A thousand Splendid Suns

50. 
 
  For Laila, life in Murree is one of comfort and tranquillity. The work is not cumberso-
me, and, on their days off, she and Tariq take the children to ride the chairlift to Patriata 
hill, or go to Pindi Point, where, on a clear day, you can see as far as Islamabad and 
downtown Rawalpindi. There, they spread a blanket on the grass and eat meatball sand-
wiches with cucumbers and drink cold ginger ale. 
  It is a good life, Laila tells herself, a life to be thankful for. It is, in fact, precisely the 
sort of life she used to dream for herself in her darkest days with Rasheed. Every day, 
Laila reminds herself of this. 
 
  Then one warm night in July 2002, she and Tariq are lying in bed talking in hushed 
voices about all the changes back home. There have been so many. The coalition forces 
have driven the Taliban out of every major city, pushed them across the border to Pakis-
tan and to the mountains in the south and east of Afghanistan. ISAF, an international pe-
acekeeping force, has been sent to Kabul. The country has an interim president now, 
Hamid Karzai. 
 
  Laila decides that now is the time to tell Tariq. 
 
  A year ago, she would have gladly given an arm to get out of Kabul. But in the last 
few months, she has found herself missing the city of her childhood. She misses the 
bustle of Shor Bazaar, the Gardens of Babur, the call of the water carriers lugging their 
goatskin bags. She misses the garment hagglers at Chicken Street and the melon haw-
kers in Karteh-Parwan. 
 
  But it isn't mere homesickness or nostalgia that has Laila thinking of Kabul so much 
these days. She has become plagued by restlessness. She hears of schools built in Kabul, 
roads repaved, women returning to work, and her life here, pleasant as it is, grateful as 
she is for it, seems… insufficient to her. Inconsequential Worse yet, wasteful. Of late, 
she has started hearing Babi's voice in her head.You can be anything you want, Laila, he 
says.I know this about you. And Ialso know that when this war is over, Afghanistan is 
going to need you. 
 
  Laila hears Mammy's voice too. She remembers Mammy's response to Babi when he 
would suggest that they leave Afghanistan.Iwant to see my sons' dream come true. I 

---

want to be there when it happens, when Afghanistan is free, so the boys see it too. 
They'll see it through my eyes. There is a part of Laila now that wants to return to Kabul, 
for Mammy and Babi, for them to see it throughher eyes. 
 
  And then, most compellingly for Laila, there is Mariam. Did Mariam die for this? La-
ila asks herself. Did she sacrifice herself so she, Laila, could be a maid in a foreign 
land? Maybe it wouldn't matter to Mariam what Laila did as long as she and the child-
ren were safe and happy. But it matters to Laila. Suddenly, it matters very much. 
 
  "I want to go back," she says. 
 
  Tariq sits up in bed and looks down at her. 
 
  Laila is struck again by how beautiful he is, the perfect curve of his forehead, the slen-
der muscles of his arms, his brooding, intelligent eyes. A year has passed, and still there 
are times, at moments like this, when Laila cannot believe that they have found each ot-
her again, that he is really here, with her, that he is her husband. 
 
  "Back? To Kabul?" he asks. 
 
  "Onlyif you want it too." 
 
  "Are you unhappy here? You seem happy. The children too." 
 
  Laila sits up. Tariq shifts on the bed, makes room for her. 
 
  "Iam happy," Laila says. "Of course I am. But…where do we go from here, Tariq? 
How long do we stay? This isn't home. Kabul is, and back there so much is happening, a 
lot of it good. I want to be a part of it all. I want todo something. I want to contribute. 
Do you understand?" 
 
  Tariq nods slowly. "This is what you want, then? You're sure?" 
 
  "I want it, yes, I'm sure. But it's more than that. I feel like Ihave to go back. Staying he-
re, it doesn't feel right anymore." 
 
  Tariq looks at his hands, then back up at her. 
 
  "But only-only-if you want to go too." 
  Tariq smiles. The furrows from his brow clear, and for a brief moment he is the old 
Tariq again, the Tariq who did not get headaches, who had once said that in Siberia snot 
turned to ice before it hit the ground. It may be her imagination, but Laila believes there 
are more frequent sightings of this old Tariq these clays. 
  "Me?" he says. "I'll follow you to the end of the world, Laila." 
 
  She pulls him close and kisses his lips. She believes she has never loved him more 
than at this moment. "Thank you," she says, her forehead resting against his. 
 
  "Let's go home." 
  "But first, I want to go to Herat," she says. 

---

 
  "Herat?" 
 
  Laila explains. 
 
* * * 
 
  The children need reassuring, each in their own way. Laila has to sit down with an agi-
tated Aziza, who still has nightmares, who'd been startled to tears the week before when 
someone had shot rounds into the sky at a wedding nearby. Laila has to explain to Aziza 
that when they return to Kabul the Taliban won't be there, that there will not be any 
fighting, and that she will not be sent back to the orphanage. "We'll all live together. 
Your father, me, Zalmai. And you, Aziza. You'll never, ever, have to be apart from me 
again. I promise." She smiles at her daughter. "Until the dayyou want to, that is. When 
you fall in love with some young man and want to marry him." 
 
  On the day they leave Murree, Zalmai is inconsolable. He has wrapped his arms aro-
und Alyona's neck and will not let go. 
 
  "I can't pry him off of her, Mammy," says Aziza. 
 
  "Zalmai. We can't take a goat on the bus," Laila explains again. 
 
  It isn't until Tariq kneels down beside him, until he promises Zalmai that he will buy 
him a goat just like Alyona in Kabul, that Zalmai reluctantly lets go. 
 
  There are tearful farewells with Sayeed as well For good luck, he holds a Koran by the 
doorway for Tariq, Laila, and the children to kiss three times, then holds it high so they 
can pass under it. He helps Tariq load the two suitcases into the trunk of his car. It is Sa-
yeed who drives them to the station, who stands on the curb waving good-bye as the bus 
sputters and pulls away. 
 
  As she leans back and watches Sayeed receding in the rear window of the bus, Laila 
hears the voice of doubt whispering in her head. Are they being foolish, she wonders, 
leaving behind the safety of Murree? Going back to the land where her parents and brot-
hers perished, where the smoke of bombs is only now settling? 
  And then, from the darkened spirals of her memory, rise two lines of poetry, Babi's fa-
rewell ode to Kabul: 
 
  One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid