—Did you know that my father used to despise my poems? He would hit me and tell me to shut up. He said singing and poetry were for women, he told me to be more like my brothers. It is true, some poetry is for women, such as lullabies, or a nakhta, sung by women when they mourn the death of a hero. The nakhta made me think perhaps I should compose lyrics for heroes, not mournful, but triumphant, when they are victorious against the invaders. Poetry must be more than pretty and pleasant on the ear. It must have purpose. It must have anger.

Sayed picked at the leaves of the trees, continuing:

—I sang these new poems to my father. They changed his mind. He no longer hit me. He began to tell me more and more about events in our country so that my poems would be more accurate. Since that change I sing poems about the resistance, poems that are protests against the treatment of our Afghan brothers and sisters. My father is proud of me. He brings fighters in from the hills. They tell their stories, which I turn into poems. I am compiling a poetic history of our war, thousands of different poems. My father is going to take me travelling, through the hills, performing at different camps. Did you know that my brothers are warriors?

—I didn’t know that.

—They’re fighting the Soviets. Samir told me he was going to blow up a dam and bring water crashing down, sweeping away the Soviet tanks. They’ll come back to the village soon and I’ll turn their victories into the best poems I’ve ever composed. The whole village will gather round and listen.

Sayed crouched down beside Zabi, whispering as though there were people in the orchard with them who might overhear:

—Do you want to hear a poem that would have you arrested and shot dead if you sang it in the streets of Kabul? If I sing it for you, you mustn’t tell anyone, and no one can ever know. Promise to keep it a secret?

Zabi was nervous and excited, and not wanting to seem afraid, she nodded.

—I promise.

Sayed began to sing:

—O Kamal!

He stopped.

—Do you know who Kamal is?

Zabi shook her head. She didn’t know anyone called Kamal.

—Kamal is the President. Do you know what a president is?

—An elder?