As she walked to the market place, her head felt light without the weight of her hair or chador. She could feel the sun on her face, and a light breeze floating down from the mountain made the air fresh and fine.
It was safer to say father was ill then tell people he'd been arrested. No one wanted to look like an enemy of the government.
I am a letter reader. I can write and read in Dari and Pashtu.
Parvana spread her blanket on the hard clay of the market, arranged her goods for sale to one side, as father had done, and spread her pens and writing paper out in front of her. Then she sat down and waited for costumers.
She was looking the other way when someone stopped. She felt the shadow before she saw it, as the man moved between her and the sun. Turning her head, she saw the dark turban that was the uniform of the Taliban.
Parvana took a deep breath. I am a letter reader, she said in Pashtu, in a voice that she hoped was loud enough. I can read and write in Dari and Pashtu. If this was a customer, she hoped her Pashtu would be good enough.
Parvana folded it and gave it back to him. His hands trembled as he put the letter back in the envelope. she saw a tear fall from his eye. It rolled down his cheek until it landed in his beard.