The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  Karim was two years older and looked after her sister. She quickly overcame her timidity and became second in command, arguing with Ghafoor so that she would not dominate them completely. Qasim was quieter and missed the family. She was taller than her sister by an inch but hunched her shoulders, prompting Ghafoor to poke her repeatedly in the back until she learned to stand as a guard should.

  Tariq, the newest addition, was different from the others. She carried out her duties well enough but fantasized that she would be noticed by the king and recruited to his court of women. She was the shortest of the group and plumper in the face, with chestnut hair that she had been told no man could resist. She would not say where the compliment had come from but she refused to let the defeminizing uniform spoil her chances. She made sure her hips swayed when she walked and batted her eyes when the king neared. Of all the women in the harem, she guarded Benafsha most, feeling kinship with the former guard who had enticed the king.

  Ghafoor and Karim rolled their eyes at her often but tolerated her occasional fantasies. Every guard had her own way of coping.

  Ghafoor introduced Shekiba to a few of the king’s concubines, the women who kept the king satisfied. Benafsha was the youngest of the group. She knew why Tariq favored her over the others but refused to indulge any details of the king. Whenever Tariq asked her about the monarch, she would shake her head and adjust her skirt. She was lightest in complexion and her eyes were light brown with speckled irises. Tariq could see why she had attracted the king’s attention. She was the most beautiful, now that Halima’s face had begun to show her years.

  Halima, the eldest of the group, had borne the king two daughters over the years. The girls were two and four years old and bore a striking resemblance to their mother. Halima stroked their hair and sighed wistfully, realizing the king beckoned to her less often and wondering what that would mean for her and her daughters. Halima was kind and motherly and tempered the bickering of the others.

  Benazir, the darkest, had ebony eyes that teared easily these days. She was with child and terrified. Her belly had just started to swell but she had been ill for weeks, unable to keep down more than a few mouthfuls of rice at a time. She would stare at the walls and started when Halima put a hand on her shoulder.

  Sakina and Fatima were feistier girls, but less beautiful than the others. Fatima had borne a son, which gave her an edge over the others. They were friendly enough, but unlike good-natured Halima, they were usually the instigators of any turbulence in the harem. Sakina in particular despised Benafsha, knowing that her ranking in the harem had dropped notches with the temptress’s arrival. And Benafsha knew how to throw that fact in Sakina’s face when she needed. Shekiba knew to keep her distance from these two, her instincts telling her they would be unforgiving in their comments about her face.

  There were others, she was told. She would see more tomorrow.

  Harem life was relatively simple. Shekiba listened in amazement to hear what the women did. And, more important, what they did not do. They did not cook, nor did they carry buckets of water from a well. They did not tend to animals or spend hours peeling vegetables.

  “Who does all the housework then?” Shekiba asked Ghafoor as they watched Sakina and Benazir rouge their cheeks and stain their lips with crushed cherries.

  “The people for the housework. Everyone has a purpose here in the palace. The guards, the servants, the women, and us. We all do our part in Arg.” Ghafoor sat with her right ankle crossed over her left knee. She was comfortable as a man.

  “Arg?”

  “Arg-e-Shahi. You do not know what Arg is?” Ghafoor laughed with the self-satisfaction of someone who had once been as ignorant. “This is Arg-e-Shahi, the palace! Arg is your new home, Shekib-jan!”

  CHAPTER 23

  RAHIMA

  “TAKE OFF YOUR CHADOR.”

  I kept my face to the wall and pulled my legs in under me. The room was small enough that I could hear each raspy breath.

  Abdul Khaliq stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. From this angle, he looked larger than life. He took two steps in and shut the door behind him.

  “I said, take off your chador.”

  I lowered my head and told myself to breathe. I prayed he would be frustrated and walk away, as he had yesterday.

  “I will not tolerate insolence. Yesterday, I let you be. That was my gift to you, to show you I can be kind. Today, things are different. You are in your husband’s home, my home. You will behave as a wife should.”

