I envied her. Her secret was out. Spoken. Dealt with. I opened my mouth and almost told her how Id betrayed Hassan, lied, driven him out, and destroyed a forty-year relationship between Baba and Ali. But I didnt. I suspected there were many ways in which Soraya Taheri was a better person than me. Courage was just one of them. THIRTEEN When we arrived at the Taheris?home the next evening--for lafz, the ceremony of giving word?-I had to buy mbt shoes park the Ford across the street. Their driveway was already jammed with cars. I wore a navy blue suit I had bought the previous day, after I had brought Baba home from _khastegari_. mbt online I checked my tie in the rearview mirror. You look khoshteep,?Baba said. Handsome. Thank you, Baba. Are you all right? Do you feel up to this?? Up to this? Its the happiest day of my life, Amir,?he said, smiling tiredly. I COULD HEAR CHATTER from the other side of the door, laughter, and Afghan music playing softly--it sounded like a classical ghazal by Ustad Sarahang. I rang the bell. A face peeked through the curtains of the foyer window and disappeared. Theyre here!?I heard a womans voice say. The chatter s mbt discount topped. Someone turned off the music. Khanum Taheri opened the door. _Salaam alaykum_,?she said, beaming. Shed permed her hair, I saw, and wore an elegant, ankle-length black dress. When I stepped into the foyer, her eyes moistened. Youre barely in the house and Im crying already, Amir jan,?she said. I planted a kiss on her hand, just as Baba had instructed me to do the night before. She led us through a brightly lit hallway to the living room. On the woodpaneled walls, I saw pictures of the people who would become my new family: A young bouffant-haired Khanum Taheri and the general--Niagara Falls in the background; Khanum Taheri in a seamless dress, the general in a narrow-lapelled jacket and thin tie, his hair full and black; Soraya, about to board a wooden roller coaster, waving and smiling, the sun glinting off the silver wires in her teeth. A photo of the general, dashing in full military outfit, shaking hands with King Hussein of Jordan. A portrait of Zahir Shah. The livi mbt stockists ng room was packed with about two dozen guests seated on chairs placed along the walls. When Baba entered, everybody stood up. We went around the room, Baba leading slowly, me behind him, shaking hands and greeting the guests. The general--still in his gray suit--and Baba embraced, gently tapping each other on the back. They said their Salaams in respectful hushed tones. The general held me at arms length and smiled knowingly, as if saying, Now, this is the right way--the Afghan way--to do it, _bachem_.?We kissed three times on the cheek. We sat in the crowded room, Baba and I next to each other, across from the general and his wife. mbt uk Babas breathing had grown a little ragged, and he kept wiping sweat off his forehead and scalp with his handkerchief. He saw me looking at him and managed a strained grin. Im all right,?he mouthed. In keeping with tradition, Soraya was not present. A few moments of small talk and idle chatter followed until the general cleared his throat. The room became quiet and everyone looked down at their hands in respect. The general nodded toward Baba. Baba cleared his own throat. When he began, he couldnt speak in complete sentences without stopping to breathe. General Sahib, Khanum Jamila jan... its with great humility that my son and I... have come to your home today. You are... honorable people... from distinguished and reputable families and... proud lineage. I come with nothing but the utmost ihtiram... and the highest regards for you, your family names, and the memory... of your ancestors.?He stopped. Caught his breath. Wiped his brow. Amirjan is my only son... my only child, and he has been a good son to me. I hope he proves... worthy of your kindness. I ask that you honor Amir jan and me... and accept my son into your family.? The general nodded politely. We are honored to welcome the son of a man such as yourself into our family,? he said. Your reputation precedes you. I was your humble ad mbt mirer in Kabul and remain so today. We are honored that your family and ours will be joined. Amirjan, as for you, I welcome you to my home as a son, as the husband of my daughter who is the noor of my eye. Your pain will be our pain, your joy our joy. I hope that you will come to see your Khala Jamila and me as a second set of parents, and I pray for your and our lovely Soraya jans happiness. You both have our blessings.? Everyone applauded, and with that signal, heads turned toward the hallway. The moment Id waited for. Soraya appeared at the end. Dressed in a stunning winecolored traditional Afghan dress with long sleeves and gold trimmings. Babas hand took mine and tightened. Khanum Taheri burst into fresh tears. Slowly, Soraya caine to us, tailed by a procession of young female relatives. She kissed my fathers hands. Sat beside me at last, her eyes downcast. The applause swelled. ACCORDING TO TRADITION, Sorayas family would have thrown the engagement party the Shirini-khori---or Eating of the Sweets?ceremony. Then an engagement period would have followed which would have lasted a few months. Then the wedding, which would be paid for by Baba. We all agreed that Soraya and I would forgo the Shirini-khori. Everyone knew the reason, so no one had to actually say it: that Baba didnt have months to live. Soraya and I never went out alone together while preparations for the wedding proceeded--since we werent married yet, hadnt even had a mbts Shirini-khori, it was considered improper. So I had to make do with going over to the Taheris with Baba for dinner. cheap mbts Sit across from Soraya at the dinner table. Imagine what it would be like to feel her head on my chest, smell her hair. Kiss her. Make love to her. Baba spent $35,000, nearly the balance of his life savings, on the awroussi, the wedding ceremony. He rented a large Afghan banquet hail in Fremont--the man who owned it knew him from Kabul and gave him a substantial discount. Baba paid for the ??chi las, our matching wedding bands, and for the diamond ring I picked out. He bought my tuxedo, and my traditional green suit for the nika--the swearing ceremony. For all the frenzied preparations that went into the wedding night--most of it, blessedly, by Khanum Taheri and her friends-- I remember only a handful of moments from it. I remember our nika. We were mbt