The room that was to be Mariam's was much smaller than the room she'd stayed in at
Jalil's house. It had a bed, an old, gray brown dresser, a small closet. The window looked
into the yard and, beyond that, the street below. Rasheed put her suitcase in a corner.
Mariam sat on the bed.
"You didn't notice," he said He was standing in the doorway, stooping a little to fit.
"Look on the windowsill. You know what kind they are? I put them there before leaving
for Herat."
Only now Mariam saw a basket on the sill. White tuberoses spilled from its sides.
"You like them? They please you?"
"Yes."
"You can thank me then."
"Thank you. I'm sorry. Tashakor "
"You're shaking. Maybe I scare you. Do I scare you? Are you frightened of me?"
Mariam was not looking at him, but she could hear something slyly playful in these
questions, like a needling. She quickly shook her head in what she recognized as her first
lie in their marriage.
"No? That's good, then. Good for you. Well, this is your home now. You're going to like it
here. You'll see. Did I tell you we have electricity? Most days and every night?"
He made as if to leave. At the door, he paused, took a long drag, crinkled his eyes against
the smoke. Mariam thought he was going to say something. But he didn't. He closed the
door, left her alone with her suitcase and her flowers.