He smiles softly.“Two halves of one whole,” he agrees.And for a moment, we are kids again, running through my father’s orchard, and all is right with the world.
When I was a girl, I dreamed.
And now, with the Blackhawks thundering overhead, and the packed streets of Kabul exploding with the frantic cries of desperate people, I take the gun from my brother’s lifeless hands.He hasfallen outside the wall of our compound, his face a mask of blood and dust.I already know what I’ll find inside will be even worse.
And yet, it still won’t be the most terrible sight I’ve seen today, as I’ve raced frantically from the university to my father’s house.
One man.I can still feel his eyes upon me from down the crowded street.His hand reaching out.His final aching look.And then… a single crack of a rifle.All it takes to end a life.Destroy a future.Orphan a child.
There’s no time now.Maybe never will be again.
More screaming, families frantically forcing their way down streets that are no longer passable by car, lugging small children on their backs while dragging their most treasured possessions behind.Gunshots in the distance cause another terrified surge forward.Pockets of resistance being overrun.Petty grievances being settled.A young boy falls, an older relative scoops him up.The panicked mass of humanity churns ahead.
I enter my family’s compound.My father is sprawled across the front steps.These are not gunshot wounds.I can’t bear to think of it as I close his eyes, rock back on my heels, moaning.
“Oh God, why have you taken my daddy from me?I am dying, I can’t live without you.I’m so sorry.I should’ve been a better daughter.I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
But my ablutions change nothing.He’s gone, while outside the chaos looms closer.
I continue on, finding one of my uncles in the front parlor, while down the hall my aunt Fahima is on her knees, wailing over her husband’s body.When I try to approach, she hits me so hard, I stumble backward.I leave her to her grief, as I search room by room, rifle clenched tightly in my hands.The fight was heavy and fierce.There are bodies of men I’ve never met and already hate, though they’re now gone from this earth.
The thunder of more choppers overhead, followed by the sound of explosions.
I end in my parents’ room.I touch the edge of the bed where my mother died.I feel her hand in mine.I remember the taste of my tears upon my lips.The words she spoke to me.
“Should the worst happen, people will want to take everything, but in the end, they will be allowed nothing.”
I understand now.I understand everything, including what there’s still left to lose.
I take a quick moment to sort through my mother’s jewelry box, then rummage through my father’s study.I select a single necklace from my mother.A single book from my father.I don’t expect to keep them, but they will serve their purpose along the way.
Then, I square my shoulders, raise my brother’s rifle, and face the front door.
“Chin up,” I murmur.
I run for it.
When I was a girl, I dreamed.
When I became a woman, I woke up.
CHAPTER 1
MY FRIEND’S NAME ISSABERA.She’s been gone for three weeks.You will find her.Here, try this.”
My hostess, Aliah, picks up a pretty blue bowl and holds it out.The coffee table in front of me is covered with similar dishes, all in deep jewel tones with scrolling gold patterns that shimmer beneath the overhead lights.The overall effect is less an offering of treats than a scattering of gems.It’s made me hesitant to touch anything.
Aliah’s two-bedroom apartment in downtown Tucson may be a relatively modest affair, but her hospitality is clearly world-class.
I dip my fingers into the proffered bowl, tentatively extracting a few pieces of dried fruit.They resemble shriveled white blackberries, which is to say I have no idea what they are.So far, that’s par for the course.I’ve spent the past ten minutes watching Aliah perform some kind of elaborate ceremony that resulted in the best cup of tea I’ve ever had—saffron, she informs me, which tastes just as good as it smells.
To accompany the tea is a dizzying array of nuts, dried fruits, crunchy chickpeas, and bright candies, all placed elegantly around a magnificent centerpiece of fresh whole fruit.
I sample the first wizened berry in my hand.Sweet, tart.I like it, follow it with more.Aliah nods in approval.
“Toot khoshk.White mulberries.They’re my favorite.Here.”
She hands me a shiny green pear.“Eat, eat.It’s good for you.”
