Laila
JLaila sat across fromAbdul Sharif, who was a thin, small-headed man with a bulbous nose pocked
with the same cratered scars that pitted his cheeks. His hair, short and brown, stood on his scalp like
needles in a pincushion.
"You'll have to forgive me,hamshira," he said, adjusting his loose collar and dabbing at his brow
with a handkerchief "I still haven't quite recovered, I fear. Five more days of these, what are they
called…sulfa pills."
Laila positioned herself in her seat so that her right ear, the good one, was closest to him. "Were you
a friend of my parents?"
"No, no," Abdul Sharif said quickly. "Forgive me." He raised a finger, took a long sip of the water
that Mariam had placed in front of him.
"I should begin at the beginning, I suppose." He dabbed at his lips, again at his brow. "I am a
businessman. I own clothing stores, mostly men's clothing.Chapans, hats,iumban%, suits, ties-you
name it. Two stores here in Kabul, in Taimani and Shar-e-Nau, though I just sold those. And two in
Pakistan, in Peshawar. That's where my warehouse is as well. So I travel a lot, back and forth.
Which, these days"-he shook his head and chuckled tiredly-"let's just say that it's an adventure.
"I was in Peshawar recently, on business, taking orders, going over inventory, that sort of thing. Also
to visit my family. We have three daughters,alhamdulellah. I moved them and my wife to Peshawar
after the Mujahideen began going at each other's throats. I won't have their names added to
theshaheedlist. Nor mine, to be honest. I'll be joining them there very soon,inshallah.
"Anyway, I was supposed to be back in Kabul the Wednesday before last. But, as luck would have
it, I came down with an illness. I won't bother you with it,hamshira, suffice it to say that when I went
to do my private business, the simpler of the two, it felt like passing chunks of broken glass. I
wouldn't wish it on Hekmatyar himself. My wife, Nadia jan, Allah bless her, she begged me to see a
doctor. But I thought I'd beat it with aspirin and a lot of water. Nadia jan insisted and I said no, back
and forth we went. You know the saying^stubborn ass needs a stubborn driver. This time, I'm afraid,
the ass won. That would be me."
He drank the rest of this water and extended the glass to Mariam. "If it's not too muchzahmat."
Mariam took the glass and went to fill it.
"Needless to say, I should have listened to her. She's always been the more sensible one, God give
her a long life. By the time I made it to the hospital, I was burning with a fever and shaking like abeid tree in the wind. I could barely stand. The doctor said I had blood poisoning. She said two or three
more days and I would have made my wife a widow.
"They put me in a special unit, reserved for really sick people, I suppose. Oh,iashakor." He took the
glass from Mariam and from his coat pocket produced a large white pill. "Thesize of these things."
Laila watched him swallow his pill She was aware that her breathing had quickened Her legs felt
heavy, as though weights had been tethered to them. She told herself that he wasn't done, that he hadn't
told her anything as yet. But he would go on in a second, and she resisted an urge to get up and leave,
leave before he told her things she didn't want to hear.
Abdul Sharif set his glass on the table.
"That's where I met your friend, Mohammad Tariq Walizai."
Laila's heart sped up. Tariq in a hospital? A special unit?For really sick people?
She swallowed dry spit. Shifted on her chair. She had to steel herself. If she didn't, she feared she
would come unhinged. She diverted her thoughts from hospitals and special units and thought instead
about the fact that she hadn't heard Tariq called by his full name since the two of them had enrolled in
a Farsi winter course years back. The teacher would call roll after the bell and say his name like that-
Mohammad Tariq Walizai. It had struck her as comically officious then, hearing his full name uttered.
"What happened to him I heard from one of the nurses," Abdul Sharif resumed, tapping his chest
with a fist as if to ease the passage of the pill. "With all the time I've spent in Peshawar, I've become
pretty proficient in Urdu. Anyway, what I gathered was that your friend was in a lorry full of refugees,
twenty-three of them, all headed for Peshawar. Near the border, they were caught in cross fire. A
rocket hit the lorry. Probably a stray, but you never know with these people, you never know. There
were only six survivors, all of them admitted to the same unit. Three died within twenty-four hours.
Two of them lived-sisters, as I understood it-and had been discharged.
Your friend Mr. Walizai was the last. He'd been there for almost three weeks by the time I arrived."
So he was alive. But how badly had they hurt him? Laila wondered frantically. How badly? Badly
enough to be put in a special unit, evidently. Laila was aware that she had started sweating, that her
face felt hot. She tried to think of something else, something pleasant, like the trip to Bamiyan to see
the Buddhas with Tariq and Babi. But instead an image of Tariq's parents presented itself: Tariq's
mother trapped in the lorry, upside down, screaming for Tariq through the smoke, her arms and chest
on fire, the wig melting into her scalp…
Laila had to take a series of rapid breaths.
"He was in the bed next to mine. There were no walls, only a curtain between us. So I could see him
pretty well."
