“It's your duty. You must listen, then report. Even if it's your parents, your uncles or aunts.”
“Because none of them loves you as much as your country does. Your country comes first, remember!”
“I will be proud of you, and so will your country.”
On the wall behind Khala Rangmaal's desk was a map of the Soviet Union, a map of Afghanistan,
and a framed photo of the latest communist president, Najibullah,
who, Babi said, had once been the head of the dreaded KHAD, the Afghan secret police.
There were other photos too, mainly of young Soviet soldiers shaking hands with peasants,
planting apple saplings, building homes, always smiling genially.
“Well,” Khala Rangmaal said now, “have I disturbed your daydreaming, Inqilabi Girl?”
This was her nickname for Laila, Revolutionary Girl, because she'd been born the night of the April coup of 1978,
except Khala Rangmaal became angry if anyone in her class used the word coup.
What had happened, she insisted, was an inqilab, a revolution, an uprising of the working people against inequality.
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