The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  “They’ve got five more open seats for the province. The seat from our region needs to be filled. There are a few other powerful men who will be looking to step in and challenge you, Abdul Khaliq, but a woman candidate would be a sure thing. She would take the seat without question because of these stupid rules they’ve created.”

  “I don’t like this idea. Why should we put a woman in a man’s place? And even worse, you’re asking me to put my wife in my place? Since when do we have a woman do a man’s job?”

  “I understand that, sahib, truly. And, believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do, but these are the rules. I’m simply suggesting we find a way to work around the system so that we don’t lose all control over this area. The elections are coming up soon. We must plan for this.”

  “Damn whoever decided on these shameful rules! Telling us we have to have women representatives? They have no business there! Who do they think is going to look after the children then?”

  His advisers were silent. I could hear my husband pacing, grunting. I was surprised at what I was hearing. It sounded like they were suggesting that one of Abdul Khaliq’s wives run in the upcoming parliamentary election! Would he really even consider such a move? We wives rarely left the compound. How could he possibly send us out to interact with strangers?

  I looked at the clock on the wall. Jahangir had been sleeping for forty minutes. He would be waking up soon. And Khala Shaima had promised to come over today. Tomorrow would mark forty days since Parwin’s death.

  “I’m simply presenting an option, sahib. I know it’s not an attractive one but it may be our only one. I just don’t want you to lose the opportunity to have some influence in the government. You’re already in good position with the contracts you’ve secured.”

  Smoke wafted from under the doorway, the acrid, thick smell of opium. My mind drifted home, to my father asleep in the living room and my mother sewing our clothes.

  “It’s true,” another voice chimed in. “There’s no one else who can guarantee the same security—especially over the bridge. Those foreigners, they certainly don’t want to send their own soldiers to guard it. They depend on us. This pipeline is not a small project. They’ve been talking about it for years and this time it looks like it’s actually going to happen.”

  “It’s true. There’s a lot of money in that pipe. And this area belongs to you, sahib. It would be a shame to lose even part of that control.” The voice was measured and cautious.

  “I know that!” Abdul Khaliq thundered. “Don’t you think I know that? I don’t need you to tell me things I already know!”

  I didn’t want to be around for what I knew was coming next. I picked up my son and walked back toward my own quarters to wait for Khala Shaima. I wanted her to take my mind off things. To tell me about Bibi Shekiba’s mysterious plan.

  CHAPTER 32

  SHEKIB

  SHEKIB WAITED FOR THE RIGHT TIME. Mahbuba was rarely alone but she was the right person, Shekib had decided. She had borne the king four sons.

  The first stage of Shekib’s plan was to find out what Mahbuba had done right. How was it that she came to have four sons while other women continued to bring girls? There must have been something she had done differently to not have a single girl in her brood.

  Her boys ranged in age from one to seven years old. When Shekib came upon them, Mahbuba was bathing her youngest son. Her eyes searched for a towel, while the older boys ran off to play.

  “Thank you! I thought I had something here with me,” she said as Shekib handed her a cloth from a nearby shelf. Mahbuba held Saboor’s hand as she dried him off.

  “Certainly,” Shekib mumbled. She had made a point of being quietly helpful with the king’s consorts. It was unlike her to start a conversation but she forced herself to speak the lines she had rehearsed.

  “You have lovely sons.”

  “Thank Allah, they are blessings,” she said, sighing. The boy was wiggling to escape his mother’s grip. His eyes chased after his brothers.

  “The others have daughters. Mostly. You are lucky.”

  “Yes, well, some of us are blessed with sons and others have to bear daughters.”

  “You have made the king very happy.”

  It dawned on Mahbuba that this conversation was peculiar. She turned around to see who she was talking to.

  “Oh, you! What is your name?”

