She said nothing of these things to Hasina, though, whose own father was an ill-tempered
taxi driver who in two or three years would almost certainly give her away. Hasina had told
Laila, in one of her infrequent serious moments, that it had already been decided that she
would marry a first cousin who was twenty years older than her and owned an auto shop in
Lahore. I've seen him twice, Hasina had said. Both times he ate with his mouth open.
"Beans, girls," Hasina said. "You remember that. Unless, of course" here she flashed an
impish grin and nudged Laila with an elbow "it's your young handsome, one legged prince
who comes knocking Then..."
Laila slapped the elbow away. She would have taken offense if anyone else had said that
about Tariq. But she knew that Hasina wasn't malicious. She mocked it was what she did
and her mocking spared no one, least of all herself.
"You shouldn't talk that way about people!" Giti said.
"What people is that?"
"People who've been injured because of war," Giti said earnestly, oblivious to Hasina's
toying.
"I think Mullah Giti here has a crush on Tariq. I knew it! Ha! But he's already spoken for,
don't you know? Isn't he, Laila?"
"I do not have a crush. On anyone!"
They broke off from Laila, and, still arguing this way, turned in to their street.
Laila walked alone the last three blocks. When she was on her street, she noticed that the
blue Benz was still parked there, outside Rasheed and Mariam's house. The elderly man in
the brown suit was standing by the hood now, leaning on a cane, looking up at the house.
That was when a voice behind Laila said, "Hey. Yellow Hair. Look here."
Laila turned around and was greeted by the barrel of a gun.