War Photographer's Notebook

Chapter 1688 Family Photo

In the darkness of the night, Wei Ran was leading a donkey and walking in the dark behind Mahbub who was carrying two oil barrels.

"There is a spring in front, it's very small, but the water is very sweet. When I was as old as Murtaza, I often grazed sheep in this area." Mahbub introduced as he walked.

“I can see that you are very familiar with this place.”

“Of course, this is where I grew up.”

Mahbub sighed at this point, "But I never thought that one day I would be fighting guerrilla warfare here. During the years when I grew from the age of Murtaza to the age of Habibullah, the Soviet Union opened my eyes to a whole new world, and I also changed from a shepherd's child to a university teacher.

In this respect, I am grateful to the Soviet Union.”

"Until 10 years ago," Wei Ran sighed.

"yes"

Mahbub sneered, "It's no different from what I heard about the British from my father. My grandfather yearned for Britain. He spoke fluent English and once served as an interpreter for the British.

But my father hated the British, he was a warrior who fought against the British and killed many of them.

And me?

I longed for the Soviet Union as my grandfather longed for Britain, and had the opportunity to live in Moscow for a period of time.

My child Habibullah hates the Soviet Union as much as my father hates Britain, but at the same time he longs for America.

You see, there is actually no difference.

I would not be surprised if Murtaza started to hate the United States one day, or if the United States invaded Afhan. "

"You are a prophet," Wei Ran sighed, half jokingly and half seriously.

"The stupidity and arrogance of the British united the tribes of Afhan"

Mahbub has a particularly clear view of this land: "The Soviets opened up a whole new world for us primitive people living in the mountains.

But he chose to invade us like the foolish and arrogant British, and he was as sure as the British back then that the war would be over soon."

"Then this war lasted for almost ten years," Wei Ran couldn't help but say.

"Yes, it has been almost ten years. In this period of time, I have lost most of my children and family members, and almost all of my students. Habibullah lost the opportunity to study in the United States, and Murtaza even lost the opportunity to go to school."

Mahbub shook his head and sighed, "I hope the price we paid will teach our Soviet friends a lesson."

"They will pay a greater price," Wei Ran sighed, the price being the disintegration of the Soviet Union.

During this almost soliloquy chat, Mahbub, carrying a bucket of water, finally stopped at the entrance of a narrow cave, then took out a lighter and lit it.

With the faint flickering light of the kerosene lighter, Wei Ran could roughly see that there was a spring only the size of a finger on the rock wall inside this cave which was less than one meter wide and one meter high, but more than two meters deep.

Directly below the spring is a small pool made of gravel and sand.

After pushing the bucket into the pool, filling it up and tightening the lid, Mahbub handed it to Wei Ran, and then pushed the second bucket in.

Just as the two of them were busy, the roar of a fighter jet was heard above their heads again. Wei Ran, who was helping to hold the kerosene lighter, immediately fastened the lid of the lighter and hid in the cave.

A moment later, the roar of the fighter jet came from far away, then from near to far, and finally disappeared completely.

By the time Wei Ran relit the lighter, the second plastic bucket had been filled with clear spring water.

After helping Mahbub tie two heavy plastic buckets on both sides of the donkey's body, Wei Ran went into the cave, took out the British army's water bottle from the metal book, filled it with cold mountain spring water, and followed Mahbub in the direction they came from.

"Tomorrow morning, Habibullah and I will take you to the next guerrilla camp."

Mahbub said, “After your interview, I hope you can fulfill your promise.”

"I will," Wei Ran promised seriously, even though he was not sure about it.

When the two of them returned to the huge cave, Habibullah had already boiled hot milk and killed a goat. They were just waiting for clean water to be put into the pot.

"We will set out early tomorrow morning"

Mahbub poured water into the pot with mutton and said, "Murtaza, you and the sheep stay here. You are responsible for taking care of Ayana and Soraya."

"Okay," Murtaza nodded.

"Let's send Victor to Abdul," Mahbub said to his youngest son Habibullah.

"Dad, are you going to let him..."

Before Habibullah finished speaking, he noticed that his father Mahbub pointed at the curtain behind him and gestured at his stomach with his hand.

"Okay," Habibullah finally nodded and closed the lid of the enameled pot.