  I was sharing a house with Abdul Khaliq’s third wife. I was his fourth. The other wives lived in separate homes within the same compound, all interconnected. It had been nearly dark when we got to the compound and I hadn’t seen much. Bibi Gulalai, his mother, had insisted on using me as a cane to get to the car. She was old and I was not rude enough to refuse, though I only answered her questions with one-or-two-word responses. She was sizing me up.

  Bibi Gulalai led me to a small room at the end of a hallway. This was to be my room, she said. There was a bathroom just outside my door, the likes of which I had never before seen. It was modern, with running water and a toilet.

  Wife number three was Shahnaz. I saw her for just a moment before I was ushered into my room. She turned her back to me and walked away, uninterested in introductions.

  “That’s Shahnaz. You’ll meet her in the morning when she shows you around.”

  My room had a cushion in the corner, a pillow and a small table.

  “We’ll send you a plate of food for tonight. Tomorrow you become part of your new home,” Bibi Gulalai said smugly.

  I doubted it.

  I had nearly screamed yesterday when Abdul Khaliq entered the room. I was crouched in the corner. He wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. He had just finished eating. My plate was untouched.

  “You haven’t eaten? My wife is not hungry, eh?” He chuckled.

  I said nothing.

  He squatted next to me and lifted my chin with two fingers. His touch was rough. I kept my gaze averted. He pulled my chador off my head and felt the back of my head.

  “Tomorrow,” he promised, and walked back out of the room. I shook with fright.

  Night came and went and I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned on the mattress, listening for the sound of footsteps, a hand on the doorknob, a knock. I thought of my mother, my sisters. I wondered if Shahla and Parwin were close by. I prayed we were all in the same compound and I would see them in the morning, every morning. I wondered what Rohila was telling Sitara, who every day had been asking more questions that we couldn’t answer. I wished I could be laid out at Khala Shaima’s feet, listening to her tell another chapter of Bibi Shekiba’s story.

  I wished more than anything that I could be back in class, Moallim-sahib’s back turned toward us, Abdullah and I shooting each other bored looks, kicking each other under the table and tilting our notebooks so the other could see the right answer.

  I wished I could be anywhere but here.

  When my bladder could wait no longer, I opened the door a crack. I looked into the hallway, saw that it was empty and crept out slowly to go to the washroom. Shahnaz caught me on the way out.

  “Good morning,” she said plainly. She looked a few years older than Shahla, with features that matched the dullness in her voice. She was thin and stood a couple inches taller than me. She balanced a baby on her hip, no more than six months old.

  “Salaam,” I replied cautiously. I knew who she was and I remembered my mother’s warnings.

  “Your name is Rahima?”

  I nodded.

  “All right, Rahima. Bibi Gulalai has asked me to show you around. So, let’s get started. You’ve hid in your room long enough.”

  Shahnaz looked disinterested in me but she’d been given a task, and as Madar-jan had advised, she was doing what her mother-in-law—our mother-in-law—had asked of her.

  “This has been my home for three years. I was told I wouldn’
t be sharing it with anyone else. This room is for my children and me. Here is the kitchen. That is our living room. That hallway leads to the rest of the houses, the better houses. I expect that you’ll do your share of the cooking and cleaning. As you can see, I’ve already got my hands full.”

  She paused and looked at me carefully.

  “Your hair. Why is it cut so short?”

  “I’m a bacha posh. I mean, I was a bacha posh.”

  “I’ve never seen a bacha posh before. Why were you made into a boy?”

  “My mother had only daughters and my father wanted a son.”

  “So they dressed you as a boy? And did you go out of the house like that?”

  I could hear more curiosity than dislike in her voice. It gave me confidence to continue the conversation. Something about her reminded me of Shahla and I could already tell I would be desperate for an ally here.

  “Sure. I went to school. I ran errands for my mother. I even worked and brought money home. I was learning how to fix electronics,” I boasted. That was more than I had done for Agha Barakzai but Shahnaz wouldn’t know the difference.

