january1989one cold, overcast day in january 1989, three months beforelaila turned eleven, she, her parents, and hasina went towatch one of the last soviet convoys exit the city. spectatorshad gathered on both sides of the thoroughfare outside themilitary club near wazir akbar khan. they stood in muddysnow and watched the line of tanks, armored trucks, and jeepsas light snow flew across the glare of the passing headlights.
there were heckles and jeers. afghan soldiers kept people offthe street. every now and then, they had to fire a warningshot.
mammy hoisted a photo of ahmad and noor high over herhead. it was the one of them sitting back-to-back under thepear tree. there were others like her, women with pictures oftheirshaheed husbands, sons, brothers held high.
someone tapped laila and hasina on the shoulder. it wastariq.
"where did you get that thing?" hasina exclaimed.
"i thought i'd come dressed for the occasion." tariq said. hewas wearing an enormous russian fur hat, complete withearflaps, which he had pulled down.
"how do i look?""ridiculous," laila laughed.
"that's the idea.""your parents came here with you dressed like this?""they're home, actually," he said.
the previous fall, tariq's uncle in ghazni had died of a heartattack, and, a few weeks later, tariq's father had suffered aheart attack of his own, leaving him frail and tired, prone toanxiety and bouts of depression that overtook him for weeks ata time. laila was glad to see tariq like this, like his old selfagain. for weeks after his father's illness, laila had watchedhim moping around, heavy-faced and sullen.
the three of them stole away while mammy and babi stoodwatching the soviets. from a street vendor, tariq bought themeach a plate of boiled beans topped with thick cilantro chutney.
they ate beneath the awning of a closed rug shop, thenhasina went to find her family.
on the bus ride home, tariq and laila sat behind herparents. mammy was by the window, staring out, clutching thepicture against her chest. beside her, babi was impassivelylistening to a man who was arguing that the soviets might beleaving but that they would send weapons to najibullah inkabul.
"he's their puppet. they'll keep the war going through him,you can bet on that."someone in the next aisle voiced his agreement.
mammy was muttering to herself, long-winded prayers thatrolled on and on until she had no breath left and had to ekeout the last few words in a tiny, high-pitched squeak.
* * *they "went to cinema park later that day, laila and tariq,and had to settle for a soviet film that was dubbed, tounintentionally comic effect, in farsi. there was a merchantship, and a first mate in love with the captain's daughter. hername was alyona. then came a fierce storm, lightning, rain,the heaving sea tossing the ship. one of the frantic sailorsyelled something. an absurdly calm afghan voice translated:
"my dear sir, would you kindly pass the rope?"at this, tariq burst out cackling. and, soon, they both were inthe grips of a hopeless attack of laughter. just when onebecame fatigued, the other would snort, and off they would goon another round. a man sitting two rows up turned aroundand shushed them.
there was a wedding scene near the end. the captain hadrelented and let alyona marry the first mate. the newlywedswere smiling at each other. everyone was drinking vodka.
"i'm never getting married," tariq whispered.
"me neither," said laila, but not before a moment of nervoushesitation. she worried that her voice had betrayed herdisappointment at what he had said. her heart galloping, sheadded, more forcefully this time, "never.""weddings are stupid." "all the fuss.""all the money spent." "for what?""for clothes you'll never wear again.""ha!""if i everdo get married," tariq said, "they'll have to makeroom for three on the wedding stage. me, the bride, and theguy holding the gun to my head."the man in the front row gave them another admonishinglook.
on the screen, alyona and her new husband locked lips.
watching the kiss, laila felt strangely conspicuous all at once.
she became intensely aware of her heart thumping, of theblood thudding in her ears, of the shape of tariq beside her,tightening up, becoming still. the kiss dragged on. it seemed ofutmost urgency to laila, suddenly, that she not stir or make anoise. she sensed that tariq was observing her-one eye on thekiss, the other on her-as she was observinghim. was helistening to the air whooshing in and out of her nose, shewondered, waiting for a subtle faltering, a revealing irregularity,that would betray her thoughts?
and what would it be like to kiss him, to feel the fuzzy hairabove his lip tickling her own lips?
then tariq shifted uncomfortably in his seat. in a strainedvoice, he said, "did you know that if you fling snot in siberia,it's a green icicle before it hits the ground?"they both laughed, but briefly, nervously, this time. and whenthe film ended and they stepped outside, laila was relieved tosee that the sky had dimmed, that she wouldn't have to meettariq's eyes in the bright daylight.
