er of one hand。 Poked the middle finger of his other hand through the circle。 Poked it in and out。 In and out。 I knew your mother； did you know that？ I knew her real good。 I took her from behind by that creek over there。
The soldiers laughed。 One of them made a squealing sound。 I told Hassan to keep walking； keep walking。
What a tight little sugary cunt she had！ the soldier was saying； shaking hands with the others； grinning。 Later； in the dark； after the movie had started； I heard Hassan next to me； croaking。 Tears were sliding down his cheeks。 I reached across my seat； slung my arm around him； pulled him close。 He rested his head on my shoulder。 He took you for someone else； I whispered。 He took you for someone else。
I m told no one was really surprised when Sanaubar eloped。 People _had_ raised their eyebrows when Ali； a man who had memorized the Koran； married Sanaubar； a woman nineteen years younger； a beautiful but notoriously unscrupulous woman who lived up to her dishonorable reputation。 Like Ali； she was a Shi a Muslim and an ethnic Hazara。 She was also his first cousin and therefore a natural choice for
a spouse。 But beyond those similarities； Ali and Sanaubar had little in mon； least of all their respective appearances。 While Sanaubar s brilliant green eyes and impish face had； rumor has it； tempted countless men into sin； Ali had a congenital paralysis of his lower facial muscles； a condition that rendered him unable to smile and left him perpetually grimfaced。 It was an odd thing to see the stone…faced Ali happy； or sad； because only his slanted brown eyes glinted with a smile or welled with sorrow。 People say that eyes are windows to the soul。 Never was that more true than with Ali； who could only reveal himself through his eyes。
I have heard that Sanaubar s suggestive stride and oscillating hips sent men to reveries of infidelity。 But polio had left Ali with a twisted； atrophied right leg that was sallow skin over bone with little in between except a paper…thin layer of muscle。 I remember one day； when I was eight； Ali was taking me to the bazaar to buy some _naan_。 I was walking behind him； humming； trying to imitate his walk。 I watched him swing his scraggy leg in a sweeping arc； watched his whole body tilt impossibly to the right every time he planted that foot。 It seemed a minor miracle he didn t tip over with each step。 When I tried it； I almost fell into the gutter。 That got me giggling。 Ali turned around； caught me aping him。 He didn t say anything。 Not then； not ever。 He just kept walking。
Ali s face and his walk frightened some of the younger children in the neighborhood。 But the real trouble was with the older kids。 They chased him on the street； and mocked him when he hobbled by。 Some had taken to calling him _Babalu_； or Boogeyman。
Hey； Babalu； who did you eat today？ they barked to a chorus of laughter。 Who did you eat； you flat…nosed Babalu？
They called him flat…nosed because of Ali and Hassan s characteristic Hazara Mongoloid features。 For years； that was all I knew about the Hazaras； that they were Mogul descendants； and that they looked a little like Chinese people。 School text books barely mentioned them and referred to their ancestry only in passing。 Then one day； I was in Baba s study； looking through his stuff； when I found one of my mother s old history books。 It was written by an Iranian named Khorami。 I blew the dust off it； sneaked it into bed with me that night； and was stunned to find an entire chapter on Hazara history。 An entire chapter dedicated to Hassan s people！ In it； I read that my people； the Pashtuns； had persecuted and oppressed the Hazaras。 It said the Hazaras had tried to rise against the Pashtuns in the nineteenth century； but the Pashtuns had quelled them with unspeakable violence。 The book said that my people had killed the Hazaras； driven them from their lands； burned their homes； and sold their women。 The book said part of the reason Pashtuns had oppressed the Hazaras was that Pashtuns were Sunni Muslims； while Hazaras were Shi a。 The book said a lot of things I didn t know； things my teachers hadn t mentioned。 Things Baba hadn t mentioned either。 It also said some things I did know； like that people called Hazaras _mice…eating； flat…nosed； load…carrying donkeys_。 I had heard some of the kids in the neighborhood yell those names to Hassan。
The following week； after class； I showed the book to my teacher and pointed to the chapter on the Hazaras。 He skimmed through a couple of pages； snickered； handed the book back。 That s the one thing Shi a people do well； he said； picking up his papers； passing themselves as martyrs。 He wrinkled his nose when he said the word Shi a； like it was some kind of disease。
But despite sharing ethnic heritage and family blood； Sanaubar joined the neighborhood kids in taunting Ali。 I have heard that she made no secret of her disdain for his appearance。
This is a husband？ she would sneer。 I have seen old donkeys better suited to be a husband。
In the end； most people suspected the marriage had been an arrangement of sorts between Ali and his uncle； Sanaubar s father。 They said Ali had married his cousin to help restore some honor to his uncle s blemished name； even though Ali； who had been orphaned at the age of five； had no worldly possessions or inheritance to speak of。
Ali never retaliated against any of his tormentors； I suppose partly because he could never catch them with that twisted leg dragging behind him。 But mostly because Ali was immune to the insults of his assailants； he had found his joy； his antidote； the moment Sanaubar had given birth to Ha