal of MEDERA in Herat was going to help him to get a secure transport until Chagchadar and the permissions for to enter the military base. Gérard was the typical high French, of aquiline nose and hair falling over his forehead. It seemed to go soon with haste he dispatched and them soon. Before entering Maru had noticed to him that nobody had why to find out their private life, so they two did not show too much confidence to each other in the office. The French girl had to finish some burocratic papers and to get some information and proposed him to wait a bit until she finish, in orther to make a walk together.
Macri made a tour around the office. It was boring, so lon as nobody spoke to him, so he left to take a walk over the plant of the building. There was some completely empty room, in works and just alongside other offices, of which it seemed to be a bank. There was also a quarter with large windows and guards inside playing backgammon. He remained watching the game a while and as Maru still didnt show up, he decided to go by himself to the street. Just in front of the building there were several  old books shops extended in the sidewalk. He stopped to watch it. The majority were very spent booklets, with the titles in Arab characters. He paid attention to one that was in English titleholder “learning English without professor”. The phrase included two misspelling. Then a middle-aged gentleman with beard and turban to rays approached to him. He hold his shoulder and Macri was frightened; all the scenes of the previous night came suddenly to his mind and he almost started running to leave searching for the guards, when the man spoke to him in a very deficient English:
- Hello. How old are you? My name is Mahmet.
- Hello. - Macri still distrusted, although the man had loosen his shoulder.
- Me student of English. I like language very much but little speak.
- Oh, You speak it pretty well, really!
- Tank you. Me do not speak good. Kabul not many English to practice.
- I couldnt notice it, Sir.
- Pleasure to meet to him. Much taste - the man smiled showing a set of black teeth and he strongly shook him the hand as a goodbye. He left Macri happy, feeling a little stupid to have frightened without sense because of a good man. So he cheered up the street to walk few meters between the crowd.
It was already fresher and the wind brought dust clouds. He didnt realised until now the hug amount of pole that flew over Kabul. Whatsoever the street was colapsed of people. It remembered to a dense flock of a Western. Between the mass bicycles, todoterrenos and carricoches of colors founded their way. Macri watched everything enchanted.
Suddenly it passed a high speed military convoy without stopping in spite of the multitude. They were Hummer on which they showed American soldiers and guns. People left the street runnin . They separated with haste openning for the convoy a corridor as by magic art, and without there was no upsetting that to be sorry. They were hardly five vehicles and after them the multitude occupied back the roads as if nothing had happened.
Suddenly the city seemed to him much less threatening. he felt like comfortable with the originating laughter oft tea houses and music in high volume coming fromt almost all the tiny stores that jammed some buildings, all with the same hung blue signboard in the door. Here and there some passer-by had sat down in the ground, supported in the wall to enjoy the sun in such a fresh day. The air smelled of meat and kebab.
As always it happened lately, from he was removed from his welfare by the far voice of Maru calling him and signaling to him exaggeratly. He approached obedient, and even smiling.
-Where you have been?
- I went to make a tour.
-And how is everything? What do you think about my city?
- Dense.
- Nice definition. Come here, we go, we have the rest of the day free .

SIXTH DELIVERY

Maru had a single room in the house, but it was little more than a bed and a table. In the window hung a painted handkerchief and had another, typically Afghan, on the wall. On the table, among the papers, a diverse group of candles brought a minimum air feminine, something unnecessary in any case, given the pile of bras, T-shirts and underwear for girl scattered across the room.

When Macri and Maru entered and closed the door there was an initial moment of uncertainty. They stayed watching themselves, just a few seconds, without knowing exactly what to do. To see themselves suddenly in the room gave them both some kind of shame. Until he kissed it again. A nice kiss, bitting the lips, sucking with pleasure, which again lead to Maru to that sort of warm cloud where everything flowed a lot easier. In fact it was she the one that, without stopping kissing, raised the T-shirt for to the back to Macri, up to taking it from him. He opened one by one the buttons of her black shirt. Le mordió suave la barbilla, el cuello. He bit smooth her chin, her neck. By every rubbing of the dry lips, Maru trembled slightly. Se abandonaba. She was abandoned.

