So he carves a puppet, a boy, who magically comes to life.
Mariam had asked him to tell her more, and Jalil said that the old man and his puppet had all sorts of adventures,
that there was a place called Pleasure Island, and bad boys who turned into donkeys.
They even got swallowed by a whale at the end, the puppet and his father.
Mariam had told Mullah Faizullah all about this film. “I want you to take me to your cinema,” Mariam said now.
“I want to see the cartoon. I want to see the puppet boy.” With this, Mariam sensed a shift in the atmosphere.
Her parents stirred in their seats. Mariam could feel them exchanging looks. “That's not a good idea,” said Nana.
Her voice was calm, had the controlled, polite tone she used around Jalil, but Mariam could feel her hard, accusing glare.
Jalil shifted on his chair. He coughed, cleared his throat.
“You know,” he said, “the picture quality isn't that good. Neither is the sound.”
“And the projector's been malfunctioning recently. Maybe your mother is right.”
“Maybe you can think of another present, Mariam jo.” “Aneh,” Nana said.
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