Upstairs, in Mariam's room, Zalmai was wound up. He bounced his new rubber basketball around for a while, on the floor, against the walls.
Mariam asked him not to, but he knew that she had no authority to exert over him
and so he went on bouncing his ball, his eyes holding hers defiantly.
For a while, they pushed his toy car, an ambulance with bold red lettering on the sides, sending it back and forth between them across the room.
Earlier, when they had met Tariq at the door, Zalmai had clutched the basketball close to his chest and stuck a thumb in his mouth—
something he didn't do anymore except when he was apprehensive.
He had eyed Tariq with suspicion. “Who is that man?” he said now. “I don't like him.”
Mariam was going to explain, say something about him and Laila growing up together,
but Zalmai cut her off and said to turn the ambulance around, so the front grille faced him,
and, when she did, he said he wanted his basketball again.
“Where is it?” he said. “Where is the ball Baba jan got me? Where is it? I want it! I want it!”
his voice rising and becoming more shrill with each word.
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