Page 89 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)
P. 89

between us, what he had said, the pain of a life suppressed, of happiness never to

               be.
                   “And I am telling you this now,” he said, “so you understand why I want you
               to go. Go and find yourself a wife. Start your own family, Nabi, like everyone
               else. There is still time for you.”
                   “Well,” I said at last, aiming to ease the tension with flippancy, “one of these
               days I just might. And then you’ll be sorry. And so will the miserable bastard
               who has to wash your diapers.”
                   “You always joke.”

                   I watched a beetle crawl lightly across a green-gray leaf.
                   “Don’t stay for me. This is what I’m saying, Nabi. Don’t stay for me.”
                   “You flatter yourself.”

                   “Again the joking,” he said tiredly.
                   I said nothing even though he had it wrong. I was not joking that time. My
               staying was no longer for him. It had been at first. I had stayed initially because
               Suleiman needed me, because he was wholly dependent on me. I had run once
               before from someone who needed me, and the remorse I still feel I will take with
               me to the grave. I could not do it again. But slowly, imperceptibly, my reasons
               for staying changed. I cannot tell you when or how the change occurred, Mr.
               Markos, only that I was staying for me now. Suleiman said I should marry. But
               the fact is, I looked at my life and realized I already had what people sought in
               marriage. I had comfort, and companionship, and a home where I was always
               welcomed, loved, and needed. The physical urges I had as a man—and I still had
               them, of course, though less frequent and less pressing now that I was older—
               could  still  be  managed,  as  I  explained  earlier.  As  for  children,  though  I  had

               always liked them I had never felt a tug of paternal impulse in myself.
                   “If  you  mean  to  be  a  mule  and  not  marry,”  Suleiman  said,  “then  I  have  a
               request of you. But on the condition that you accept before I ask.”
                   I told him he could not demand that of me.
                   “And yet I am.”

                   I looked up at him.
                   “You can say no,” he said.
                   He knew me well. He smiled crookedly. I made my promise, and he made his
               request.
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