A Thousand Splendid Suns

The girl was sleeping on her side, snoring. The baby was awake.
Mariam lit the kerosene lamp on the table and hunkered down. In the
light, she had her first real close-up look at the baby, the tuft of dark
hair, the thick-lashed hazel eyes, the pink cheeks, and lips the color of
ripe pomegranate.
Mariam had the impression that the baby too was examining her. She
was lying on her back, her head tilted sideways, looking at Mariam
intently with a mixture of amusement, confusion, and suspicion. Mariam
wondered if her face might frighten her, but then the baby squealed
happily and Mariam knew that a favorable judgment had been passed on
her behalf.
"Shh, "Mariam whispered "You'll wake up your mother, half deaf as she
is."
The baby's hand balled into a fist. It rose, fell, found a spastic path to
her mouth. Around a mouthful of her own hand, the baby gave Mariam a
grin, little bubbles of spittle shining on her lips.
"Look at you. What a sorry sight you are, dressed like a damn boy. And
all bundled up in this heat. No wonder you're still awake."
Mariam pulled the blanket off the baby, was horrified to find a second
one beneath, clucked her tongue, and pulled that one off too. The baby
giggled with relief. She flapped her arms like a bird.
"Better, nayT
As Mariam was pulling back, the baby grabbed her pinkie. The tiny
fingers curled themselves tightly around it. They felt warm and soft,
moist with drool.
"Gunuh," the baby said.
"All right, Ms; let go."
The baby hung on, kicked her legs again.