A Cup of Friendship: A Novel by Rodriguez Deborah

Author:Rodriguez, Deborah [Rodriguez, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Afghanistan, Female Friendship - Afghanistan - Kabul, Psychological Fiction, Contemporary Women, Kabul (Afghanistan), Coffee Shops, General, Psychological, Kabul, Female Friendship, Fiction, Coffee Shops - Afghanistan - Kabul
ISBN: 9780345514752
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2011-01-25T06:00:00+00:00

An hour later Halajan and Yazmina were headed toward the Mondai-e. Halajan had lied to her son, who stayed behind to replace the broken toilet, telling him that they were going to Chicken Street. Instead, she and Yazmina had taken the bus, then were walking the remaining half mile with their heads bowed, their arms clenched in front of them to ward off the cold, when they heard the explosion, felt the earth move, and saw the buildings sway. They stopped where they were, ducked into a doorway, and smelled the smoke in the air. Then they saw it rise over the buildings exactly where they were headed.

“A bomb,” Halajan said, her face etched with fear. “At the market, I think. We must hurry.”

“Wait!” Yazmina tried to call to Halajan but she was already far ahead, running directly toward the blast, along with hundreds of other people.

Yazmina knew they should return to the coffeehouse, but she couldn’t let Halajan go alone, so she ran as fast as she could to catch up to her, weighed down by the baby, struggling to keep her in sight, watching for her purple scarf. Halajan seemed to have acquired the legs and wind of a child. She was so fast and agile as she dodged in and out of the chaos of the streets. People were running, screaming and bleeding; sirens were blaring, trying desperately to reach the bomb site. The police were everywhere, their weapons drawn, as if they had been hiding in the shadows knowing this was going to happen. The sky turned gray with soot and ash; the air was thick and it was difficult to breathe.

Finally, Yazmina reached her, pulled her arm at her elbow, and stopped her. “Halajan, we should go back.” She could see Halajan struggling to breathe. She was holding her chador over her mouth and nose, and her chest was heaving as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen to fill it.

“No, I must get to the marketplace. I must.… You return at once to the coffeehouse. I will follow shortly. Now go!”

“Halajan, you must come with me. It is too dangerous. I heard that there are usually two blasts: The first gets people to come, the second is for everyone who has arrived.”

“Go home and let me do what I have to.”

“If you go, I will go, too. I will not leave you alone.”

Halajan and Yazmina stood stubbornly, each waiting for the other to move. When neither did, Yazmina knew that Halajan would never return to the house without first being sure that Rashif had survived. “Okay, but quickly.”

They walked briskly through the narrow streets toward the river, the emergency vehicles passing them, their sirens blaring. People were running in all directions, shouting and screaming—a man carrying a wounded boy, his head falling back over the man’s arm, a woman in a burqa holding the hand of a young girl who was missing a shoe and had blood running down her leg, men with rifles, men with makeshift weapons.

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