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think of the shadow her hair cast on the ground when it slid off her back and hung down like a velvet curtain。 Soraya。 Swap Meet Princess。 The morning sun to my yelda。
I invented excuses to stroll down the aisle……which Baba acknowledged with a playful smirk……and pass the Taheris stand。 I would wave at the general； perpetually dressed in his shiny overpressed gray suit； and he would wave back。 Sometimes he d get up from his director s chair and we d make small talk about my writing； the war； the day s bargains。 And I d have to will my eyes not to peel away； not to wander to where Soraya sat reading a paperback。 The general and I would say our good…byes and I d try not to slouch as I walked away。
Sometimes she sat alone； the general off to some other row to socialize； and I would walk by； pretending not to know her； but dying to。 Sometimes she was there with a portly middle…aged woman with pale skin and dyed red hair。 I promised myself that I would talk to her before the summer was over； but schools reopened； the leaves reddened； yellowed； and fell； the rains of winter swept in
and wakened Baba s joints； baby leaves sprouted once more； and I still hadn t had the heart； the dil； to even look her in the eye。
The spring quarter ended in late May 1985。 I aced all of my general education classes； which was a minor miracle given how I d sit in lectures and think of the soft hook of Soraya s nose。
Then； one sweltering Sunday that summer； Baba and I were at the flea market； sitting at our booth； fanning our faces with news papers。 Despite the sun bearing down like a branding iron； the market was crowded that day and sales had been strong……it was only 12：30 but we d already made 160。 I got up； stretched； and asked Baba if he wanted a Coke。 He said he d love one。
Be careful； Amir； he said as I began to walk。 Of what； Baba？
I am not an ahmaq； so don t play stupid with me。
I don t know what you re talking about。
Remember this； Baba said； pointing at me； The man is a Pashtun to the root。 He has nang and namoos。 Nang。 Namoos。 Honor and pride。 The tenets of Pashtun men。 Especially when it came to the chastity of a wife。 Or a daughter。
I m only going to get us drinks。
Just don t embarrass me； that s all I ask。
I won t。 God； Baba。
Baba lit a cigarette and started fanning himself again。
I walked toward the concession booth initially； then turned left at the T…shirt stand……where； for 5； you could have the face of Jesus； Elvis； Jim Morrison； or all three； pressed on a white nylon T…shirt。 Mariachi music played overhead； and I smelled pickles and grilled meat。
I spotted the Taheris gray van two rows from ours； next to a kiosk selling mango…on…a…stick。 She was alone； reading。 White ankle…length summer dress today。 Open…toed sandals。 Hair pulled back and crowned with a tulip…shaped bun。 I meant to simply walk by again and I thought I had； except suddenly I was standing at the edge of the Taheris white tablecloth； staring at Soraya across curling irons and old neckties。 She looked up。
Salaam； I said。 I m sorry to be mozahem； I didn t mean to disturb