And he was burned. Quite badly. That's all I'll say about that.
I'm sure you have your fair share of nightmares, hamshira. No sense in me adding to them.
Tariq was legless now. He was a torso with two stumps. Legless. Laila thought she might collapse.
With deliberate, desperate effort, she sent the tendrils of her mind out of this room, out the window, away from this man,
over the street outside, over the city now, and its flat-topped houses and bazaars, its maze of narrow streets turned to sand castles.
He was drugged up most of the time. For the pain, you understand.
But he had moments when the drugs were wearing off, when he was clear. In pain but clear of mind, I would talk to him from my bed.
I told him who I was, where I was from. He was glad, I think, that there was a ham-vatan next to him.”
I did most of the talking. It was hard for him to. His voice was hoarse, and I think it hurt him to move his lips.”
So I told him about my daughters, and about our house in Peshawar and the veranda my brother-in-law and I are building out in the back.
I told him I had sold the stores in Kabul and that I was going back to finish up the paperwork. It wasn't much.
But it occupied him. At least, I like to think it did.
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