A Thousand Splendid Suns

"Look at me, hamshira "
"What kind of mother abandons her own child?"
"Look at me."
Laila raised her gaze.
"It isn't your fault. Do you hear me? Not you. It's those savages, those
wahshis, who are to blame. They bring shame on me as a Pashtun.
They've disgraced the name of my people. And you're not alone,
hamshira We get mothers like you all the time-all the time-mothers who
come here who can't feed their children because the Taliban won't let
them go out and make a living. So you don't blame yourself. No one
here blames you. I understand." He leaned forward. "Hamshira I
understand."
Laila wiped her eyes with the cloth of her burqa.
"As for this place," Zaman sighed, motioning with his hand, "you can
see that it's in dire state. We're always underfunded, always scrambling,
improvising. We get little or no support from the Taliban. But we
manage. Like you, we do what we have to do. Allah is good and kind,
and Allah provides, and, as long He provides, I will see to it that Aziza is
fed and clothed. That much I promise you."
Laila nodded.
"All right?"
He was smiling companionably. "But don't cry, hamshira Don't let her
see you cry."
Laila wiped her eyes again. "God bless you," she said thickly. "God