Power had been out for days. All over Kabul, electric fans satidle, almost mockingly so.
Laila was lying still on the living-room couch, sweating throughher blouse. Every exhaled2 breath burned the tip of her nose.
She was aware of her parents talking in Mammy's room. Twonights ago, and again last night, she had awakened3 andthought she heard their voices downstairs. They were talkingevery day now, ever since the bullet, ever since the new holein the gate.
Outside, the far-offboom of artillery4, then, more closely, thestammering of a long string of gunfire, followed by another.
Inside Laila too a battle was being waged: guilt5 on one side,partnered with shame, and, on the other, the conviction thatwhat she and Tariq had done was not sinful; that it had beennatural, good, beautiful, even inevitable6, spurred by theknowledge that they might never see each other again.
Laila rolled to her side on the couch now and tried toremember something: At one point, when they were on thefloor, Tariq had lowered his forehead on hers. Then he hadpanted something, eitherAm I hurting you? orIs this hurtingyou?
Laila couldn't decide which he had said.
Am Ihurting you?
Is this hurting you?
Only two weeks since he had left, and it was alreadyhappening- Time, blunting the edges of those sharp memories.
Laila bore down mentally. What had he said? It seemed vital,suddenly, that she know.
Laila closed hereyes. Concentrated.
With the passing of time, she would slowly tire of this exercise.
She would find it increasingly exhausting to conjure7 up, to dustoff, to resuscitate8 once again what was long dead. There wouldcome a day, in fact, years later, when Laila would no longerbewail his loss. Or not as relentlessly9; not nearly. There wouldcome a day when the details of his face would begin to slipfrom memory's grip, when overhearing a mother on the streetcall after her child by Tariq's name would no longer cut heradrift. She would not miss him as she did now, when the acheof his absence was her unremitting companion-like the phantompain of an amputee.
Except every once in a long while, when Laila was a grownwoman, ironing a shirt or pushing her children on a swing set,something trivial, maybe the warmth of a carpet beneath herfeet on a hot day or the curve of a stranger's forehead, wouldset off a memory of that afternoon together. And it would allcome rushing back. The spontaneity of it. Their astonishingimprudence. Their clumsiness. The pain of the act, the pleasureof it, the sadness of it. The heat of their entangled10 bodies.
It would flood her, steal her breath.
But then it would pass. The moment would pass. Leave herdeflated, feeling nothing but a vague restlessness.
She decided11 that he had saidAmi hurting you? Yes. Thatwasit. Laila was happy that she'd rememberedThen Babi was in the hallway, calling her name from the topof the stairs, asking her to come up quickly.
"She's agreed!"he said, his voice tremulous with suppressedexcitement- "We're leaving, Laila. All three of us. We'releavingKabul."* * *InMammy's room, the three of them sat on the bed.Outside,rockets were zipping acrossthe sky as Hekmatyar's andMassoud'sforces fought and fought. Laila knew that somewherein the city someone had justdied, and that a pall12 of blacksmoke was hovering13 over some building that had collapsed14 in apuffing mass of dust. There would be bodies to step around inthe morning. Some would be collected. Others not. ThenKabul's dogs, who had developed a taste for human meat,would feast.
All the same, Laila had an urge to run through thosestreets.She could barely contain her own happiness. It tookeffortto sit, to not shriek15 withjoy. Babi said they would go toPakistan first, to apply forvisas. Pakistan, where Tariq was!
Tariq was only gone seventeen days, Laila calculated excitedly.
If only Mammy had made up her mindseventeen days earlier,they could have left together. She would have been with Tariqright now! But that didn'tmatter now. They were goingtoPeshawar-she,Mammy, and Babi-and they would find Tariq andhis parents there. Surely they would. They would process theirpaperwork together. Then, who knew? Who knew? Europe?
America? Maybe, as Babi was always saying, somewhere nearthe sea…Mammy was half lying, half sitting against the headboard. Hereyes were puffy. She was picking at her hair.
Three days before, Laila had gone outside for a breath of air.
She'd stood by the front gates, leaning against them, whenshe'd heard a loud crack and something had zipped by herright ear, sending tiny splinters of wood flying before her eyes.
After Giti's death, and the thousands of rounds fired andmyriad rockets that had fallen on Kabul, it was the sight ofthat single round hole in the gate, less than three fingers awayfrom where Laila's head had been, that shook Mammy awake.
Made her see that one war had cost her two children already;this latest could cost her her remaining one.
From the walls of the room, Ahmad and Noor smiled down.
