Page 270 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

His name is Iqbal. He has sons. He lives in a refugee camp near Peshawar.

I put down my cup, began to speak, but she cut me off.
I’m telling you now, aren’t I? That’s all that matters. Your father has his
reasons. I’m sure you can figure them out, you give it some time. Important thing
is, he has a half brother and he’s been sending him money to help out.
She told me how, for years now, Baba had been sending this Iqbal—my half
uncle, I thought with an inner lurch—a thousand dollars every three months,
going down to Western Union, wiring the money to a bank in Peshawar.

Why are you telling me now? I asked.
Because I think you should know even if he doesn’t. Also, you will have to
take over the finances soon and then you would find out anyway.
I turned away, watched a cat, its tail erect, sidle up to the Ping-Pong couple.
The girl reached to pet it and the cat tensed up at first. But then it curled up on
the railing, let the girl run her hands over its ears, down its back. My mind was
reeling. I had family outside of the U.S.

You’ll be doing the books for a long time yet, Mother, I said. I did my best to
disguise the wobble in my voice.
There was a dense pause. When she spoke again, it was in a lower tone,
slower, like when I was little and we would go to the mosque for a funeral and
she would hunker down next to me beforehand and patiently explain how I had
to remove my shoes at the entrance, how I had to keep quiet during prayers and
not fidget, not complain, and how I should use the bathroom now so I wouldn’t
have to later.

I won’t, she said. And don’t you go thinking I will. The time has come, you
have to be ready for it.
I blew out a gush of air; a hardness lodged in my throat. Somewhere, a chain
saw buzzed to life, the crescendo of its whine at violent odds with the stillness of
the woods.
Your father is like a child. Terrified of being abandoned. He would lose his
way without you, Pari, and never find his way back.

I made myself look at the trees, the wash of sunlight falling on the feathery
leaves, the rough bark of the trunks. I slid my tongue between the incisors and
bit down hard. My eyes watered, and the coppery taste of blood flooded my
mouth.
A brother, I said.
Yes.

I have a lot of questions.