In response, Wei Ran pretended not to understand what they were saying and could only politely accept the cup of hot goat milk handed to him by Murtaza. Then he watched three generations of their family wash their hands carefully, spread out a blanket in the corner of the cave, kneel on it, hold their hands in front of them, and perform the night ceremony devoutly.

At the same time, he also vaguely heard the sound of pious chanting coming from the other side of the curtain.

Tightening the blanket around himself, Wei Ran took off the cup of the British army's kettle, filled half a cup of water with it and placed it on the edge of the campfire. He then buried the kettle with the lid unscrewed in the hot gravel and patiently heated it.

The cold here is different from the winter in Leningrad and the winter in the primeval forests of the three northeastern provinces.

It was dry and cold, the cold air seemed thin and at the same time dry, as if every breath was mixed with floating sand and dust.

There is also despair here. Outside the cave are endless desolate mountains. In the cave, there are chanting sounds that seem to be whispered by gods and demons in the ears. There are also the occasional sounds of goats in the sheepfold and a slight stench, mixed with the aroma of meat wafting from the pot. All of this makes people subconsciously want to escape from here and hide in the middle of the warm campfire.

After an unknown amount of time, the spring water in the cup and the kettle were boiled one after another. Wei Ran also tightened the lid of the cup, stuffed it back into the canvas kettle cover, and then stuffed it into his arms as a water bag.

Pouring the boiling water in the cup into the cup of goat milk that Murtaza had just brought, Wei Ran sat cross-legged beside the warm campfire, drinking it in small sips, and quietly listening to the prayers in the dark corner in the distance.

Finally, just as he drank all the diluted goat's milk, and just as the small pot of mutton began to boil and the aroma of meat wafted out, the family's night service finally came to an end.

After a short wait, Murtaza handed him a not-so-big enamel plate, and Mahbub used a silver fork and a knife to give him a few pieces of mutton and a bowl of broth.

Habibullah dug through a pile of hot sand beside the campfire, picked out a few freshly baked hot naan, patted it with his scarf, and gave half a piece to Wei Ran.

At the same time, Murtaza also greeted a girl of the same age named Soraya, and brought mutton, broth and freshly baked naan to Ayana on the other side of the curtain.

Politely declining the knife and fork handed to him by Mahbub, Wei Ran took out the butcher knife and once again ate slowly using the suitcase as a dining table, while also listening to the family chatting in their native language across the curtain.

After filling his stomach, Wei Ran wiped the grease left on the butcher knife on his pants. Then he spread a blanket by the campfire, lay on his back with the clothes he took out of the suitcase as a pillow, and looked at the starry sky outside the cave skylight.

Not long after, Habibullah also got up after eating, and called Murtaza, who had eaten earlier than him, to block the entrance of the cave with a bundle of thick felt.

Without such a large air inlet, the cave suddenly became much warmer. Habibullah then took out a harmonica from his pocket and sat by the campfire playing a beautiful tune whose name he could not remember.

To the accompaniment of this music, Murtaza, who was tired after a whole day, curled up by the campfire first and fell asleep while holding a lamb. Not long after, Wei Ran's eyelids began to fight each other, and finally he closed his eyes completely, and soon after, he began to snore softly.

"Dad, are you really going to take him to Teacher Abdul?" Habibullah put away his harmonica and asked softly, "He is at the front line. It's too dangerous."

"Leave early tomorrow morning"

Mahbub said, "Even if the journalists don't plan to go, at least they should send anti-aircraft machine guns and ammunition, which is what Abdul urgently needs."

"You should stay here," Habibullah said, "My sister is about to give birth, and if you stay, at least you can take care of her."

“I can take care of myself”

Ayana said from the other side of the curtain, "This isn't my first time giving birth. I have experience, and with Soraya's help, I can do it on my own."

"We will send the anti-aircraft machine guns and journalists to Abdul and return immediately"

Mahbub said, "It's not far. We can get there before dark and be back before dawn the day after tomorrow."

"In that case, let Murtaza follow as well."

Ayana on the other side of the curtain said, "There are no guerrillas alive here except Soraya and me. Send those weapons and ammunition to Teacher Abdul. They will definitely need them."

"You're on your own here"

"Murtaza can't help me, and I still have Soraya." Ayana said, "You will be back soon, right?"

"I'll leave the two milk-producing ewes to you," Mahbub decided. "You need them, and so does the baby in your belly."