Laila watched Mammy's eyes bouncing now, guiltily, from onephoto to the other. As if looking for their consent. Theirblessing. As if asking for forgiveness.
"There's nothing left for us here," Babi said. "Our sons aregone, but we still have Laila. We still have each other, Fariba.
We can make a new life."Babi reached across the bed. When he leaned to take herhands, Mammy let him. On her face, a look of concession16. Ofresignation. They held each other's hands, lightly, and then theywere swaying quietly in an embrace. Mammy buried her facein his neck. She grabbed a handful of his shirt.
For hours that night, the excitement robbed Laila of sleep. Shelay in bed and watched the horizon light up in garish17 shadesof orange and yellow. At some point, though, despite theexhilaration inside and the crack ofartillery fire outside, she fell asleep.
And dreamedThey are on a ribbon of beach, sitting on aquilt. It's a chilly,overcast day,but it's warm next to Tariq under the blanketdraped over their shoulders. She can see cars parked behind alow fence of chipped white paint beneath a row of windsweptpalm trees. The wind makes her eyes water and buries theirshoes in sand, hurls18 knots of dead grass from the curvedridgesof one dune19 to another. They're watching sailboats bob inthe distance. Around them, seagulls squawk and shiver in thewind. The wind whips up another spray of sand off theshallow, windwardslopes. There is a noise then likea chant, andshe tells him something Babi had taught her years before aboutsinging sand.
He rubs at her eyebrow21, wipesgrains of sand from it. Shecatches a flicker22 of the band on his finger. It's identicalto hers-gold with a sort of maze23 patternetched all the way around.
It's true,she tellshim.It's the friction24, of grain against grain.
Listen. Hedoes. He frowns. They wait. They hear it again. Agroaning sound, when the wind is soft, when it blows hard, amewling, high-pitched chorus.
* * * Babi said theyshould take only what was absolutelynecessary. They would sell the rest.
"That should hold us in Peshawar until I find work."For the next two days, they gathered items to be sold. Theyput them in big piles.
In her room, Laila set aside old blouses, old shoes, books,toys. Looking under her bed, she found a tiny yellow glass cowHasina had passed to her during recess25 in fifth grade. Aminiature-soccer-ball key chain, a gift from Giti. A little woodenzebra on wheels. A ceramic26 astronaut she and Tariq had foundone day in a gutter27. She'd been six and he eight. They'd hada minor28 row, Laila remembered, over which one of them hadfound it.
Mammy too gathered her things. There was a reluctance29 inher movements, and her eyes had a lethargic30, faraway look inthem. She did away with her good plates, her napkins, all herjewelry-save for her wedding band-and most of her old clothes.
"You're not selling this, are you?" Laila said, lifting Mammy'swedding dress. It cascaded31 open onto her lap. She touched thelace and ribbon along the neckline, the hand-sewn seed pearlson the sleeves.
Mammy shrugged32 and took it from her. She tossed itbrusquely on a pile of clothes. Like ripping off a Band-Aid inone stroke, Laila thought.
It was Babi who had the most painful task.
Laila found him standing33 in his study, a rueful expression onhis face as he surveyed his shelves. He was wearing asecondhand T-shirt with a picture of San Francisco's red bridgeon it. Thick fog rose from the whitecapped waters and engulfedthe bridge's towers.
"You know the old bit," he said. "You're on a deserted34 island.
You can have five books. Which do you choose? I neverthought I'd actually have to.""We'll have to start you a new collection, Babi.""Mm." He smiled sadly. "I can't believe I'm leaving Kabul. Iwent to school here, got my first job here, became a father inthis town. It's strange to think that I'll be sleeping beneathanother city's skies soon.""It's strange for me too.""All day, this poem about Kabul has been bouncing around inmy head. Saib-e-Tabrizi wrote it back in the seventeenthcentury, I think. I used to know the whole poem, but all I canremember now is two lines:
"One could not count the moons that shimmer35 on her roofs,Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her -walls."Laila looked up, saw he was weeping. She put an armaround his waist. "Oh, Babi. We'll come back. When this war isover. We'll come back to Kabul,inshallah. You'll see."* * *On the third morning, Laila began moving the piles of thingsto the yard and depositing them by the front door. They wouldfetch a taxi then and take it all to a pawnshop.
Laila kept shuffling36 between the house and the yard, back andforth, carrying stacks of clothes and dishes and box after boxof Babi's books. She should have been exhausted37 by noon,when the mound38 of belongings39 by the front door had grownwaist high. But, with each trip, she knew that she was thatmuch closer to seeing Tariq again, and, with each trip, her legsbecame more sprightly40, her arms more tireless.
