A Thousand Splendid Suns

"I don't know any Abdul Sharif."
"Well, he's here asking for you. You need to come down and talk to
him."
28.
Laila
JLaila sat across from Abdul Sharif, who was a thin, small-headed man
with a bulbous nose pocked with the same cratered scars that pitted his
cheeks. His hair, short and brown, stood on his scalp like needles in a
pincushion.
"You'll have to forgive me, hamshira," he said, adjusting his loose collar
and dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief "I still haven't quite
recovered, I fear. Five more days of these, what are they called…sulfa
pills."
Laila positioned herself in her seat so that her right ear, the good one,
was closest to him. "Were you a friend of my parents?"
"No, no," Abdul Sharif said quickly. "Forgive me." He raised a finger,
took a long sip of the water that Mariam had placed in front of him.
"I should begin at the beginning, I suppose." He dabbed at his lips,
again at his brow. "I am a businessman. I own clothing stores, mostly
men's clothing. Chapans, hats, iumban%, suits, ties-you name it. Two
stores here in Kabul, in Taimani and Shar-e-Nau, though I just sold
those. And two in Pakistan, in Peshawar. That's where my warehouse is
as well. So I travel a lot, back and forth. Which, these days"-he shook his
head and chuckled tiredly-"let's just say that it's an adventure.
"I was in Peshawar recently, on business, taking orders, going over
inventory, that sort of thing. Also to visit my family. We have three
daughters, alhamdulellah. I moved them and my wife to Peshawar after
the Mujahideen began going at each other's throats. I won't have their