The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  “That’s enough!” one man called out. Others echoed after him.

  “Shut her up.”

  Zamarud went on, unfazed by their comments. She raised her voice over the protests.

  “Every person in this room, every man and every woman, who would dare to approve these nominations will share the responsibility for keeping those lips greasy with the money that should go to the Afghan people, to the Afghan country. And for what? For a chance of fattening your own pockets! You know who you are. You come here and pretend to represent your provinces when really you represent nothing but your own pockets!”

  “Who does this woman think she is?”

  “I will not listen to this harlot babble on!”

  The yelling became angrier. Hamida and Sufia, not far from Zamarud, had gone over and pulled her back to her seat. Sufia was talking to her, saying something in her ear, while Hamida put a hand over the microphone. We were close enough that we could still hear her.

  “I will not be silenced! I have had enough of their nonsense! Which of you will speak up if I do not? Call me what you like but you know I speak the truth and it is you all that are damned for what you’re doing! It’s a sin! It’s a sin!”

  Two men went to confront her directly. Fingers were pointed, just inches from her face. I felt my body tense with their aggression. I wanted to pull Zamarud back but I sat frozen, my eyes wide. I prayed for her to stop talking.

  The room was on its feet. Arms were waving. A group of men had gathered in a corner of the auditorium, pointing in Zamarud’s direction and shaking their heads. Two other women had joined Hamida and Sufia in trying to restrain a belligerent Zamarud. Others were on their feet, watching the fray with interest or enjoyment.

  I was nervous for her, as was every other woman in the room. I’d never seen a woman speak so boldly, so directly, and in a room full of men! Everything I’d ever seen in my life told me Zamarud wouldn’t make it out the door.

  “This is bad,” Badriya muttered, keeping her head low. We had not stirred from our seats. “We can have no part in this, understand me? Just stay where you are. We’re going to leave just as soon as things calm down.”

  I nodded. The last thing we wanted was for Abdul Khaliq to get word we’d been involved in a shouting match between the parliament’s most outspoken woman member and the group gathered by the door. They were men like my husband, older and with fearful constituencies back home. They were warlords.

  Hamida walked over to us when things calmed.

  “Unbelievable,” she said. “These people are wild!”

  Badriya nodded politely, not wanting to weigh in with an opinion.

  “I mean, she’s a bit bold, I’ll give them that. Actually, she’s a bulldozer. But she’s right. Especially about Qayoumi. He has friends in the Ministry of Defense and they fed him every contract that came through their office. As if he needs any more money. Have you seen his car? His house?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said, intrigued. Badriya was so silent around these women that I almost forgot she was there. It was completely unlike her but she tensed, fearful that Abdul Khaliq would hear about any idle chatter.

  “Let me tell you, his house is one of the nicest houses in Kabul. He tore down an old, run-down home in Shahr-e-Naw and then built himself a two-story mansion! And you know how expensive that area is! No Afghan can buy anything there. All those properties go for at least half a million U.S. dollars. At least!”

  Half a million U.S. dollars? My mind reeled at the staggering amount.

  “Half a million . . . ?”

  “Yes, that’s right! He’ll do anything to get what he wants. Anything. He was a Taliban ally not too long ago and they pillaged one town, robbed the people of everything they had. Setting fires, lining up the men and killing them. By the time they finished with that town, whoever they left alive had only the clothes on their back. Sinful!”

  “And they want to vote him in?” If this was common knowledge, why weren’t people more upset about him?

  “Yes, they do. That’s how it is. For God’s sake, warlords make up at least a third of the parliament right now. Those people who led the rocket attacks, the bloodshed—they’re all sitting in this assembly room. Now they want to fix what they broke. It’s almost comical,” she said, shaking her head. “If I thought of it too much, I’d go crazy. Like Zamarud!”

  Had I been anyone else, I might have been more surprised. But I was a wife of Abdul Khaliq, a man who inspired fear in every corner of our province. And I was sure I didn’t know a quarter of what he had done in the years of war. Actually, I still didn’t know what he did when he set out with his guards and his automatic weapons. Someone could nominate him for a post as well.

  “What can you do? Our politics are full of people like that. But I can tell you, I won’t be approving the nomination of that corrupt butcher. Sufia’s talked to the other women. They’re going to be rejecting him as well.”

  “If so many people are going to vote against his nomination, he won’t stand a chance, right?” I watched Badriya, her lips pulled down in a frown. I was asking too many questions.

  “He stands a very good chance, actually. Warlords make agreements, alliances, to serve their own purposes.”

  I wondered if Hamida knew who Abdul Khaliq was. I wasn’t sure how far his name had reached. Where we came from, he held a lot of power and he was trying to grow that. Badriya’s involvement in the parliament was a step in that direction.

  “Hamida-jan, we’re going to get a cup of tea from the cafeteria, if you don’t mind,” Badriya said. The conversation had touched a nerve. Her voice was stiff. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. Let me go see what Sufia is up to. The session will probably resume in another thirty minutes.”

  In our hotel room that night, I asked Badriya about Zamarud’s allegations.

  “Is it true? Are there that many people in politics who are that corrupt?”

