Page 238 - Leadership in the Indian Army

The girl was sleeping on her side, snoring. The baby was awake.

Mariam lit the kerosene lamp on the table and hunkered down. In the
light, she had her first real close-up look at the baby, the tuft of dark

hair, the thick-lashed hazel eyes, the pink cheeks, and lips the color of

ripe pomegranate.

Mariam had the impression that the baby too was examining her. She
was lying on her back, her head tilted sideways, looking at Mariam

intently with a mixture of amusement, confusion, and suspicion. Mariam

wondered if her face might frighten her, but then the baby squealed

happily and Mariam knew that a favorable judgment had been passed on
her behalf.

"Shh, "Mariam whispered "You'll wake up your mother, half deaf as she

is."
The baby's hand balled into a fist. It rose, fell, found a spastic path to

her mouth. Around a mouthful of her own hand, the baby gave Mariam a

grin, little bubbles of spittle shining on her lips.
"Look at you. What a sorry sight you are, dressed like a damn boy. And

all bundled up in this heat. No wonder you're still awake."

Mariam pulled the blanket off the baby, was horrified to find a second

one beneath, clucked her tongue, and pulled that one off too. The baby
giggled with relief. She flapped her arms like a bird.

"Better, nayT

As Mariam was pulling back, the baby grabbed her pinkie. The tiny

fingers curled themselves tightly around it. They felt warm and soft,
moist with drool.

"Gunuh," the baby said.

"All right, Ms; let go."
The baby hung on, kicked her legs again.