Page 304 - Leadership in the Indian Army

attention was diverted by an organ-grinder's monkey across the street.

They walked the last two blocks alone, Mariam, Laila, and Aziza. As

they approached the building, Laila could see its splintered fa9ade, the

sagging roof, the planks of wood nailed across frames with missing

windows, the top of a swing set over a decaying wall.

They stopped by the door, and Laila repeated to Aziza what she had

told her earlier.

"And if they ask about your father, what do you say?"
"The Mujahideen killed him," Aziza said, her mouth set with wariness.

"That's good. Aziza, do you understand?"

"Because this is a special school," Aziza said Now that they were here,
and the building was a reality, she looked shaken. Her lower lip was

quivering and her eyes threatened to well up, and Laila saw how hard

she was struggling to be brave. "If we tell the truth," Aziza said in a thin,
breathless voice, "they won't take me. It's a special school. I want to go

home."

"I'll visit all the time," Laila managed to say. "I promise."

"Me too," said Mariam. "We'll come to see you, Aziza jo, and we'll play

together, just like always. It's only for a while, until your father finds
work."

"They have food here," Laila said shakily. She was glad for the burqa,
glad that Aziza couldn't see how she was falling apart inside it. "Here,