Page 245 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

in a way that left no room for retort, steamrolling over me with the truth, told

right at the outset, plainly, directly. I was always defeated before I’d so much as
said a word. It always seemed unfair.
“What about you, Mamá?” I ask. “What are you scared of? What don’t you
want?”
“To be a burden.”
“You won’t be.”

“Oh, you’re right about that, Markos.”
Disquiet spreads through me at this cryptic remark. My mind flashes to the
letter Nabi had given me in Kabul, his posthumous confession. The pact
Suleiman Wahdati had made with him. I can’t help but wonder if Mamá has
forged a similar pact with Thalia, if she has chosen Thalia to rescue her when the
time comes. I know Thalia could do it. She is strong now. She would save
Mamá.
Mamá is studying my face. “You have your life and your work, Markos,” she

says, more softly now, redirecting the course of the conversation, as if she has
peeked into my mind, spotted my worry. The dentures, the diapers, the fuzzy
slippers—they have made me underestimate her. She still has the upper hand.
She always will. “I don’t want to weigh you down.”
At last, a lie—this last thing she says—but it’s a kind lie. It isn’t me she
would weigh down. She knows this as well as I do. I am absent, thousands of
miles away. The unpleasantness, the work, the drudgery, it would fall on Thalia.
But Mamá is including me, granting me something I have not earned, nor tried
to.
“It wouldn’t be like that,” I say weakly.

Mamá smiles. “Speaking of your work, I guess you know that I didn’t exactly
approve when you decided to go to that country.”
“I had my suspicions, yes.”
“I didn’t understand why you would go. Why would you give everything up
—the practice, the money, the house in Athens—all you’d worked for—and hole

up in that violent place?”
“I had my reasons.”
“I know.” She raises the cup to her lips, lowers it without sipping. “I’m no
damn good at this,” she says slowly, almost shyly, “but what I’m getting around
to telling you is, you’ve turned out good. You’ve made me proud, Markos.”
I look down at my hands. I feel her words landing deep within me. She has
startled me. Caught me unprepared. For what she said. Or for the soft light in her