While he was nibbling her, he also embraced her and unfastened the bra. He threw her on the bed. Maru stayed quiet and let him do. By caressing her, he thought she do looks like a strong girl: the wide shoulders, the smooth skin. He separated to look at her, covering at the same time her sternum with his index finger. She had the skin lightly rough, brown. Small but very round breasts. Dark nipples.

He discovered just a little bit of hair near her nipples, but it did not bother him. He razed the left nipple with the tip of his tongue and she wailed a bit.  He kept a little bit in this way, giving her clicks with the tongue, but he noticed that she was relaxing. So he deliberately grazed the nipple with his teeth and that made her tremble a little bit more. He insisted and, making use of the thing he had just discovered about this nipple, he kept it between two fingers when he rose to bite softly her low lip.  Exactly in this moment she was wishing a kiss like that, to remember Macri in person, beyond the agreeable sensation in her nipples.

He looked into her eyes, from very close and then just tightened the nipple. A pinch a bit stronger than the caresses of before. She put pain face... that she transformed a second later into expression of pleasure, and he continued tightening. He only released it when she gave a small cream. And then he returned to kiss the nipple, to moisten and sucking to calm, before to press it again, this time by surprise and stronger. He squeezed it strongly few seconds and noticed an intense pain crossing the body of Maru that was immediately turned into pleasure by getting to her sex. He noted it in her face, in her wailing. In her way of balancing the whole body.

They kissed with desire, bitting hungry. The girl was moving all her body looking for the one of Macri and he noticed that. He introduced his leg between those of her. They kept on kissing while they were rubbing, dancing gently to the same rhythm, lying on the bed. Both they wore still the trousers, and he continued tightening the same right nipple to her. She was breathing intermittently; she was evidently on the verge of exploiting. Above all, by noticing the strong erection of him pressing against her thigh. She could already not last any more:

-Fuck me. Please, fuck me already.

-Not yet.

-Do not be cruel, I need you fucking me.

-Hold a little.

Simultaneously that he was speaking, he was separating of her. He smiled. He opened the button of her trousers. He lowered the zipper. He grabbed her trousers by the low side and extracted it by pulling out. She lifted her ass to facilitate his task and in an instant she remained in lingerie. He took off the underwear in the same way, almost without looking to it. Than he looked at her, already naked. She had plentiful pubis and the clear mark of having sunbathed in bikini. He opened her legs and knelt down on the bed among them. He placed a hand on each thigh, keeping them separated, and with the tip of the tongue –only the tip- he grazed her clitoris. She, who did not expect it, frightened. The humid top of the tongue of Macri was rubbing insistently her clitoris. He was beating it softly, caressing it, drawing little circles in it, repeatedly. She opened her mouth and began to moan very high, without fear that they could heard it in other rooms.
She was moaning to spasms, losing little by little the control of her own body. She cum unexpectedly, but it was just a small and discreet orgasm. As a little jump of what she recovered very fast among the lips of the boy. He did continue sucking her slowly, like someone who savours an ice cream. This game was exciting to him, that way of carrying her up and down. In order to continue he put a humid finger’s yolk, without pushing, in the entrance of her ass. Simultaneously, he accelerated the rate of the movement of his tongue. Maru was feeling that she could easily cum again; her hips were moving alone and she felt as if an exciting air globe was growing under her belly. She was outside herself, incapable to feel nothing of her body that was not the pleasure. Macri got excited seeing that; with her movement, the girl was doing she herself that the finger was entering deeper and deeper inside her butt. Up to be completely inside. He started moving it, massaging the inside wall, rubbing the cunt from inside her ass and without stopping to lick, to absorb, to suck and to lick her clitoris.

There, Maru exploded in an intense, sudden explosion. She felt that she was overflowing. Macri noticed in his hand how her cunt was fluttering, and noticed also that it was wetting him. She nestled, relaxing in her orgasm and he waited for an instant before massaging gently her head. She looked at him smiling:

-You are very pretty, do you know?

-Yeah? So, you have a very nice cunt.

