Free And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini Page B

there is more than an element of penance in the monthly cash that he brings her.
    Masooma has brushed her hair and rimmed her eyes with a dash of kohl as she always does when Nabi visits. Parwana knows that she does it only partially for his benefit and more for the fact that he is her tie to Kabul. In Masooma’s mind, he connects her to glamour and luxury, to a city of cars and lights and fancy restaurants and royal palaces, regardless of how remote this link might be. Parwana remembers how, long ago, Masooma used to say to her that she was a city girl trapped in a village.
    â€œWhat about you? Have you found yourself a wife yet?” Masooma asks playfully.
    Nabi waves a hand and laughs her off, as he used to when their parents asked him the same question.
    â€œSo when are you going to show me around Kabul again, brother?” Masooma says.
    Nabi had taken them to Kabul once, the year before. He had picked them up from Shadbagh and driven them to Kabul, up and down the streets of the city. He had shown them all the mosques, the shopping districts, the cinemas, the restaurants. He had pointed out to Masooma the domed Bagh-e-Bala Palace sitting on a hill overlooking the city. At the gardens of Babur, he had lifted Masooma from the front seat of the car and carried her in his arms to the site of the Mughal emperor’s tomb. They hadprayed there, the three of them, at the Shah Jahan Mosque, and then, at the edge of a blue-tiled pool, they had eaten the meal Nabi had packed for them. It had been perhaps the happiest day of Masooma’s life since the accident, and for that Parwana was grateful to her older brother.
    â€œSoon,
Inshallah
,” Nabi says, tapping a finger against the cup.
    â€œWould you mind adjusting this cushion under my knees, Nabi? Ah, that’s much better. Thank you.” Masooma sighs. “I loved Kabul. If I could, I’d march all the way there first thing tomorrow.”
    â€œMaybe one day,” Nabi says.
    â€œWhat, me walking?”
    â€œNo,” he stammers, “I meant …” and then he grins when Masooma bursts out laughing.
    Outside, Nabi passes Parwana the cash. He leans one shoulder against the wall and lights a cigarette. Masooma is inside, taking her afternoon nap.
    â€œI saw Saboor earlier,” he says, picking at his finger. “Terrible thing. He told me the baby’s name. I forget now.”
    â€œPari,”
Parwana says.
    He nods. “I didn’t ask, but he told me he’s looking to marry again.”
    Parwana looks away, trying to pretend she doesn’t care, but her heart is thumping in her ears. She feels a film of sweat blooming on her skin.
    â€œLike I said, I didn’t ask. Saboor was the one who brought it up. He pulled me aside. He pulled me aside and told me.”
    Parwana suspects that Nabi knows what she has carried with her for Saboor all these years. Masooma is her twin, but it is Nabi who has always understood her. But Parwana doesn’t see why her brother is telling her this news. What good does it do? WhatSaboor needs is a woman unanchored, a woman who won’t be held down, who is free to devote herself to him, to his boy, his newborn daughter. Parwana’s time is already consumed. Accounted for. Her whole life is.
    â€œI’m sure he’ll find someone,” Parwana says.
    Nabi nods. “I’ll be by again next month.” He crushes his cigarette underfoot and takes his leave.
    When Parwana enters the hut, she is surprised to see Masooma awake. “I thought you were napping.”
    Masooma drags her gaze to the window, blinking slowly, tiredly.
    When the girls were thirteen, they sometimes went to the crowded bazaars of nearby towns for their mother. The smell of freshly sprayed water rose from the unpaved street. The two of them strolled down the lanes, past stalls that sold hookahs, silk shawls, copper pots, old watches. Slaughtered chickens hung by their feet, tracing slow