Page 96 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

instructed him to do his job, which was to translate, not give advice, and I turned

to you and offered, among my many reasons, the one that was not private. “You
have left behind your country,” I said, “your friends, your family, and you have
come here to this godforsaken city to help my homeland and my countrymen.
How could I profit off you?”
The young translator, whom I never saw with you again, tossed his hands up
and chuckled with dismay. This country has changed. It was not always like this,
Mr. Markos.
Sometimes at night, I lie in the dark privacy of my quarters and I see the
lights burning in the main house. I watch you and your friends—especially the
brave Miss Amra Ademovic, whose enormous heart I admire to no end—on the
veranda or in the yard, eating food from plates, smoking cigarettes, drinking

your wine. I can hear the music too, and at times it is jazz, which reminds me of
Nila.
She is dead now, this I know. I learned it from Miss Amra. I had told her
about the Wahdatis and shared with her that Nila had been a poet. She found a
French publication on the computer. They had published online an anthology of
their best pieces of the last forty years. There was one about Nila. The piece said
she had died in 1974. I thought of the futility of all those years, hoping for a
letter from a woman who was already long dead. I was not altogether surprised
to learn that she had taken her own life. I know now that some people feel
unhappiness the way others love: privately, intensely, and without recourse.

Let me finish with this, Mr. Markos.
My time is near now. I weaken by the day. It will not be much longer. And
thank God for that. Thank you as well, Mr. Markos, not only for your friendship,
for taking the time to visit me daily and sit down for tea and for sharing with me
news of your mother on Tinos and your childhood friend Thalia, but also for
your compassion for my people and the invaluable service you are providing
children here.
Thank you as well for the repair work that you are doing around the house. I
have spent now the bulk of my life in it, it is home to me, and I am certain that I

will soon take my last breath under its roof. I have borne witness to its decline
with dismay and heartbreak. But it has brought me great joy to see it repainted,
to see the garden wall repaired, the windows replaced, and the veranda, where I
spent countless happy hours, rebuilt. Thank you, my friend, for the trees you
have planted, and for the flowers blooming once more in the garden. If I have in
some way aided in the services you render the people of this city, then what you
have graciously done for this house is more than enough payment for me.