- Idiot! - they returned to kiss.

They spent a good time joking, between kisses. The two were feeling really happy. She for having met a boy like that, tender but adventurous. He,  because he felt he was comfortably with her. When they slept the girl had the cheek supported on his chest. In the middle of the night each one went aside in the bed.

Both woke up really early with the alarm of Maru's mobile telephone. She turned it off and looked for the lips of her new love.

FIFTH DELIVERY

Although it was a little behind schedule for Kabul time, in the hall still was Lionel, a Catalan of clowns without borders: seated in a armchair, with the feet in the table, writing and drinking wine. He was a thin, high type, wearing a pierced good vagabond hat. He wrote occurring evident airs of intellectual. Macri and Maru sat down to his side and served two glasses of wine. The boy left his notebook. Macri introduced himself and interchanged the usual explanations about what was doing each one in Afghanistan. Lionel only had been two weeks there, had come accompanying a NGO that worked in hospitals for disabled people.

-And what impression have you got about the country in these weeks?

-Terrible, the damage. It is very sad what was done by Talibans.

-Only Talibans?

-Well, they mainly, although it is much more complicated; the history of Afghanistan in too complex for to explain it to you just in a while. Talibans, pasthuns, mujahidins… all are Muslim fanatics, but Taliban are the worse. They could kill a woman because of a slipped burka and destroyed all the televisions of the country. - Lionel was truly pedantic. He listened to Macri smiling:

-Really? And you have noticed it?

-You can notice in everything, as soon as you travel a little by the country.

-Have you travelled much?

-Good I have been in Herat. You do not imagine the dangerous thing that it is to move around over here. You must always go with escort.

-But I have heard that there are people who move by their own.

-No one does! It is impossible. What happens is that those that we work in small ngo, like us, we only have the driver and one escort man. Nobody finances loaded armored cars to us or the support of guards; the great organizations have it, but they do not give anything to us. We gambled the life, but it is because our roll is different, and in the way back, we are more independent.

-It is admirable.

-I know - It. We are in contact with the enemy with people, spoke with them and know as the country goes. The great organizations are civil servants.

-I guess you speak dari.

-No, but we have a very competent translator. Yusuf is called and in addition his is our driver and even he has got a pistol to protect us. He is the best thing that we have. He has really taught to me how it is Afghanistan and its customs. Once even I entered an Afghan house and the family invited to me to tea. It is all a tradition, very complicated to explain, is necessary to know well their culture to integrate yourself as we do.

-I do not have words… - Macri was already blatantly cynical. Nevertheless the clown did not realize it. Maru doubted between thundering against her friend with the glance and finishing falling into outbursts of laughter.

-And the war is terrible. Our task is one of most important here.

-You talk about the clowns?

-Sure. By speaking with women who have been attacked by their husbands I have reached the conclusion that the women here do not know how to play, you know? When I ask them to play some game with me they do not know to raise it. And if I ask them to tell me about games they cannot make specific it, they do not manage to generate a game with rules, development and objective. Uff, It scares.

-Truthly it does, panic is entering me - said to him Macri, while watching Maru, that had to cover her mouth to disguise an outburst of laughter.

-It is because of the trauma of the war. It is something typical.

-And it does not have anything to do whereupon they are Muslim, nor with their culture? Or whereupon they have an idea different from the games here?

-Not at all. I see that you do not know the country. The Muslim culture is a very glad culture, the children really enjoy themselves with our numbers and they follow our games without problems.

-You Are professional clowns – There, Maru was going to explode and laughter rose abruptly and she went away, running to the kitchen.

- Are you kidding or what?

- No, no, not at all. But, pardons, I am going to see what was going to do Maru. Macri rose with impudence and went to the kitchen. Lionel remained watching him, angry and with indignant face.

Maru was supported in the sink, with the hand covering her mouth and the whole body shaking in laughter spasms. When Macri entered the kitchen and he started to watch her smiling, she gave a strong tiny to him in the shoulder, without stopping to laugh:

-You are the worse; you caused me laughs in his face!

