The Breadwinner by Deborah Ellis Page A

settled on the floor of the truck. Parvana said goodbye to Maryam after that, then lifted her into the truck.
    â€œWe will see you by the middle of September,” Mother said as she hugged Parvana. “Make me proud of you.”
    â€œI will,” Parvana said, trying not to cry.
    â€œI don’t know when we’ll see each otheragain,” Nooria said just before she climbed into the truck. She had Parvana’s gift clutched in her hand.
    â€œIt won’t be long,” Parvana said, grinning even though tears fell from her eyes. “As soon as your new husband realizes how bossy you are, he’ll send you back to Kabul as fast as he can.”
    Nooria laughed and climbed into the truck. She and Mother covered themselves with their burqas. The women’s group member and her husband were sitting in the front seat. Parvana and Mrs. Weera watched and waved as the truck drove out of sight.
    â€œI think we could both use a cup of tea,” Mrs. Weera said, and they went upstairs.
    Parvana found the next few weeks to be a strange time. With only herself, Mrs. Weera and Mrs. Weera’s grandchild, the apartment seemed almost empty. Fewer people meant fewer chores, less noise and more free time. Parvana even missed Ali’s fussing. As the weeks went by, she looked forward more and more to everyone coming back.
    Still, she did enjoy having more free time. For the first time since Father’s arrest, she tookhis books out of their secret place in the cupboard. Evenings were spent reading and listening to Mrs. Weera’s stories.
    Mrs. Weera believed in trusting her. “In some parts of the country, girls your age are getting married and having babies,” she said. “I’m here if you need me, but if you want to be responsible for yourself, that’s fine, too.”
    She insisted that Parvana keep some of her wages as pocket money. Sometimes Parvana would treat Shauzia to lunch at one of the kebab stands in the market. They’d find a sheltered place to go to the bathroom and keep working all day. Parvana preferred to come home at the end of the day, rather than at noon. It meant that one more day was over, and her family would soon be home.
    Toward the end of August, there was a bad rainstorm. Shauzia had already gone home. She had seen the darkening sky and didn’t feel like getting wet.
    Parvana wasn’t so clever, and she got caught in the rain. She covered her tray with her arms to keep her cigarettes dry and ducked into a bombed-out building. She would wait out the storm there and go home when it was over.
    The darkness outside made the inside even blacker. It took awhile for her eyes to adjust. While she waited for that to happen, she leaned against the doorway, watching the rain turn Kabul’s dust into mud.
    Gusts of wind mixed with driving rain forced Parvana deeper inside the building. Hoping there were no land mines, she found a dry spot and sat down. The pounding of the rain beat a steady rhythm as it hit the ground. Parvana began to nod. In a little while, she was asleep.
    When she woke up, the rain had stopped, although the sky was no lighter.
    â€œIt must be late,” Parvana said out loud.
    It was then that she heard the sound of a woman crying.

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    The sound was too soft and too sad to be startling.
    â€œHello?” Parvana called out, not too loudly.
    It was too dark to see where the woman was sitting. Parvana rummaged
     around on her tray until she found a box of the matches she sold with the cigarettes.
     She struck one, and the light flared up. She held the flame out in front of her, looking
     for the crying woman.
    It took three matches before she saw the figure huddled against the nearby
     wall. She kept striking matches so she could see as she made her way over to the
     woman.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Parvana asked. The woman kept
     crying. “I’ll tell you my name, then. It’s Parvana. I should tell you