Page 141 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

NW: Yes, but I did it the proper way. I drank and smoked

and took lovers. Who rebels with mathematics?

She laughs.

NW: Besides, she would be the proverbial rebel without a
cause. I’ve given her every freedom imaginable. She wants for
nothing, my daughter. She lacks nothing. She’s living with
someone. He is quite a bit older. Charming to a fault, well-
read, entertaining. A raging narcissist, of course. Ego the size
of Poland.

EB: You don’t approve.

NW: Whether I approve or not is irrelevant. This is France,
Monsieur Boustouler, not Afghanistan. Young people don’t
live or die by the stamp of parental approval.

EB: Your daughter has no ties to Afghanistan, then?

NW: We left when she was six. She has limited memory of her
time there.

EB: But not you, of course.

I ask her to tell me about her early life.

She excuses herself and leaves the room for a moment.
When she returns, she hands me an old, wrinkled black-and-
white photograph. A stern-looking man, heavyset,
bespectacled, hair shiny and combed with an impeccable part.
He sits behind a desk, reading a book. He wears a suit with
peaked lapels, double-breasted vest, high-collared white shirt
and bow tie.

NW: My father. Nineteen twenty-nine. The year I was born.

EB: He looks quite distinguished.