A Thousand Splendid Suns

"Well, then." He threw up his hands and snickered.
It was the sickly Talib who spoke next.
"I have a doctor in Peshawar," he said. "A fine, young Pakistani fellow.
I saw him a month ago, and then again last week. I said, tell me the
truth, friend, and he said to me, three months, Mullah sahib, maybe six
at most-all God's will, of course."
He nodded discreetly at the square-shouldered man on his left and took
another sip of the tea he was offered. He wiped his mouth with the back
of his tremulous hand. "It does not frighten me to leave this life that my
only son left five years ago, this life that insists we bear sorrow upon
sorrow long after we can bear no more. No, I believe I shall gladly take
my leave when the time comes.
"What frightens me, hamshira, is the day God summons me before Him
and asks, Why did you not do as I said, Mullah? Why did you not obey my
laws? How shall I explain myself to Him, hamshira 1 ? What will be my
defense for not heeding His commands? All I can do, all any of us can
do, in the time we are granted, is to go on abiding by the laws He has
set for us. The clearer I see my end, hamshira, the nearer I am to my
day of reckoning, the more determined I grow to carry out His word.
However painful it may prove."
He shifted on his cushion and winced.
"I believe you when you say that your husband was a man of
disagreeable temperament," he resumed, fixing Mariam with his
bespectacled eyes, his gaze both stern and compassionate. "But I cannot
help but be disturbed by the brutality of your action, hamshira I am
troubled by what you have done; I am troubled that his little boy was