The day after the party, Neelab and I were still anxious for a closer look at the velvet-wrapped treasures from Ai-Khanoum. I was certain we could find the collection, but a thorough search of the palace had left us exhausted and empty-handed. Over a breakfast of fried eggs and tomatoes, Neelab suggested we ask Boba to open the crate for us. I cringed at admitting defeat, but I knew the relics would soon be moved to the museum and I would lose my chance to see them up close. We planned to soften up Boba by emphasizing our keen interest in this newly discovered piece of Afghan history. I studied my parents’ interests and habits and knew that if I could tug at our mutual love for history, I could get Boba to break some rules too.

We raced down a hallway bathed in morning light. Arg sat on eighty-three glorious acres in the heart of Kabul. With its many buildings and open green spaces, it was a city within a city with stories upon stories. Neelab’s grandfather had become the country’s first president by self-declaration, ending the rule of the king, his own cousin, while the monarch visited Europe. But the deeper story, true or not, was that people were planning on ending the king’s life as well as his rule, so Neelab’s grandfather had done him a favor.

“Do you think he will let us hold it in our hands?” Neelab asked, biting her lip.

“Yes, but only if we don’t tell a soul about it.”

A man’s voice interrupted our chatter.

“Don’t tell a soul about what?”

We whirled around to see who had overheard us. It was Sham, or Shair, which made sense. No one else could have approached us so noiselessly.

“A sparrow,” I replied swiftly. Any pause would have suggested I was lying, so I blurted out the character from the nursery rhyme about a sparrow served for dinner. The verse had been trapped in my mind since morning. I’d watched my mother hold Faheem’s hand in her own and trace circles in his palm, bending in each of his fingers and turning them into characters of the song:

Lilly lilly the little pond

Where algae grew round and round

And caused a slick that in a wink

Slipped a sparrow who’d come to drink

This finger took him

This finger cooked him

This finger put him on a plate

This finger sat down and ate

And when little pinky asked, to be fair

Auntie, Auntie, where’s my share?

In the pot, she said short and sly.

But the pot is empty, was his reply.

Then it must be in the cat’s belly round.

But the cat is nowhere to be found.

Here he is! Meow Meow Meow Meow!