On April 27, Mariam's question was answered with crackling sounds and intense, sudden roars.
She ran barefoot down to the living room and found Rasheed already by the window, in his undershirt, his hair disheveled, palms pressed to the glass.
Mariam made her way to the window next to him. Overhead, she could see military planes zooming past, heading north and east.
Their deafening shrieks hurt her ears. In the distance, loud booms resonated and sudden plumes of smoke rose to the sky.
“What's going on, Rasheed?” she said. “What is all this?”
“God knows,” he muttered. He tried the radio and got only static.
“What do we do?” Impatiently, Rasheed said, “We wait.”
Later in the day, Rasheed was still trying the radio as Mariam made rice with spinach sauce in the kitchen.
Mariam remembered a time when she had enjoyed, even looked forward to, cooking for Rasheed. Now cooking was an exercise in heightened anxiety.
The qurmas were always too salty or too bland for his taste.
The rice was judged either too greasy or too dry, the bread declared too doughy or too crispy.
Rasheed's faultfinding left her stricken in the kitchen with self-doubt.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색