The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  “Badriya was the same way with me,” Shahnaz said when I came back to the house crying one day. “It’s not easy being the oldest wife.”

  “Why not? She’s got everything! The best cook, the best maids, the best rooms!”

  “It’s not about any of those things. Abdul Khaliq doesn’t want her. He doesn’t call for her, now that he’s busy with you. He used to be the same way with me and she hated it. Hated me for it.”

  “But . . . but I don’t want to be called to him. I would be happy if he ignored me. What does she do that he doesn’t call for her?”

  Shahnaz laughed, her eyes lit up with amusement. “Simple, just get old. You see how Abdul Khaliq doesn’t like to eat food cooked yesterday? Men want something fresh, hot off the stove.” She cocked her head to the side and gave a sly smile.

  That night I prayed for Allah to make me old, as old as Badriya, who looked older than my own mother.

  But Shahnaz was just as bitter toward me as Badriya was. She, too, hated being called by Abdul Khaliq, but it wasn’t much better when she saw me going toward his quarters. She would bang the pots around, huff if I asked her anything and slam her door. The following day, more chores were piled on me than usual, even if I was also called to clean Badriya’s house.

  Jameela was the only one who was different. She was Abdul Khaliq’s second wife and, being such, had the second-best accommodations of the compound. She lived downstairs and down the hall from Badriya. She had been given to Abdul Khaliq by her family as a token of gratitude. No one was sure exactly what they were grateful for—it was always spoken of in very vague terms—but she seemed content enough with the arrangement. She had borne him three sons and two daughters, making him satisfied enough that she was holding up her end of their arrangement.

  At thirty, Jameela was much more beautiful than Badriya and even Shahnaz, who was at least ten years younger than her. Her eyes sparkled with kindness and good humor when she spoke. My mother’s warnings had been sage advice when it came to the other wives of the compound, but when I met Jameela, I knew I could trust her.

  I had met Jameela last. She’d run into me coming out of Badriya’s home.

  “You must be Rahima! Ay, you’re even younger than Badriya predicted.”

  “I’m not that young!” I’d shot back. I was tired and sweaty and didn’t need anyone else making comments about me. “Who are you anyway?”

  “Looks like you’re off to a good start.” She’d smiled gently. Her reaction had embarrassed me. “I’m Jameela. I live in the part of the house here with my children. My son Kaihan is probably your age. My daughter Laila, too. Have you met them?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t seen anyone my age yet. I wondered if Laila was as nice as her mother.

  “Laila!” she called out. “Laila-jan, what are you doing?”

  “Zarlasht dirtied her clothes, Madar-jan! I’m changing her!”

  “Come here for a second, janem, and bring Zarlasht with you. There’s someone you should meet.”

  I heard footsteps. Laila was indeed close to my age, probably a couple years younger than me, but the baby on her hip hid the difference. She looked like her mother—her eyes and hair the color of night, dark and dramatic against her gauzy emerald head scarf. She looked at me with curiosity. Zarlasht was about a year old. Seeing them made me think of Shahla and Sitara. As a baby, Sitara spent just as much time in my sister’s arms as she did in my mother’s.

  “This is Rahima-jan,” Jameela said, taking Zarlasht from her daughter’s arms. “Remember the nikkah we heard about last week? This is your father’s bride.”

  Laila raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

  I stood still, unable to bring myself to admit to a title that seemed too heavy for my shoulders.

  “She is, so you’ll be seeing her around more.”

  “Why is your hair so short? Like a boy?”

  I felt my face flush and turned away. I wasn’t sure how much to share. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell everyone I’d been a bacha posh.

  “That’s . . . that’s how I wore it when I was going to school!” I blurted, hoping that was explanation enough but mostly wanting Laila to know that I’d been to school.

  “School?” she exclaimed. “You were going to school like that? Madar-jan, she looks like Kaihan, doesn’t she?”

