A Thousand Splendid Suns

She sat on the chair instead, hands limp in her lap, eyes staring at
nothing, and let her mind fly on. She let it fly on until it found the place,
the good and safe place, where the barley fields were green, where the
water ran clear and the cottonwood seeds danced by the thousands in the
air; where Babi was reading a book beneath an acacia and Tariq was
napping with his hands laced across his chest, and where she could dip
her feet in the stream and dream good dreams beneath the watchful
gaze of gods of ancient, sun-bleached rock.
29.
Madam
I'm so sorry," Rasheed said to the girl, taking his bowl of masiawa and
meatballs from Mariam without looking at her. "I know you were very
close… .friends...the two of you. Always together, since you were kids.
It's a terrible thing, what's happened. Too many young Afghan men are
dying this way."
He motioned impatiently with his hand, still looking at the girl, and
Mariam passed him a napkin.
For years, Mariam had looked on as he ate, the muscles of his temples
churning, one hand making compact little rice balls, the back of the other
wiping grease, swiping stray grains, from the corners of his mouth. For
years, he had eaten without looking up, without speaking, his silence
condemning, as though some judgment were being passed, then broken
only by an accusatory grunt, a disapproving cluck of his tongue, a
one-word command for more bread, more water.
Now he ate with a spoon. Used a napkin. Said lot/an when asking for
water. And talked. Spiritedly and incessantly.
"If you ask me, the Americans armed the wrong man in Hekmatyar. All