  “Shekib.” She looked at Mahbuba straight on. The women of the harem had made her quite comfortable in the last few weeks. They were too busy picking each other apart to pay attention to the woman-man guard with the melted face. Shekib no longer missed being able to pull her head scarf over her cheek. She found it liberating to walk about, her hands in her pockets and the sun on her face.

  “Right. Shekib. Let me ask you something. What’s your real name, my dear? Your girl name?”

  Shekib fidgeted. Mahbuba had surprised her.

  “My name is Shekiba.”

  “Clever. Bet that was Ghafoor’s idea. Do you and the others get along well enough with her? She can be such a nuisance.”

  “Sure,” Shekib said vaguely.

  “It’s so ridiculous that they have you wearing those uniforms. As if anyone would forget that you are not men. As if we need guards anyway. What we need are more servants to help us with the children. But that would offend the king’s sense of security.”

  “Some people forget.”

  “Forget that you’re women? Do you really think so?” Mahbuba was struggling to dress her son. He scratched at his mother’s face in angry protest. She turned him around and locked him between her knees. He looked at Shekib with a defeated pout.

  “How did you make it so . . . how did you manage to have boys?”

  “What?”

  “I want to know how you managed to have all boys. What did you do?”

  Mahbuba laughed naughtily. “Do you want me to start with the basics? You are dressed as a man but know nothing about their parts, eh?”

  Shekib blushed. “I mean . . . no, that’s not what I meant. I was asking how . . . the other women have girls. How did you manage to have boys instead of girls?” she stammered.

  “Do you think you are the first to ask me such a question? Most of the women in this house have come to me looking for that very answer. I have borne the king more sons than any other woman!” Mahbuba needed a minute to sing her own praises. Shekib waited. “I have given him son after son and nothing but sons! That is why he looks at me with fire in his eyes, with respect in his heart. You are a wise girl-boy. You are looking for the key to a satisfied man.”

  The humidity of the bathhouse made Shekib’s breaths heavy. She wondered if Mahbuba would ever reveal her secret. Maybe this had been a mistake.

  “But tell me. Why are you asking such a question? You are a man now, are you not? Are you to be turned back into a woman? Are you to be married?”

  Shekib shook her head.

  “I did not think so. Then why bother to ask for answers you have no business using? Did someone send you to ask me this? Who was it? Was it Shokria? I’ve seen the way she looks at my boys. Five girls, she has. Can you imagine? That witch. I’ll fix her if she casts a jealous eye on my sons!”

  “No, no one sent me!” Shekib panicked. She did not want to cause any fuss among the women. If it led back to her, it would not help her situation.

  “Farida? She’s another one with her devil eyes . . . can’t be trusted. You shouldn’t go about the harem doing their dirty work for them!” Her son had managed to finally twist himself free. Mahbuba sighed. He was missing one sock.

  “Forgive me, I have not been sent by anyone. I was . . . I was just asking out of my own curiosity.”

  “Are you wanted by a man?”

  “Am I . . . no, I just—” Shekib decided she should close this conversation.

  “I am teasing you. I will tell you a few tricks if you promise—” Mahbuba paused and looked from left to right dramatically. Her voice turne
d into a hush. “If you promise that you will not share these secrets with anyone else. You can use them if you find yourself under a man one day and in the mood to give him a son.”

  Shekib squatted next to Mahbuba, her ears hot.

  Some of what she was told, she never would have anticipated. And would never have been able to repeat.

  But she committed the tips to memory, hoping that they might prove useful. The shape of the moon, the seeds of the yellow flowered plant, the juice of an apple with no brown spots. These were simpler. But the other things, the things with the man, these made Shekib wonder if Mahbuba was not looking to make a fool out of her. But there had been no glimmer of trickery in her eye. She spoke casually, as if the things she talked about were commonplace and ordinary. To Mahbuba they were. To Shekib, they were not.

  Did the women really allow the king to do such things? She thought of Halima and could not imagine it. Then she thought of Sakina, the way she had walked, half-naked, to the king’s chamber and knocked on the door with feigned timidity. It could be true.