  “You were a bacha posh, weren’t you?” Jameela asked. “That’s what I’d heard. Bibi Gulalai mentioned it before the nikkah. My children have never seen a bacha posh but I remember my neighbor’s cousin had been one. Up until she was ten years old, that is. Then she changed back to a girl.”

  “What’s a bacha posh?”

  “Laila-jan, I’ll explain more later. I just wanted you to meet Rahima-jan for now. And this is Zarlasht, my youngest.”

  More footsteps came down the hallway as I tried not to stare too much at Laila, who reminded me how much I missed my sisters.

  “Kaihan! Hashmat! Stop running inside! You boys are shaking the walls!” Jameela turned to me and explained. “Hashmat is about the same age as my son. He’s Badriya’s boy.”

  I took one look at Hashmat and a knot formed in my stomach. He looked from Jameela to me and grinned.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” he said bluntly, his tongue slipping through his teeth and giving his words a wet lisp. It occurred to me that I’d seen him before, that I’d heard him before. We’d played soccer on more than one occasion in the streets a few blocks from our school. My voice escaped me. I wondered if he’d recognize me as well.

  “This is Rahima, your father’s bride,” Jameela said. I turned my face and looked down, avoiding his gaze. Jameela was surprised by my modesty given how I’d spoken to her just a few moments ago.

  “Oh. Yeah, I heard about you. You’re . . . hey, aren’t you . . . you’re Abdullah’s friend, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I fidgeted and looked to Jameela. I knew this looked strange to everyone. No girl my age should have been referred to as “Abdullah’s friend.” Jameela looked at Laila, who seemed more confused now than before.

  “Never mind that, Hashmat,” she said intuitively. “She’s your father’s bride and you’ll be respectful of that. No one wants to hear anything else from your mouth.”

  I stared at the ground, knowing now why he looked familiar. I remembered him pushing and shoving his way to the ball, his mouth open and his dirty fingernails clawing at anyone in his way. He had friends only because boys were afraid not to be friends with Abdul Khaliq’s son, a lesson they’d learned from their parents. We had made a point to avoid him and his group entirely. It had been a year since I’d seen him.

  “You’re a girl?” he exclaimed. “What kind of girl are you? That’s you, isn’t it? That’s why you’re not answering!”

  “Hashmat! Do you want me to tell your mother—”

  “Look at that! You’ve even got short hair and everything! What kind of bride are you? You’ve been running through the streets with Abdullah and his gang. No wonder you guys couldn’t score a single goal!” Saliva sprayed out when he spoke with excitement. I covered my face with my veil, wanting to hide from his wet assault.

  “Hashmat! That’s enough I said!”

  “Maybe Abdullah’s a girl too! Maybe you all are!” he laughed.

  I would think of lots of clever things to say later, when Hashmat was not around.

  Instead of saying any of those things now, I ran. I ran with the washrags still in my hand, my eyes blurring with tears. I wanted to get away from Hashmat, from this boy who knew me as I wished I still were—a boy just as free as him. I hated that he lived here. I knew he would always bring it up. He would always look at me and laugh at the girl who used to be a boy.

  By the time I got to my room and slammed the door behind me, I wondered if he would see Abdullah again. I imagined what he might say and felt my heart drop. I didn’t want Abdullah to see me as a girl, as Abdul Khaliq’s wife, as Hashmat’s stepmother.

 
I dropped my head into my hands and cried.

  CHAPTER 26

  RAHIMA

  IT DROVE ME MAD TO THINK OF PARWIN. Months had passed and there was no hint that I would be allowed to see her. I knew where the adjacent compound was and tried to eavesdrop at the wall between the two homes to hear her voice or even someone speaking of her. I couldn’t spend much time out there or Bibi Gulalai would come chasing after me to tend to something that no one else wanted to do. She had taken to using a walking stick these days, a change driven as much by her intensified desire to discipline me as her unsteady step.

  I waited a month before making another move. I needed to work up the nerve to try again and to figure out how I could manage to get out of our compound. I set off in the early morning, when I usually went to tend to the laundry. I took the pail and walked across the courtyard as casually as I could. My throat was dry as I scouted the area. A few servants here and there but no one seemed to be paying any attention to me. My husband had left earlier in the morning and wouldn’t be back for hours.

