Some nights, Laila awakens1 and finds him on the edge oftheir bed, rocking, his undershirt pulled over his head Theheadaches began in Nasir Bagh, he says, then worsened inprison. Sometimes they make him vomit2, blind him in one eye.
He says it feels like a butcher's knife burrowing3 in one temple,twisting slowly through his brain, then poking4 out the otherside.
"I can taste the metal, even, when they begin."Sometimes Laila wets a cloth and lays it on his forehead andthat helps a little. The little round white pills Sayeed's doctorgave Tariq help too. But some nights, all Tariq can do is holdhis head and moan, his eyes bloodshot, his nose dripping. Lailasits with him when he's in the grip of it like that, rubs theback of his neck, takes his hand in hers, the metal of hiswedding band cold against her palm.
They married the day that they arrived in Murree. Sayeedlooked relieved when Tariq told him they would. He would nothave to broach5 with Tariq the delicate matter of an unmarriedcouple living in his hotel. Sayeed is not at all as Laila hadpictured him, ruddy-faced and pea-eyed. He has asalt-and-pepper mustache whose ends he rolls to a sharp tip,and a shock of long gray hair combed back from the brow.
He is a soft-spoken, mannerly man, with measured speech andgraceful movements.
It was Sayeecl who summoned a friend and a mullah forthenikka that day, Sayeed who pulled Tariq aside and gave himmoney. Tariq wouldn't take it, but Sayeed insisted. Tariq wentto the Mall then and came back with two simple, thin weddingbands. They married later that night, after the children hadgone to bed.
In the mirror, beneath the green veil that the mullah drapedover their heads, Laila's eyes met Tariq's. There were no tears,no wedding-day smiles, no whispered oaths of long-lasting love.
In silence, Laila looked at their reflection, at faces that hadaged beyond their years, at the pouches6 and lines and sagsthat now marked their once-scrubbed, youthful faces. Tariqopened his mouth and began to say something, but, just as hedid, someone pulled the veil, and Laila missed what it was thathe was going to say.
That night, they lay in bed as husband and wife, as thechildren snored below them on sleeping cots. Laila rememberedthe ease with which they would crowd the air between themwith words, she and Tariq, when they were younger, thehaywire, brisk flow of their speech, always interrupting eachother, tugging7 each other's collar to emphasize a point, thequickness to laugh, the eagerness to delight. So much hadhappened since those childhood days, so much that needed tobe said. But that first night the enormity of it all stole thewords from her. That night, it was blessing8 enough to bebeside him. It was blessing enough to know that he was here,to feel the warmth of him next to her, to lie with him, theirheads touching9, his right hand laced in her left.
In the middle of the night, when Laila woke up thirsty, shefound their hands still clamped together, in the white-knuckle,anxious way of children clutching balloon strings10.
* * *Laila likes Mukree'S cool, foggy mornings and its dazzlingtwilights, the dark brilliance11 of the sky at night; the green ofthe pines and the soft brown of the squirrels darting12 up anddown the sturdy tree trunks; the sudden downpours that sendshoppers in the Mall scrambling13 for awning14 cover. She likes thesouvenir shops, and the various hotels that house tourists, evenas the locals bemoan15 the constant construction, the expansionof infrastructure16 that they say is eating away at Murree'snatural beauty. Laila finds it odd that people should lamentthebuilding of buildings. In Kabul, they would celebrate it.
She likes that they have a bathroom, not an outhouse but anactual bathroom, with a toilet that flushes, a shower, and asink too, with twin faucets17 from which she can draw, with aflick of her wrist, water, either hot or cold. She likes waking upto the sound of Alyona bleating18 in the morning, and theharmlessly cantankerous19 cook, Adiba, who works marvels20 in thekitchen.
Sometimes, as Laila watches Tariq sleep, as her childrenmutter and stir in their own sleep, a great big lump ofgratitude catches in her throat, makes her eyes water.
In the mornings, Laila follows Tariq from room to room. Keysjingle from a ring clipped to his waist and a spray bottle ofwindow cleaner dangles21 from the belt loops of his jeans. Lailabrings a pail filled with rags, disinfectant, a toilet brush, andspray wax for the dressers. Aziza tags along, a mop in onehand, the bean-stuffed doll Mariam had made for her in theother. Zalmai trails them reluctantly, sulkily, always a few stepsbehind.
Laila vacuums, makes the bed, and dusts. Tariq washes thebathroom sink and tub, scrubs the toilet and mops thelinoleum floor. He stocks the shelves with clean towels,miniature shampoo bottles, and bars of almond-scented soap.
Aziza has laid claim to the task of spraying and wiping thewindows. The doll is never far from where she works.
Laila told Aziza about Tariq a few days after thenikkaIt is strange, Laila thinks, almost unsettling, the thing betweenAziza and Tariq. Already, Aziza is finishing his sentences and hehers. She hands him things before he asks for them. Privatesmiles shoot between them across the dinner table as if theyare not strangers at all but companions reunited after a lengthyseparation.
