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ting on a rock on the side of the road as they aired out the van。 Baba was smoking with Kaka Homayoun who was telling Fazila/Karima to stop crying； he d buy her another dress in Jalalabad。 I closed my eyes； turned my face to the sun。 Little shapes formed behind my eyelids； like hands playing shadows on the wall。 They twisted； merged； formed a single image： Hassan s brown corduroy pants discarded on a pile of old bricks in the alley。
KAKA HOMAYOUN S WHITE； two…story house in Jalalabad had a balcony overlooking a large； walled garden with apple and persimmon trees。 There were hedges that； in the summer； the gardener shaped like animals； and a swimming pool with emeraldcolored tiles。 I sat on the edge of the pool； empty save for a layer of slushy snow at the bottom； feet dangling in。 Kaka Homayoun s kids were playing hide…and…seek at the other end of the yard。 The women were cooking and I could smell onions frying already； could hear the phht…phht of a pressure cooker； music； laughter。 Baba； Rahim Khan； Kaka Homayoun； and Kaka Nader were sitting on the balcony； smoking。 Kaka Homayoun was telling them he d brought the projector along to show his slides of France。 Ten years since he d returned from Paris and he was still showing those stupid slides。
It shouldn t have felt this way。 Baba and I were finally friends。 We d gone to the zoo a few days before； seen Marjan the lion； and I had hurled a pebble at the bear when no one was watching。 We d gone to Dadkhoda s Kabob House afterward； across from Cinema Park； had lamb kabob with freshly baked _naan_ from the tandoor。 Baba told me stories of his travels to India and Russia； the people he had met； like the armless； legless couple in Bombay who d been married forty…seven years and raised eleven children。 That should have been fun； spending a day like that with Baba； hearing his stories。 I finally had what I d wanted all those years。 Except now that I had it； I felt as empty as this unkempt pool I was dangling my legs into。
The wives and daughters served dinner……rice； kofta； and chicken _qurma_……at sundown。 We dined the traditional way； sitting on cushions around the room； tablecloth spread on the floor； eating with our hands in groups of four or five from mon platters。 I wasn t hungry but sat down to eat anyway with Baba； Kaka Faruq； and Kaka Homayoun s two boys。 Baba； who d had a few scotches before
dinner； was still ranting about the kite tournament； how I d outlasted them all； how I d e home with the last kite。 His booming voice dominated the room。 People raised their heads from their platters； called out their congratulations。 Kaka Faruq patted my back with his clean hand。 I felt like sticking a knife in my eye。
Later； well past midnight； after a few hours of poker between Baba and his cousins； the men lay down to sleep on parallel mattresses in the same room where we d dined。 The women went upstairs。 An hour later； I still couldn t sleep。 I kept tossing and turning as my relatives grunted； sighed； and snored in their sleep。 I sat up。 A wedge of moonlight streamed in through the window。
I watched Hassan get raped；