The driver pulled his taxi over to let pass another long convoy of Soviet jeeps and armored vehicles.
Tariq leaned across the front seat, over the driver, and yelled, “Pajalusta! Pajalusta!”
A jeep honked and Tariq whistled back, beaming and waving cheerfully.
“Lovely guns!” he yelled, “Fabulous jeeps! Fabulous army! Too bad you're losing to a bunch of peasants firing slingshots!”
The convoy passed. The driver merged back onto the road. “How much farther?” Laila asked.
“An hour at the most,” the driver said. “Barring any more convoys or checkpoints.”
They were taking a day trip, Laila, Babi, and Tariq. Hasina had wanted to come too, had begged her father, but he wouldn't allow it.
The trip was Babi's idea. Though he could hardly afford it on his salary, he'd hired a driver for the day.
He wouldn't disclose anything to Laila about their destination except to say that, with it, he was contributing to her education.
They had been on the road since five in the morning.
Through Laila's window, the landscape shifted from snowcapped peaks to deserts to canyons and sun scorched outcroppings of rocks.
Along the way, they passed mud houses with thatched roofs and fields dotted with bundles of wheat.
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