A Thousand Splendid Suns

She waited until her legs were stiff. This time, she did not go back to
the kolba She rolled up the legs of her trousers to the knees, crossed the
stream, and, for the first time in her life, headed down the hill for Herat.
* * *
Nana was "wrong about Herat too. No one pointed. No one laughed.
Mariam walked along noisy, crowded, cypress-lined boulevards, amid a
steady stream of pedestrians, bicycle riders, and mule-drawn garis, and
no one threw a rock at her. No one called her a harami. Hardly anyone
even looked at her. She was, unexpectedly, marvelously, an ordinary
person here.
For a while, Mariam stood by an oval-shaped pool in the center of a big
park where pebble paths crisscrossed. With wonder, she ran her fingers
over the beautiful marble horses that stood along the edge of the pool
and gazed down at the water with opaque eyes. She spied on a cluster of
boys who were setting sail to paper ships. Mariam saw flowers
everywhere, tulips, lilies, petunias, their petals awash in sunlight. People
walked along the paths, sat on benches and sipped tea.
Mariam could hardly believe that she was here. Her heart was battering
with excitement. She wished Mullah Faizullah could see her now. How
daring he would find her. How brave! She gave herself over to the new
life that awaited her in this city, a life with a father, with sisters and
brothers, a life in which she would love and be loved back, without
reservation or agenda, without shame.
Sprightly, she walked back to the wide thoroughfare near the park. She