  “Don’t bother yourself with things like that. It’s none of your business.”

  That angered me. I was fairly sure Sufia would not have agreed with her. “But it’s yours, isn’t it? You’re going to be voting on those nominations tomorrow. Are you going to approve them?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because that’s who I will vote for! Have you finished filling out that form yet? The director’s office has been asking about it all week.”

  “It’s almost done.” I sighed. I wondered how Badriya had coped in her last stay in Kabul. She could barely scratch out her own signature. “But how do you decide how you will vote?”

  “I decide, all right? I know what the issues are and then I choose.”

  I thought back to today’s heated session, Zamarud’s determined look. “Does she have a husband?”

  “Who? Zamarud?” she snickered. “They say she does but I can only imagine what a mouse of a man he must be! Can you believe the way she behaves?”

  “She’s not afraid of them.”

  “She should be. Zamarud’s gotten more threats than any other woman in that assembly. Not surprising, the way she carries on. Shameless,” she said, clucking her tongue.

  “You haven’t gotten any threats, have you? Hamida said most of the women have. Her family begged her not to run for parliament again but she wanted to.”

  “She’s another mule of a woman. I haven’t gotten any threats because I know what I’m doing. I mind my own business and do only what needs to be done. I’m not here to embarrass myself or my husband.”

  I shuddered to think how Abdul Khaliq would put Zamarud in her place. But I didn’t think Badriya had any special business in the parliament. My instincts told me it had something to do with our husband.

  “This form asks if you want to join the group traveling other countries with parliaments. As a learning experience, it says. Europe. It says, ‘the director highly recommends that all parliamentarians go to learn how oth
er assemblies function.’”

  Now that I was in Kabul, I was hearing of places even grander and more unimaginable, like Europe. I wondered what a place like that could look like. We’d come all the way to Kabul. Maybe we could go to Europe too? Badriya lifted her head, as intrigued as I was by the exotic name.

  “Go to Europe? Really?” Once she’d said it, Badriya realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Forget it. Not interested. Put that damn thing away. I’m tired. You can finish it in the morning. I’m going to bed.”

  CHAPTER 44

  RAHIMA

  “WE WILL NOW TAKE A VOTE on the candidate Ashrafullah Fawzali. Please raise your paddles with your vote on his nomination.”

  The parliamentarians each had two paddles, one red and one green, which they raised to vote aye or nay in the assembly. This was the first vote to be taken and Badriya looked nervous.

  “Are you going to vote for him?” I whispered.

  “Shhh!” she hissed at me, her eyes scouting the room. Paddles were going up, many at a time. Badriya reached for the green paddle and raised it halfway, still unsure.

  I followed her eyes to a man sitting toward the front of the room. From our position, we could see his profile. He was a burly man with a heavy beard and thick features. His gray turban sat coiled on his head like a serpent. He held a green paddle.

  I saw him look in our direction, giving Badriya a subtle nod. Her green paddle went up and she kept her eyes fixed on the front of the room. I was puzzled. I didn’t recognize this man but it looked like Badriya did.

  “Badriya, what are you doing? Who is that?”

  “Shut up! Just take notes or whatever it is that you’re doing.”

  “But he’s looking over here!”

  “Shut up I said!”

  I crossed my arms, shut my mouth and watched. That’s how things went for the rest of the session. Each time the director asked the parliament to vote on a candidate, Badriya waited until this man raised his paddle. And each time she would pick the paddle that matched his. Green, green, red, green, red, red. And each time he looked over, his face was smug with approval to see her vote his way.

  The ladies looked over at Badriya, seemingly confused. Sufia whispered something to Hamida, who shrugged her shoulders.

  Qayoumi. It was time to vote on his nomination. I looked over at Hamida and Sufia. They were shaking their heads as the director prepared to take a vote. A small murmur wove through the assembly as the parliamentarians prepared to decide on one of the most controversial figures in Kabul. Tongues clucked with disapproval even before the paddles went up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please raise your votes. Raise them high so we can see them!”

  The man voted green.

  I looked at Badriya. I was sure she could feel my eyes on her but she avoided my gaze.

  She watched as the ladies both raised their paddles red. The representatives around them raised their red paddles as well. There were pockets of green here and there, almost all men.

  The mumbling got louder as green paddles went up.

  Badriya kept her head down and picked up her paddle. I opened my mouth to say something.

  Green.

  “Badriya! What are you doing? Didn’t you hear what they said about him? Why are you voting for him?”

  “Please, Rahima, shut up!”

  Hamida and Sufia looked over, eyebrows raised. They looked away and leaned toward each other. I thought of our conversation with Hamida. I couldn’t ignore everything she’d told us.

  “But Hamida said—”

  “If you can’t shut your mouth, leave then! Just get out!” she snarled. “I don’t need you.”

  I stared at her. There was nowhere for me to go. I sat beside her, fuming, even though I had no right to. Maybe I would have done the same if I were her. Maybe I would have aped the votes of the man in the corner.

  Abdul Khaliq. He set her up for this. That man must have something to do with that security contract he wanted to land. Just like Hamida talked about.

