The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I was just . . . I only meant to . . .”

  “Well, you should think before you say something. She couldn’t even lift her arm this morning. God knows what he did to her.”

  I bit my lip. I had gone to my grandmother’s as my father instructed. I was hoping he would have left Madar-jan alone, but he hadn’t. His toxic anger never went away, not without his medicine. I wanted Shahla to stop telling me how awful he had been to our mother. But I needed to hear. I needed to know what had happened.

  “You’ve ruined everything for all of us. You don’t think. You’re so busy being a boy that you’ve forgotten what can happen to a girl. Now we all have to pay for your selfish mistakes.”

  “It has nothing to do with you. He was angry at Madar-jan so stop worrying about yourself.”

  Shahla was fighting back tears. “You think it was all about Madar-jan? You think everything stops there? Well, it doesn’t. What you do affects all of us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what we all are? We’re all dokhtar-ha-jawan. We’re all young women. Me, Parwin. Even you, Rahim. Even you.”

  She was angry. I’d never seen Shahla so upset. Sitara looked up, sensing the tension.

  “He hit her again. Parwin and I, we were scared to look but we could hear it. He went on yelling and screaming about how it wasn’t bad enough that she had failed him as a wife. Now she was failing as a mother.”

  I remembered how she’d looked, cowering under him. His face had been red with anger, his eyes bulging.

  “She must have fallen to the floor. Her shoulder’s hurt badly. I don’t know. She tried to get him to calm down but he was . . . well, you know how he can get. And then she said something to him that made him stop.”

  “What did she say?” I asked quietly.

  “She said she was taking care of all of us. She said it was a house full of dokhtar-ha-jawan and it wasn’t easy. All of a sudden, he got quiet. Then he started pacing the floor, saying his house was full of young women and that it wasn’t right.”

  “What’s not right?”

  “Don’t you know what people say? They say it’s not right to keep a dokhtar-e-jawan in your home.”

  “What are you supposed to do with them?” I sensed the ugly turn this was taking.

  “What do you think you’re supposed to do? You’re supposed to marry them off. That’s what’s in his head now. And it’s all because you don’t know what to do with yourself. You think just because you’re wearing pants and you strap your breasts down every morning that no one will care what you do. But you’re not a kid anymore. People won’t pretend anymore. You’re no different than me and Parwin.”

  “You think he wants us to get married?”

  “I don’t know what he’s thinking. He left the house after that and he hasn’t come home yet. God knows where he is.”

  Parwin came out of the house with the second load and started hanging sheets on the clothesline. She reached the twine with difficulty. Most of the sheets she tossed over and then pulled the corners from below. Shahla looked as if she were about to help her, then paused, deciding against it. When Parwin finished, she looked up at the sky, blocking the sun with her hand, and mumbled something under her breath.

  I thought of a conversation I’d once overheard. Khala Shaima and my mother thought no one was awake but I was having a hard time sleeping.

  “That’s why it’s important for these girls to go to school, Raisa. They’ll have nothing otherwise. Be wise about it. Look at me and think of what might happen to Parwin.”

  “I know, I know. I worry about her more than the others.”

  “As you should. I was passed over despite everything Madar-jan did. All the friends she talked to, all the special prayers. And look at me, wrinkled and alone. No children of my own. Sometimes I think it’s worked out best for me that your husband is away so much, that ass. At least it gives me more chances to come and spend time with your daughters.”

  “They love having you around, Shaima. They hunger for your stories. You’re the best family they have.”

  “They’re good girls. But be realistic. Before you know it, you’ll have to seriously consider the suitors. Except for Parwin. You’ll be lucky if anyone comes for her.”

  “She’s a beautiful girl.”

  “Bah. The porcupine feels velvet when she rubs her baby’s back. You’re her mother. Parwin-e-lang. That’s what she is. Allah as my witness, I love her as much as you do, but that’s what people call her and you have to be honest with yourself and realize it. Just like I’m Shaima-e-koop. I’ve always been Shaima the hunchback. As long as she goes to school, that at least gives her something. At least she’ll be able to pick up a book and read it. At least she’ll have a chance to know something other than these four walls and the smell of her father’s opium.”

  “She would make a good wife. And mother. She’s a special girl. The way she draws, it’s as if God guides her hands. Sometimes I think she still talks to angels, the way she used to when she was a baby.”

  “Men have little need for special girls. You should know that.”

  I couldn’t imagine Parwin married any more than I could imagine the rest of us married. I drifted off to sleep after that. I dreamed of girls in green veils, hundreds of them, climbing up the mountain to the north of our town. A stream of emerald on the trail to the summit, where, one by one, they fell off the other side, their arms outstretched like wings that should have known how to fly.

  In a three-room house, I couldn’t expect to avoid my mother for long. I saw her puffy lip, her long face, and hoped she saw the remorse in mine.

  “Madar-jan . . . I . . . I’m sorry, Madar-jan.”

  “It’s all right, bachem. It’s as much my fault as it is yours. Look at what I’ve done to you. I should have put a stop to this long ago.”

