Stories of blackmail and violence involving hookers flashed in Ahmad ' s mind. With a flush of indignation, he jumped to his feet, wondering whom Reshma was whispering to in the next room. He threw the door open, about to accuse her of tricking him, but instead of a conspiracy, he found her gently rocking an infant in her arms. She was whispering sweet nothings to the whimpering child, trying to lull the baby to sleep, but he reached for her breast, suckling with wide open eyes. Reshma stroked the baby’ s head and looked up.
Ahmad forced himself to smile, although he knew the smile wobbled, bobbed his head, then swung around, grabbed his coat from the adjacent room and left the house.
Unable to shake off the image of Reshma cradling the infant, and wracked with guilt over his suspicions, he was at the end of the narrow dark street already when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
It was Reshma, short of breath, the infant cradled in her arms.“ Ahmad, I called out to you, but you didn’ t hear me. I’ m so sorry, I had been away for too long and the baby was hungry and wouldn’ t go to sleep.”
Ahmad looked at the infant, who was sleeping at last.“ Reshma,” he said,“ your son needs you. You don ' t need to worry about me.”
Reshma ' s eyes glistened as she reached into the infant’ s blanket and handed Ahmad his five hundred rupees.“ Take this. It belongs to you.”
“ No,” Ahmad said, gently pushing her hand away.“ Consider it a gift for your son. I’ m not taking it back.”
“ No, it’ s forbidden,” Reshma said, pressing the money into his hand.“ I can’ t give unearned money to my son.” She started to turn away, and then paused.“ My God is already unhappy with me.”
Ahmad didn ' t reply. A single sentence will suffice... he mused, tears welling from his gloomy eyes, even though the wind had died down and the dust swirls no longer tormented him. Whoever might be unhappy with you, I am sure it is not your God.
Ahmad watched mother and child walk away, then hurried home through the bustling streets of the red light district.
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