He'd been there for almost three weeks by the time I arrived.
So he was alive. But how badly had they hurt him? Laila wondered frantically. How badly?
Badly enough to be put in a special unit, evidently.
Laila was aware that she had started sweating, that her face felt hot.
She tried to think of something else, something pleasant, like the trip to Bamiyan to see the Buddhas with Tariq and Babi.
But instead an image of Tariq's parents presented itself: Tariq's mother trapped in the lorry, upside down,
screaming for Tariq through the smoke, her arms and chest on fire, the wig melting into her scalp... Laila had to take a series of rapid breaths.
He was in the bed next to mine. There were no walls, only a curtain between us. So I could see him pretty well.
Abdul Sharif found a sudden need to toy with his wedding band. He spoke more slowly now.
“Your friend, he was badly—very badly injured, you understand. He had rubber tubes coming out of him everywhere. At first—” He cleared his throat.
At first, I thought he'd lost both legs in the attack, but a nurse said no, only the right, the left one was on account of an old injury.
There were internal injuries too. They'd operated three times already. Took out sections of intestines, I don't remember what else.
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