  I was surprised only that my husband’s influence was this far-reaching, into the parliament building of Kabul. And wherever that man was from.

  Hamida looked over, her lips pursed.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have been like Badriya if I were in parliament. Maybe I could have been more like Hamida. Or Sufia. Or even Zamarud. Maybe I would have sat in that assembly seat and made up my own mind.

  But I probably would not have. It wouldn’t be easy to go home to Abdul Khaliq after going against his instructions. Especially in a matter this big.

  The session closed for the day. Badriya rose quickly from her seat and gathered her bag. She made her way down the row and out the main aisle without turning around to see if I was following.

  We ran into the ladies near the security check. Not even a polite smile. It was obvious they were disappointed in Badriya’s voting. They could tell her reds and greens were decided by outside forces. She was part of the problem.

  “I’m glad the day is finally over,” Sufia said neutrally.

  “Yes, so am I,” Badriya said, agreeing demurely.

  “Interesting day,” Hamida murmured, adjusting her head scarf.

  I watched the exchange, wanting to shout out that I wasn’t part of this. I wanted to say that I wouldn’t have voted for Qayoumi. Even though I was almost certain I would have. I was learning that cosmopolitan Kabul was, at least in that way, no different from my obscure village. Many of our decisions were not decisions at all. We were herded into one choice or another, to put it gently. I wondered if the other women representatives truly felt free to make their own judgments.

  I sat in the car and leaned back, wishing I was home with Jahangir. He was probably taking a nap now, his mouth half open and his eyelids fluttering with innocent dreams. Thank God Jameela was there to look after him.

  Badriya got in from the other side, slid across the seat, turned and slapped my face so hard I fell against the car door.

  “Rahima, you question me again and I swear I will go straight to Abdul Khaliq and tell him you’re opening your idiot mouth in the assembly. We’ll see if you’re so eager to wag your tongue then! Learn to control yourself, you bitch.”

  Maroof looked into the rearview mirror. An expression of surprise twisted into a smirk. He was entertained. My face stung but I said nothing. I had the rest of our stay to get through and I refused to become a spectacle for our bodyguards.

  The following morning, we wove through clusters of foreign soldiers and returned to the parliament building. Late, because of Badriya. But there was no voting today, only discussions. Nothing of importance to her, though she was obligated to make an appearance.

  I wasn’t speaking to her, just answering her questions and keeping out of the way. I was beginning to reconsider if being in Kabul was worth putting up with her attitude. As bad as she was at the compound, she was worse here. There was only me to take all her attention and the pressure of following our husband’s plan was getting to her.

  I took notes for her and filled out a survey distributed by some international organization looking to improve the parliament, and then we broke for lunch. I gravitated toward Hamida and Sufia. Badriya reluctantly followed with her tray.

  “How are you two doing?” Hamida said. They looked at us differently now. Yesterday had changed things.

  “Fine, thanks. You?” Badriya was curt. It wasn’t helping the situation.

  “Still surprised from yesterday. We were hoping to block more of those nominations. But I guess it was their naseeb to get approved.”

  Naseeb. Did Sufia really believe that? If she did, why bother voting?

  “Maybe so,” Badriya said in agreement.

  I searched for something to say that would tell the ladies I was on their side but without riling Badriya’s nerves.

  “Sometimes people surprise you, don’t they?” I said. “Maybe something good will come of it.”

  “An optimist—there’s something we d
on’t see often.”

  I had no reason to think Qayoumi was anything but the bastard they said he was. I had almost no reason to believe anyone would do anything good, really. My “optimism” was just words, strung together in hopes of making me look neutral. I wanted to be friendly with these women. They were independent and happy, something I’d tasted only as a young boy.

  “Sufia and I are going to the resource center this evening. Maybe you would want to join us?”

  “Thank you but I can’t,” said Badriya. “I’m going to my cousin’s home tonight. I haven’t seen her in over two years.”

  I looked at her, surprised. Was she telling the truth? She spoke up, seeing the look on my face. “My mother’s cousin lives here in Kabul. I haven’t seen them in so long and my aunt is getting older. They’ve insisted that I come by and visit them. They live on the other side of the river, by the women’s hospital.”

  “Well, if you ladies are going there tonight then maybe another—”

  Badriya looked startled. “Us? Oh, no. I’m going alone. Since it’s my cousin, you know,” she said, fumbling her words as she tried to undo my accompanying her. “And Rahima-jan said she didn’t want to go anyway.”

  Eyes on me for confirmation.

  “Well, you kept saying they were such nice people. Maybe I should go after all, huh?”

  Badriya’s eyes widened. “Really? You want to go? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” she said. Her glare told me the answer she expected.

  “No,” I said. “You know what? I think I’ve changed my mind. You should go and see your aunt and cousins. Maybe I’ll go to the resource center instead. It would be great to see what they offer. I wouldn’t mind taking some lessons while we’re here.”

  Hamida’s eyes lit up. It was as if she saw me in a new light.

  “That’s a great idea! That’s what we’ll do. While Badriya visits her aunt, we’ll go to the resource center. We can go meet directly after the session closes today and then head over to their office. You’ll be ready to go then, right?”