I rented a house in the village of Khwajamollah, about two and a half miles away from Kabul. I acquired a servant too, along with the house...
I rented a house in the village of Khwajamollah, about two and a half miles away from Kabul. I acquired a servant too, along with the house.
I shared the house with Principal Girard, head of the college where I was going to teach, and his wife. Professor Girard was French. He introduced us formally, “His name is Abdur Rahman. He will do all your bidding – from polishing your shoes to killing your enemies.” It meant he was my “Harfan-Moula”, my “Jack of all trades.”
Girard was a busy man. He spent his whole day fighting in the offices of various ministers. That was called work in Kabul. “Au revoir, see you in the evening,” he would say every morning, and with that he was gone.
I had seen two giants in Kabul. One was this Abdur Rahman – I will talk about the other one later.
I once measured him from head to toe with a tape – he was six feet four inches. His width was proportionate to his height. His arms came down to his knees and his fingers hung from there like a bunch of plantains. His feet were the size of a small boat. His shoulders were so broad that...
