And the Mountains Echoed

grinned weakly.
Why not?
She took a shallow sip of tea. Grinning accentuated all the new lines in her face.
When I met Abdullah, I was selling clothes on the side of the street in Peshawar. He said I had beautiful eyebrows
.
    The Ping-Pong pair ditched the paddles. They were leaning now against the wooden railing, sharing a cigarette, looking up at the sky, which was luminous and clear but for a few frayed clouds. The girl had long, bony arms.
    I read in the paper there’s an arts-and-crafts fair up in Capitola today
, I said.
If you’re up to it, maybe I’ll drive us, we’ll have a look. We could even have dinner there, if you like
.
    Pari?
    Yeah
.
    I want to tell you something
.
    Okay
.
    Abdullah has a brother in Pakistan
, Mother said.
A half brother
.
    I turned to her sharply.
    His name is Iqbal. He has sons. He lives in a refugee camp near Peshawar
.
    I put down my cup, began to speak, but she cut me off.
    I’m telling you now, aren’t I? That’s all that matters. Your father has his reasons. I’m sure you can figure them out, you give it some time. Important thing is, he has a half brother and he’s been sending him money to help out
.
    She told me how, for years now, Baba had been sending this Iqbal—my half uncle, I thought with an inner lurch—a thousand dollars every three months, going down to Western Union, wiring the money to a bank in Peshawar.
    Why are you telling me now?
I asked.
    Because I think you should know even if he doesn’t. Also, you will have to take over the finances soon and then you would find out anyway
.
    I turned away, watched a cat, its tail erect, sidle up to the Ping-Pong couple. The girl reached to pet it and the cat tensed up at first. But then it curled up on the railing, let the girl run her hands over its ears, down its back. My mind was reeling. I had family outside of the U.S.
    You’ll be doing the books for a long time yet, Mother
, I said. I did my best to disguise the wobble in my voice.
    There was a dense pause. When she spoke again, it was in a lower tone, slower, like when I was little and we would go to the mosque for a funeral and she would hunker down next to me beforehand and patiently explain how I had to remove my shoes at the entrance, how I had to keep quiet during prayers and not fidget, not complain, and how I should use the bathroom now so I wouldn’t have to later.
    I won’t
, she said.
And don’t you go thinking I will. The time has come, you have to be ready for it
.
    I blew out a gush of air; a hardness lodged in my throat. Somewhere, a chain saw buzzed to life, the crescendo of its whine at violent odds with the stillness of the woods.
    Your father is like a child. Terrified of being abandoned. He would lose his way without you, Pari
,
and never find his way back
.
    I made myself look at the trees, the wash of sunlight falling on the feathery leaves, the rough bark of the trunks. I slid my tongue between the incisors and bit down hard. My eyes watered, and the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth.
    A brother
, I said.
    Yes
.
    I have a lot of questions
.
    Ask me tonight. When I’m not as tired. I’ll tell you everything I know
.
    I nodded. I gulped the rest of my tea, which had gone cold. At a nearby table, a middle-aged couple traded pages of the newspaper. The woman, red-haired and open-faced, was quietly watching us over the top of her broadsheet, her eyes switching from me to my gray-faced mother, her beanie hat, her hands mapped with bruises, her sunken eyes and skeletal grin. When I met her gaze, the woman smiled just a tad like there was a secret knowledge between us, and I knew that she had done this too.
    So what do you think, Mother? The fair, are you up for it?
    Mother’s gaze lingered on me. Her eyes looked too big for her head and her head too big for her shoulders.
    I could use a new hat
, she said.
    I tossed the napkin on the table and pushed back my chair, walked around to the other side. I released the brake on the wheelchair and pulled the chair away from the table.
    Pari?
Mother said.
    Yes?
    She rolled her head all the way back to look up at me. Sunlight pushed through the leaves of the trees and pinpricked her face.
Do you even know how strong God has made you?
she said.
How strong and good He has made you?
    There is no accounting for how the mind works. This moment, for instance. Of the thousands and thousands of moments my mother and I shared together