Page 147 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

as he arranged the cups and plates on the table, the palms of her own hands

blooming with sweat. She had had only four lovers in her lifetime—a modest
number, she knew, certainly compared to Maman at her age, even Collette. She
was too watchful, too sensible, too compromising and adaptable, on the whole
steadier and less exhausting than either Maman or Collette. But these were not
qualities that drew men in droves. And she hadn’t loved any of them—though
she had lied to one and said she did—but pinned beneath each of them she had
thoughts of Julien, of him and his beautiful face, which seemed to come with its
own private lighting.
As they ate, he talked about his work. He said he had quit teaching some time
ago. He had worked on debt sustainability at the IMF for a few years. The best
part of that had been the traveling, he said.

“Where to?”
“Jordan, Iraq. Then I took a couple of years to write a book on informal
economies.”
“Were you published?”
“That is the rumor.” He smiled. “I work for a private consulting firm now

here in Paris.”
“I want to travel too,” Pari said. “Collette keeps saying we should go to
Afghanistan.”
“I suspect I know why she would want to go.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. Going back there, I mean. I don’t care
about the hashish, but I do want to travel the country, see where I was born.
Maybe find the old house where my parents and I lived.”

“I didn’t realize you had this compulsion.”
“I’m curious. I mean, I remember so little.”
“I think one time you said something about a family cook.”
Pari was inwardly flattered that he recalled something she had told him so

many years before. He must have thought of her, then, in the intervening time.
She must have been on his mind.
“Yes. His name was Nabi. He was the chauffeur too. He drove my father’s
car, a big American car, blue with a tan top. I remember it had an eagle’s head
on the hood.”
Later, he asked, and she told him, about her studies and her focus on complex
variables. He listened in a way that Maman never did—Maman, who seemed
bored by the subject and mystified by Pari’s passion for it. Maman couldn’t even
feign interest. She made lighthearted jokes that, on the surface, appeared to poke