“What do I care? I don't keep count,” Laila lied, shrugging, loving him for remembering Mammy had no idea that Tariq had left.
“Well, his flashlight will be going off before you know it,” Babi said, referring to Laila and Tariq's nightly signaling game.
They had played it for so long it had become a bedtime ritual, like brushing teeth.
Babi ran his finger through the rip. “I'll patch this as soon as I get a chance. We'd better go.”
He raised his voice and called over his shoulder, “We're going now, Fariba! I'm taking Laila to school. Don't forget to pick her up!”
Outside, as she was climbing on the carrier pack of Babi's bicycle,
Laila spotted a car parked up the street, across from the house where the shoemaker, Rasheed, lived with his reclusive wife.
It was a Benz, an unusual car in this neighborhood, blue with a thick white stripe bisecting the hood, the roof, and the trunk.
Laila could make out two men sitting inside, one behind the wheel, the other in the back.
“Who are they?” she said. “It's not our business,” Babi said. “Climb on, you'll be late for class.”
Laila remembered another fight, and, that time, Mammy had stood over Babi and said in a mincing way,
“That's your business, isn't it, cousin? To make nothing your business. Even your own sons going to war. How I pleaded with you.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색