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  • ccy8

    2018-01-22 10:15:35

  • ccy8

    2018-01-19 11:28:00

    He stood up, paced around the sofa once, twice. Sat down again. He spoke rapidly. "Door to door we went, calling for the men and the boys. We'd shoot them right there in front of their families. Let them see. Let them remember who they were, where they belonged.?He was almost panting now. "Sometimes, we broke down their doors and went inside their Homes. And... I'd... I'd sweep the barrel of my machine gun around the room and fire and fire until the smoke blinded me.?He leaned toward me, like a man about to share a great secret. "You don't know the meaning of the word ‘liberating?until you've done that, stood in a roomful of targets, let the bullets fly, free of guilt and remorse, knowing you are virtuous, good, and decent. Knowing you're doing God's work. It's breathtaking.?He kissed the prayer beads, tilted his head. "You remember that, Javid??
    "Yes, Agha sahib,?the younger of the guards replied. "How could I forget??
    I had read about the Hazara massacre in Mazar-i-Sharif in the pa

  • ccy6

    2018-01-19 11:18:53

    The door opened and the two armed men returned, between them the tall Talib in white, still wearing his dark John Lennon glasses, looking like some broad-shouldered, NewAge mystic guru.
    He took a seat across from me and lowered his hands on the armrests. For a long time, he said nothing. Just sat there, watching me, one hand drumming the upholstery, the other twirling turquoise blue prayer beads. He wore a black vest over the white shirt now, and a gold watch. I saw a splotch of dried blood on his left sleeve. I found it morbidly fascinating that he hadn't changed clothes after the executions earlier that day.The door opened and the two armed men returned, between them the tall Talib in white, still wearing his dark John Lennon glasses, looking like some broad-shouldered, NewAge mystic guru.
    He took a seat across from me and lowered his hands on the armrests. For a long time, he said nothing. Just sat there, watching me, one hand drumming the upholstery, the other twirling turquoise

  • ccy3

    2018-01-19 11:00:23

    u call yourself a director??Farid said.
    Zaman dropped his hands. "I haven't been paid in over six months. I'm broke because I've spent my life's savings on this orphanage. Everything I ever owned or inherited I sold to run this godforsaken place. You think I don't have family in Pakistan and Iran? I could have run like everyone else. But I didn't. I stayed. I stayed because of them.?He pointed to the door.

  • ccy1

    2018-01-19 10:24:55

    "Your friend is quite right, Agha. You might as well poke a rabid dog with a stick,?someone said. This new voice belonged to an old beggar sitting barefoot on the steps of a bullet-scarred building. He wore a threadbare chapan worn to frayed shreds and a dirt-crusted turban. His left eyelid drooped over an empty socket. With an arthritic hand, he pointed to the direction the red truck had gone. "They drive around looking. Looking and hoping that someone will provoke them. Sooner or later, someone always obliges. Then the dogs feast and the day's boredom is broken at last and everyone says ‘Allah-u-akbar!?And on those days when no one offends, well, there is always random violence, isn't there??
    "Keep your eyes on your feet when the Talibs are near,?Farid said.
    "Your friend dispenses good advice,?the old beggar chimed in. He barked a wet cough and spat in a soiled handkerchief. "Forgive me, but could you spare a few Afghanis??he breathed.

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