A Thousand Splendid Suns

flame, tossed a pinch of wild rue seeds in it, and wafted the espandi
smoke in her baby's direction to ward off evil.
Mariam found it exhausting to watch the girl's lolloping enthusiasm-and
had to admit, if only privately, to a degree of admiration. She marveled
at how the girl's eyes shone with worship, even in the mornings when her
face drooped and her complexion was waxy from a night's worth of
walking the baby. The girl had fits of laughter when the baby passed gas.
The tiniest changes in the baby enchanted her, and everything it did was
declared spectacular.
"Look! She's reaching for the rattle. How clever she is."
"I'll call the newspapers," said Rasheed.
Every night, there were demonstrations. When the girl insisted he
witness something, Rasheed tipped his chin upward and cast an
impatient, sidelong glance down the blue-veined hook of his nose.
"Watch. Watch how she laughs when I snap my fingers. There. See? Did
you see?"
Rasheed would grunt, and go back to his plate. Mariam remembered
how the girl's mere presence used to overwhelm him. Everything she
said used to please him, intrigue him, make him look up from his plate
and nod with approval.
The strange thing was, the girl's fall from grace ought to have pleased
Mariam, brought her a sense of vindication. But it didn't. It didn't. To her
own surprise, Mariam found herself pitying the girl.
It was also over dinner that the girl let loose a steady stream of
worries. Topping the list was pneumonia, which was suspected with every
minor cough. Then there was dysentery, the specter of which was raised
with every loose stool. Every rash was either chicken pox or measles.
"You should not get so attached," Rasheed said one night.
"What do you mean?"