Page 250 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

the same slightly uneven light green eyes as mine, the same dark curly hair, the

same long, slashing eyebrows that almost touched. If anyone asked, I told them I
had drawn myself.
The tale of how my father had lost his sister was as familiar to me as the
stories my mother had told me of the Prophet, tales I would learn again later
when my parents would enroll me in Sunday school at a mosque in Hayward.
Still, despite the familiarity, each night I asked to hear Pari’s story again, caught
in the pull of its gravity. Maybe it was simply because we shared a name. Maybe
that was why I sensed a connection between us, dim, enfolded in mystery, real
nonetheless. But it was more than that. I felt touched by her, like I too had been
marked by what had happened to her. We were interlocked, I sensed, through
some unseen order in ways I couldn’t wholly understand, linked beyond our
names, beyond familial ties, as if, together, we completed a puzzle.

I felt certain that if I listened closely enough to her story, I would discover
something revealed about myself.
Do you think your father was sad? That he sold her?
Some people hide their sadness very well, Pari. He was like that. You
couldn’t tell looking at him. He was a hard man. But I think, yes, I think he was
sad inside.

Are you?
My father would smile and say, Why should I be when I have you? but, even
at that age, I could tell. It was like a birthmark on his face.
The whole time we talked like this, a fantasy played out in my head. In it, I
would save all my money, not spend a dollar on candy or stickers, and when my
piggy bank was full—though it wasn’t a pig at all but a mermaid sitting on a
rock—I would break it open and pocket all the money and set out to find my
father’s little sister, wherever she was, and, when I did, I would buy her back
and bring her home to Baba. I would make my father happy. There was nothing

in the world I desired more than to be the one to take away his sadness.
So what’s my dream tonight? Baba would ask.
You know already.
Another smile. Yes, I know.

Baba?
Mmm?
Was she a good sister?
She was perfect.

He would kiss my cheek and tuck the blanket around my neck. At the door,