  “Well, don’t expect to be treated like the special son here.”

  As soon as she said it, I realized that’s what I had secretly been hoping.

  “Who else lives here in the compound?” I asked, hoping my face didn’t show my disappointment. The baby started to whine, her small hands batting at her mother’s face.

  Shahnaz led me into the living room, where she began to nurse the baby.

  “Our home is one of three. Each wife has her own home. Or at least we did, until you came along. His first wife is Badriya. She has the biggest home, with the bedroom on the second level. His second is Jameela. She lives in the biggest part of the house too but on the lower level. Abdul Khaliq’s room is in that main house. I thought you would have seen it last night but I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough.”

  I ignored her last comment, scared to think of what that meant. The memory of his touch made me shiver.

  “Where does . . . where does Bibi Gulalai live?”

  “In the compound next door but she’s here often, keeping an eye on her eldest son’s affairs. Especially since he’s gone so often. Be careful with her. She rules with a heavy hand.”

  “And what about the rest?”

  “What rest?”

  “I mean his cousins, Abdul Sharif and Abdul Haidar?” I was nervous to ask. I prayed she would tell me they were next door as well.

  “Oh, I heard what happened. So, it’s true then? Sometimes Safiya gets the story all wrong. She told me two other sisters were married at the same time. And one of them has a limp, right? Hard to imagine how they arranged that deal. Well, Abdul Sharif lives on the other side of the hill, about four kilometers away. Abdul Haidar lives on the other side of that wall. He’s here often since he’s Abdul Khaliq’s right-hand man.”

  Parwin was close by! She was on the other side of the wall. I wondered what she was doing and if she knew that I was meters away from her. Shahla. Shahla had been taken the farthest.

  “Does Abdul Sharif come here sometimes?”

  “He does, but not as often as his brother. If you think you’ll see your sisters, though, don’t get your hopes up. Neither one of them brings their wives when they come by. The women of this family don’t travel much. Get used to these walls. They’re going to be all you see.”

  Shahnaz tired of me and went to put the baby to sleep. She had two children, a two-year-old son and the five-month-old girl I’d seen her holding.

  I found out weeks later that Abdul Khaliq had taken her from a village in the south. He and his men had gone there and successfully pushed back the Taliban forces. The village had been saved so Abdul Khaliq and his men felt they earned the right to take what they wanted. They looted houses, harassed women. The village had no one to defend it. Most of the men had perished in the war. The men took whatever caught their eye. In Abdul Khaliq’s case, it was Shahnaz. She hadn’t seen her family since the day of her nikkah.

  It could have been worse, she said. At least he took her as his wife. She had heard of many women who had been raped and left with their families. There was nothing worse than that.

  I thought about Shahnaz’s village often, knowing my father must have been party to that mission. I wondered if he pillaged as the others had. I wanted to believe he hadn’t.

  I could start with cleaning, Shahnaz said. She needed to bathe her son. I found the broom and began to sweep the floors as I’d seen my sisters do. The broom felt awkward in my hands and I waited for someone to relieve me from the duty. When Shahnaz didn’t come back out, I put the broom away and went back to my room to pout. I missed my old life.

  Before long, it was evening again. Bibi Gulalai came to eat with us, around the cloth laid out on the living room floor. Shahnaz had prepared a meal of stew and rice. I reminded myself to fold my legs under me and sit like a lady. I could feel my mother-in-law watching me. I helped Shahnaz clear the dishes and wash up before I went back to my room. Bibi Gulalai sat in the living room with her cup of tea, watching her grandson play with a wooden spoon.

  I listened for the sound of her leaving but she didn’t. My door opened.

  “Your husband has asked for you. You should go and see to him as his bride. Shahnaz will take you there.”

  When I didn’t get up, she came after me, pulling me to stand by my ear.

  “Did you not hear what I said? Do you want me to repeat myself?”