- No, the worse thing is how pedantic he is and his miserly opinions. The boy has not lowered of the car, he does not leave without escort, he does not understand a word of the country and above all that he thinks he is allowed to give lessons.

- Well, he should know something after being here for a month!

-You think so? Well if you see that he has never entered a kebabhouse. And he does not know nor how to say good morning in dari...

- To go to kebabhouses we have already seen that is not always a good idea.

- For sure. What fear! Thank heavens that the clown that has done at least that we escape together from him.

- I believe that they have made me real damage in my head.

- Poor girl… mmm.. and the boy says with impunity that the Afghan women do not know to invent interesting games because of the war! It is inconceivable, I cannot imagine anybody saying more stupidities per minute…

- I have said that it hurts to me- She interrupted him.

-Where?
-Here, in the side of my head- Maru was putting face of poor girl to him.

-You want that I kiss you there?

- Aha –She moved the head affirmatively.

- It is worth. - Macri approached to kiss her head smoothly, but when he was going to do it Maru turned the head and their lips meet.

The first time to kiss to any person is always special. It is as if when two mouths that do not know each other had a special texture. A fine but rough lame, that is worn away as the mouths get used one to the other. For that reason in the first kiss the lips always seem more droughts, rougher, without exploring. They are a magical space absolutely different of the rest of the body of each one.

Thus felt Maru and Macri. The kiss began dry, superficial, as if each mouth tweaked to the other. It was as an affection concentrate that was growing, like in waves. And then the kiss grew. It became humid. The lips began to open, to extend itself. He bit the inferior lip of her; she the one of him. In just a short time the two mouths were playing one with the other, without limits already. They were kissing awhile long, in silence, dedicated to feel. They became lean, they bit, they were caressing with the tongue. The bites began to be stronger and then they had to tighten one against the other. Macri felt the chest of Maru tighten against his breast and her hips hitting his.

Than Maru separated of Macri, she took his hand:

- Lets go to my room.

Both passed, running and stingy of the hand in front of the Catalan clown, who keep watching them seriously.

THIRD DELIVERY

To go out to the street was as to submerge himself again in the darkness and the fear. In truth they just had to cross an avenue, to turn in the second corner and they would already be in the street of the hill towards their house, but the widest was the street, more insecure it seemed to him. The girl, however, was happy, content, whistling something. The fucking whistle put Macri more in tension; he couldnt stop watching back and to the sides, so much he felt defenseless and harassed.

At one point he saw the lights of a car approaching far by their same side of the street. It came without haste but him fallt in panic. He looked backwards and calculated that they no chances of arriving to the next corner before the car reached them. Even so, he was about to go to run. He imagined a burst of machine gun and decided to plunge to the ground as soon as it would be more close, although it would make a ridiculous situation in front of Maru.

He had no time for it. Three armed men with turbans came out of the car. They took them with force and dragged them in without contemplations in spite of their hysterical shouts. They stuffed ithem n any way jostling in the SUV anyway. Inside, squeezed between those guys reeks of goat that hold them strong, Macri was shut up soon as he received the second punch in the head. To Maru they had to beat her more.

The men spoke only dari, issuing abrupt orders to them. By raising the car they had thrown a rag to each by the head and after the intense aggressiveness of the first moments, the situation calmed. Only heard the afghans shouting to each other and some sobs extinguished of Maru.

Macri felt his stomach in the mouth, was on the brink of a nervous collapse, could not nor breathe because of the fear. He was sure they were going to kill them. That was the end and there was no solution. Panic and impotence pressing to him the breastbone.

The car was stopped fairly soon. They removed them keeping them strong by the neck, almost without letting them breathe. In a few moments the two had become docile, given. They forced them to walk, practically dragged through several doors and a courthall. Their captors were waving to other people by passing, without to drop them at any time.

The group paused in what sounded like a smaller room. They made them kneel down and before to remove the hood Macri won a free and bestial punch in the temple. He took few seconds before being able to watch around to get an idea of where he was.

