Page 35 - Leadership in the Indian Army

from hookahs.

The old man turned onto a wide, conifer-lined street. He brought his
horse to a stop at the midway point.

"There. Looks like you're in luck, dokhiarjo. That's his car."
Mariam hopped down. He smiled and rode on.

* * *

Mariam had never before touched a car. She ran her fingers along the

hood of Jalil's car, which was black, shiny, with glittering wheels in which
Mariam saw a flattened, widened version of herself. The seats were

made of white leather. Behind the steering wheel, Mariam saw round

glass panels with needles behind them.

For a moment, Mariam heard Nana's voice in her head, mocking,
dousing the deep-seated glow of her hopes. With shaky legs, Mariam

approached the front door of the house. She put her hands on the walls.

They were so tall, so foreboding, Jalil's walls. She had to crane her neck
to see where the tops of cypress trees protruded over them from the

other side. The treetops swayed in the breeze, and she imagined they

were nodding their welcome to her. Mariam steadied herself against the
waves of dismay passing through her.

A barefoot young woman opened the door. She had a tattoo under her

lower lip.

"I'm here to see Jalil Khan. I'm Mariam. His daughter."

A look of confusion crossed the girl's face. Then, a flash of recognition.