Page 117 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

soon Idris hears the drone of a racing car from his Nintendo DS.

“What’s the matter with you boys?” Nahil scolds them. “Your father’s come
back from Kabul. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you have questions for him?”
“It’s all right,” Idris says. “Let them.” But he is annoyed with their lack of
interest, their blithe ignorance of the arbitrary genetic lottery that has granted
them their privileged lives. He feels a sudden rift between himself and his
family, even Nahil, most of whose questions about his trip revolve around
restaurants and the lack of indoor plumbing. He looks at them accusingly now as
the locals must have looked at him when he’d first arrived in Kabul.
“I’m famished,” he says.

“What do you feel like?” Nahil says. “Sushi, Italian? There’s a new deli over
by Oakridge.”
“Let’s get Afghan food,” he says.
They go to Abe’s Kabob House over on the east side of San Jose near the old
Berryessa Flea Market. The owner, Abdullah, is a gray-haired man in his early

sixties, with a handlebar mustache and strong-looking hands. He is one of Idris’s
patients, as is his wife. Abdullah waves from behind the register when Idris and
his family enter the restaurant. Abe’s Kabob House is a small family business.
There are only eight tables—sheathed by often sticky vinyl covers—laminated
menus, posters of Afghanistan on the walls, an old soda machine, a
“merchandiser,” in the corner. Abdullah greets the guests, runs the register,
cleans. His wife, Sultana, is in the back; she is the one responsible for the magic.
Idris can see her now in the kitchen, stooped over something, her hair stuffed up
under a net cap, her eyes narrowed against the steam. She and Abdullah had
married in Pakistan in the late 1970s, they have told Idris, after the communist
takeover back home. They were granted asylum in the U.S. in 1982, the year
their daughter, Pari, was born.
She is the one taking their orders now. Pari is friendly and courteous, has her

mother’s fair skin, and the same shine of emotional sturdiness in her eyes. She
also has a strangely disproportionate body, slim and dainty up top but weighed
below the waist by wide hips, thick thighs, and big ankles. She is wearing now
one of her customary loose skirts.
Idris and Nahil order lamb with brown rice and bolani. The boys settle for
chapli kabobs, the closest thing to hamburger meat they can find on the menu.
As they wait for their food, Zabi tells Idris that his soccer team has made the
finals. He plays right wing. The match is on Sunday. Lemar says he has a guitar
recital on Saturday.

“What are you playing?” Idris asks sluggishly, feeling jet lag kicking in.