Madam
Upstairs, in Mariam's room, Zalmai was wound up. He bounced his new rubber basketball around
for a while, on the floor, against the walls. Mariam asked him not to, but he knew that she had no
authority to exert over him and so he went on bouncing his ball, his eyes holding hers defiantly. For a
while, they pushed his toy car, an ambulance with bold red lettering on the sides, sending it back and
forth between them across the room.
Earlier, when they had met Tariq at the door, Zalmai had clutched the basketball close to his chest
and stuck a thumb in his mouth-something he didn't do anymore except when he was apprehensive. He
had eyed Tariq with suspicion.
"Who is that man?" he said now. "I don't like him."
Mariam was going to explain, say something about him and Laila growing up together, but Zalmai
cut her off and said to turn the ambulance around, so the front grille faced him, and, when she did, he
said he wanted his basketball again.
"Where is it?" he said. "Where is the ball Baba jan got me? Where is it? I want it! I want it!" his
voice rising and
becoming more shrill with each word.
"It was just here," Mariam said, and he cried, "No, it's lost, I know it. I just know it's lost! Where is
it? Where is it?"
"Here," she said, fetching the ball from the closet where it had rolled to. But Zalmai was bawling
now and pounding his fists, crying that it wasn't the same ball, it couldn't be, because his ball was
lost, and this was a fake one, where had his real ball gone? Where? Where where where?
He screamed until Laila had to come upstairs to hold him, to rock him and run her fingers through his
tight, dark curls, to dry his moist cheeks and cluck her tongue in his ear.
Mariam waited outside the room. From atop the staircase, all she could see of Tariq were his long
legs, the real one and the artificial one, in khaki pants, stretched out on the uncarpeted living-room
floor. It was then that she realized why the doorman at the Continental had looked familiar the day she
and Rasheed had gone there to place the call to Jalil. He'd been wearing a cap and sunglasses, that
was why it hadn't come to her earlier. But Mariam remembered now, from nine years before,
remembered him sitting downstairs, patting his brow with a handkerchief and asking for water. Now
all manner of questions raced through her mind: Had the sulfa pills too been part of the ruse? Which
one of them had plotted the lie, provided the convincing details? And how much had Rasheed paid Abdul Sharif-if that was even his name-to come and crush Laila with the story of Tariq's death?