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to take him on。 Looks like I ll have to settle for his weakling of a son。 Then he took off his sunglasses and locked his bloodshot blue eyes on mine。
I tried to take a breath and couldn t。 I tried to blink and couldn t。 The moment felt surreal……no； not surreal； absurd……it had knocked the breath out of me； brought the world around me to a standstill。 My face was burning。 What was the old saying about the bad penny？ My past was like that； always turning up。 His name rose from the deep and I didn t want to say it； as if uttering it might conjure him。 But he was already here； in the flesh； sitting less than ten feet from me； after all these years。 His name escaped my lips： Assef。
Ainir jan。
What are you doing here？ I said； knowing how utterly foolish the question sounded； yet unable to think of anything else to say。
Me？ Assef arched an eyebrow I m in my element。 The question is what are you doing here？
I already told you； I said。 My voice was trembling。 I wished it wouldn t do that； wished my flesh wasn t shrinking against my bones。
The boy？
Yes。
Why？
I ll pay you for him； I said。 I can have money wired。
Money？ Assef said。 He tittered。 Have you ever heard of Rockingham？ Western Australia； a slice of heaven。 You should see it； miles and miles of beach。 Green water； blue skies。 My parents live there； in a beachfront villa。 There s a golf course behind the villa and a little lake。 Father plays golf every day。 Mother； she prefers tennis……Father says she has a wicked backhand。 They own an Afghan restaurant and two jewelry stores； both businesses are doing spectacularly。 He plucked a red grape。 Put it； lovingly； in Sohrab s mouth。 So if I need money； I ll have them wire it to me。 He kissed the side of Sohrab s neck。 The boy flinched a little； closed his eyes again。 Besides； I didn t fight the Shorawi for money。 Didn t join the Taliban for money either。 Do you want to know why I joined them？
My lips had gone dry。 I licked them and found my tongue had dried too。
Are you thirsty？ Assef said； smirking。
I think you re thirsty。
I m fine； I said。 The truth was； the room felt too hot suddenly……sweat was bursting from my pores； prickling my skin。 And was this really happening？ Was I really sitting across from Assef？
As you wish； he said。 Anyway； where was I？ Oh yes； how I joined the Taliban。 Well； as you may remember； I wasn t much of a religious type。 But one day I had an epiphany。 I had it in jail。 Do you want to hear？
I said nothing。
Good。 I ll tell you； he said。 I spent some time in jail； at Poleh…Charkhi； just after Babrak Karmal took over in 1980。 I ended up there one night； when a group of Parc hami soldiers marched into our house and ordered my father and me at gun point to follow them。 The bastards didn t give a reason； and they wouldn t answer my mother s questions。 Not that it was a mys tery； everyone knew the munists had no class。 They came from poor families with no name。 The same dogs who weren t fit to lick my shoes before the Shorawi came were now ordering me at gunpoint； Parchami flag on their lapels； making their little point about the fall of the bourgeoisie and acting like they were the ones with class。 It was happening all over： Round up the rich； throw them in jail； make an example for the rades。
Anyway； we were crammed in groups of six in these tiny cells each the size of a refrigerator。 Every night the mandant； a haif…Hazara； half…Uzbek thing who smelled like a rotting donkey； would have one of the prisoners dragged out of the cell and he d beat him until sweat poured from his fat face。 Then he d light a cigarette； crack his joints； and leave。 The next night； he d pick someone else。 One night； he picked me。 It couldn t have e at a worse time。 I d been peeing blood for three days。 Kidney stones。 And if you ve never had one； believe me when I say it s the worst imaginable pain。 My mother used to get them too； and I remember she told me once she d rather give birth than pass a kidney stone。 Anyway； what could I do？ They dragged me out and he started kick ing me。 He had knee…high boots with steel toes that he wore every night for his little kicking game； and he used them on me。 I was screaming and screaming and he kept kicking me and then； suddenly； he kicked me on the left kidney and the stone passed。 Just like that！ Oh； the relief！ Assef laughed。 And I yelled Allah…u akbar and he kicked me even harder and I started laughing。 He got mad and hit me harder； and the harder he kicked me； the harder I laughed。 They threw me back in the cell laughing。 I kept laughing and laughing because suddenly I knew that had been a message from God： He was on my side。 He wanted me to live for a reason。
You know； I ran into that mandant on the battlefield a few years later……funny how God works。 I found him in a trench just outside Meymanah； bleeding from a piece of shrapnel in his chest。 He was still wearing those same boots。 I asked him if he remembered me。 He said no。 I told him the same thing I just told you； that I never forget a face。 Then I shot him in the balls。 I ve been on a mission since。
What mission is that？ I heard myself say。 Stoning adulterers？ Raping children？ Flogging women for wearing high heels？ Massacring Hazaras？ All in the name of Islam？ The words spilled suddenly and unexpectedly； came out before I could yank the leash。 I wished I could take them back。 Swallow them。 But they were out。 I had crossed a line； and whatever little hope I had of getting out alive had vanished with those words。
A look of surprise passed across Assef s face； briefly； and disappeared。 I see this may turn out to be enjoyable after all； he said； snickering。 But there are things traitors like you don t understand。
Like what？
Assef s brow twitched。 Like pride in your people； your customs； your language。 Afghanistan is like a beautiful mansion littered with garbage； and someone has to take out the garbage。
That s what you were doing in Mazar； going door…to…door？ Taking out the garbage？
Precisely。
In the west； they have an expression for that； I said。 They call it ethnic cleansing。
Do they？ Assef s face b