By Deborah Rodriguez
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Extra resources for A Cup of Friendship
Here, too, was Behzad, the one and only English-language bookstore in the country, where she and her friends bought books that they discussed as if experts on Oprah, and the store next door where they got their DVDs. On Flower Street itself, her breath caught in her throat. Amid the rubble and pale beige stone, and sitting next to an open sewer, there were the roses. In pink and peach, in red and white and yellow, roses everywhere, in every stall in every shop, the pride of Kabul, glorious and life affirming.
Asked Bashir Hadi. Bashir was very serious, which worried her. “Of course,” she said, closing the computer and turning to face him. Bashir pulled a stool behind him and sat. ” Sunny interrupted, her heart leaping into her throat. What would she do without Bashir? She’d come to rely on him so. “No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “But I am concerned. I know it was very busy today, but it won’t be busy this afternoon or tonight. Miss Sunny, we must talk about the money. ” “But Miss Sunny, we need more money to keep the café safe.
Look at Yazmina, Sunny thought, who was cleaning a table toward the back of the coffeehouse. Only a few weeks ago Sunny had brought her here and introduced her to indoor plumbing and electricity. When she’d turned on the light in her room for the first time, Yazmina jumped. Halajan had had to explain the use of the toilet, which made Sunny smile just remembering her crude explanation. But when Yazmina told Halajan that where she was from, you never did your dirty business in the house and that it was very primitive of them to do such business under the same roof where they ate and slept, Halajan folded over in laughter.