Page 397 - Leadership in the Indian Army

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Tariq and the children come back to the hotel just after six o'clock.
Aziza runs to Laila and shows her the

earrings Tariq has bought for her, silver with an enamel butterfly on

each. Zalmai is clutching an inflatable dolphin that squeaks when its
snout is squeezed.

"How are you?" Tariq asks, putting his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm fine," Laila says. "I'll tell you later."

They walk to a nearby kebab house to eat. It's a small place, with

sticky, vinyl tablecloths, smoky and loud But the lamb is tender and
moist and the bread hot. They walk the streets for a while after. Tariq

buys the children rosewater ice cream from a street-side kiosk. They eat,

sitting on a bench, the mountains behind them silhouetted against the
scarlet red of dusk. The air is warm, rich with the fragrance of cedar.

Laila had opened the envelope earlier when she'd come back to the
room after viewing the videotape. In it was a letter, handwritten in blue

ink on a yellow, lined sheet of paper.

It read:

May 13, 1987
My dear Mariam:
I pray that this letter finds you in good health
As you kno w, I came to Kabul a month ago to speak with you. Bui you

would not see me. Iwas disappointed but could not blame you. In your

place, Imight have done the same. Ilost the privilege of your good graces

a long time ago and for that I only have myself to blame. Bui if you are