  She could not stop her mind from drifting to Amanullah, the governor of Kabul. She thought of the way he walked, the confidence of his step, his fingers grazing the petals with delicate respect. She wondered what it would be like to be near him, to feel his breath on her face, moist and warm like the air of the harem’s bath room. She thought of her fingers tracing the borders of his neatly trimmed beard and the medals of his uniform pressing against her unfettered bosom.

  Shekib shook her head and hoped her face did not betray her thoughts.

  At night, the guards slept in a room just outside the concubines’ quarters. They took turns standing guard. Tonight was Shekib’s turn. Kabul’s air was brisk but she did not mind it. She wrapped her coat tighter around her and rubbed her hands together. She thought back to her first night on duty, a night she spent standing at attention, terrified that someone would find her asleep or sneak up on her. By morning she had drawn her weapon, a heavy baton, a half dozen times, only to frighten the frog who had wandered too far from the pond. She nearly collapsed when Ghafoor came to ask her how her night had gone.

  “Why are there so many noises at night? There are frogs and lizards and soldiers coughing and pacing! You said I should just stand in the quiet night until morning. It wasn’t a quiet night at all!”

  Ghafoor had laughed uncontrollably. Two soldiers had turned, their brows furrowed in disapproval to hear a woman laugh so loudly, even if it was a woman-man.

  “Did the frogs shake you up? Well, little girl from the village, I didn’t think a few little night critters would make you so nervous!”

  Shekib had felt a little embarrassed. “It wasn’t the frogs, it was mostly the soldiers . . . they are loud but I couldn’t see them. I just thought . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. The next night will be easier on you. You’ll grow accustomed to the sounds of the palace at night. You might even enjoy it more than the days.”

  Ghafoor was right, although Shekib kept that revelation to herself. Over the next few months, she grew content to sit in the dark, the dim light from the king’s main residence and a few oil lanterns casting enough of a glow to make a game of shadows. Shekib smiled when some resembled animals, laughed when one took the shape of her grandmother.

  Tariq joined her on those nights when she could not sleep. She had been in the king’s presence more than a few times and he hardly glanced at her. She was losing hope for being that rose that is plucked from the garden, as she had put it. She fretted, bit her nails and creased her forehead but Shekib did not mind her company.

  “Ghafoor is snoring again.”

  Shekib nodded.

  “It’s like sleeping next to a congested horse. I can’t take it. I don’t know how the others ignore it.”

  “She’ll deny it in the morning.”

  Tariq smiled. “Anything happening in the palace?”

  “No, not so far.” It was quiet in the gardens, but the palace was unpredictable. People came and went at odd hours sometimes. And from time to time, King Habibullah hungered for a concubine in the darkest hour.

  The guards were silent. Tariq sighed. Something was on her mind.

  “Are you happy here?” she asked.

  “Happy? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you happy? Are you satisfied with this?”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “You don’t miss your family?”

  “I miss them as much as they miss me.”

  Tariq did not know how to interpret Shekib’s response. She understood from her tone that she would not elaborate. She pulled at her bangs, tried to make them reach her eyebrows.

  “But how much longer do you think we will be here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I wonder sometimes.”

  “About what?”

  “I wonder what the palace will do with us. How long will they keep us here? I want to be married. I want to have children and a home. I want to live somewhere else, don’t you?”

  Tariq, dressed as a man, was a woman after all. Her voice was nearly cracking. Shekib understood better than she let on. She had to protect her own plan.

  “I don’t know. We have a comfortable life here.”

  Tariq sighed heavily. “It’s comfortable, but this can’t be it. I’m not like Ghafoor. Or even Karim. I don’t want to wear pants for the rest of my life. I was happy as a girl.”

  Tariq’s laments were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut. The guards froze and looked for the source of the noise. They focused their eyes in the dark, trying to locate the footsteps.

  “Where was—”

  “Shhh!” Shekib hissed.

