Aziza looked down thoughtfully at her hands when Laila told her. “I like him,” she said, after a long pause.
“He loves you.” “He said that?” “He doesn't have to, Aziza.”
“Tell me the rest, Mammy. Tell me so I know.” And Laila did.
“Your father is a good man. He is the best man I've ever known.”
“What if he leaves?” Aziza said. “He will never leave.”
“Look at me, Aziza. Your father will never hurt you, and he will never leave.” The relief on Aziza's face broke Laila's heart.
Tariq has bought Zalmai a rocking horse, built him a wagon.
From a prison inmate, he learned to make paper animals, and so he has folded, cut,
and tucked countless sheets of paper into lions and kangaroos for Zalmai, into horses and brightly plumed birds.
But these overtures are dismissed by Zalmai unceremoniously, sometimes venomously.
“You're a donkey!” he cries. “I don't want your toys!”
“Zalmai!” Laila gasps. “It's all right,” Tariq says. “Laila, it's all right. Let him.”
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