Disgraced, he packed his things and boarded a bus to Iran, never to be seen or heard from again.
“Sometimes,” Nana said early one morning, as she was feeding the chickens outside the kolba,
“I wish my father had had the stomach to sharpen one of his knives and do the honorable thing.”
“It might have been better for me.” She tossed another handful of seeds into the coop, paused, and looked at Mariam.
“Better for you too, maybe. It would have spared you the grief of knowing that you are what you are.”
“But he was a coward, my father. He didn't have the dil, the heart, for it.”
Jalil didn't have the dil either, Nana said, to do the honorable thing.
To stand up to his family, to his wives and in-laws, and accept responsibility for what he had done.
Instead, behind closed doors, a face-saving deal had quickly been struck.
The next day, he had made her gather her few things from the servants' quarters, where she'd been living, and sent her off.
“You know what he told his wives by way of defense? That I forced myself on him. That it was my fault.”
“Didi? You see? This is what it means to be a woman in this world.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색