  My twisted ear stung under her gnarled fingers. I yelped and stumbled to my feet. Shahnaz was in the hallway. She looked mildly entertained.

  We went down the hallway and into the main house. Had I been less nervous, I probably would have noticed more of my surroundings. I remember thinking that the hallways were wide, the ceilings tall. We passed by many doors. I’d never imagined a house so large!

  Shahnaz pointed to a door and told me to go ahead and knock. Before I could ask a question she turned and headed back down the stairs. I ran after her and grabbed her arm.

  “Shahnaz, please, let me go back with you!”

  She shook her arm free and looked at me with annoyance.

  “Let go of me!” she hissed. “Your husband has asked for his new bride. You’d be making a big mistake to keep him waiting. That’s my best advice to you.”

  “Please, Shahnaz-jan! I’m scared!” I panicked. I didn’t want to be alone here. I wanted to go back to my dark room and my small mattress. I felt out of place and I hated wearing a dress. It felt unnatural, awkward. I was a bacha posh! Just like Bibi Shekiba, the palace guard!

  “Are you stupid? Get in there or you’ll regret it. You’ll be punished worse than you could imagine.”

  She walked away and left me in the hallway, scrambling for options that didn’t exist.

  He must have heard me. I gasped and jumped backward when the door opened. My reaction made him smile. He beckoned me in. I hesitated, but fearing that Shahnaz was right, I followed.

  In subsequent visits, I would realize that Abdul Khaliq’s bedroom looked like what I might have imagined of a palace. His mattress sat on a wooden platform a few feet off the ground. A plush armchair sat in the corner and a beautifully woven burgundy carpet covered the floor. Two windows overlooked the courtyard, where three armed men were on guard.

  I walked in, too terrified to see anything but Abdul Khaliq. He had already made himself comfortable on his bed. He was sitting up, propped up against pillows.

  “Take your chador off,” he ordered.

  I looked at the ground and stood motionless. I had wanted to rip the chador off my head when Madar-jan put it on me but now, with Abdul Khaliq eyeing me in this way, I couldn’t let it go. I watched him from the corner of my eye and saw his intrigued but exasperated face.

  “Listen,” he said, leaning forward. With his turban off, I could see that his hair matched his salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a beige cotton tunic and pants. His legs were outstret
ched. The room was lit by a lamp on his bedside table. “Maybe you haven’t received any instruction on what it is to be a wife. From what I’ve seen of the women in your family, I wouldn’t be surprised. Let me explain to you how things are here. I am your husband and this is your home. When I ask for something, you make it happen. In return, you will be given shelter and have the privilege of being wife to Abdul Khaliq.”

  Again he beckoned me closer. I fought the wave of nausea and took two steps toward him. I was within his reach. My muscles stiffened.

  He turned my face toward him. He was so close I could see the lines on his face. I could make out each hair of his eyebrow. I tried to keep my eyes lowered.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded. My mind flashed back to his bodyguards and their guns. I was terrified.

  “Good. Now, do as I say and take off your chador.”

  He could have done it. I thought about it later and realized he could have done all the things he made me do, but that wouldn’t have served his purpose. One by one, he made me take off everything I’d been wearing. First the chador, then my socks, my pants, my dress. With every piece, I trembled more. When my pants came down, I began to cry, which didn’t faze him in the least. I was humiliated. I stood before him, weak and vulnerable, my arms doing their best to cover as much as they could.

  He nodded in approval, his lips wet with excitement.

  “You’re not a bacha posh any longer. Tonight I’ll show you that you’re a woman, not a boy.”

  CHAPTER 24

  RAHIMA

  THE THOUGHT OF HIM MADE ME QUEASY. I hated the feeling of it. I hated his breath, his whiskers, his callused feet. But there would be no escape. He called for me when he pleased and made me do what he wanted. Thankfully, it rarely lasted more than a few minutes. I wished Madar-jan had told me exactly what to expect, but then I think if she had, I never would have made it to the nikkah.