These kinds of things make Amir angry. He raises his hand as if he is going to slap Shahin hard. But all three of us know that his hand will not touch Shahin. Last week when Amir’s hand did come down, without trying to run away, Shahin said, “When we move to Canada, you cannot hit me. I will call the police.”

Shahin does not run away. He slowly gets up and goes to the backyard.

Amir starts ranting and raving, and to make up for not hitting him, he runs after Shahin. Suddenly, it starts raining. Shadi and I follow Amir. Big drops of rain beat on the aluminum awning rhythmically. The single beats of the drum get louder. I tell Shahin and Shadi to go in and do their homework. They both disappear. Amir moves away from the awning and stands in the rain. The uproar created by the rain and the drum fills the backyard.

I go inside to the kitchen and say, “Come in.”

He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t hear me. He squats out there, clasping his hands behind his head. The cement wall behind him is covered with rain spots.

“Get up and come inside.”

Where is Amir? Maybe back to the barbwire or somewhere on the other side of the world. Don’t know. He is no longer in this house. He is gone.

Chapter 7

7

I call Shadi. She doesn’t answer. With all the noise coming from the parking lot, I can’t hear her. I look out the window. Shadi is not there. I send Shahin to look for her. Shahin returns, holding on to her arm tightly, and tugging at her. Shadi is screaming.

“I told you to find her, not to beat her up!”

I sit Shadi in front of me and give her a little lecture—what Maman should have done with me and never did. If I wanted to say something, I would pace up and down the room seven or eight times. I felt my heart in my throat and could not talk because it seemed like my words were stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

I have to teach Shadi to be careful. Maybe someone will show kindness to her. There are a hundred types of kindness, and she should know the difference. I want to teach her to watch out for the big boys who are going in and out of the building all the time. I don’t know how to tell her tactfully that someone might want to touch her body. That she should scream. Shahin asks, “Why, Maman?”

“Because it is important.”

The kids look at me. I grab Shadi’s doll, and squeeze her stomach. The doll cries. I say, “Like this.”