A Thousand Splendid Suns

"Can I tell them who's here?"
Then Babi's hand was on Laila's shoulder, and he gently pulled her from
the door.
"Why don't you go upstairs, Laila. Go on."
As she moved toward the steps, Laila heard the visitor say to Babi that
he had news from Panjshir. Mammy was in the room now too. She had
one hand clamped over her mouth, and her eyes were skipping from
Babi to the man in the pakol
Laila peeked from the top of the stairs. She watched the stranger sit
down with her parents. He leaned toward them. Said a few muted words.
Then Babi's face was white, and getting whiter, and he was looking at his
hands, and Mammy was screaming, screaming, and tearing at her hair.
* * *
The next morning, the day of thefaiiha, a flock of neighborhood women
descended on the house and took charge of preparations for the khatm
dinner that would take place after the funeral Mammy sat on the couch
the whole morning, her fingers working a handkerchief, her face bloated.
She was tended to by a pair of sniffling women who took turns patting
Mammy's hand gingerly, like she was the rarest and most fragile doll in
the world. Mammy did not seem aware of their presence.
Laila kneeled before her mother and took her hands. "Mammy."
Mammy's eyes drifted down. She blinked.
"We'll take care of her, Laila jan," one of the women said with an air of
self-importance. Laila had been to funerals before where she had seen
women like this, women who relished all things that had to do with
death, official consolers who let no one trespass on their self-appointed