The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

  “Bah. I’ve wanted to be around only so I can look after you girls, to tell you the truth. Nothing else matters much. But I can’t slip through his fingers forever. It’s like the story of that man—did I tell you that one?”

  “No, Khala-jan. You’ve only told us about Bibi Shekiba.”

  “Ah, and I hope you’ve learned something from her story. You are her legacy, after all. Remember, your great-great-grandmother was Bibi Shekiba, guard to the king’s harem.

  “Dokhtar-em, my dear, I’m not well. You are not a naïve girl anymore. It will give my heart peace if you can tell me that every story I’ve told, every mattal I’ve shared, that you’ve gotten some wisdom and courage from it. Remember where you come from. Bibi Shekiba is not a fairy tale. She is your great-great-grandmother. Her blood courses through your veins and gives strength to your spirit. Always walk with your head high. You are the descendant of a somebody, not a nobody.” She sighed heavily, which turned into a long, exasperated cough. She took a minute to catch her breath before she continued.

  “I’ve tried to tell Rohila and Sitara the same. But Rohila is to be married soon and I think she’ll be better off. The family seems reasonable. Sitara will be alone with your parents, left to fend for herself. I can’t do much more for her. I wish I could tell you to watch out for her but you could do more for her if a mountain stood between you. These walls hold you tight. Focus on yourself. Everything you’ve endured in life should have taught you something, made you hungry for something. Remember, Allah has said, ‘Start moving, so I may start blessing.’”

  I tried to find the words to reassure Khala Shaima, to tell her that I understood what she was telling me and that I was proud to know I was a descendant of Bibi Shekiba, the woman who had guarded the king’s harem, who had walked through the royal palace. I may have lived my entire life in a small village but I was connected to Afghanistan’s aristocracy.

  But I’d never been able to find the right words. As I sat there, I had to admit I could see my aunt fading. She didn’t look like the person I remembered. She had spent her adult life trying to guide us, trying to look out for my sisters and me.

  And she was right. As much as I might have wanted to do for my sisters, Abdul Khaliq’s walls were high and his leash short. I could only pray for them.

  Badriya was lying on the bed. She’d spent the day griping about how long it was taking for Abdul Khaliq’s men to finish the home he’d bought in Kabul. She was tired of staying in a hotel and having the man in the lobby watch our comings and goings with interest. I wanted to go for a walk, tired of listening to her complaints.

  I adjusted my head scarf and opened the door. Badriya looked up, shook her head and turned around to face the wall. I could tell she didn’t want me to leave since it would leave her without an audience but I was starting to feel the walls close in. I walked out of our room.

  To my right was a staircase leading to the lobby. I could hear Maroof and Hassan on my left, about forty feet down the hall, talking. I could make out Maroof’s back, sitting on the chair. As much as I wanted to head directly down to the street level, I knew there would be hell to pay if I were to leave unchaperoned and unannounced.

  I could make out their voices as I neared.

  “You told him that?”

  “I did. What the hell was I supposed to tell him?” Maroof asked.

  “God help her. What did he say?”

  “You’ve heard how he gets. He said a lot of things. I don’t know what he’s going to do to her but I had no choice. And it’s your fault anyway, Maroof. You’re the one who told him she was spending a lot of time with those two hags. You didn’t stop to think that he would get pissed we weren’t guarding her? Maybe you don’t think it’s your job since you’re the driver, but I’m their guard. Did you miss that?”

  “What was I supposed to tell him? He called when she wasn’t around. He wanted to speak to Badriya too. If I hadn’t said she wasn’t here, she would have told him. He would have had my neck for sure if he thought I was keeping something from him.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, I hope he got that she went without our knowing about it. I don’t want to get back to the house and find out it’s us he’s mad at.”

  “Just stick to what we said. She snuck out without telling us and went to hang out with those godforsaken women. He’ll believe it. You know he doesn’t think much of her anyway. You’ve heard about his plans. He’s lost interest. She’s not as exciting to him as she was in the beginning. Remember that day he saw her in the market?”

  Maroof let out a guffaw.

  “He looked like he might pick her up right there. Send a note and a few afghanis to her parents!”

  “Would’ve been a lot easier if he’d done it that way. What a pain her family was. Putting up a show like they come from royalty or something.”

  “But I remember your face when he made us stop so he could watch her . . . you thought she was a real boy then, you idiot!”

  “You did too!” Maroof said in self-defense. “She looked like a boy. How the hell should I have known there was something more interesting under those clothes?”

  “You probably liked her better the other way!” Hassan chuckled. “What do you think of her new haircut, eh? Got your appetite going?”

  I backed up slowly and as quietly as I could, my mind racing.

  They had sold me out to my husband. I trembled at the way they talked about me.

  My thoughts tumbled and turned until I finally realized what it was that I had just overheard.

  I wasn’t safe.

  I turned the doorknob, watching the hallway to see if the men had noticed my presence. They hadn’t. I closed the door behind me and went straight to the washroom. I couldn’t look at Badriya right now, knowing she would be of no help to me. It looked like she was asleep anyway.

