“It's strange to think that I'll be sleeping beneath another city's skies soon.” “It's strange for me too.”
“All day, this poem about Kabul has been bouncing around in my head.”
“Saib-e-Tabrizi wrote it back in the seventeenth century, I think.”
“I used to know the whole poem, but all I can remember now is two lines:”
“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.”
Laila looked up, saw he was weeping. She put an arm around his waist.
“Oh, Babi. We'll come back. When this war is over. We'll come back to Kabul, inshallah. You'll see.”
On the third morning, Laila began moving the piles of things to the yard and depositing them by the front door.
They would fetch a taxi then and take it all to a pawnshop.
Laila kept shuffling between the house and the yard, back and forth,
carrying stacks of clothes and dishes and box after box of Babi's books.
She should have been exhausted by noon, when the mound of belongings by the front door had grown waist high.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색