Abdul Sharif found a sudden need to toy with his wedding band. He spoke more slowly now."Your friend, he was badly-very badly-injured, you understand. He had rubber tubes coming out of
him everywhere. At first-" He cleared his throat. "At first, I thought he'd lost both legs in the attack,
but a nurse said no, only the right, the left one was on account of an old injury. There were internal
injuries too. They'd operated three times already. Took out sections of intestines, I don't remember
what else. And he was burned. Quite badly. That's all I'll say about that. I'm sure you have your fair
share of nightmares,hamshira. No sense in me adding to them."
Tariq was legless now. He was a torso with two stumps.Legless. Laila thought she might collapse.
With deliberate, desperate effort, she sent the tendrils of her mind out of this room, out the window,
away from this man, over the street outside, over the city now, and its flat-topped houses and bazaars,
its maze of narrow streets turned to sand castles.
"He was drugged up most of the time. For the pain, you understand. But he had moments when the
drugs were wearing off when he was clear. In pain but clear of mind I would talk to him from my bed.
I told him who I was, where I was from. He was glad, I think, that there was ahamwaian next to him.
"I did most of the talking. It was hard for him to. His voice was hoarse, and I think it hurt him to
move his lips. So I told him about my daughters, and about our house in Peshawar and the veranda my
brother-in-law and I are building out in the back. I told him I had sold the stores in Kabul and that I
was going back to finish up the paperwork. It wasn't much. But it occupied him. At least, I like to
think it did.
"Sometimes he talked too. Half the time, I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I caught enough.
He described where he'd lived.
He talked about his uncle in Ghazni. And his mother's cooking and his father's carpentry, him playing
the accordion.
"But, mostly, he talked about you,hamshira. He said you were-how did he put it-his earliest memory.
I think that's right, yes. I could tell he cared a great deal about you.Balay, that much was plain to see.
But he said he was glad you weren't there. He said he didn't want you seeing him like that."
Laila's feet felt heavy again, anchored to the floor, as if all her blood had suddenly pooled down
there. But her mind was far away, free and fleet, hurtling like a speeding missile beyond Kabul, over
craggy brown hills and over deserts ragged with clumps of sage, past canyons of jagged red rock and
over snowcapped mountains…
"When I told him I was going back to Kabul, he asked me to find you. To tell you that he was
thinking of you. That he missed you. I promised him I would I'd taken quite a liking to him, you see.
He was a decent sort of boy, I could tell."
Abdul Sharif wiped his brow with the handkerchief.
"I woke up one night," he went on, his interest in the wedding band renewed, "I think it was night
anyway, it's hard to tell in those places. There aren't any windows. Sunrise, sundown, you just don't know. But I woke
up, and there was some sort of commotion around the bed next to mine. You have to understand that I
was full of drugs myself, always slipping in and out, to the point where it was hard to tell what was
real and what you'd dreamed up. All I remember is, doctors huddled around the bed, calling for this
and that, alarms bleeping, syringes all over the ground.
"In the morning, the bed was empty. I asked a nurse. She said he fought valiantly."
Laila was dimly aware that she was nodding. She'd known. Of course she'd known. She'd known the
moment she had sat across from this man why he was here, what news he was bringing.
"At first, you see, at first I didn't think you even existed," he was saying now. "I thought it was the
morphine talking. Maybe I evenhopedyou didn't exist; I've always dreaded bearing bad news. But I
promised him. And, like I said, I'd become rather fond of him. So I came by here a few days ago. I
asked around for you, talked to some neighbors. They pointed to this house. They also told me what
had happened to your parents. When I heard about that, well, I turned around and left. I wasn't going
to tell you. I decided it would be too much for you. For anybody."
Abdul Sharif reached across the table and put a hand on her kneecap. "But I came back. Because, in
the end, I think he would have wanted you to know. I believe that. I'm so sorry. I wish…"
Laila wasn't listening anymore. She was remembering the day the man from Panjshir had come to
deliver the news of Ahmad's and Noor's deaths. She remembered Babi, white-faced, slumping on the
couch, and Mammy, her hand flying to her mouth when she heard. Laila had watched Mammy come
undone that day and it had scared her, but she hadn't felt any true sorrow. She hadn't understood the
awfulness of her mother's loss. Now another stranger bringing news of another death. Nowshe was
the one sitting on the chair. Was this her penalty, then, her punishment for being aloof to her own
mother's suffering?
Laila remembered how Mammy had dropped to the ground, how she'd screamed, torn at her hair.
But Laila couldn't even manage that. She could hardly move. She could hardly move a muscle.
She sat on the chair instead, hands limp in her lap, eyes staring at nothing, and let her mind fly on.
She let it fly on until it found the place, the good and safe place, where the barley fields were green,
where the water ran clear and the cottonwood seeds danced by the thousands in the air; where Babi
was reading a book beneath an acacia and Tariq was napping with his hands laced across his chest,
and where she could dip her feet in the stream and dream good dreams beneath the watchful gaze of
gods of ancient, sun-bleached rock.