A Thousand Splendid Suns

central facility. No one had believed it, and the Taliban hadn't enforced
the policy. Until now.
"What about Ali Abaci Hospital?" another man cried.
The guard shook his head.
"Wazir Akbar Khan?"
"Men only," he said.
"What are we supposed to do?"
"Go to Rabia Balkhi," the guard said.
A young woman pushed forward, said she had already been there. They
had no clean water, she said, no oxygen, no medications, no electricity.
"There is nothing there."
"That's where you go," the guard said.
There were more groans and cries, an insult or two. Someone threw a
rock.
The Talib lifted his Kalashnikov and fired rounds into the air. Another
Talib behind him brandished a whip.
The crowd dispersed quickly.
* * *
The waiting room at Rabia Balkhi was teeming with women in burqas
and their children. The air stank of sweat and unwashed bodies, of feet,
urine, cigarette smoke, and antiseptic. Beneath the idle ceiling fan,
children chased each other, hopping over the stretched-out legs of dozing
fathers.
Mariam helped Laila sit against a wall from which patches of plaster
shaped like foreign countries had slid off Laila rocked back and forth,
hands pressing against her belly.
"I'll get you seen, Laila jo. I promise."
"Be quick," said Rasheed.