dropping bombs on innocent people and others are raping girls. More important, our leaders are raping the whole land, while we are exchanging talks about our fatherland like a volcano vomiting. Let us drink and forget our aching prayers." I raved on, indifferent to the poor, ravished girls. I stood up and looked out at the sun, like a golden ball growing smaller, which was disappearing behind the fast shut eyelid of the ocean.
" Did you not hear what I just said?" asked Abdullah with the sound of anger in his voice, thinking I wasn ' t listening or that I cared not for what was happening in our country. He set his glass down heavily, seeming very annoyed.
" Yes, I heard you. Speak, I ' m listening."
Abdullah stared at me for a while. Finally he began: " Neeha is a Pakistani girl. She left home at a very tender age. She was sold to a brothel house and was exposed to endless rapes."
Abdullah walked toward the window where I stood, both hands in the pockets of his pants, as though in thought. He then turned his back toward me. I could tell something was not right as he walked toward the table.
I frowned. " Girls are taught about this danger from an early age. When a young pretty girl runs away from home, she takes her chances."
I felt no remorse for my unconcern. However, I then spotted an opportunity. Perhaps the outrages about which Abdullah wished to speak would make a good story, a story which might be beneficial to my reputation as a writer. As the band played the unmistakable theme song from " Magnolia Girls ", I clinked my glass with Abdullah ' s and urged him to go on.
Abdullah continued, while the music ' s resounding beat snaked through the bar. " Neeha ran away from home because she had been raped by her father."
I snorted with disbelief.
" Believe it, my dear writer," Abdullah said. " Facts are always strange."
He looked at me closely. " Shall I continue?"
I was not sure. Abdullah and I had been friends since college, and I ' d never known him to lie. But it was such a bitter truth, so hard to believe.
Why her father? It was such a disgusting truth. As I sat with my face in my hands, pouring out
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