33.MariamEarly one morning the next spring, of 1993, Mariam stood by the living-room window and watched Rasheed escort the girl out of the house. The girl was tottering forward, bent at the waist, one arm draped protectively across the taut drum of h
31.MariamIn the daytime, the girl was no more than a creaking bedspring, a patter of footsteps overhead. She was water splashing in the bathroom, or a teaspoon clinking against glass in the bedroom upstairs. Occasionally, there were sightings: a blur
29.MariamI’m so sorry,” Rasheed said to the girl, taking his bowl of mastawa and meatballs from Mariam without looking at her. “I know you were very close . . . friends . . . the two of you. Always together, since you were kids. It’s a terrible thing
27.MariamDo you know who I am?”The girl’s eyes fluttered.“Do you know what has happened?”The girl’s mouth quivered. She closed her eyes.Swallowed. Her hand grazed her left cheek. She mouthed something.Mariam leaned in closer.“This ear,” the girl brea
25.Laila could hardly move, as though cement had solidified in every one of her joints. There was a conversation going on, and Laila knew that she was at one end of it, but she felt removed from it, as though she were merely eavesdropping. As Tariq t
23.APRIL 1992Three years passed. In that time, Tariq’s father had a series of strokes. They left him with a clumsy left hand and a slight slur to his speech. When he was agitated, which happened frequently, the slurring got worse.Tariq outgrew his le