sale seated around a table, Soraya and I dressed in green--the color of Islam, but also the color of spring and new beginnings. I wore a suit, Soraya (the only woman at the table) a veiled long-sleeved dress. Baba, General Taheri (in a tuxedo this time), and several of Sorayas uncles were also present at the table. Soraya and I looked down, solemnly respectful, casting only sideway glances at each other. The mullah questioned the witnesses and read from the Koran. We said our oaths. Signed the certificates. One of Sorayas uncles from Virginia, Sharif jan, Khanum Taheris brother, stood up and cleared his throat. Soraya had told me that he had lived in the U.S. for more than twenty years. He worked for the INS and had an American wife. He was also a poet. A small man with a birdlike face and fluffy hair, he read a lengthy poem dedicated to Soraya, jotted down on hotel stationery paper. Wah w mbt shoes review ah, Sharifjan!?everyone exclaimed when he finished. I remember walking toward the stage, now in my tuxedo, Soraya a veiled pan in white, our hands locked. Baba hobbled next to me, the general and his wife beside their daughter. A procession of uncles, aunts, and cousins followed as we made our way through the hail, parting a sea of applauding guests, blinking at flashing cameras. One of Sorayas cousins, Sharif jans son, held a Koran over our heads as we inched along. The wedding song, ahesta boro, blared from the speakers, the same song the Russian soldier at the Mahipar checkpoint had sung the night Baba and I left Kabul: Make morning into a key and throw it into the well, Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly. Let the morning sun forget to rise in the east, Go slowly, cheap mbt my lovely moon, go slowly. I remember sitting on the sofa, set on t mbt online he stage like a throne, Sorayas hand in mine, as three hundred or so faces looked on. We did Ayena Masshaf, where they gave us a mirror and threw a veil over our heads, so wed be alone to gaze at each others reflection. Looking at Sorayas smiling face in that mirror, in the momentary privacy of the veil, I whispered to her for the first time that I loved her. A blush, red like henna, bloomed on her cheeks. I picture colorful platters of chopan kabob, sholeh-goshti, and wild-orange rice. I see Baba between us on the sofa, smiling. I remember sweat-drenched men dancing the traditional attan in a circle, bouncing, spinning faster and faster with the feverish tempo of the tabla, until all but a few dropped out of the ring with exhaustion. I remember wishing Rahim Khan were there. And I remember wondering if Hassan too had married. And if so, whose face he had seen in the mirror under the veil? Whose henna-painted hands had he held? AROUND 2 A.M., the party moved from the banquet hall to Babas apartment. Tea flowed once more and music played until the neighbors called the cops. Later that night, the sun less than an hour from rising and the guests finally gone, Soraya and I lay together for the first time. All my life, Id been around men. That night, I discovered the tenderness of a woman. IT WAS SORAYA who suggested that she move in with Baba and me. I thought you might want us to have our own place,?I said. With Kaka jan as sick as he is??she replied. Her eyes told me that was no way to start a marriage. I kissed her. Thank you.? Soraya dedicated herself to taking care of my father. She made his toast and tea in the morning, and helped him in and out of bed. She gave him his pain pills, washed his clothes, read him the international section of the newspaper every afternoon, She cooked his fav mbt shoes australia orite dish, potato shorwa, though he could scarcely eat more than a few spoonfuls, and took him out every day for a brief walk around the block. And when he became bedridden, she turned him on his side every hour so he wouldnt get a bedsore. One day, I came home from the pharmacy with Babas morphine pills. Just as I shut the door, I caught a glimpse of Soraya quickly sliding something under Babas blanket. Hey, I saw that! What were you two doing??I said. Nothing,?Soraya said, smiling. Liar.?I lifted Babas blanket. Whats this??I said, though as soon as I picked up the leather-bound book, I knew. I traced my fingers along the goldstitched borders. I remembered the fire works the night Rahim Khan had given it to me, the night of my thirteenth birthday, flares sizzling and exploding into bouquets of red, green, and yellow. I cant believe you can write like this,?Soraya said. Baba dragged his head off the pillow. I put her up to it. I hope you dont mind.? I gave the notebook back to Soraya and left the room. Baba hated it when I cried. A MONTH AFTER THE WEDDING, the Taheris, Sharif, his wife Suzy, an buy mbt shoes d several of Sorayas aunts came over to our apartment for dinner. Soraya made sabzi challow- -white rice with spinach and lamb. After dinner, we all had green tea and played cards in groups of four. Soraya and I played with Sharif and Suzy on the coffee table, next to the couch where Baba lay under a wool blanket. He watched me joking with Sharif, watched Soraya and me lacing our fingers together, watched me push back a loose curl of her hair. I could see his internal smile, as wide as the skies of Kabul on nights when the poplars shivered and the sound of crickets swelled in the gardens. Just before midnight, Baba asked us to help him into bed. Soraya and I placed his arms on our shoulders and wrapped ours around his back. When we lowered him, he had Soraya turn off the bedside lamp. He asked us to lean in, gave us each a kiss. Ill come back with your morphine and a glass of water, Kaka jan,?Soraya said. Not tonight,?he said. There is n mbt shoes clearance o pain tonight.? Okay,?she said. She pulled up his blanket. We closed the door. Baba never woke up. THEY FILLED THE PARKING SPOTS at the mosque in Hayward. On the balding grass field behind the building, cars and SUVs parked in crowded makeshift rows. People had to drive three or four blocks north of the mosque to find a spot. T cheap mbt shoes he mens section of the mosque was a large square room, covered with Afg mbt online han rugs and thin mattresses placed in parallel lines. Men filed into the room, leaving their shoes at the entrance, and sat cross-legged on the mattresses. A mullah chanted surrahs from the Koran into a microphone. I sat by the door, the customary position for the family of the deceased. General Taheri was seated next to me.