And the Mountains Echoed Read Online Free PDF Page A

had passed by several villages, most of them far-flung and dusty just like Shadbagh. Small square-shaped homes made of baked mud, sometimes raised into the side of a mountain and sometimes not, ribbons of smoke rising from their roofs. Wash lines, women squatting by cooking fires. A few poplar trees, a few chickens, a handful of cows and goats, and always a mosque. The last village they passed sat adjacent to a poppy field, where an old man working the pods waved at them. He shouted something Abdullah couldn’t hear. Father waved back.
    Pari said, “Abollah?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you think Shuja is sad?”
    â€œI think he’s fine.”
    â€œNo one will hurt him?”
    â€œHe’s a big dog, Pari. He can defend himself.”
    Shuja
was
a big dog. Father said he must have been a fighting dog at one point because someone had severed his ears and his tail. Whether he could, or would, defend himself was another matter. When the stray first turned up in Shadbagh, kids had hurled rocks at him, poked him with tree branches or rusted bicycle-wheel spokes. Shuja never fought back. With time, the village’s kids grew tired of tormenting him and left him alone, though Shuja’s demeanor was still cautious, suspicious, as if he’d not forgotten their past unkindness toward him.
    He avoided everyone in Shadbagh but Pari. It was for Pari that Shuja lost all composure. His love for her was vast and unclouded. She was his universe. In the mornings, when he saw Pari stepping out of the house, Shuja sprang up, and his entire body shivered. The stump of his mutilated tail wagged wildly, and he tap-danced like he was treading on hot coal. He pranced happy circles around her. All day the dog shadowed Pari, sniffing at her heels, and at night, when they parted ways, he lay outside the door, forlorn, waiting for morning.
    â€œAbollah?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen I grow up, will I live with you?”
    Abdullah watched the orange sun dropping low, nudging the horizon. “If you want. But you won’t want to.”
    â€œYes I will!”
    â€œYou’ll want a house of your own.”
    â€œBut we can be neighbors.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œYou won’t live far.”
    â€œWhat if you get sick of me?”
    She jabbed his side with her elbow. “I wouldn’t!”
    Abdullah grinned to himself. “All right, fine.”
    â€œYou’ll be close by.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œUntil we’re old.”
    â€œVery old.”
    â€œFor always.”
    â€œYes, for always.”
    From the front of the wagon, she turned to look at him. “Do you promise, Abollah?”
    â€œFor always and always.”
    Later, Father hoisted Pari up on his back, and Abdullah was in the rear, pulling the empty wagon. As they walked, he fell into a thoughtless trance. He was aware only of the rise and fall of his own knees, of the sweat beads trickling down from the edge of his skullcap. Pari’s small feet bouncing against Father’s hips. Aware only of the shadow of his father and sister lengthening on the gray desert floor, pulling away from him if he slowed down.
    It was Uncle Nabi who had found this latest job for Father—Uncle Nabi was Parwana’s older brother and so he was really Abdullah’s stepuncle. Uncle Nabi was a cook and a chauffeur in Kabul. Once a month, he drove from Kabul to visit them in Shadbagh, his arrival announced by a staccato of honks and the hollering of a horde of village kids who chased the big blue car with the tan top and shiny rims. They slapped the fender and windows until he killed the engine and emerged grinning from the car, handsome Uncle Nabi with the long sideburns and wavy black hair combed back from his forehead, dressed in hisoversize olive-colored suit with white dress shirt and brown loafers. Everyone came out to see him because he drove a car, though it belonged to his employer, and because he wore a suit