  I moved closer and closer to the front gate, my palms sweaty.

  Don’t hesitate, I told myself, and opened the gate to walk out. I waited but heard nothing. No one had even noticed.

  The compound sat on an open dirt road, one that I hadn’t seen since the day of my wedding. I looked to the right and saw the adjacent compound where Parwin lived. I pulled a burqa from the pail and donned it. I walked quickly and tried their gate but it was locked.

  I knocked lightly. This was the time of day that only the servants were in the courtyard and that was what I was counting on. If I could just get one of the servants to open the gate, I could find my way to my sister. I waited a moment but no one answered. I tried again, a little louder this time.

  On my third try, beads of sweat trickling down the back of my neck, I heard footsteps and grumbling. I stepped back as I saw the gate open.

  “As-salaam-alaikum,” answered an older woman cautiously. From her worn clothing, I guessed she was one of the servants. I tried to see past her and into the compound. She squinted and narrowed the opening behind her. “Forgive me, I haven’t recognized you. Are you here to see someone?”

  I cleared my throat and willed my voice not to betray me.

  “Wa-alaikum as-salaam. Yes, I am. I am the sister of Khanum Parwin. I’ve come to pay her a visit.”

  “Ah, Khanum Parwin! Her sister? Welcome, welcome, but . . . have you come alone?” she said curiously. She looked behind me, expecting to see a chaperone.

  “My mother-in-law, Bibi Gulalai, was supposed to come with me and would be here if it weren’t for her aching back. She had to rest. But she told me to go on without her,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is my sister around? I just want to see her for a few minutes.”

  The woman looked confused. Indeed it was strange for one of Abdul Khaliq’s wives to show up at the front gate unaccompanied, but then who would imagine that a young girl would lie about such a thing? She opted not to give me, Abdul Khaliq’s wife, a hard time and pulled the gate open to let me through.

  “I think she’s still in her room. I’ll show you the way,” she said.

  The compound was much smaller than Abdul Khaliq’s but set up in a similar way. My eyes looked for Parwin. I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far! We walked past a few children, no more than six or seven years old. They glanced at me, too preoccupied with their own games to bother with the stranger in the burqa.

  “Who is this with you, Rabia-jan?” I stopped, as did my guide, whose name was apparently Rabia.

  “Good morning, Khanum Lailuma. This is Khanum Parwin’s sister. She’s come from next door to pay a visit.”

  “By herself? You are Abdul Khaliq’s bride?” Lailuma said, her brows furrowed together with displeasure.

  “Yes,” I said. I reminded myself to look confident.

  “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Of course!” I said. “As I told Rabia-jan, Bibi Gulalai was going to accompany me but she was having backaches. I just wanted to pay my sister a short visit. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

  “Well, that’s . . . I just don’t think . . .”

  “I’m so glad to meet you! I’ve heard much about the family next door to our compound but I haven’t had the chance to meet anyone. Were those your children I saw just now in the courtyard? So adorable, God bless them!”

  Lailuma was disarmed by my flattery, which to me sounded much more like something Shahla would say than anything I would have come up with.

  “They are, yes, thank you. It’s a shame we haven’t met. Well, then go on but don’t be long because your sister has responsibilities to tend to.”

  “Of course! I don’t want to keep her,” I said as sweetly as I could.

  Rabia sighed and hurried me along, not wanting to be pulled away from her other duties any longer. We went down a short hallway and as soon as we turned the corner I saw her.

  Parwin’s back was to us but I could see her limping, a pail of water in one hand. The water sloshed with her wide gait, a trail of splashed water behind her.

  “Parwin!” I called out, running to her. My sister turned around, her face puzzled. She dropped the pail on the floor and I could see the servant shaking her head at Parwin’s clumsiness.

  “Rahima? Rahima! What are you doing here?” she said, her eyes tearing up as I threw my arms around her thin frame.

