A Thousand Splendid Suns

Mariam stroked the softness of her belly. No bigger than afingernail, the
doctor had said.
I'm going to be a mother, she thought.
"I'm going to be a mother," she said. Then she was laughing to herself,
and saying it over and over, relishing the words.
When Mariam thought of this baby, her heart swelled inside of her. It
swelled and swelled until all the loss, all the grief, all the loneliness and
self-abasement of her life washed away. This was why God had brought
her here, all the way across the country. She knew this now. She
remembered a verse from the Koran that Mullah Faizullah had taught
her: And Allah is the East and the West, therefore wherever you turn
there is Allah's purpose… She laid down her prayer rug and did namaz.
When she was done, she cupped her hands before her face and asked
God not to let all this good fortune slip away from her.
* * *
It was Rasheed'S idea to go to the hamam. Mariam had never been to a
bathhouse, but he said there was nothing finer than stepping out and
taking that first breath of cold air, to feel the heat rising from the skin.
In the women's hamam, shapes moved about in the steam around
Mariam, a glimpse of a hip here, the contour of a shoulder there. The
squeals of young girls, the grunts of old women, and the trickling of
bathwater echoed between the walls as backs were scrubbed and hair
soaped. Mariam sat in the far corner by herself, working on her heels
with a pumice stone, insulated by a wall of steam from the passing