A Thousand Splendid Suns

say anything for a long time.
Laila's mouth was dry, and she was stammering her words, trembling
all over. She willed herself not to look at Rasheed, at the rictus of his
mouth, his open eyes, at the blood congealing in the hollow of his
collarbone.
Outside, the light was fading, the shadows deepening. Mariam's face
looked thin and drawn in this light, but she did not appear agitated or
frightened, merely preoccupied, thoughtful, so self-possessed that when
a fly landed on her chin she paid it no attention. She just sat there with
her bottom lip stuck out, the way she did when she was absorbed in
thought.
At last, she said, "Sit down, Laila jo."
Laila did, obediently.
"We have to move him. Zalmai can't see this."
* * *
Mariam fished the bedroom key from Rasheed's pocket before they
wrapped him in a bedsheet. Laila took him by the legs, behind the
knees, and Mariam grabbed him under the arms. They tried lifting him,
but he was too heavy, and they ended up dragging him. As they were
passing through the front door and into the yard, Rasheed's foot caught
against the doorframe and his leg bent sideways. They had to back up
and try again, and then something thumped upstairs and Laila's legs
gave out. She dropped Rasheed. She slumped to the ground, sobbing and
shaking, and Mariam had to stand over her, hands on hips, and say that