It was only in the way Father and Dayah stared into each other’s eyes and smiled that I knew how much they loved each other; they would never speak of it out loud, at least not in front of other people, as was the custom. Nevertheless, Dayah wasn’t Father’s greatest love; Kurdistan was. He spent most of his life far from her, fighting the men he called “the cannibals.” Dayah had waited for him, prayed for him, smuggled food up the mountains on a mule for him. Mountains, the only friends of Kurds! Now that he was gone, maybe she thought mountains were her only friend, too? Maybe she was looking for him up there? Maybe she could talk to his soul? She had not shed one tear since father left her.