It was a normal room of a house. The floor was covered with red carpets, that look quite expensive, judging from what they were fluffy. The sides had located richly upholstered cushions low and prepared to sit down. In the walls, some pictures with framed Arab miniatures in wide brown lacquer marks. In front of them, lying on a pillow and surrounded by several armed men was the one that seemed the head of all the cojar. A fat man, very dark-skinned, almost bald; with white hair in yemples and big lips. He drew attention by the bald thing and a pair of exaggeratedly penetrating eyes. Wearing a light brown tunic and a sleeveless white, he spoke to them in perfect English with an American accent of Virginia:

- Welcome to my house. My name is Hasmat Ghani Ahmadzai. I have commanded them to bring you here because I wanted to have a chat with Mr. Macri Zibris, but do not fear, it will be something brief and nothing will happens to you -no one of both said anything – Do you understand to me?

-Perfectly - Macri Answered. Maru just agreed with the head.

-OK. We know, Mr. Macri, that You have come to our country to tallying the legendary sword of the prince of Ghor. The unique thing that we are going to ask you is that when they will show it to you, just prompted some time for examinating it and warn us immediately. Of the rest we will be in charge, but I assure you that nobody never will know that You were who warned us. In return we will know how to reward you.

- I do not know what you are talking about. I have not come to appraise nothing, nor know nothing of any sword. Not even I understand minimum of swords. I have come to buy the rights of a book…-Hihihi! I know, I know that your mission is secret, but do not take us by idiots, Mr. Macri. We are Asian, but nonidiot.

-I assure to you that...

-We know everything . We have infiltrated our people in many places and we found out many things. We know that you have come to meet Mr. Boris Paton, and we know that You have offered him money, and that you are coming for to evaluate the sword and that in return they are also ready to offer him the title.

- What are you talking about? I believe you have misunderstood it. There has been a confusion. I am a literary agent and Boris Paton is going to publish a book in Ukraine that we want to translate into English, although it will be necessary to change the title , and I have come to negotiate the rights, because…

- Are you very smart, Mr Macri ... but you can not fool me. We have ways to make you confess, but I believe that we do not have to arrive at that. I also like to play, so Mr Macri-literary agent, if when you will be in Chachag yif never the sword of the prince of Ghor comes to your hands , please call to the number that one of my men is going to give to you. I hope you understand that you must do it ike that, as you already know in my country a man's life, even if only literary agent, it worth very little.

- But what the hell is this sword? I swear that I do not know what I am talking about.

- Well, I will tell it just to illustrate the young lady - by first time Maru, that seemed absent during all the conversation, raised the head towards his host.

- Most foreigners who come to my country completely are ignorant of the history of Afghanistan. . They believe that our most ancient past was the Russian invasion, and do not know that this one is one of the places with the most history of all the world.

-Many we do know

-Sure, you accept that you know it, Mr Macri! Do you see how we do understand each other? The fact, young lady, is that in the middle of XIXth century the king of Afghanistan, Dost Mohamed, was losing the control of great parts of the country. In particular, several Tajik clans engaged in the slaves trade had established an independent and bloodthirsty government in the area of Ghor. It was a shame for our country but the king did not have army enough to fight against them. Then came to Kabul a flamboyant character. He was a North American adventurer; millionaire for more signs. His name was Josiah Harlan and at that time he lived in India. Harlan, who was also a very religious man, offered to the king to release Ghor and to end with the slave traders

-It seems a story of Ruyard Kipling.

- You know it is one, Mr. Macri -Hashmat smiled ever more- So he reunited a mercenary army in India. They were thousand soldiers of cavalry, four hundred camels and an elephant. The good Josiah Harlan wanted to emulate Alexander the Great, then what of the elephant. The fact is that with this army, which joined many Hazara freed slaves, managed to defeat the Tajiks, ending the slave trade and freeing the central provinces that put at the disposal of King Dost Mohammed. In return, the king appointed him Prince of Ghor and offered him the most valuable sword ever produced in Afghanistan; a silver sword decorated in lapis lazuli which was part of the royal treasure from the era of Guridian empire. The king ordered that Josiah and its descendants conserved the nobiliary title and the sword like symbol of their power over the territory of Ghor.- A very pretty story. I guess that is the sword that according to You I would have to appraise.

