A Thousand Splendid Suns

declared war.
"On whom?" says Tariq.
"On your country, to begin with."
* * *
"It may not be such a bad thing," Tariq says.
They have finished making love. He's lying beside her, his head on her
chest, his arm draped over her belly. The first few times they tried, there
was difficulty. Tariq was all apologies, Laila all reassurances. There are
still difficulties, not physical now but logistical. The shack they share with
the children is small. The children sleep on cots below them and so there
is little privacy. Most times, Laila and Tariq make love in silence, with
controlled, muted passion, fully clothed beneath the blanket as a
precaution against interruptions by the children. They are forever wary of
the rustling sheets, the creaking bedsprings. But for Laila, being with
Tariq is worth weathering these apprehensions. When they make love,
Laila feels anchored, she feels sheltered. Her anxieties, that their life
together is a temporary blessing, that soon it will come loose again in
strips and tatters, are allayed. Her fears of separation vanish.
"What do you mean?" she says now.
"What's going on back home. It may not be so bad in the end."
Back home, bombs are falling once again, this time American
bombs-Laila has been watching images of the war every day on the
television as she changes sheets and vacuums. The Americans have
armed the warlords once more, and enlisted the help of the Northern
Alliance to drive out the Taliban and find bin Laden.