She went back to the stream and waited awhile longer. Blackbirds circled overhead, dipped into the grass somewhere.
She watched a caterpillar inching along the foot of an immature thistle.
She waited until her legs were stiff. This time, she did not go back to the kolba.
She rolled up the legs of her trousers to the knees, crossed the stream, and, for the first time in her life, headed down the hill for Herat.
Nana was wrong about Herat too. No one pointed. No one laughed.
Mariam walked along noisy, crowded, cypress lined boulevards, amid a steady stream of pedestrians,
bicycle riders, and mule drawn garis, and no one threw a rock at her.
No one called her a harami. Hardly anyone even looked at her. She was, unexpectedly, marvelously, an ordinary person here.
For a while, Mariam stood by an oval shaped pool in the center of a big park where pebble paths crisscrossed.
With wonder, she ran her fingers over the beautiful marble horses that stood along the edge of the pool and gazed down at the water with opaque eyes.
She spied on a cluster of boys who were setting sail to paper ships.
Mariam saw flowers everywhere, tulips, lilies, petunias, their petals awash in sunlight.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색