chapter 43

Madam

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.

"It was just here," Mariam said, and he cried, "No, it's lost, I know it. I just know it's lost! Where is

it? Where is it?"

"Here," she said, fetching the ball from the closet where it had rolled to. But Zalmai was bawling

now and pounding his fists, crying that it wasn't the same ball, it couldn't be, because his ball was

lost, and this was a fake one, where had his real ball gone? Where? Where where where?

He screamed until Laila had to come upstairs to hold him, to rock him and run her fingers through his

tight, dark curls, to dry his moist cheeks and cluck her tongue in his ear.

Mariam waited outside the room. From atop the staircase, all she could see of Tariq were his long

legs, the real one and the artificial one, in khaki pants, stretched out on the uncarpeted living-room

floor. It was then that she realized why the doorman at the Continental had looked familiar the day she

and Rasheed had gone there to place the call to Jalil. He'd been wearing a cap and sunglasses, that

was why it hadn't come to her earlier. But Mariam remembered now, from nine years before,

remembered him sitting downstairs, patting his brow with a handkerchief and asking for water. Now

all manner of questions raced through her mind: Had the sulfa pills too been part of the ruse? Which

one of them had plotted the lie, provided the convincing details? And how much had Rasheed paid Abdul Sharif-if that was even his name-to come and crush Laila with the story of Tariq's death?