And the Mountains Echoed

myself,” Adel said.
    She stood behind him, her eyes studying him in the mirror. “Are you all right, Adel?”
    He shrugged. She rested a hand on his shoulder and looked at him as if expecting him to rub his cheek against it. He didn’t.
    â€œMother, have you ever seen Baba jan’s factory?”
    He noticed the pause in his mother’s movements. “Of course,” she said. “So have you.”
    â€œI don’t mean pictures. Have you actually seen it? Been to it?”
    â€œHow could I?” his mother said, tilting her head in the mirror. “Helmand is unsafe. Your father would never put me or you in harm’s way.”
    Adel nodded.
    Downstairs, cannons blasted and pirates hollered their war cries.
    Three days later, Gholam showed up again. He walked briskly up to Adel and stopped.
    â€œI’m glad you came,” Adel said, “I have something for you.” From the top of the tree stump he fetched the coat he had been bringing with him daily since their spat. It was chocolate brown leather, with a soft sheepskin lining and a hood that could be zippered on and off. He extended it to Gholam. “I’ve only worn it a few times. It’s a little big for me. It should fit you.”
    Gholam didn’t make a move. “We took a bus to Kabul and went to the courthouse yesterday,” he said flatly. “Guess what the judge told us? He said he had bad news. He said there was an accident. A small fire. My father’s ownership documents burned in it. Gone. Destroyed.”
    Adel slowly dropped the hand holding the jacket.
    â€œAnd as he’s telling us that there’s nothing he can do now without the papers, do you know what he has on his wrist? A brand-new gold watch he wasn’t wearing the last time my father saw him.”
    Adel blinked.
    Gholam flicked his gaze to the coat. It was a cutting, punishing look, meant to inflict shame. It worked. Adel shrunk. In his hand, he felt the coat shifting, transforming from peace offering to bribe.
    Gholam spun around and hurried back toward the road in brisk, busy steps.
    The evening of the same day that he returned, Baba jan threw a party at the house. Adel was sitting now beside his father at the head of the big cloth that had been spread on the floor for the meal. Baba jan sometimes preferred to sit on the ground and to eat with his fingers, especially if he was seeing friends from his jihadi years.
Reminds me of the cave days
, he joked. The women were eating at the table in the dining room with spoons and forks, Adel’s mother seated at the head. Adel could hear their chatter echoing off the marble walls. One of them, a thick-hipped woman with long hair dyed red, was engaged to be married to one of Baba jan’s friends. Earlier in the evening, she had shown Adel’s motherpictures on her digital camera of the bridal shop they had visited in Dubai.
    Over tea after the meal, Baba jan told a story about the time his unit had ambushed a Soviet column to stop it from entering a valley up north. Everyone listened closely.
    â€œWhen they entered the kill zone,” Baba jan said, one hand absently stroking Adel’s hair, “we opened fire. We hit the lead vehicle, then a few jeeps. I thought they would back out or try to plow through. But the sons of whores stopped, dismounted, and engaged us in gunfire. Can you believe it?”
    A murmur spread around the room. Heads shook. Adel knew that at least half the men in the room were former Mujahideen.
    â€œWe outnumbered them, maybe three to one, but they had heavy weaponry and it wasn’t long before
they
were attacking
us
! Attacking our positions in the orchards. Soon, everybody was scattered. We ran for it. Me and this guy, Mohammad something or other, we ran together. We’re running side by side in a field of grapevines, not the kind on posts and wires but the kind that people let grow out on the ground. Bullets are flying everywhere and we’re running for our lives, and suddenly we both trip and go down. In a second flat, I’m back up on my feet running, but there’s no sign of this Mohammad something or other. I turn and yell, ‘Get the hell up, you donkey’s ass!’ ”
    Baba jan paused for dramatic effect. He pushed a fist to his lips to fight laughter. “And then he pops up and starts running. And—would you believe it?—the crazy son of a whore is carrying two armfuls of grapes!