Page 106 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

Idris nods, again feeling a little inadequate, this time because a foreigner has

schooled him on an Afghan artist. A couple of feet away, he can hear Timur
engaged in an animated discussion with Nabi over rent prices. In Farsi, of
course.
“Do you have any idea what you could charge for a place like this, Nabi jan?”
he is saying to the old man.
“Yes,” Nabi says, nodding, laughing. “I am aware of rental prices in the city.”
“You could fleece these guys!”

“Well …”
“And you’re letting them stay for free.”
“They’ve come to help our country, Timur jan. They left their homes and
came here. It doesn’t seem right that I should, as you say, ‘fleece them.’ ”

Timur issues a groan, downs the rest of his drink. “Well, either you hate
money, old friend, or you are a far better man than I am.”
Amra walks into the room, wearing a sapphire Afghan tunic over faded jeans.
“Nabi jan!” she exclaims. Nabi seems a little startled when she kisses his cheek
and coils an arm around his. “I love this man,” she says to the group. “And I love
to embarrass him.” Then she says it in Farsi to Nabi. He tilts his head back and
forth and laughs, blushing a little.
“How about you embarrass me too,” Timur says.

Amra taps him on the chest. “This one is big trouble.” She and Markos kiss
Afghan-style, three times on the cheek, same with the Germans.
Markos slings an arm around her waist. “Amra Ademovic. The hardest-
working woman in Kabul. You do not want to cross this girl. Also, she will drink
you under the table.”
“Let’s put that to the test,” Timur says, reaching for a glass on the bar behind
him.

The old man, Nabi, excuses himself.
For the next hour or so, Idris mingles, or tries to. As liquor levels in the
bottles drop, conversations rise in pitch. Idris hears German, French, what must
be Greek. He has another vodka, follows it up with a lukewarm beer. In one
group, he musters the courage to slip in a Mullah Omar joke that he had learned
in Farsi back in California. But the joke doesn’t translate well into English, and
his delivery is harried. It falls flat. He moves on, and listens in on a conversation
about an Irish pub that is set to open in Kabul. There is general agreement that it
will not last.

He walks around the room, warm beer can in hand. He has never been at ease