Page 57 - Leadership in the Indian Army

"Mariam," Jalil whispered.

"Yes," she said shakily.

A mirror was passed beneath the veil. In it, Mariam saw her own face

first, the archless, unshapely eyebrows, the flat hair, the eyes, mirthless

green and set so closely together that one might mistake her for being
cross-eyed. Her skin was coarse and had a dull, spotty appearance. She

thought her brow too wide, the chin too narrow, the lips too thin. The

overall impression was of a long face, a triangular face, a bit houndlike.
And yet Mariam saw that, oddly enough, the whole of these

unmemorable parts made for a face that was not pretty but, somehow,

not unpleasant to look at either.

In the mirror, Mariam had her first glimpse of Rasheed: the big, square,

ruddy face; the hooked nose; the flushed cheeks that gave the

impression of sly cheerfulness; the watery, bloodshot eyes; the crowded
teeth, the front two pushed together like a gabled roof; the impossibly

low hairline, barely two finger widths above the bushy eyebrows; the

wall of thick, coarse, salt-and-pepper hair.

Their gazes met briefly in the glass and slid away.

This is the face of my husband, Mariam thought.

They exchanged the thin gold bands that Rasheed fished from his coat

pocket. His nails were yellow-brown, like the inside of a rotting apple,

and some of the tips were curling, lifting. Mariam's hands shook when
she tried to slip the band onto his finger, and Rasheed had to help her.

Her own band was a little tight, but Rasheed had no trouble forcing it