  A shadow scurried away from the harem’s side door. The figure was running back into the palace.

  “Do you think it’s the king?”

  Shekib did not. King Habibullah never left from the side door. And he had no need to sneak past the guards either.

  “Who goes there?” she called out. She wrapped her fingers around her baton.

  The figure scurried faster, passing under the yellow glow of a lantern. From the breadth of the shoulders and the shape of the pants, they could see it was a man. A man in the harem?

  “This is bizarre. Stay here. I’m going to check on things inside,” Shekib said.

  But the harem was peaceful. Shekib could hear the light snores. The man had come from somewhere though. She waited, cocked her ear for any movements. She tiptoed through the hallway slowly. Carefully.

  When she had crossed through the bath and checked the hallway on the opposite side, she retraced her steps. Something stirred by the foyer. She focused her eyes in the dark as the figure turned toward her.

  “Did you find anything?”

  It was Tariq.

  Shekib sighed and shook her head. They stepped back into the night air and looked into the courtyard, across the gardens, to the palace. Nothing moved. Shekib wondered who it could have been. Someone had paid a visit to one of the king’s concubines. Who could be so bold as to trespass here? And which woman had allowed him into her chambers?

  Shekib and Tariq sat in silence, chewing over the same thought. If the palace were to find out, the guards would be held responsible.

  CHAPTER 33

  SHEKIB

  SHEKIB AND TARIQ ENTERED THEIR SLEEPING QUARTERS when daylight broke. They had neither seen nor heard anything else throughout the night. The soldiers were walking about now and the servants looked hurried. The king was likely expecting a visitor.

  Ghafoor was awake, her arms stretched over her head as she yawned. The others rubbed their eyes.

  “Tariq? You’re up already? Did you not sleep last night?” Ghafoor asked, puzzled.

  “Something happened last night,” Shekib said softly. “Something you all need to know about.”

  Her words, rare as they were, got everyone’s attention.

  “We saw someone leaving the harem through the side door
, which should have been locked. It looked like a man. He ran off toward the palace but in the dark we couldn’t make out his face.”

  “It must have been the king. You know his urges come at odd hours.”

  Tariq shook her head. “It wasn’t the king, trust me. I know his shape. This man was leaner, taller. And the king doesn’t sneak in and out of the side door. He comes and goes as he pleases, even when the hour is late. This was someone else.”

  Ghafoor and Karim leaned forward; they were just now making the realization that Shekib and Tariq had made last night. Qasim looked at her sister’s concerned face.

  “Did you hear anything inside? Was anyone awake?” Karim asked.

  “Nothing. I walked through the hallways and heard nothing at all, saw no one. Whoever it was that let him in was not making a sound,” Shekib said, her tone flat and serious.

  “Of course not,” Ghafoor said. “But if this has happened once, then it has probably happened twice and three times and more. We have a serious problem on our hands, guards. If the king learns that someone has been sneaking past us and paying secret visits to his private harem, we can start saying our final prayers.”

  “Should we tell someone in the palace?” Qasim asked nervously.

  “No, absolutely not!” Ghafoor cried. “We have to find out what we can on our own and stop this from exploding on us.”

  Karim and Tariq nodded in agreement. Shekib stood in silence. Ghafoor was taking charge now.

  “First of all, we need to speak with the concubines, privately, one at a time, and see if anyone can give us any information.”

  “You think whoever brought him in is going to tell us?” Qasim asked.

  “No, she won’t tell us anything, I’m sure. But if this has been happening, someone must have heard something and I’m sure that someone else will be willing to talk about it. You know how these women are with each other. They can’t wait for a chance to rip the others to shreds.”

  “I can’t believe we haven’t already heard about this,” Tariq said.

  “This was bound to happen. It was just a matter of time. There are just too many women in one house. One of them was going to invite trouble.” Ghafoor spoke confidently, as if she had predicted this months ago.