My bare feet tingle. I think maybe an insect has climbed in through the hole in my slippers. I jump. Shadi is close to me, touching my toes with her finger through the hole in my slippers. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers. She throws herself in my arms and cries. Ida is standing in front of our storage room and yells, “Miss Shadi! I finally found you.”

Chapter 16

16

I don’t enjoy the cool air of the air conditioning because Amir has to work in the hot sun. After lunch, I don’t take a nap because Amir does not have the time to do that. I don’t socialize with my friends because Amir can’t do it. Amir is a slave, a slave who has pre-sold his productive energy for the next twenty years. Amir owes the bank for another twenty years. The bank has bought his labor from him. It is not fair to have his face burn under the sun while my face is gleaming because of eating and sleeping well. It is not fair. Amir is looking for justice, and he can’t find it anywhere. The kids are noisy. Amir says he is chained to us, to this kind of life. For how long? For the rest of his life.

Amir brings in money and we spend it. We are consumers.

I say, “I will get a job. I have worked before. I can do it.”

“If you want to be useful, it is better to raise your kids well.”

Shahin hits Shadi, and Shadi spits. Amir says, “See?”

He claims, “Leaving is my only option.”

“You will be a slave, even if you go there.”

I have given the war signal.

He sits up, “Can you please explain why?”

“Because you were born a slave. Who do you think your father was?”

He must have misinterpreted my question, because he screams, “My father was an honest, hard-working man. But your father . . . !”

He wants to talk about my father. I jump in, “So, was he a slave or a hard-working man?”

But he does not answer. He has found what he was looking for—my father.

I know my blood will get to the boiling point. Amir is persistent, and will not let go until I lose it. I can’t hold it in any longer. I am forced to do it on my own.

I say, “Whatever my father was, we weren’t ashamed of him.”

I pause, so the next blow has a stronger impact. “Do you remember saying you would die of shame whenever your father came to your school?”

He doesn’t believe that I can be so ruthless and take advantage of his heartfelt confessions. He doesn’t know that I would take my strong, well-dressed father a hundred times over his disheveled father. It is too late now. We can’t choose one over the other, now that they’re dead.