A Fort of Nine Towers: An Afghan Family Story

I have long carried this load of griefs in the cage of my heart. Now I have given them to you. I hope you are strong enough to hold them.

In the time before the fighting, before the rockets, before the warlords and their false promises, before the sudden disappearance of so many people we knew to graves or foreign lands, before the Taliban and their madness, before the smell of death hung daily in the air and the ground was soaked in blood, we lived well.

Death only breaks the cage, but it does not hurt the bird.

The moon floats in a dark blue space, and shames billions of stars by its light. She has things to tell you; in fact she is talking to you,

Now we had peace in Kabul, and we did not see blood and corpses and body parts on the streets anymore. But it was an unhappy peace, a frightened peace. We did not know what was going to happen next.

In Dari we say, ''If you sit with good people, you will become a good person. If you sit with bad people, you will become a bad person.

I had always expected I would see our Buddha again. But the storm of ignorance that has been raging in Afghanistan for so many decades smashed him to bits before I could return. I once lived inside his head. Now he lives in mine.

This garden is not mine, it is God's'' the old man replied. ''He gave it to me for use by those who need it for as long as they want. In fact, He is the owner of everything, and whatever He gives us, it is with us for only a few days.

I remember the time I had cut a rose from one of these bushes. The owner told me, ''A flower looks happiest on its bush. That is where it belongs.'' Since then, I have never cut a flower, because he was right. But I could not imagine how anyone had cut the heads of these men and women. They belonged on their bodies, I thought.

A broken hand can work, but a broken heart cannot.

First it was dozen people who were killed. Then it was a hundred. Then a thousand. It was like when a forest catches fire, both the dry and the wet burn.

Perhaps someday I will understand all these things better. Perhaps others will, as well. Perhaps this book will help Insh'allah.

Nisam znao sve do mnogo godina poslije da brak ima tri faze. Prva faza je da ti govoriš, a tvoja žena sluša. Druga faza je da ona govori, a ti slušaš. A treća faza je da oboje govorite, a susjedi slušaju.

Jer ti imaš tatu, a ja nemam", rekao je drhtavim glasom. "Svakoga dana kad se probudiš, otac te poljubi u obraz. Svakog dana vježbaš sa svojim ocem, pusti te da ga pobijediš, igra se s tobom, zadirkuje te, sjedi na krevetu pored tebe kad si bolestan, budi se usred noći vidjeti kako si kad imaš noćne more ili mrmljaš u snu, upozori te kad učiniš nešto loše, upozorava te na tvoje greške, pokušava ih popraviti s tobom, želi da se uspneš što više na ljestvama života, s tobom je sve vrijeme. Možeš si dopustiti da padneš jer znaš da je tu otac koji će te uhvatiti," Riječi su izlazile u bujici. "Tko će mene uhvatiti kad padnem? Kad se spotaknem i razbijem na komadiće, nema nikog da me pokupi. Moram se pribrati i nastaviti sa svojim životom. Želim svog tatu. Želim da me uhvati kad padnem.

..I believe when we die at least a small part of us enters the one whom we loved the most, and makes that person wiser.

is no room left in my heart for anything but the beautiful faces of my village girls. You have to know, how you will see her face with the light of the sun and the moon reflecting in her eyes. Wait and hope with all your vain fancies and dreams to see her face on a cloudy dark night.