She just sat there with her bottom lip stuck out, the way she did when she was absorbed in thought.
At last, she said, “Sit down, Laila jo.” Laila did, obediently. “We have to move him. Zalmai can can't see this.”
Mariam fished the bedroom key from Rasheed's pocket before they wrapped him in a bed sheet.
Laila took him by the legs, behind the knees, and Mariam grabbed him under the arms.
They tried lifting him, but he was too heavy, and they ended up dragging him.
As they were passing through the front door and into the yard, Rasheed's foot caught against the doorframe and his leg bent sideways.
They had to back up and try again, and then something thumped upstairs and Laila's legs gave out.
She dropped Rasheed. She slumped to the ground, sobbing and shaking, and Mariam had to stand over her,
hands on hips, and say that she had to get herself together. That what was done was done.
After a time, Laila got up and wiped her face, and they carried Rasheed to the yard without further incident.
They took him into the toolshed. They left him behind the workbench, on which sat his saw, some nails, a chisel, a hammer,
and a cylindrical block of wood that Rasheed had been meaning to carve into something for Zalmai but had never gotten around to doing.
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