‘Will God…’ he began, and choked a little. ‘Will God put me in hell for what I did to that man?’
‘Because—’ he said, gasping and hitching between sobs, ‘because I don’t want them to see me…I’m so dirty.’ He sucked in his breath and let it out in a long, wheezy cry. ‘I’m so dirty and full of sin.’
Now I was the one under the microscope, the one who had to prove my worthiness. I deserved this.
The last time I had felt a rush like this was that day in the winter of 1975, just after I had cut the last kite, when I spotted Baba on our rooftop, clapping, beaming.