  “But I don’t want you to—”

  “Things will be changing soon, I’m sure. I’m afraid everything is out of my hands now. We will see what naseeb, what destiny, God has in store for us. Your father acts rashly and it doesn’t help to have your grandmother whispering things into his ear.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?” I asked nervously. I was relieved my mother wasn’t angry with me. She lay on her side, my baby sister next to her. I resisted the urge to curl up with them.

  “Men are unpredictable creatures,” she said, her voice tired and defeated. “God knows what he’ll do.”

  CHAPTER 15

  SHEKIBA

  SHEKIBA FACED A NEW DILEMMA. She wanted to take the deed to the local hakim but she didn’t know if Azizullah would allow such an act. Maybe he would. Men were, after all, unpredictable creatures.

  She decided against asking Azizullah for permission but that meant she needed to get herself to the town’s hakim. She had overheard his name in conversations between Azizullah and his brother, Hafizullah, but she had no inkling where she would find this man. Then there was the issue of getting to him. What possible excuse could she make this time?

  “How was your visit with your family?” Marjan asked.

  “It was pleasant,” Shekiba answered. She was elbow-deep in hot, sudsy water, washing the children’s clothes.

  “And how was Bobo Shahgul? Is she in good health?”

  “Yes,” said Shekiba. Unfortunately, she thought.

  “And the rest of the family? Did you see everyone? All your uncles?”

  “I saw Kaka Zalmai, Sheeragha and Freidun. My other two uncles are still away in the army.”

  Marjan stood over her, a finger on her lip as she pondered something. Shekiba purposely avoided her gaze.

  “You know, I ran into Zarmina-jan, your uncle’s wife, at the hammam last week. She told me that she was surprised that you wanted to visit your family for Eid.”

  Shekiba’s neck muscles tightened.

  “She said that you did not adjust well to Bobo Shahgul’s house after your father’s dea
th.”

  Khala Zarmina. What are you up to?

  “Were you angry to be sent here?”

  Shekiba shook her head.

  “Well, I hope not. This was an arrangement that everybody agreed to so I hope that you are not intending to carry out the same kind of behaviors here in this home.”

  Shekiba felt a fire burn in her belly. “This is a different place,” she said in a bitter voice.

  “Good. Just be warned that we do not tolerate disrespectful behavior. I will not have my children learning . . . such things!”

  Shekiba nodded.

  But Marjan was uncomfortable with her. Maybe Khala Zarmina had said something more.

  She prepared the family’s dinner and ate quietly in the kitchen. She liked to listen to the children bickering with each other. Amid the din, she heard Marjan tell Azizullah that she had something she needed to discuss with him later.

  Shekiba knew it would be about her.

  In the night she heard Marjan’s soft yelps and knew that Azizullah was taking his wife. This was something Shekiba had learned in her grandmother’s house. From where she slept in the kitchen, she could hear the same grunts and pants through the wall and would see Kaka Zalmai emerge from their room refreshed while Samina avoided Shekiba’s gaze and busied herself with her children. The women often joked about it when the children were out of earshot but they did not mind Shekiba hearing them.

  “You’ve been working on that sweater for over a week, Zarmina! When are you going to finish?”

  “Sounds like what I hear you saying to your husband in the middle of the night, Nargis!”

  Laughter and a hand clapped against someone’s back. Shekiba listened closely, intrigued by the rare moments of camaraderie amongst the women.

  Nargis giggled and shot back without hesitation.

  “Mahtub-gul can hardly see beyond her huge breasts to know what is happening below.”

  Laughter again. Samina looked in Shekiba’s direction and seemed uncomfortable to have her in the room. Zarmina noticed and raised her teacup.

  “I wouldn’t worry about her, Samina dear. Remember, she was her father’s son so it’s in her best interests to learn the way things are from women. Imagine if you had no idea what your wedding night had in store for you! Let her be aware.”

  Samina clucked her tongue. “Knowing would only make it worse.”

  Shekiba had thought of her statement often. What was worse about it? Whatever it was, her aunts made it sound awful but tolerable. They were laughing about it, after all.

  Hearing Marjan’s soft sighs and gasps came as no surprise. It was the thing that transpired between a husband and wife and it was how women became heavy with child. This much Shekiba had pieced together.

  After a few moments, the grunts ceased and Shekiba could hear the sounds of a conversation. She pressed her ear to the wall.

  “And Zarmina told you she did that?”

  “Yes, that’s what she said. And now I know why Bobo Shahgul was so eager to make this arrangement. She didn’t want to have this girl in her house.”

  “I’ve never trusted those boys. Especially Freidun. They think the world of themselves but not one of those sons is a quarter of the man their father was. Their mother is right to keep a close eye on them.”

  “But what are we to do with Shekiba-e-shola? True, she does her work around the house well enough but I am afraid that she will turn on us as she did with her own grandmother. What if she threatens to put a curse on our family as well?”

  Put a curse on the family?

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “And Zarmina said that even though she had been doing the chores as a son, that the girl has the spirit of a wild woman. The last thing this home needs to invite is scandal and rumor.”

  “And what is it that you think we should do?”

  “I think you should send her back.”

  “Send her back?”

