"He said that?"
"He doesn't have to, Aziza."
"Tell me the rest, Mammy. Tell me so I know."
And Laila did.
"Your father is a good man. He is the best man I've ever known."
"What if he leaves?" Aziza said
"He will never leave. Look at me, Aziza. Your father will never hurt you, and he will
never leave."
The relief on Aziza's face broke Laila's heart.
Tariq has bought Zalmai a rocking horse, built him a wagon. From a prison inmate, he
learned to make paper animals, and so he has folded, cut, and tucked countless sheets of
paper into lions and kangaroos for Zalmai, into horses and brightly plumed birds. But these
overtures are dismissed by Zalmai unceremoniously, sometimes venomously.
"You're a donkey!" he cries. "I don't want your toys!"
"Zalmai!" Laila gasps.
"It's all right," Tariq says. "Laila, it's all right. Let him."
"You're not my Baba jan! My real Baba jan is away on a trip, and when he gets back he's
going to beat you up! And you won't be able to run away, because he has two legs and you
only have one!"
At night, Laila holds Zalmai against her chest and recites Babaloo prayers with him.
When he asks, she tells him the lie again, tells him his Baba jan has gone away and she
doesn't know when he would come back. She abhors this task, abhors herself for lying like
this to a child
Laila knows that this shameful lie will have to be told again and again. It will have to
because Zalmai will ask, hopping down from a swing, waking from an afternoon nap, and,
later, when he's old enough to tie his own shoes, to walk to school by himself, the lie will
have to be delivered again.
At some point, Laila knows, the questions will dry up. Slowly, Zalmai will cease
wondering why his father has abandoned him. He will not spot his father any longer at
traffic lights, in stooping old men shuffling down the street or sipping tea in open fronted