A Thousand Splendid Suns

"What's this crying about?" Rasheed said crossly. He reached into the
pocket of his pants, uncurled Mariam's fingers, and pushed a
handkerchief into her palm. He lit himself a cigarette and leaned against
the wall. He watched as Mariam pressed the handkerchief to her eyes.
"Done?"
Mariam nodded.
"Sure?"
"Yes."
He took her by the elbow then and led her to the living-room window.
"This window looks north," he said, tapping the glass with the crooked
nail of his index finger. "That's the Asmai mountain directly in front of
us-see?-and, to the left, is the Ali Abad mountain. The university is at the
foot of it. Behind us, east, you can't see from here, is the Shir Darwaza
mountain. Every day, at noon, they shoot a cannon from it. Stop your
crying, now. I mean it."
Mariam dabbed at her eyes.
"That's one thing I can't stand," he said, scowling, "the sound of a
woman crying. I'm sorry. I have no patience for it."
"I want to go home," Mariam said.
Rasheed sighed irritably. A puff of his smoky breath hit Mariam's face.
"I won't take that personally. This time."
Again, he took her by the elbow, and led her upstairs.