"We're going to need a big taxi."Laila looked up. It was Mammy calling down from herbedroom upstairs. She was leaning out the window, resting herelbows on the sill. The sun, bright and warm, caught in hergraying hair, shone on her drawn41, thin face. Mammy waswearing the same cobalt blue dress she had worn the day ofthe lunch party four months earlier, a youthful dress meant fora young woman, but, for a moment, Mammy looked to Lailalike an old woman. An old woman with stringy arms andsunken temples and slow eyes rimmed42 by darkened circles ofweariness, an altogether different creature from the plump,round-faced woman beaming radiantly from those grainywedding photos.
"Two big taxis," Laila said.
She could see Babi too, in the living room stacking boxes ofbooks atop each other.
"Come up when you're done with those," Mammy said. "We'llsit down for lunch. Boiled eggs and leftover43 beans.""My favorite," Laila said.
She thought suddenly of her dream. She and Tariq on a quilt.
The ocean. The wind. The dunes44.
What had it sounded like, she wondered now, the singingsands?
Laila stopped. She saw a gray lizard45 crawl out of a crack inthe ground. Its head shot side to side. It blinked. Darted46 undera rock.
Laila pictured the beach again. Except now the singing was allaround. And growing. Louder and louder by the moment,higher and higher. It flooded her ears. Drowned everything elseout. The gulls20 were feathered mimes47 now, opening and closingtheir beaks48 noiselessly, and the waves were crashing with foamand spray but no roar. The sands sang on. Screaming now. Asound like…a tinkling49?
Not a tinkling. No. A whistling.
Laila dropped the books at her feet. She looked up to thesky. Shielded her eyes with one hand.
Then a giant roar.
Behind her, a flash of white.
The ground lurched beneath her feet.
Something hot and powerful slammed into her from behind. Itknocked her out of her sandals. Lifted her up. And now shewas flying, twisting and rotating in the air, seeing sky, thenearth, then sky, then earth. A big burning chunk50 of woodwhipped by. So did a thousand shards51 of glass, and it seemedto Laila that she could see each individual one flying all aroundher, flipping52 slowly end over end, the sunlight catching53 in each.
Tiny, beautiful rainbows.
Then Laila struck the wall. Crashed to the ground. On herface and arms, a shower of dirt and pebbles54 and glass. Thelast thing she was aware of was seeing something thud to theground nearby. A bloody55 chunk of something. On it, the tip ofa red bridge poking56 through thick fog.
* * *Shapes moving about. A fluorescent57 light shines from theceiling above. A woman's face appears, hovers58 over hers.
Laila fades back to the dark.
* * *Another face. This time a man's. His features seem broad anddroopy. His lips move but make no sound. All Laila hears isringing.
The man waves his hand at her. Frowns. His lips move again.
It hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts everywhere.
A glass of water. A pink pill.
Back to the darkness.
* * *The woman again. Long face, narrow-set eyes. She sayssomething. Laila can't hear anything but the ringing. But shecan see the words, like thick black syrup59, spilling out of thewoman's mouth.
Her chest hurts. Her arms and legs hurt.
All around, shapes moving.
Where is Tariq?
Why isn't he here?
Darkness. A flock of stars.
Babi and she, perched somewhere high up. He is pointing toa field of barley60. A generator61 comes to life.
The long-faced woman is standing over her looking down.
It hurts to breathe.
Somewhere, an accordion62 playing.
Mercifully, the pink pill again. Then a deep hush63. A deephushfalls over everything.
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收听单词发音
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1
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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resuscitate
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| v.使复活，使苏醒 | |
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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13
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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14
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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hurls
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的第三人称单数 )；大声叫骂 | |
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dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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ceramic
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| n.制陶业，陶器，陶瓷工艺 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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cascaded
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| 级联的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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43
leftover
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| n.剩货，残留物，剩饭；adj.残余的 | |
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44
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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45
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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46
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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47
mimes
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| n.指手画脚( mime的名词复数 )；做手势；哑剧；哑剧演员v.指手画脚地表演，用哑剧的形式表演( mime的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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49
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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50
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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51
shards
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| n.（玻璃、金属或其他硬物的）尖利的碎片( shard的名词复数 ) | |
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52
flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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53
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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54
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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55
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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56
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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57
fluorescent
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| adj.荧光的，发出荧光的 | |
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58
hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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59
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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60
barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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61
generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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62
accordion
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| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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63
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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