Free And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini, Hosseini Page B

Parwana’s lap. Parwana reaches down and lifts the limp legs to rest across her own.
    When she smokes, Masooma’s face slackens. Her lids droop. Her head tilts unsteadily to the side and her voice takes on a sluggish, distant quality. A whisper of a smile forms on the corners of her mouth, whimsical, indolent, complacent rather than content. They say little to each other when Masooma is like this. Parwana listens to the breeze, to the water gurgling in the hookah. She watches the stars and the smoke drifting over her. The silence is pleasant, and neither she nor Masooma feel an urge to fill it with needless words.
    Until Masooma says, “Will you do something for me?”
    Parwana looks at her.
    â€œI want you to take me to Kabul.” Masooma exhales slowly, the smoke twirling, curling, morphing into shapes with each blink of the eye.
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œI want to see Darulaman Palace. We didn’t get a chance to last time. Maybe go visit Babur’s tomb again.”
    Parwana leans forward to decipher Masooma’s expression. She searches for a hint of playfulness, but in the moonlight she catches only the calm, unblinking glitter of her sister’s eyes.
    â€œIt’s a two-day walk at least. Probably three.”
    â€œImagine Nabi’s face when we surprise him at his door.”
    â€œWe don’t even know where he lives.”
    Masooma listlessly sweeps her hand. “He already told us which neighborhood. We’ll knock on some doors and ask. It’s not that difficult.”
    â€œHow would we get there, Masooma, in your condition?”
    Masooma pulls the hookah hose from her lips. “When you were out working today, Mullah Shekib came by, and I spoke tohim a long time. I told him we were going to Kabul for a few days. Just you and I. He gave me his blessing in the end. Also his mule. So you see, it’s all arranged.”
    â€œYou are insane,” Parwana says.
    â€œWell, it’s what I want. It’s my wish.”
    Parwana sits back against the wall, shaking her head. Her gaze drifts upward into the cloud-mottled darkness.
    â€œI’m so bored I’m dying, Parwana.”
    Parwana empties her chest of a sigh and looks at her sister.
    Masooma brings the hose to her lips. “Please. Don’t deny me.”
    One early morning, when the sisters were seventeen, they sat on a branch high up the oak tree, their feet dangling.
    Saboor’s going to ask me!
Masooma had said this in a high-pitched whisper.
    Ask you?
Parwana said, not understanding, at least not immediately.
    Well, not him, of course
. Masooma laughed into her palm.
Of course not. His father will be doing the asking
.
    Now Parwana understood. Her heart sank to her feet.
How do you know?
she said through numb lips.
    Masooma began to speak, words pouring from her mouth at a frenzied pace, but Parwana hardly heard any of it. She was picturing instead her sister’s wedding to Saboor. Children in new clothes, carrying henna baskets overflowing with flowers, trailed by
shahnai
and
dohol
players. Saboor, opening Masooma’s fist, placing the henna in her palm, tying it with a white ribbon. The saying of prayers, the blessing of the union. The offering of gifts. The two of them gazing at each other beneath a veil embroidered withgold thread, feeding each other a spoonful of sweet sherbet and
malida
.
    And she, Parwana, would be there among the guests to watch this unfold. She would be expected to smile, to clap, to be happy, even as her heart splintered and cracked.
    A wind swept through the tree, made the branches around them shake and the leaves rattle. Parwana had to steady herself.
    Masooma had stopped talking. She was grinning, biting her lower lip.
You asked how I know that he’s going to ask. I’ll tell you. No. I’ll show you
.
    She turned from Parwana and reached into her pocket.
    And then the part that Masooma knew nothing about. While her sister was facing