His gesture was charming, but behind his loving tone there was a hint of boredom. I realized that he would not go anywhere with me. I was shocked; loneliness and dismay filled the space between Amir and me like a second wife. Many days had to pass for us in order to leave each other alone and to conjugate the verb “to go” separately for ourselves.

Chapter 5

5

“The man was stabbing himself when we arrived. By the time people stopped him, he had disfigured himself.” Hosseini and I arrived before any others. They were taking his wife away in an ambulance and saying,

“She is finished.” Amir has brought news again. Father also would always come home with his hands full, with an armful of fruit. Every afternoon, we kids would wait by the door and run to him as soon as we saw him, to take the bags of fruit from him.

Maman says, “With all his faults, your father had one good habit; he never came home empty-handed.” Amir does not come home empty-handed either; he brings a bag full of news, events, and stories. Through all these years, he has learned which story to tell first and which one last. He has learned to tell the story halfway and make me beg for the rest. He knows which one to tell in detail and which one to pass over quickly. He knows that I am a good consumer for all the stuff he has in his bag. Emptying it out has its own ritual. The water should be hot, the tea freshly brewed, and a plate ready full of pistachios and mixed nuts, which are not good for my skin but work well for warming him up to tell stories.

Amir says, “Shahrzad has had a sex change and is a man now.”

Then Amir pretends he is Shahrzad. I could probably be Shahriar, but before I can put on his crown, Cradle Robber’s voice echoes in the building. “Cradle Robber” is what Mrs. Hashemi calls the woman from the first floor. “Her husband is about ten years younger!”

Her baby is apparently in the business of buying and selling cars and is away from home three days a week. Then he shows up driving a high-end car. He parks in front of the door and you hear him yelling as soon as he gets in.

I look through the peephole. This gives me the joy of watching others without being seen. The neighbor across the hall does not have a peephole. That’s why her door is often slightly open.

Mr. Hashemi is standing on the stairs, and by the way he shakes his head, you’d think he was the most peace-loving person on earth.

Judging by the noise, we can tell that he is pounding on the door with the palm of his hand. He screams, “I swear to the prophet and to the elders that I did not take it.”