A Thousand Splendid Suns

"Somewhere with trees," she said. "Yes. Lots of trees."
They would live in a small house on the edge of some town they'd
never heard of, Mariam said, or in a remote village where the road was
narrow and unpaved but lined with all manner of plants and shrubs.
Maybe there would be a path to take, a path that led to a grass field
where the children could play, or maybe a graveled road that would take
them to a clear blue lake where trout swam and reeds poked through the
surface. They would raise sheep and chickens, and they would make
bread together and teach the children to read. They would make new
lives for themselves-peaceful, solitary lives-and there the weight of all
that they'd endured would lift from them, and they would be deserving of
all the happiness and simple prosperity they would find.
Laila murmured encouragingly. It would be an existence rife with
difficulties, she saw, but of a pleasurable kind, difficulties they could take
pride in, possess, value, as one would a family heirloom. Mariam's soft
maternal voice went on, brought a degree of comfort to her. There is a
way, she'd said, and, in the morning, Mariam would tell her what needed
to be done and they would do it, and maybe by tomorrow this time they
would be on their way to this new life, a life luxuriant with possibility and
joy and welcomed difficulties. Laila was grateful that Mariam was in
charge, unclouded and sober, able to think this through for both of them.
Her own mind was a jittery, muddled mess.
Mariam got up. "You should tend to your son now." On her was the most
stricken expression Laila had ever seen on a human face.
* * *