d me speaking for such an inappropriate length of time with his daughter。
Maybe I ll bring you one someday； I said。 I was about to say more when the woman I d seen on occasion with Soraya came walking up the aisle。 She was carrying a plastic bag full of fruit。 When she saw us； her eyes bounced from Soraya to me and back。 She smiled。
Amir jan； good to see you； she said； unloading the bag on the tablecloth。 Her brow glistened with a sheen of sweat。 Her red hair； coiffed like a helmet； glittered in the sunlight……I could see bits of her scalp where the hair had thinned。 She had small green eyes buried in a cabbage…round face； capped teeth； and little fingers like sausages。 A golden Allah rested on her chest； the chain burrowed under the skin tags and folds of her neck。 I am Jamila； Soraya jan s mother。
Salaam； Khala jan； I said； embarrassed； as I often was around Afghans； that she knew me and I had no idea who she was。
How is your father？ she said。
He s well； thank you。
You know； your grandfather； Ghazi Sahib； the judge？ Now； his uncle and my grandfather were cousins； she said。 So you see； we re related。 She smiled a cap…toothed smile； and I noticed the right side of her mouth drooping a little。 Her eyes moved between Soraya and me again。
I d asked Baba once why General Taheri s daughter hadn t married yet。 No suitors； Baba said。 No suitable suitors； he amended。 But he wouldn t say more……Baba knew how lethal idle talk could prove to a young woman s prospects of marrying well。 Afghan men； especially those from reputable families； were fickle creatures。 A whisper here； an insinuation there； and they fled like startled birds。 So weddings had e and gone and no one had sung ahesta boro for Soraya； no one had painted her palms with henna； no one had held a Koran over her headdress； and it had been General Taheri who d danced with her at every wedding。
And now； this woman； this mother； with her heartbreakingly eager； crooked smile and the barely veiled hope in her eyes。 I cringed a little at the position of power I d been granted； and all because I had won at the genetic lottery that had determined my sex。
I could never read the thoughts in the general s eyes； but I knew this much about his wife： If I was going to have an adversary in this……whatever this was……it would not be her。
Sit down； Amir jan； she said。 Soraya； get him a chair； hachem。 And wash one of those peaches。 They re sweet and fresh。
Nay； thank you； I said。 I should get going。 My father s waiting。
Oh？ Khanum Taheri said； clearly impressed that I d done the polite thing and declined the offer。 Then here； at least have this。 She threw a handful of kiwis and a few peaches into a paper bag and insisted I take them。 Carry my Salaam to your father。 And e back to see us again。
I will。 Thank you； Khala jan； I said。 Out of the corner of my eye； I saw Soraya looking away。
I THOUGHT YOU WERE GETTING COKES； Baba said； taking the bag of peaches from me。 He was looking at me in a simultaneously serious and playful way。 I began to make some thing up； but he bit into a peach and waved his hand； Don t bother； Amir。 Just remember what I said。
THAT NIGHT IN BED； I thought of the way dappled sunlight had danced in Soraya s eyes； and of the delicate hollows above her collarbone。 I replayed our conversation over and over in my head。 Had she said I heard you write or I heard you re a writer？ Which was it？ I tossed in my sheets and stared at the ceiling； dismayed at the thought of six laborious； interminable nights of yelda until I saw her again。
IT WENT ON LIKE THAT for a few weeks。 I d