A Thousand Splendid Suns

To Zalmai he said coldly, "You're going upstairs, boy."
On Zalmai's face, Mariam saw alarm. Nervously, he looked around at
the three of them. He sensed now that his tattletale game had let
something serious-adult serious-into the room. He cast a despondent,
contrite glance toward Mariam, then his mother.
In a challenging voice, Rasheed said, "Now!"
He took Zalmai by the elbow. Zalmai meekly let himself be led
upstairs.
They stood frozen, Mariam and Laila, eyes to the ground, as though
looking at each other would give credence to the way Rasheed saw
things, that while he was opening doors and lugging baggage for people
who wouldn't spare him a glance a lewd conspiracy was shaping behind
his back, in his home, in his beloved son's presence. Neither one of them
said a word. They listened to the footsteps in the hallway above, one
heavy and foreboding, the other the pattering of a skittish little animal.
They listened to muted words passed, a squeaky plea, a curt retort, a
door shut, the rattle of a key as it turned. Then one set of footsteps
returning, more impatiently now.
Mariam saw his feet pounding the steps as he came down. She saw him
pocketing the key, saw his belt, the perforated end wrapped tightly
around his knuckles. The fake brass buckle dragged behind him,
bouncing on the steps.
She went to stop him, but he shoved her back and blew by her. Without
saying a word, he swung the belt at Laila. He did it with such speed that
she had no time to retreat or duck, or even raise a protective arm. Laila