A thousand Splendid Suns

1987. 
 
  He was dying then. He had driven all the way from Herat to say good-bye. 
  She moved to the edge of the balcony. From up here, she could see the hotel's once-fa-
mous swimming pool, empty and grubby now, scarred by bullet holes and decaying ti-
les. And there was the battered tennis court, the ragged net lying limply in the middle of 
it like dead skin shed by a snake. 
 
  "I have to go now," the voice at the other end said 
 

---

  "I'm sorry to have bothered you," Mariam said, weeping soundlessly into the phone. 
She saw Jalil waving to her, skipping from stone to stone as he crossed the stream, his 
pockets swollen with gifts. All the times she had held her breath for him, for God to 
grant her more time with him. "Thank you," Mariam began to say, but the man at the ot-
her end had already hung up. 
 
  Rasheed was looking at her. Mariam shook her head. 
  "Useless," he said, snatching the phone from her. "Like daughter, like father." 
  On their way out of the lobby, Rasheed walked briskly to the coffee table, which was 
now abandoned, and pocketed the last ringof jelabi. He took it home and gave it to Zal-
mai.