One evening, she joins him in his room and practically snatches away the reading stand. When there’s nothing between the two of them, she takes him firmly by the wrist and shakes him. “Get a grip on yourself, Atiq.”
Atiq replies in a stupefied voice. “I held the door wide open for her and told her to go away. She refused to leave her cell.”
“That’s because, unlike you, she knows that no one can escape his own destiny. She’s accepted her fate; she’s resigned to it. You’re the one who refuses to see things as they are.”
“She didn’t kill anyone, Musarrat. I don’t want her to pay for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“You’ve seen many others die before her.”
“Which proves that there are some things one can never get used to. I’m angry at myself, and I’m angry at the universe. How can a person accept dying because a bunch of incompetent qazi reached a hasty verdict? It’s ridiculous. And even if she isn’t strong enough to keep on fighting, I’m not going to give up. She’s so young, so beautiful, so. . gorgeously alive. Why didn’t she leave when I held the door wide open for her?”
Tenderly, Musarrat lifts his chin and thrusts her hand into his tangled beard. “And you? Tell me honestly — look at me, please, and tell me, swear to me— would you have let her go?”
Atiq shivers. His eyes are dull with unbearable misery. “I’ve already told you: I held the door wide open for her.”
“I heard you. But would you have let her go?”
“Of course.”
“You would have watched her go away into the night without running after her? You would have let her disappear when you knew it would be forever and you’d never see her again?”
Atiq sags; his beard is heavy in his wife’s unsteady hand. Musarrat keeps stroking his cheek. “I don’t think so,” she says to him.
“Then explain it to me,” he moans. “For the love of the Prophet, tell me what’s happening to me.”
“The best thing that can happen to anyone on earth.”
Atiq jerks his head up so hard that the movement ripples his shoulders. “What exactly do you mean, Musarrat? I have to understand.”
She takes his face in her hands, and what she reads in his eyes is the final blow. A shudder courses throughout her body. She tries to struggle against her emotions, but in vain; two large tears form on her eyelids, then roll down her face and reach her chin before she has time to stop them.
“I think you’ve finally found your way, Atiq, my husband. A new day is dawning for you. Something is taking place inside you that would make you the envy of saints and kings. Your heart is being reborn. I can’t really explain it to you, and besides, it’s better that I don’t. But I can tell you it’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”
“So what should I do?”
“Go back to her. Before you open the door for her, open your heart and let it speak. She’ll listen, and she’ll follow you. Take her by the hand and leave, both of you. Go as far as you can, and don’t look back.”
“You’re asking me to go away, Musarrat?”
“I’d throw myself at your feet if I thought that would persuade you.”
“I will not abandon you.”
“I don’t doubt it, but that’s not the question. That woman needs you. Her life depends on your choice. Ever since you saw her, there’s been a gleam in your eye. She lights you up inside. Another man in your position might go up on the roof and start singing at the top of his voice. If you’re not singing, Atiq, it’s because no one ever taught you how. You’re happy, but you don’t know it. You’re even overflowing with happiness, and you don’t know how to rejoice in it. All your life, you’ve only listened to other people— your teachers and your holy men, your leaders and your demons — and they’ve spoken to you of nothing but wrongs and bitterness and war. That’s what your ears are filled with; that’s why your hands shake. And that’s why you’re afraid to listen to your heart right now and seize the opportunity that’s come to you at last. If we were in some other place, your distress might arouse the sympathy of everyone in the whole city. But Kabul doesn’t know much about this kind of distress. Our city has renounced it, in fact, and that’s the reason why nothing turns out right here, neither joys nor sorrows. . Atiq, my man, my husband, you’ve been blessed. Listen to your heart. It’s the only voice that’s talking to you about yourself, the only counselor that knows the real truth. Its reasons are stronger than all the reasons in the world. Trust your heart and let it guide your steps. And above all, don’t be afraid. Because this evening, you of all men are the one who loves. . ”
Atiq begins to tremble.
Taking his face in her hands again, Musarrat implores him: “Go back to her. There’s still time. With a little bit of luck, you’ll be on the other side of the mountain before the sun comes up.”
“I’ve been thinking about doing just that for two days and two nights. I’m not sure it would be a good idea. They’d catch us and stone us to death. I don’t have the right to offer her any false hopes. She’s so unhappy, and so fragile. I go around and around, walking the streets, brooding over my escape schemes. But as soon as I see her calmly sitting in her corner, all my certainties fall to pieces. Then I go back out into the streets and wander some more, I come back here with my head full of plans, and as my strength comes back, I lose whatever certainty I’ve managed to recover. I’m completely lost, Musarrat. I don’t want them to take her away from me, you understand? I’ve given them the best years of my life, my wildest dreams, my body and my soul. . ”
And, to his wife’s utter amazement, Atiq hides his head behind his knees as his shoulders shake with sobs.
ATIQ MUST GET READY. Tomorrow, Qassim Abdul Jabbar will come to fetch the prisoner and take her where gods and angels fear to tread. He changes his clothes and winds his turban tightly. His precise gestures contrast with his fixed stare. From the other side of the room, her face half hidden in darkness, Musarrat observes him. She says nothing when he passes near her and doesn’t move when she hears him pull the latch open and walk out the door.
There’s a full moon; things can be seen clearly, and from far away. Groups of insomniacs obstruct the doorways of various hovels; their gabbling stirs up the stridulations of the night. Behind some walls, a baby wails; its little voice slowly ascends into the sky, where millions of stars are signaling to one another.