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nd I looked down； solemnly respectful； casting only sideway glances at each other。 The mullah questioned the witnesses and read from the Koran。 We said our oaths。 Signed the certificates。 One of Soraya s uncles from Virginia； Sharif jan； Khanum Taheri s brother； stood up and cleared his throat。 Soraya had told me that he had lived in the U。S。 for more than twenty years。 He worked for the INS and had an American wife。 He was also a poet。 A small man with a birdlike face and fluffy hair； he read a lengthy poem dedicated to Soraya； jotted down on hotel stationery paper。 Wah wah； Sharifjan！ everyone exclaimed when he finished。
I remember walking toward the stage； now in my tuxedo； Soraya a veiled pan in white； our hands locked。 Baba hobbled next to me； the general and his wife beside their daughter。 A procession of uncles； aunts； and cousins followed as we made our way through the hail； parting a sea of applauding guests； blinking at flashing cameras。 One of Soraya s cousins； Sharif jan s son； held a Koran over our heads as we inched along。 The wedding song； ahesta boro； blared from the speakers； the same song the Russian soldier at the Mahipar checkpoint had sung the night Baba and I left Kabul：
Make morning into a key and throw it into the well；
Go slowly； my lovely moon； go slowly。 Let the morning sun forget to rise in the east； Go slowly； my lovely moon； go slowly。
I remember sitting on the sofa； set on the stage like a throne； Soraya s hand in mine； as three hundred or so faces looked on。 We did Ayena Masshaf； where they gave us a mirror and threw a veil over our heads； so we d be alone to gaze at each other s reflection。 Looking at Soraya s smiling face in that mirror； in the momentary privacy of the veil； I whispered to her for the first time that I loved her。 A blush； red like henna； bloomed on her cheeks。
I picture colorful platters of chopan kabob； sholeh…goshti； and wild…orange rice。 I see Baba between us on the sofa； smiling。 I remember sweat…drenched men dancing the traditional attan in a circle； bouncing； spinning faster and faster with the feverish tempo of the tabla； until all but a few dropped out of the ring with exhaustion。 I remember wishing Rahim Khan were there。
And I remember wondering if Hassan too had married。 And if so； whose face he had seen in the mirror under the veil？ Whose henna…painted hands had he held？
AROUND 2 A。M。； the party moved from the banquet hall to Baba s apartment。 Tea flowed once more and music played until the neighbors called the cops。 Later that night； the sun less than an hour from rising and the guests finally gone； Soraya and I lay together for the first time。 All my life； I d been around men。 That night； I discovered the tenderness of a woman。
IT WAS SORAYA who suggested that she move in with Baba and me。
I thought you might want us to have our own place； I said。
With Kaka jan as sick as he is？ she replied。 Her eyes told me that was no way to start a marriage。 I kissed her。 Thank you。
Soraya dedicated herself to taking care of my father。 She made his toast and tea in the morning； and helped him in an