She said she wanted to live somewhere removed, detached, where neighbors wouldn't stare at her belly,
point at her, snicker, or, worse yet, assault her with insincere kindnesses.
“And, believe me,” Nana said, “it was a relief to your father having me out of sight. It suited him just fine.”
It was Muhsin, Jalil's eldest son by his first wife, Khadija, who suggested the clearing. It was on the outskirts of Gul Daman.
To get to it, one took a rutted, uphill dirt track that branched off the main road between Herat and Gul Daman.
The track was flanked on either side by knee-high grass and speckles of white and bright yellow flowers.
The track snaked uphill and led to a flat field where poplars and cottonwoods soared and wild bushes grew in clusters.
From up there, one could make out the tips of the rusted blades of Gul Daman's windmill, on the left, and, on the right, all of Herat spread below.
The path ended perpendicular to a wide, trout-filled stream, which rolled down from the Safid-koh mountains surrounding Gul Daman.
Two hundred yards upstream, toward the mountains, there was a circular grove of weeping willow trees.
In the center, in the shade of the willows, was the clearing.
Jalil went there to have a look.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색