"I sat on a park bench near a willow tree. I thought about something Rahim Khan said just before he hung up almost as an after thought. There is a way to be good again."
"When we were children, Hassan and I used to climb the poplar trees in the driveway of our fathers house and annoy our neighbors by reflecting sunlight into their homes with a shard of mirror."
"Lore has it my father once wrestled a black bear in Balichistan with his bare hands."
There was an old abandoned cemetery atop the hill with rows of unmarked headstones and tangles of brushwood clogging the aisles. Seasons of rain and snow had turned the iron gate rusty and left the cemetery's low white stone walls in decay. There was a pomegranate tree near the entrance to the cemetery.
Something roared like thunder. The Earth shook a little and we heard the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. "Father!" Hassan cried. We sprang to our feet and raced out the living room.
Blocking Hassan's way out of the alley were three boys, the same three from that day on the hill...Wali was standing on one side, Kamal on the other, and in the middle Assef.