Page 93 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

young, healthy Suleiman, and even the time and the house we had all occupied

together.
Then one morning in the summer of 2000 I walked into Suleiman’s room
carrying tea and freshly baked bread on a platter. Immediately, I knew
something had happened. His breathing was ragged. His facial droop had
suddenly become far more pronounced, and when he tried to speak he produced
croaking noises that barely rose above a whisper. I put down the platter and
rushed to his side.
“I’ll fetch a doctor, Suleiman,” I said. “You just wait. We’ll get you better,
like always.”

I turned to go, but he was shaking his head violently. He motioned with the
fingers of his left hand.
I leaned in, my ear close to his mouth.
He made a series of attempts at saying something but I could not make out
any of it.

“I’m sorry, Suleiman,” I said, “you must let me go and find the doctor. I
won’t be long.”
He shook his head again, slowly this time, and tears leaked from his cataract-
laden eyes. His mouth opened and closed. He motioned toward the nightstand
with his head. I asked him if there was something there he needed. He shut his
eyes and nodded.
I opened the top drawer. I saw nothing there but pills, his reading glasses, an
old bottle of cologne, a notepad, charcoal pencils he had stopped using years
before. I was about to ask him what I was supposed to find when I did find it,
tucked underneath the notepad. An envelope with my name scribbled on the

back in Suleiman’s clumsy penmanship. Inside was a sheet of paper on which he
had written a single paragraph. I read it.
I looked down at him, his caved-in temples, his craggy cheeks, his hollow
eyes.
He motioned again, and I leaned in. I felt his cold, rough, uneven breaths on
my cheek. I heard the sound of his tongue struggling in his dry mouth as he
collected himself. Somehow, perhaps through sheer force of will—his last—he
managed to whisper in my ear.

The air whooshed out of me. I forced the words around the lump that had
lodged itself in my throat.
“No. Please, Suleiman.”
You promised.