  “Yes! For the sake of everyone in this house. Take her back and tell her uncles that they will have to settle their debt in another way. We cannot have her.”

  “I see.” Marjan was wise to bring up the matter now, with Azizullah feeling spent and relaxed.

  “But we mustn’t tell them why we want to send her back. Zarmina specifically asked me to keep all this to myself.”

  “I bet she did.”

  There was silence. Shekiba felt betrayed and then wondered why she was surprised by her aunt’s accusations.

  What does she want? Does Zarmina want me back in the house? Why?

  “It’s going to be a shame to lose her help but I have a bad feeling about this girl. I cannot shake Zarmina’s words from my mind.” Shekiba thought of Marjan’s nervous behavior the last couple days and almost laughed.

  For a while, she relished the idea that she could be so formidable a threat.

  “If I take her back, it will create a rift between our families and that is not in our best interests. By the looks of their land, I anticipate that the family will be again knocking on our door to borrow money. Not a single one of them knows how to grow a crop. But I have another idea,” Azizullah said.

  “What is it?”

  “You worry about the children and look after the house. Did I not say I would take care of it?” Marjan’s window of opportunity was quickly closing. Azizullah’s impatience was returning. “Let me talk to Hafizullah about it but there may be a way to get rid of this girl if she is so bothersome to you. And at the same time, we may be able to secure our position in this community. There are changes coming and Hafizullah has high aspirations.”

  SHEKIBA KEPT HER EYES AND EARS OPEN in the next few days, looking for any sign of what Azizullah’s plan might be. He was out of the house most of the time, undoubtedly meeting with Hafizullah about his mystery plan. Shekiba grew more and more frightened.

  Women who brought scandal or trouble to a home were not tolerated. Even a naïve girl like Shekiba knew as much. Shekiba began to fear for her life.

  She tried to gauge her situation through Marjan.

  “Khanum Marjan,” Shekiba said quietly. Marjan was darning socks. She jumped at Shekiba’s voice.

  “I . . . excuse me! I did not mean to startle you! I was going to prepare dinner.”

  “Oh, Shekiba!” Her hand covered her chest. Marjan shook her head. “Why do you sneak around like that? Go ahead and begin dinner. Azizullah will be hungry when he returns from outside.”

  Shekiba fidgeted for a moment before daring to ask.

  “Khanum Marjan? May I ask a question?”

  Marjan looked up expectantly.

  “When you . . . when you spoke to Khala Zarmina . . . what did she tell you? I mean, about me.”

  Marjan turned back to her socks and looked up at Shekiba from the corner of her eye.

  “What does it matter?”

  “I would like to know.”

  “She said that you argue.”

  “Argue? With who?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I did not argue with anyone there. I did everything they asked of me.”

  “Well, seems like you’re arguing right now, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she replied adamantly. She was desperate to defend herself. “I am not arguing! But whatever she said about me is not true!”

  “Shekiba! Lower your voice! Forget what they said. Just busy yourself with the chores.”

  Shekiba felt helpless. She retreated into the kitchen to begin dinner, angry and frustrated and forced to hide it.

  TWO DAYS LATER AZIZULLAH CAME HOME with his brother. They sat in the living room and shared a lunch of rice and eggplant. Shekiba frantically searched for excuses to loiter around the living room door, eager to hear their conversation.

  “They will be traveling with around thirty people. I have asked that the house be readied. We are sparing no expense.”

  “Your home will suit them fine, my brother. Better than our simple home would. Have you enough food for the night?”<
br />
  “Yes, I’ve called in all my favors in town and we’re going to have a meal that even the king himself will talk about! It is costing me more than I had anticipated but I think this will be a great opportunity. For the both of us, do not forget.” Hafizullah was slick with confidence.

  “I will be there for sure and if there’s anything we can do, we will do it,” Azizullah said. “But there is something I would like to offer to the king.”

  “Oh? And what is that?” Hafizullah said, a half-chewed morsel still in his mouth.

  “I would like to offer King Habibullah a gift of a servant.”

  Shekiba’s heart began to pound.

  “A servant? Which servant?”

  “I do not have that many from which to choose,” Azizullah said, chuckling.

  “You mean Shekiba-e-shola?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about this. Brother, do you really think it is wise to make such a halfhearted offering to the king? You may anger him, you know.”

  “She is a good worker and will serve the palace well. Is there not a way to make an honorable gesture of her?”

  Shekiba, the gesture. Shekiba, the gift.

  She felt insignificant and disposable to hear herself described that way. Again.

  “Well, let me think on it. It is possible, I suppose. I mean, it’s not as if he needs to see her face . . . but you know there may be a good use for this girl in the palace after all. Now that I think of it—I just had a conversation with a general. You know General Homayoon, don’t you?”

  “Yes, that no-good money-hungry fool. What were you doing with him?”

  “He is a money-hungry fool but he’s likely going to be promoted, so watch what you say about him. Better to have this fool as your friend than your enemy. He told me that he has been placed in charge of recruiting soldiers to help guard King Habibullah’s harem. The king doesn’t trust men to watch over his women and he has collected a group of women who are kept as men. This way he need not worry that his guards will take advantage of his ladies.”