man who inclined his head and smiled. “I think I have hit the target this time, do you not agree, Bashir?”
“Zarur, certainly.” The other man finally spoke.
Razaq stared at him in surprise. He spoke like a mountain man, but he wasn’t dressed like one.
“Tell us about yourself, prince of the mountains.” Mr. Malik put a biscuit in his mouth. Razaq watched him slowly chewing. When had he last eaten?
“Hungry? Here.” Mr. Malik passed the plate and Razaq hesitated. Would he be allowed to take one? “Khao, eat,” Mr. Malik said.
Razaq reached out and popped one in his mouth. It was such a long time since he had eaten anything so sweet. His father had brought biscuits home from the village one day when Uncle Javaid and Auntie Amina had visited. His cousin Sakina was still a little child toddling around their one-roomed house. He had picked her up, given her a biscuit, and shown her the goats. Seema and Layla came, too. The three little girls had shrieked with laughter at everything Razaq did. It had been a good day.
“Beta, what was life like in the mountains?”
Razaq didn’t like Mr. Malik calling him “son.” The shop owner who had said he could be a chowkidar had called him that, too, yet he must have known slavers would come in the night. How much would the man have been paid, he wondered.
Mr. Malik flicked at a fly and Razaq said, “Accha hai.”
“Accha? Just good? What did you do?”
Mr. Malik looked impatient and Razaq remembered Farida’s warning. “I looked after goats, our sheep, fetched water. Helped Abu grow grain, my mother to grow vegetables.”
“Did you go to school?”
“Sometimes.” No need for them to know he could read and write a little.
Mr. Malik appraised him. “You look about twelve or thirteen.”
Razaq stayed silent. Some instinct made him let the men think he was younger than fourteen.
Mr. Malik sighed. “Have you ever been with a man?”
Razaq thought of Ardil. Was it like this for him? Then he remembered Saleem. If Kazim hadn’t saved him, he may have a different story to tell. He shook his head and the two men smiled at him. The warmth from the bath was wearing off. Didn’t the men know he was cold, or was this their way of showing him who was boss?
Mr. Malik called and Murad appeared. “Take him to the room.” Then he said to Razaq, “Have a good rest, beta. Tomorrow we shall see what you are good at, and you can start your training in your new job. We have no goats and sheep to look after here in Islamabad, but there are many things you can do. Can you dance?”
Razaq lifted his chin in affirmation.
“Then we shall see.”
Murad took Razaq to a room down the hall. There was a bed with a folded white shalwar qameez on it. Razaq pulled on the shalwar with relief. Then Murad pushed him toward a small adjoining room. In it was a white seat. Razaq stood looking at it until Murad shoved him aside, untied his own shalwar, and peed in it. Then he pushed a shiny button on top and water flushed his pee away. Realization dawned: it was a toilet. Razaq remembered his uncle telling him about them.
“How long have you been here?” he asked Murad, but he was met with a stony silence. Razaq realized with a jolt that Murad would not be his friend.
Chapter 14
Razaq woke to his first day at the white house, as he thought of it. Everything was white: the room he slept in, the bath and the room it was in, even the walls. Murad marched him to another room with a table and benches, not unlike Kazim’s restaurant. Aslam was right about the food: there were parathas and puri halva and chai. There was plenty on the plate, too; Razaq hadn’t eaten so well since before the earthquake.
The children he had seen watching TV the night before sat around the table. There were six, and all seemed younger than Razaq. Most looked about twelve. One of them was a girl. Razaq stole a look at her. She was very pretty with big eyes the color of almonds. Would Feeba have looked
“Zarur, certainly.” The other man finally spoke.
Razaq stared at him in surprise. He spoke like a mountain man, but he wasn’t dressed like one.
“Tell us about yourself, prince of the mountains.” Mr. Malik put a biscuit in his mouth. Razaq watched him slowly chewing. When had he last eaten?
“Hungry? Here.” Mr. Malik passed the plate and Razaq hesitated. Would he be allowed to take one? “Khao, eat,” Mr. Malik said.
Razaq reached out and popped one in his mouth. It was such a long time since he had eaten anything so sweet. His father had brought biscuits home from the village one day when Uncle Javaid and Auntie Amina had visited. His cousin Sakina was still a little child toddling around their one-roomed house. He had picked her up, given her a biscuit, and shown her the goats. Seema and Layla came, too. The three little girls had shrieked with laughter at everything Razaq did. It had been a good day.
“Beta, what was life like in the mountains?”
Razaq didn’t like Mr. Malik calling him “son.” The shop owner who had said he could be a chowkidar had called him that, too, yet he must have known slavers would come in the night. How much would the man have been paid, he wondered.
Mr. Malik flicked at a fly and Razaq said, “Accha hai.”
“Accha? Just good? What did you do?”
Mr. Malik looked impatient and Razaq remembered Farida’s warning. “I looked after goats, our sheep, fetched water. Helped Abu grow grain, my mother to grow vegetables.”
“Did you go to school?”
“Sometimes.” No need for them to know he could read and write a little.
Mr. Malik appraised him. “You look about twelve or thirteen.”
Razaq stayed silent. Some instinct made him let the men think he was younger than fourteen.
Mr. Malik sighed. “Have you ever been with a man?”
Razaq thought of Ardil. Was it like this for him? Then he remembered Saleem. If Kazim hadn’t saved him, he may have a different story to tell. He shook his head and the two men smiled at him. The warmth from the bath was wearing off. Didn’t the men know he was cold, or was this their way of showing him who was boss?
Mr. Malik called and Murad appeared. “Take him to the room.” Then he said to Razaq, “Have a good rest, beta. Tomorrow we shall see what you are good at, and you can start your training in your new job. We have no goats and sheep to look after here in Islamabad, but there are many things you can do. Can you dance?”
Razaq lifted his chin in affirmation.
“Then we shall see.”
Murad took Razaq to a room down the hall. There was a bed with a folded white shalwar qameez on it. Razaq pulled on the shalwar with relief. Then Murad pushed him toward a small adjoining room. In it was a white seat. Razaq stood looking at it until Murad shoved him aside, untied his own shalwar, and peed in it. Then he pushed a shiny button on top and water flushed his pee away. Realization dawned: it was a toilet. Razaq remembered his uncle telling him about them.
“How long have you been here?” he asked Murad, but he was met with a stony silence. Razaq realized with a jolt that Murad would not be his friend.
Chapter 14
Razaq woke to his first day at the white house, as he thought of it. Everything was white: the room he slept in, the bath and the room it was in, even the walls. Murad marched him to another room with a table and benches, not unlike Kazim’s restaurant. Aslam was right about the food: there were parathas and puri halva and chai. There was plenty on the plate, too; Razaq hadn’t eaten so well since before the earthquake.
The children he had seen watching TV the night before sat around the table. There were six, and all seemed younger than Razaq. Most looked about twelve. One of them was a girl. Razaq stole a look at her. She was very pretty with big eyes the color of almonds. Would Feeba have looked
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