The yellow burqa tries to free itself from his painful grasp. You’re mad! Let me go or I’ll scream. . . .
I won’t leave you alone anymore, Zunaira. Since you can’t find me, you’ll never have to look for me again.
I’m not your Zunaira, you poor fool. If you don’t get out of here, my brothers will kill you.
Lift your hood. I want to see your face, your beautiful houri’s face. . . .
The burqa sacrifices its side panel to his grasp and vanishes. Some boys who have assisted at this scene pick up stones and begin flinging them at the madman until he retreats the way he came. One of the projectiles has split the side of Atiq’s head open, and blood is pouring over his ear as he starts running, at first with little steps, but then, as he approaches the square, with longer and longer strides, his breathing hoarse, his nostrils dripping, foam boiling out of his mouth. Zunaira, Zunaira, he babbles, tossing aside bystanders in his search for a burqa. As his frenzy mounts, he starts chasing women down and—O sacrilege!—lifting their veils above their heads. Zunaira, I know you’re in there. Come out of your hiding place. There’s nothing to fear. No one will hurt you. I’ve taken care of everything. I won’t let anyone bother you. . . .
Indignant cries ring out. Atiq doesn’t hear them. His hands snatch at veils, violently tearing them away, sometimes capsizing the cornered women. Whenever one of them resists, he throws her to the ground and hauls her around in the dust, only releasing her when he’s certain that she’s not the one he’s searching for. The first cudgel blow lands on the back of his neck, but he does not falter. As though catapulted by a supernatural force, he continues his wild career. Soon the scandalized crowd fans out to contain him. The women scatter, screaming; he manages to seize a few, tears their clothes, lifts their heads by the hair. The cudgel is followed by whips, and these by fists and feet. The men who have been “dishonored” trample their women to get at the madman. Demon! Fiend! Atiq has a vague sensation of being carried away by a landslide. He’s kicked by a thousand shabby shoes, buffeted by a thousand sticks, lashed by a thousand whips. Pervert! Monster! Crushed under the tumult, he collapses. The furious pack, sensing the kill, hurls itself upon him. He has just enough time to notice that his shirt has disappeared, torn to shreds by vicious fingers, that blood is running down his chest and arms in thick streams, and that his eyebrows have burst, rendering it impossible for him to measure the unquenchable fury of his assailants. A few fragmented shouts reach his ears amid the rain of blows that keep him pinned to the ground. Hang him! Crucify him! Burn him alive! All of a sudden, his head starts to oscillate, and his surroundings slide into darkness. There follows a solemn, intense silence, and as he closes his eyes, Atiq entreats his ancestors that his sleep may be as unfathomable as the secrets of the night.
FIRST ANCHOR BOOKS EDITION, MARCH 2005
English language translation copyright © 2004 by John Cullen
Copyright © 2002 by Yasmina Khadra
Anchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks
of Random House, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations,
places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the
Nan A. Talese/Doubleday edition as follows:
Khadra, Yasmina.
[Hirondelles de Kaboul. English]
The swallows of Kabul : a novel / Yasmina Khadra ; translated from the French
by John Cullen.
p. cm.
1. Kåbol (Afghanistan)—Fiction. I. Cullen, John, 1942– II. Title.
PQ3989.2.K386H5713 2004
843’.92—dc21 2003050769
eISBN : 978-0-307-42942-1
www.anchorbooks.com
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