On their way out of the lobby, Rasheed walked briskly to the coffee table, which was now abandoned, and pocketed the last ring of jelabi.
He took it home and gave it to Zalmai.
42. Laila
In a paper bag, Aziza packed these things: her flowered shirt and her lone pair of socks, her mismatched wool gloves,
an old, pumpkin colored blanket dotted with stars and comets, a splintered plastic cup, a banana, her set of dice.
It was a cool morning in April 2001, shortly before Laila's twenty third birthday.
The sky was a translucent gray, and gusts of a clammy, cold wind kept rattling the screen door.
This was a few days after Laila heard that Ahmad Shah Massoud had gone to France and spoken to the European Parliament.
Massoud was now in his native North, and leading the Northern Alliance, the sole opposition group still fighting the Taliban.
In Europe, Massoud had warned the West about terrorist camps in Afghanistan, and pleaded with the U.S. to help him fight the Taliban.
“If President Bush doesn't help us,” he had said, “these terrorists will damage the U.S. and Europe very soon.”
A month before that, Laila had learned that the Taliban had planted TNT in the crevices of the giant Buddhas in Bamiyan
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