A Thousand Splendid Suns

shroud then and would lift only when Eid had passed.
This year, for the first time, Mariam saw with her eyes the Eid of her
childhood imaginings.
Rasheed and she took to the streets. Mariam had never walked amid
such liveliness. Undaunted by the chilly weather, families had flooded the
city on their frenetic rounds to visit relatives. On their own street,
Mariam saw Fariba and her son Noor, who was dressed in a suit. Fariba,
wearing a white scarf, walked beside a small-boned, shy-looking man
with
eyeglasses. Her older son was there too-Mariam somehow
remembered Fariba saying his name, Ahmad, at the tandoor that first
time. He had deep-set, brooding eyes, and his face was more thoughtful,
more solemn, than his younger brother's, a face as suggestive of early
maturity as his brother's was of lingering boyishness. Around Ahmad's
neck was a glittering allah pendant.
Fariba must have recognized her, walking in burqa beside Rasheed. She
waved, and called out, "Eidmubarak!"
From inside the burqa, Mariam gave her a ghost of a nod.
"So you know that woman, the teacher's wife?" Rasheed said
Mariam said she didn't.
"Best you stay away. She's a nosy gossiper, that one. And the husband
fancies himself some kind of educated intellectual But he's a mouse.
Look at him. Doesn't he look like a mouse?"
They went to Shar-e-Nau, where kids romped about in new shirts and
beaded, brightly colored vests
and compared Eid gifts. Women
brandished platters of sweets. Mariam saw festive lanterns hanging from
shopwindows, heard music blaring from loudspeakers. Strangers called