A Cup of Friendship by Deborah Rodriguez Page A

Rumi from the time she was a young girl, when her own mother recited his poems. From generation to generation his words were beloved in my family. One day, a trader came through on his way from Kabul and he had a book of Rumi poems, and though my mother couldn’t read, she had to have the book. So my husband bought it for her.” She laughed a little. “My Najam would have bought a blind man a sewing needle if he had wanted it.”
    “I suppose it must be, then. Rumi it is.” Halajan took a long puff from her cigarette and let it out with a loud breath. “Now finish your rest because it will be a busy night.”
    Yazmina noticed that the moon had risen behind a low cloud. Rumi. Mother. Layla. Perhaps it was the memory of them or her thoughts of Najam. Yazmina was surprised to be feeling better. She had but one prayer that night: that Sunny would come to need her before she learned of her secret.
    Sunny was elated. Almost every chair, every table in the coffeehouse was taken, and people were busy eating and talking well before the doctor was to begin. The crowd was mostly women, split almost equally between foreigners and Afghans. She had hired an extra chokidor for the night, at Ahmet’s urging, but she needn’t have. Women didn’t stash guns in their purses, especially when they were coming to hear a renowned doctor talking about children’s health issues in today’s Afghanistan.
    Isabel had returned to talk further with the doctor. She was sitting with Petr at a table nearby, already sipping the “tea” that she had brought in her large saddlebag, and which Halajan had quickly dispensed into a teapot. There were two empty seats at the table, which Sunny was saving for herself, once the doctor started to talk, and for Jack, if he showed up. She hadn’t heard from him since their last instant message. She didn’t know whether to be worried or pissed—but above all she just wanted to share another successful night with him.
    Meanwhile there was serving to do, coffees to be made, and tables to clear. Sunny imagined the wall outside bigger, the evenings profitable, and the money coming in so fast that she had to figure out what to do with it all. Stop , she thought. You’re getting way ahead of yourself .
    And then there was a loud crash that made everyone turn and stop talking. Yazmina had dropped a tray of cups and saucers on the floor, shattering them into tiny fragments. The poor girl looked shocked, but beyond that she looked gray and tired, too. Sunny wanted to kick herself for letting Yazmina work so hard, and was quickly at her side.
    “Yazmina, khair asti ? Are you all right?”
    But she didn’t answer. She went to the closet and returned with a twig brush and a dustpan.
    “Yazmina, I’ll do that,” said Halajan.
    But Yazmina was already on her knees sweeping up the shards.
    “What’s up with Yazmina?” whispered Halajan. “She doesn’t look good. Is she sick?”
    “She’s okay, I think,” said Sunny. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
    “Maybe she’s just lazy. Maybe not used to this kind of work.”
    “Are you kidding? She doesn’t stop, and she’s as strong as two men. We wouldn’t survive without her on a night like this.”
    Halajan smiled, put a hand on her hip. “We survived before and we’d survive after.”
    “Too much competition for you, Halajan?” Sunny teased.
    “Me? You joke. Look how fast she has become important to you. Be careful not to need her too much. She won’t be here always.”
    “Well, I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” Sunny said.
    She went behind the counter to the kitchen, where Yazmina was throwing the remains of the china into the garbage.
    “Sunnyjan. Emorz , I no good. I will work to repay the damage.”
    Sunny understood that she was saying that she was very sorry and today she wasn’t feeling well. “It’s just pyala s, a few cups. We have many more. No problem.”
    Sunny saw the stunned look on Yazmina’s face and realized her family