"Okay," Ayana responded absentmindedly.

For a moment, the cave, which was barely illuminated by the firelight, became quiet. Wei Ran, who had been dozing and eavesdropping, sighed silently, hugged the still boiling hot kettle in his arms, and closed his eyes completely.

He did not sleep well that night, especially in the second half of the night when it was almost dawn. After the embers of the campfire had lost their temperature, the temperature in the cave became lower and lower, making him feel like he was lying in a refrigerator.

Just as he was wondering whether to add some coal, Mahbub had already climbed up and woke up Habibullah and Murtaza.

Seeing this, Wei Ran simply sat up.

"You can sleep a little longer," Habibullah said in English. "Breakfast may have to wait a while."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Wei Ran asked with a smile. "How about milking the goat?" Habibullah asked jokingly.

“Forget about this job.”

Wei Ran waved his hands quickly. He had never done this job before. It was a small matter that everyone could not drink hot goat milk, but he did not want to hurt the only two female goats. They were obviously the "nutritional supplements" prepared by Mahbub for his daughter who was about to give birth.

Habibullah was just joking, "In that case, help us light the bonfire."

"I'm good at this," Wei Ran happily took the job.

By the time he lit the dry and hard feces and put some coal on it, Murtaza and the little girl named Soraya had already squeezed two cans of goat milk. After preparing all the tools and raw materials, Habibullah confidently handed the task of making milk tea to Wei Ran, and then the family began the morning ceremony.

In Wei Ran's eyes, at this time, this completely secularized Afhan, such devout believers like their family, were almost as rare as people without faith in the same land and country in later generations.

By the time the family finished their morning ritual, the sky outside the cave had just begun to brighten, and the rising sun had only just illuminated the horizon red.

After pouring a cup of homemade milk tea for everyone, Wei Ran asked while Mahbub distributed the meat and naan bread that had not been finished last night and had just been reheated, "Mahbub, before we leave, can I take a group photo of your family?"

"Of course, it's our honor," Mahbub said. "It would be even better if you could send me a copy when it's developed."

6◇9◇Book◇Bar

"No problem at all"

Wei Ran answered cheerfully, "If you are willing to give me some time, I can even develop a negative before leaving."

"How much time do you need?" Mahbub asked.

“One hour at most”

“There is still time.”

Mahbub breathed a sigh of relief and put a piece of meat on the tray in front of him while saying gratefully, "Victor, thank you for your help."

"It's nothing," Wei Ran waved his hands quickly.

For the rest of the time, the Mahbubs chatted in their native language about the next photo shoot and sentimental topics such as how long it had been since they had taken a photo, who was there the last time they took a photo and who is no longer there.

Wei Ran was not going to let them know that he could understand everything they said. To a certain extent, he didn't understand, so they spoke out their true thoughts.

It was not until this time that he belatedly discovered a problem that he had been subconsciously ignoring or taking for granted.

These Afhan people are also human beings. They also have families and friends. They will also feel sad, sigh and cry because of the misfortunes of their family, friends and even compatriots.

Or rather, when the word Afhan or Afhan people is mentioned, perhaps we should not subconsciously associate it with the Konbu elements.

Put yourself in their shoes and think about what it would be like if your country was invaded, invaded repeatedly, and if you had the opportunity to do something, or in other words, what you could only do.

Then I am afraid that the first thing I will discard is the bottom line of being a human being and the upper limit of the way of killing. This is not a question of whether it is noble or not, nor is it a question of "enlightenment", but simply "what else can I do?"

Absent-mindedly finishing his own milk tea, eating half a piece of naan and two pieces of mutton, Wei Ran quietly put away the reheated British army kettle, and then took out the Minolta camera from the suitcase.

"Where are we going to take the photos?" Wei Ran asked as he hung the camera around his neck again.

"Just outside the cave," Mahbub made the decision.

Wei Ran naturally had no objection to this. He was the first to walk out of the cave with his camera. After walking a few steps forward, he turned around and pointed the camera at a few people who were standing slightly scattered.

"You are too far away," Wei Ran said, looking up and gesturing with his hands, "Come closer, or you won't look like a family in the photo."

“No, this is our family.”

Mahbub waved his hand, which was folded loosely at his side, and said, "Please let me introduce you. This is my wife's position."