- Very intelligent! Yes. The sword was conserved in the familiar house of the Harlan in Pennsilvania until fifty years ago. Then mysteriously it was stolen and it disappeared. To my people that sword is very important…

- Your people? - this time was Maru the one that it interrupted.

-Yes, the kuchi people. Me, my young lady, I am a simple nomad; kuchi, as we are called here.

-No one would say it. You have a very nice house.

FIRST DELIVERY

Macri thought with melancholy that the airports are always safe places, everybody feels out of danger in them; nothing to see with the new country that waits there outside threatening. Few things created more restlessness to  Macri than to arrive at the airport of a unknown city, to gather the luggage of the tape and to see himself expelled from that safe zone. In the same hall of the airports, just from the railing that always delimits the exit, the incognito begins. There are gangster taxi drivers, moneychangers, guest house of bad dot and thiefers  generally ready to ransack to the foreigner who arrives innocent, defenceless: like a chick in front of a herd of bisons.

That thought Macri, with certain apprehension, in the bus that took way to it of the main building of airport of Kabul. Jardinera, are called those buses in Spanish and nobody knows why, because they do not take flowers, but people; even so Macri remembered an old joke of stewardesses, whom says they call that them thus because they go full of cocoons. Thus it felt, like a cocoon. He was analysing the possibilities offered to him in case nobody go to gather him. He had arranged to be gathered by a French NGO dedicated to the cultural promotion. When he got the number and he called finally them to request aid to locate Boris Paton they were too much interested since the beginning. He told them that he had the order to contact with Boris, anywhere that he was destined, to offer him a publishing contract for the rights of his novel to the English. The boy of the NGO, that spoke with very obvious French accent, did not doubt a moment to it:

- OK, you can have us. If you want you can be lodged in our house in Kabul and we helped to look for it you.

- But, I have to pay something? It is that they do not give too much budget me for the trip…

- Dont worry for that reason, I believe that the best thing is to sign an agreement with you, of gratuitous attendance for that project.

- Hmmmm… and that what implies?

- Nothing, only that appears our name in the book.

- I must consult it… is that I… I am only in charge to contact with the author, they only command to me is to get his signature… the rest is a business of my boss.

- Ok, ok… I’ll send a rough draft to you of the agreement by email.

The agreement arrived to him at its head and it signed apparently it. To Macri to only it said him that he was all neat one and that it was put in contact with the French they gathered so that it in Kabul. Now it doubted if them the email would have arrived that commanded with its time of arrival.
Macri passed the passport control without problems in front of an Afghan soldier touched with a green kepis of most ridiculous. The airport was just as a hangar come to more. The passengers crowded together themselves next to the tape of luggage mixed with American young men of load with turban, soldiers, gentlemen with suits and even ragged children. A confusion.  He tried to get a passage by itself til the tape, kind to that nobody go to take hold his coat. Macri always used in its trips an old blue bed roll of sailor. It had chosen it a long time ago because he was comfortable and, although the clothes arrived always neat, gave top him a traveller look. He saw suddenly it appear in the end of the tape, closed with his padlock. He got in tension to take hold it when it arrived to him and at that same moment somebody put the hand to him in the shoulder:

-Mr. Macri Zibris? - the question, with not dissimulated French accent, came towards a young, brown and smiling girl. She had a band holding her curly hair. She had the very white skin.

- Yes, I am - Macri tried to smile, but at that same moment the bed roll was arriving at its height, so the return occurred to take hold it, leaving to the girl with the word in the mouth. The bed roll enlisted with a suitcase that went ahead, and almost drags to Macri, that encountered a cart of luggage and finished in the ground, with the bed roll raises. He watched to the French girl, smiling slightly and she bent the eyebrows. Macri was sure that she was thinking that he slight as going to gather a stupid man, so he rose as he could and he said to her:

- It is that now they let anybody come to Afghanistan. - She almost didn’t watch him and she just push his shoulder:

- We go, is that way.