“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.