Page 70 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

warn my sister of the visit, give her time to clean up a bit. The cracked mud

walls were black with soot, the ripped mattress beneath Nila layered with dust,
the lone window in the room flyspecked.
“This is a lovely carpet,” Nila said cheerfully, running her fingers over the
rug. It was bright red with elephant-footprint patterns. It was the only object of
any value that Saboor and Parwana owned—to be sold, as it turned out, that
same winter.
“It belonged to my father,” Saboor said.
“Is it a Turkoman rug?”

“Yes.”
“I do love the sheep fleece they use. The craftsmanship is incredible.”
Saboor nodded his head. He didn’t look her way once even as he spoke to her.

The plastic sheeting flapped when Abdullah returned with a tray of teacups
and lowered it to the ground before Nila. He poured her a cup and sat cross-
legged opposite her. Nila tried speaking to him, lobbing him a few simple
questions, but Abdullah only nodded his shaved head, muttered a one- or two-
word answer, and stared back at her guardedly. I made a mental note to speak to
the boy, gently chide him about his manners. I would do it in a friendly way for I
liked the boy, who was serious and competent by nature.
“How far along are you?” Nila asked Parwana.
Her head down, my sister said the baby was due in the winter.

“You are blessed,” Nila said. “To be awaiting a baby. And to have such a
polite young stepson.” She smiled at Abdullah, who remained expressionless.
Parwana muttered something that might have been Thank you.
“And there is a little girl too, if I recall?” Nila said. “Pari?”

“She’s asleep,” Abdullah said tersely.
“Ah. I hear she is lovely.”
“Go fetch your sister,” Saboor said.
Abdullah lingered, looking from his father to Nila, then rose with visible
reluctance to bring his sister.
If I had any wish, even at this late hour, to somehow acquit myself, I would

say that the bond between Abdullah and his little sister was an ordinary one. But
it was not so. No one but God knows why those two had chosen each other. It
was a mystery. I have never seen such affinity between two beings. In truth,
Abdullah was as much father to Pari as sibling. When she was an infant, when
she cried at night, it was he who sprung from the sleeping cot to walk her. It was
he who took it upon himself to change her soiled linens, to bundle her up, to