Shooting Kabul by N. H. Senzai Read Free Book Online

are,” said Uncle Amin. He took a right turn down a residential street and pulled up next to a single-story brown shingle house with overgrown rosebushes out front.
    They had just stepped down out of the car when the front door burst open and a group of women and children came flying out.
    â€œYou’re here!” cried a woman in a flowing dress. She looked like a younger version of Zafoona, but her hair was cut fashionably short and her eyes were leaf green.
    â€œNilufer,” cried Zafoona, stumbling forward to give her sister an enveloping hug. Without warning they bothburst into tears and started talking at once.
    â€œJeesh,” said Zalmay. He exchanged an embarrassed look with Fadi, who grinned in return.
    Behind Zafoona and Nilufer stood an elderly couple, who Fadi guessed were Abay, grandmother, and Dada, grandfather—Uncle Amin’s parents.
    Habib moved forward to kiss the old woman’s cheeks. “ Salaam Alaikum ,” he said reverently. “How good it is to see you.”
    â€œI’m so thankful to Allah you are here safely,” she said, her voice as wispy as a spider’s web. She kissed Habib’s forehead and then his cheeks.
    Cocooned in the flow of people, Fadi and his family were bundled into the house. Over the next half hour Fadi met a blur of people, which included Uncle Amin’s two brothers and their wives and children. Zafoona was settled in a bedroom for a quick nap despite her protests that she wanted to help, while the other women retreated to the kitchen to prepare endless platters of food. The men caught up on the latest news, and the kids set out plates and cutlery.
    â€œLet me say a prayer before we begin lunch,” said Uncle Amin an hour later. The family sat around the traditional dastarkhan , a tablecloth laid out on the floor on top of which the food was placed. “Let us thank Allahthat Brother Habib and his family have made it safely to San Francisco.”
    As he paused, Fadi’s back stiffened.
    â€œMay Allah also be watching over brave little Mariam, who, insha ’Allah, will soon be found and brought here to us.”
    â€œThere are dozens of people looking for her,” said Habib. “She’ll be found very soon.”
    Father’s right. She’ll be found soon, thought Fadi. There are so many people looking for her. The knot between his shoulder blades eased a bit.
    â€œ Ameen ,” came the murmurs from around the room.
    Fadi glanced at his mother. Tears pooled along her eyelashes. The familiar feeling of guilt returned, though he pushed it back. He looked around the room at the solemn faces. Even the younger kids were quiet. They must have been horrified at the thought of being lost out in the middle of nowhere. By themselves. What if they knew it was my fault Mariam was lost? They’d hate me.
    Conversation buzzed around him, about their escape … about Mariam.
    â€œPoor bacha ,” came a whisper near his ear.
    Startled, Fadi turned to see that Abay had settled down next to him. She placed a soft hand on Fadi’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hug. Fadi stiffened, then melted intoher embrace, which smelled of cardamom and cinnamon. He wondered if she could read the guilt in his face. He avoided her probing eyes and averted his face.
    Abay patted him on the face and passed him a glass of fizzy orange drink. He gulped it down, the coolness easing the dryness in his throat. Steaming plates of food were passed around as Habib told them how, although neither the American consulate nor Nargis had tracked down Mariam yet, it was only a matter of time before she’d be found. The UN Refugee Agency had sent out a bulletin about Mariam, and Habib’s professor and his sons were looking for any news of her in Jalalabad.
    Khala Nilufer piled a mound of qabuli pulau —rice and lamb—onto Fadi’s plate. He dug in, savoring the candied carrots and raisins. There was also spinach,