Page 222 - Leadership in the Indian Army

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One day, Mariam was in the living room folding some shirts of
Rasheed's that she had plucked from the clothesline in the yard. She

didn't know how long the girl had been standing there, but, when she

picked up a shirt and turned around, she found her standing by the
doorway, hands cupped around a glassful of tea.

"I didn't mean to startle you," the girl said. "I'm sorry."

Mariam only looked at her.
The sun fell on the girl's face, on her large green eyes and her smooth

brow, on her high cheekbones and the appealing, thick eyebrows, which

were nothing like Mariam's own, thin and featureless. Her yellow hair,
uncombed this morning, was middle-parted.

Mariam could see in the stiff way the girl clutched the cup, the

tightened shoulders, that she was nervous. She imagined her sitting on
the bed working up the nerve.

"The leaves are turning," the girl said companionably. "Have you seen?
Autumn is my favorite. I like the smell of it, when people burn leaves in

their gardens. My mother, she liked springtime the best. You knew my

mother?"

"Not really."
The girl cupped a hand behind her ear. "I'm sorry?"

Mariam raised her voice. "I said no. I didn't know your mother."
"Oh."
"Is there something you want?"
"Mariam jan, I want to…About the things he said the other night-"

"I have been meaning to talk to you about it." Mariam broke in.
"Yes, please," the girl said earnestly, almost eagerly. She took a step

forward. She looked relieved.
Outside, an oriole was warbling. Someone was pulling a cart; Mariam