A Thousand Splendid Suns

tobacco, of the onions and grilled lamb they had eaten earlier. Now and
then, his ear rubbed against her cheek, and she knew from the scratchy
feel that he had shaved it.
When it was done, he rolled off her, panting. He dropped his forearm
over his brow. In the dark, she could see the blue hands of his watch.
They lay that way for a while, on their backs, not looking at each other.
"There is no shame in this, Mariam," he said, slurring a little. "It's what
married people do. It's what the Prophet himself and his wives did There
is no shame."
A few moments later, he pushed back the blanket and left the room,
leaving her with the impression of his head on her pillow, leaving her to
wait out the pain down below, to look at the frozen stars in the sky and a
cloud that draped the face of the moon like a wedding veil.
12.
Jtvamadan came in the fall that year, 1974. For the first time in her
life, Mariam saw how the sighting of the new crescent moon could
transform an entire city, alter its rhythm and mood. She noticed a
drowsy hush overtaking Kabul Traffic became languid, scant, even quiet.
Shops emptied. Restaurants turned off their lights, closed their doors.
Mariam saw no smokers on the streets, no cups of tea steaming from
window ledges. And at ifiar, when the sun dipped in the west and the
cannon fired from the Shir Darwaza mountain, the city broke its fast, and
so did Mariam, with bread and a date, tasting for the first time in her
fifteen years the sweetness of sharing in a communal experience.