“Is that what you want?” Mullah Faizullah said, looking at her with his soft, watery eyes,
his hands behind his stooping back, the shadow of his turban falling on a patch of bristling buttercups.
“Yes.” “And you want me to ask your mother for permission.” Mariam smiled.
Other than Jalil, she thought there was no one in the world who understood her better than her old tutor.
“Then what can I do? God, in His wisdom, has given us each weaknesses,
and foremost among my many is that I am powerless to refuse you, Mariam jo,” he said, tapping her cheek with one arthritic finger.
But later, when he broached Nana, she dropped the knife with which she was slicing onions.
“What for?” “If the girl wants to learn, let her, my dear. Let the girl have an education.”
“Learn? Learn what, Mullah sahib?” Nana said sharply. “What is there to learn?”
She snapped her eyes toward Mariam. Mariam looked down at her hands.
“What's the sense schooling a girl like you? It's like shining a spittoon. And you'll learn nothing of value in those schools.”
“There is only one, only one skill a woman like you and me needs in life, and they don't teach it in school. Look at me.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색