then motioned for the girl to come forward, one foot propping the gate open.
When she reached him, he took her by the hand, helped her through the gate.
Mariam could almost hear him say, “Watch your step, now, my flower, my gul.” They came back early the next evening.
Mariam saw Rasheed enter the yard first. He let the gate go prematurely, and it almost hit the girl on the face.
He crossed the yard in a few, quick steps. Mariam detected a shadow on his face, a darkness underlying the coppery light of dusk.
In the house, he took off his coat, threw it on the couch. Brushing past Mariam, he said in a brusque voice, “I'm hungry. Get supper ready.”
The front door to the house opened. From the hallway, Mariam saw the girl, a swaddled bundle in the hook of her left arm.
She had one foot outside, the other inside, against the door, to prevent it from springing shut.
She was stooped over and was grunting, trying to reach for the paper bag of belongings that she had put down in order to open the door.
Her face was grimacing with effort. She looked up and saw Mariam. Mariam turned around and went to the kitchen to warm Rasheed's meal.
“It’s like someone is ramming a screwdriver into my ear,” Rasheed said, rubbing his eyes.
He was standing in Mariam's door, puffy-eyed, wearing only a tumban tied with a floppy knot.
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