wreckage of the

rooms　and　their　furnishings　and　the　savage　violation　of　our　privacy；　than　we

were over my father’s death。 I can tell you from experience； unfortunates

who’ve　lost　loved　ones　are　forted　by　the　unchanged　presence　of　objects　in

the house； they’re lulled by the sameness of the curtains； blankets and

daylight； which； in turn； allows them occasionally to forget that Azrael has

carried　away　their　beloved　or　kin。　The　house　that　my　father　looked　after　with

patience and love； whose nooks and doors he had meticulously embellished；

had　been　mercilessly　vandalized；　thus；　we　were　not　only　devoid　of　fort　and

pleasant　memories　but；　reminded　of　the　pitilessness　of　the　culprit’s　damned

soul；　we　were　terrified　as　well。

When；　for　example；　at　my　insistence　we　went　downstairs；　drew　fresh　water

from　the　well；　performed　our　ablutions　and　were　reciting　from　the　“Family　of

Imran” chapter—which my dearly departed father said he loved so much

because it mentioned hope and death—out of his most cherished Herat…

bound Koran； we were under sway of this terror and alarmed that the

courtyard　gate　had　begun　to　creak。　It　was　nothing。　But；　after　we　checked　that

the　latch　was　locked；　and　barricaded　the　gate　by　moving　with　our　bined

strength the planter of sweet basil that my father would