  “I came to visit you! I missed you so much, Parwin!” I turned around and saw Rabia was already shuffling down the hallway. “Let’s go somewhere! I want to talk to you before I have to go back.”

  Parwin nodded and led me to her room, a small rectangular space without windows. It was even smaller than where I slept. We closed the door behind us and Parwin fell back onto her mattress with a sigh. She looked exhausted.

  “Parwin, I’ve wanted to see you for so long but they wouldn’t let me come! All they want me to do over there is work and work and I’m so tired of it! I scrub the floors and do the laundry and . . .” My voice tapered as I realized my sister’s life was probably no different from mine. I was being selfish to complain to her.

  “I know, Rahima. It’s terrible here too,” she whispered. “I pray every day that something will happen and I’ll be able to go back home. I miss Madar-jan, Shahla and the girls! I even miss Padar-jan!”

  I wanted to disagree with her but oddly, I missed our father too, even though I blamed him for putting us all through this.

  “What is it like for you there, Rahima? They let you come here today?”

  “I snuck away, Parwin. I’ve asked so many times but Bibi Gulalai won’t allow it. So today, I just walked over here. I told the servant that I’d gotten permission.”

  “Oh no! Won’t they notice that you’re not there? What are they going to do to you?”

  I had given that some thought and only hoped that my reasoning worked.

  “I’ve gotten in trouble a couple of times. The last time, Bibi Gulalai threatened to send me back to my parents. I’m hoping that if she finds out about this, that’s what she’ll do. I want to go back home. I hate it over there!”

  “Do you really think they’ll send you back?” Parwin seemed doubtful. My sister looked different, I realized. Her face looked thinner and her eyes lacked their sparkle. Her cheeks were marked with dark spots.

  “I don’t know but I really wanted to see you. And I thought it was worth a try,” I added with a smile.

  “I wish they would send me back too,” she said wistfully.

  “Are you . . . are you doing all right here? Are they nice to you?”

  “I would rather be home. Remember those birds that used to fly over our yard? Remember how mad Shahla got when their droppings got on the laundry—twice in one day! That was so funny!” She was looking past me. Seeing something that no longer existed.

  “Parwin, are you still doing your drawings? Have you sketched anything new? I miss looking at your work.�
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  She shook her head. “There’s too much to do and I don’t want to disappoint anyone here. I have to keep up with my chores. Anyway, I don’t really feel much like sketching.”

  This was completely unlike Parwin. I held her hands in mine and wondered what to say. There were questions I wanted to ask but the answers would only hurt us both. I stared at her while she smiled awkwardly. She talked about Rohila and Sitara, told me stories about them as if she’d seen them just days ago. I wondered what her husband was like. I wondered if she had to tolerate the same things I did.

  “Khala Shaima said that Rohila is probably going to go to school now. Isn’t that wonderful? She’s going to love it.”

  “Khala Shaima? Did you see her? Did you talk to her?” It sounded like Parwin had completely lost her mind.

  “Yes, she came here. About two weeks ago. I just saw her by the front gate for a few moments and then she left again. She asked about you too but I told her I hadn’t seen you.”

  “She came here? Why didn’t she come see me too?”

  “She tried.”

  Of course, they’d kept her away from me. They probably didn’t want me telling Khala Shaima how they treated me.

  “What else did she say?”

  “She said Padar-jan is the same, but happier now that he can get a lot more medicine. And Madar-jan and the girls are doing all right. We didn’t really talk for very long. I wished she could have stayed and told more of her stories. I liked hearing about Bibi Shekiba, didn’t you? I think about her a lot now.”

  I thought about her more than anyone could know. I often wondered what she would have done in my place. Or what I would have done in hers. Or if there was much difference anyway.

  “Parwin, maybe we should just run away!” I whispered, interrupting her chatter. “Just like I snuck out this morning. We could just take off!”

  If only I’d known then what the future held, I would have done just that. I would have snuck away with her in the night. At least that would have given her a chance.