Aziza looked down thoughtfully at her hands when Laila toldher.
"I like him," she said, after a long pause.
"He lovesyou.""He said that?""He doesn't have to, Aziza.""Tell me the rest, Mammy. Tell me so I know."And Laila did.
"Your father is a good man. He is the best man I've everknown.""What if he leaves?" Aziza said"He will never leave. Look at me, Aziza. Your father will neverhurt you, and he will never leave."The relief on Aziza's face broke Laila's heart.
* * *Tariq has bought Zalmai a rocking horse, built him a wagon22.
From a prison inmate23, he learned to make paper animals, andso he has folded, cut, and tucked countless24 sheets of paperinto lions and kangaroos for Zalmai, into horses and brightlyplumed birds. But these overtures25 are dismissed by Zalmaiunceremoniously, sometimes venomously.
"You're a donkey!" he cries. "I don't want your toys!""Zalmai!" Laila gasps26.
"It's all right," Tariq says. "Laila, it's all right. Let him.""You're not my Baba jan! My real Baba jan is away on atrip, and when he gets back he's going to beat you up! Andyou won't be able to run away, because he has two legs andyou only have one!"At night, Laila holds Zalmai against her chest andrecitesBabaloo prayers with him. When he asks, she tells himthe lie again, tells him his Baba jan has gone away and shedoesn't know when he would come back. She abhors27 this task,abhors herself for lying like this to a childLaila knows that this shameful28 lie will have to be told againand again. It will have to because Zalmai will ask, hoppingdown from a swing, waking from an afternoon nap, and, later,when he's old enough to tie his own shoes, to walk to schoolby himself, the lie will have to be delivered again.
At some point, Laila knows, the questions will dry up. Slowly,Zalmai will cease wondering why his father has abandoned him.
He will not spot his father any longer at traffic lights, instooping old men shuffling30 down the street or sipping31 tea inopen-fronted samovar houses. And one day it will hit him,walking along some meandering32 river, or gazing out at anuntracked snowfield, that his father's disappearance33 is no longeran open, raw wound. That it has become something elsealtogether, something more soft-edged and indolent. Like a lore34.
Something to be revered35, mystified by.
Laila is happy here in Murree. But it is not an easyhappiness. It is not a happiness without cost.
* * *On his days off, Tariq takes Laila and the children to theMall, along which are shops that sell trinkets and next to whichis an Anglican church built in the mid-nineteenth century. Tariqbuys them spicychapli kebabs from street vendors36. They strollamid the crowds of locals, the Europeans and their cellularphones and digital cameras, the Punjabis who come here toescape the heat of the plains.
Occasionally, they board a bus to Kashmir Point. From there,Tariq shows them the valley of the Jhelum River, thepine-carpeted slopes, and the lush, densely37 wooded hills, wherehe says monkeys can still be spotted38 hopping29 from branch tobranch. They go to the mapleclad Nathia Gali too, some thirtykilometers from Murree, where Tariq holds Laila's hand as theywalk the tree-shaded road to the Governor's House. They stopby the old British cemetery39, or take a taxi up a mountain peakfor a view of the verdant40, fog-shrouded valley below.
Sometimes on these outings, when they pass by a storewindow, Laila catches their reflections in it. Man, wife, daughter,son. To strangers, she knows, they must appear like the mostordinary of families, free of secrets, lies, and regrets.
* * *Azizahas nightmares from which she wakes up shrieking41. Lailahas to lie beside her on the cot, dry her cheeks with hersleeve, soothe42 her back to sleep.
Laila has her own dreams. In them, she's always back at thehouse in Kabul, walking the hall, climbing the stairs.
She is alone, but behind the doors she hears the rhythmichiss of an iron, bedsheets snapped, then folded. Sometimes shehears a woman's low-pitched humming of an old Herati song.
But when she walks in, the room is empty. There is no onethere.
The dreams leave Laila shaken. She wakes from them coatedin sweat, her eyes prickling with tears. It is devastating43. Everytime, it is devastating.
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1
awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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2
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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3
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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4
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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5
broach
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| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
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pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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7
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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8
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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9
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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10
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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12
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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13
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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14
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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15
bemoan
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| v.悲叹，哀泣，痛哭；惋惜，不满于 | |
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16
infrastructure
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| n.下部构造，下部组织，基础结构，基础设施 | |
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faucets
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| n.水龙头( faucet的名词复数 ) | |
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bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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20
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21
dangles
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| 悬吊着( dangle的第三人称单数 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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22
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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23
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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24
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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25
overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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26
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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27
abhors
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| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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28
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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29
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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30
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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31
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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32
meandering
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| 蜿蜒的河流，漫步，聊天 | |
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33
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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34
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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35
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
vendors
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| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
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37
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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38
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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39
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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40
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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41
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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42
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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43
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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