A Thousand Splendid Suns

things about Tariq, the father who would always be a stranger to Aziza,
whose face Aziza would never know. Laila told her of his aptitude for
solving riddles, his trickery and mischief, his easy laugh.
"He had the prettiest lashes, thick like yours. A good chin, a fine nose,
and a round forehead. Oh, your father was handsome, Aziza. He was
perfect. Perfect, like you are."
But she was careful never to mention him by name.
Sometimes she caught Rasheed looking at Aziza in the most peculiar
way. The other night, sitting on the bedroom floor, where he was shaving
a corn from his foot, he said quite casually, "So what was it like between
you two?"
Laila had given him a puzzled look, as though she didn't understand.
"Laili and Majnoon. You and theyakknga, the cripple. What was it you
had, he and you?"
"He was my friend," she said, careful that her voice not shift too much
in key. She busied herself making a bottle. "You know that."
"I don't know what I know." Rasheed deposited the shavings on the
windowsill and dropped onto the bed. The springs protested with a loud
creak. He splayed his legs, picked at his crotch. "And as… .friends, did
the two of you ever do anything out of order?"
"Out of order?"
Rasheed smiled lightheartedly, but Laila could feel his gaze, cold and
watchful. "Let me see, now. Well, did he ever give you a kiss? Maybe
put his hand where it didn't belong?"
Laila winced with, she hoped, an indignant air. She could feel her heart
drumming in her throat. "He was like a brother to me."
"So he was a friend or a brother?"
"Both. He^"