Their honeymoon lasted long enough. But Dan managed to find a work at the Pentagon. Aisha quickly enough adapted for her new collective at work and won love and respect of employees.
They rented a small apartment in Virginia. Thanks to Aisha’s efforts, the house turned into a cozy nest, of which they sometimes didn’t get out for the days. Each their evening of love was the fairy tale of the Arabian Nights. “I can’t wait when there comes a night!” Dan joked, and Aisha roared with the happy laughter. “No need to wait for the night!” she mumbled playfully, and he ran after her on the small apartment. Sometimes in the evenings they were leaving for a walk around the city.
Dan was tormenting still by the war nightmares. Once he saw how one bearded Mujahedeen smothers him. He shouted, but didn’t hear his own voice, and woke up on his own howl. Another time he dreamed that it appears they killed Aisha, but not her brother and father! Dan with a shout woke up, and saw how she with compassion bent over him in the bed. He clung to her, tenderly kissing, and didn’t let out from his embraces till the early morning.
Once near the DuPont square they met a group of the women with children who were wrapped up in the scarves, and briskly talking on Farsi. Aisha shuddered, and he tenderly squeezed her hand: her eyes were full of tears!
“Maybe you could talk?” Dan asked, in sympathy looking in her eyes. She negatively shook the head. They came back home in full silence. Dan got on the road, the Benny Hill’s show and, having come home thievishly put a disk, looking back. He hoped to lighten her mood. It took an effect: after a while Aisha appeared in front of the screen and burst with the child’s laughter through her tears.