Sometimes he talked too. Half the time, I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I caught enough.”
He described where he'd lived. He talked about his uncle in Ghazni. And his mother's cooking and his father's carpentry, him playing the accordion.”
But, mostly, he talked about you, hamshira. He said you were—how did he put it—his earliest memory.”
I think that's right, yes. I could tell he cared a great deal about you.”
Balay, that much was plain to see. But he said he was glad you weren't there. He said he didn't want you seeing him like that.”
Laila's feet felt heavy again, anchored to the floor, as if all her blood had suddenly pooled down there.
But her mind was far away, free and fleet, hurtling like a speeding missile beyond Kabul,
over craggy brown hills and over deserts ragged with clumps of sage, past canyons of jagged red rock and over snowcapped mountains...
“When I told him I was going back to Kabul, he asked me to find you. To tell you that he was thinking of you. That he missed you.”
“I promised him I would—I'd taken quite a liking to him, you see. He was a decent sort of boy, I could tell.”
Abdul Sharif wiped his brow with the handkerchief.
“I woke up one night,” he went on, his interest in the wedding band renewed, “I think it was night anyway, it's hard to tell in those places.”
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