Page 126 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

flipping to the correct page, Roshi’s hand scrawling something beneath the title.

He has seconds left now to say something, not that it would mitigate the
indefensible but because he thinks he owes it to her. But when the clerk hands
him back his book, he cannot summon the words. He wishes now for even a
scrap of Timur’s courage. He looks again at Roshi. She is already gazing past
him at the next person in line.
“I am—” he begins.
“We have to keep the line moving now, sir,” the clerk says.
He drops his head and leaves the queue.

He has parked in the lot behind the store. The walk to the car feels like the
longest of his life. He opens the car door, pauses before entering. With hands
that have not stopped shaking, he flips the book open again. The scrawling is not
a signature. In English, she has written him two sentences.
He closes the book, his eyes too. He supposes he should be relieved. But part
of him wishes for something else. Perhaps if she had grimaced at him, said
something infantile, full of loathing and hate. An eruption of rancor. Perhaps that
might have been better. Instead, a clean, diplomatic dismissal. And this note.

Don’t worry. You’re not in it. An act of kindness. Perhaps, more accurately, an
act of charity. He should be relieved. But it hurts. He feels the blow of it, like an
ax to the head.
There is a bench nearby, beneath an elm tree. He walks over and leaves the
book on it. He returns to the car and sits behind the wheel. And it is a while
before he trusts himself to turn the key and drive away.