Then he pointed to the right back of his body with his other hand and said, "That's where my eldest son and his wife are. Look, Murtaza is standing in front of them.

Behind me was my second son and his wife, and in front of them there was a beautiful girl, but their family was also dead.

The empty seat next to Habibullah was reserved for his girlfriend, whom he had brought to meet our family, but she didn't survive.

On the far left is my only daughter, Ayana, and her husband, Muhammad, who has the worst grades among all my students.

But he tracked down my only daughter, and he fought very bravely, leading the guerrillas against the Soviets all these years until last night.

There should have been a handsome little guy in front of them, but unfortunately, he died too. He stepped on a Soviet mine while helping to fetch water. Soraya was his classmate, so let her stand in his place. "

"I had a hound in front of me, a very beautiful hound."

Habibullah pointed in front of him and said, "His name is Ali. He didn't survive either. He died from the Soviet chemical weapons."

"We stood like this when we took our last group photo a few years ago."

Mahbub said, "So Victor, let's take another photo standing like this."

“You are a happy family.”

Wei Ran said sincerely, "At least I was happy once."

“We are very happy now.”

Mahbub's old face was filled with an unstoppable smile, "I feel like they are around me now."

"Gentlemen, ladies, and of course, that beautiful hound, please look at me!"

Wei Ran repeated it in Russian and English, and when everyone couldn't help laughing and showing the happiest smiles, when the first ray of morning sun shone on the family's faces, he pressed the shutter that seemed to be embedded with steel needles.

After taking one more photo, Wei Ran said, "I can still take a few more photos with this roll of film. Why don't you let me take a single photo of each of you? It won't waste a lot of time."

“Then take a few more pictures,” Mahbub smiled easygoingly.

When Wei Ran repeated this sentence in English, the happiest people were Murtaza and the girl named Soraya.

After all, they are still children, and there are still many things that can make them happy.

As Wei Ran pressed the shutter again and again, the family members took two individual photos, each holding their weapons.

Mahbub's solo photo was taken holding a PPSh submachine gun.

Habibullah carried a Stinger anti-aircraft missile.

In Murtaza's hand was the Lee Enfield rifle that he had been carrying yesterday.

Although Soyala had no weapons, he had a Soviet telescope hanging around his neck.

Ayana, with her big belly, insisted on carrying the SVD sniper rifle.

It was also while taking pictures that Wei Ran learned from Habibullah that the Lee Enfield rifle Murtaza was holding was left by his father.

His sister Ayana was actually an excellent sniper, and Soraya was her observer. The two of them had sniped and killed more than 20 Soviet soldiers over the years.

Finally, they took an extra photo of the sniper duo and used up the last film. Wei Ran carefully rewound the film and took out the film. Then he handed the camera directly to Habibullah. He ran back to the cave with the film, and took out the backpack using the suitcase as cover again, and began to prepare for developing.

Apart from the fact that it took a little effort to adjust the water temperature, there were no unexpected events during the flushing process.

When he took out the developed film and drained it, the family gathered around him. With the morning sun shining in from outside, they looked at each photo taken with the film, one by one, discussing whose photo was better and whose expression or posture was not right.

Only after everyone had finished looking at the negatives did Wei Ran take out a manila envelope and a pair of scissors from his backpack, cut out one sheet from each of the double negatives, let them dry, and put them in the envelope.

"Who will keep these?" Wei Ran asked in Russian.

"Let Ayana hold it," Mahbub said, taking the paper bag with both hands and then handing it to his daughter.

“Leave this camera to her, too.”

As Wei Ran was speaking, he had already taken out the matching camera bag, film, stand, flash, shutter cable, and other items from the suitcase.

"What are you"

“I have a backup camera.”

Wei Ran buckled the suitcase and said, "This is just my job, but I guess you need a camera more. This way, whether you or other families, you will at least have an extra opportunity to take a group photo."

"Thank you"

Ayana blurted out a thank you in English.

"I hope you take more photos of your children," Wei Ran said slowly in English. "A child's childhood should be recorded in enough photos, even if it is a childhood in war."

Seeing his sister looking at him for help, Habibullah quickly translated Wei Ran's blessing into his native language.

Before Ayana could thank him again while holding the camera, Wei Ran looked at Mahbub and said, "It's time for us to leave too."

“Thanks for the camera”

Mahbub came to his senses and said, "Let's go now."