  My husband was a man of violence and I knew that I’d barely seen a tenth of what he was capable of. He was a man of war, of guns, of power. He demanded respect and obedience, and the guards had just told him that I was out of control. He must have been wild with rage.

  I couldn’t help but remember he was looking to add a wife and that five was one more than he wanted. I knew what that meant for me.

  I thought of the woman in the shelter. She’d disobeyed and her husband had sliced off her ear. I had no doubt Abdul Khaliq could be just as vicious. I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding in fear. I had to think fast.

  We were due to return home in three days.

  CHAPTER 64

  SHEKIBA

  SHAH’S FEET POUNDED AGAINST THE DIRT of the road. Just because he was supposed to accompany his sister home from school didn’t mean he couldn’t race her to the front door. He panted, turned around and saw Shabnam walking hurriedly to catch up. She looked frustrated.

  “Why are you always in such a rush? Don’t you know it’s not easy to run in a skirt? And anyway, Madar-jan would be upset if she saw me chasing after you through the streets!”

  “It’s not my fault I’m faster than you. I could have been home a long time ago if I didn’t have to wait for you!”

  It was the same argument every day. They bickered but adored each other, oblivious to the resentment between their mothers. Shabnam had long ago opted to ignore her mother’s hand pulling her back and would sit with Shekiba while she washed the clothes, asking her question after question about everything from horses to baking bread. And Shah, who knew no boundaries thanks to his father, loved to torment Gulnaz by pulling at her knitting and running away, his giggles undoing her anger at the work he had unraveled.

  Aasif had hoped for more children but Gulnaz and Shekiba seemed to alternate; one would start her womanly illness when the other stopped. He wondered if a curse had been lifted from him for those two years. Or maybe the women had done something . . . but he grew tired of being angry. His mother had not given up hope. Even one week before her death, she’d reminded her son that Allah had wanted men to take on more than two
wives.

  “And where will I put another wife, Madar-jan? In our small home, there is no room for another woman and I have enough trouble feeding the ones I have.”

  “Marry and Allah will provide a way,” his mother had told him, her eyes half closed with fatigue.

  He debated her advice, as illogical as it seemed, on his way to and from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He had been transferred from the Ministry of Agriculture and given a position working with a higher-ranked vizier two years ago thanks to his relationship with Amanullah.

  When Agha Khalil arrived with his wife, it was Shah who met them at the door. His knees were dusty from trying to climb past the second branch of the tree in their courtyard, which made the visitor and his wife smile and think of their own young son at home.

  “Good evening, dear boy! Is your father home? I would like to speak with him.”

  “Yes, he is. Come in! My mother is making dinner. Why don’t you stay and be our guest?” he said with a grin, aping his father’s hospitality. Agha Khalil’s wife could not help but laugh.

  “Isn’t that kind of you! We wouldn’t want to trouble her, my friend,” he said just as Aasif entered the courtyard.

  “Agha Khalil, how pleasant to see you!”

  “And you as well, Agha Baraan. Forgive me for dropping by at this hour but I wanted to bring you those papers since I will not be at the office tomorrow.”

  “Please, please, come in,” Aasif said, motioning to the house door.

  “Your son was quite the host and already invited us but my wife and I were just on our way home from visiting relatives. We don’t want to be a bother.”

  Aasif insisted and Shekiba quickly set out cups of tea and dried mulberries. Gulnaz had taken to her room with a headache, so Shekiba was forced to join Aasif in sitting with the guests. Shekiba and Agha Khalil’s wife, Mahnaz, were introduced and they sat in one corner of the living room while the men chatted in the other. Shekiba kept her head turned to the side as she always did when she met someone new.

  “Your son is such a darling boy, nam-e-khoda!” Mahnaz said. Shekiba bowed her head and smiled to hear the kindness in this woman’s voice. Mahnaz wore a taupe-colored ankle-length dress with airy sleeves that buttoned at the cuff. She looked elegant and fitting of someone who might be a palace guest.

  “May Allah bless you with good health, thank you,” she said, not wanting to invite nazar by saying any more about her little king.

  “Do you have much family in Kabul?”

  “No, I came from a small village outside Kabul.”

  “So did I. This city was quite a surprise for me! So different from where I grew up.” Mahnaz was young, probably no more than twenty-four years old, with a bright and cheerful face. “Where was your village?”

  “It was called Qala-e-Bulbul. I doubt you ever would have heard of it,” Shekiba said. At the age of thirty-six, she hadn’t thought of her village, named for the hundreds of songbirds that lived there, in years. And her village made her think of her songbird sister. Aqela’s lifted voice and dimpled face flashed across her mind, blurry and vivid all at once as memories are.

  Mahnaz’s mouth dropped open. She put a hand on Shekiba’s. “Qala-e-Bulbul? Are you really from there? That is my village!”

  Shekiba suddenly felt a surge of panic. She did not regret in the least that she had no contact with her family. She looked over at Aasif and saw that the men were deeply engaged in a conversation. He had never cared to ask her anything about her family and she saw no reason for him to learn anything now.

  “I left when I was fairly young and I barely remember anyone . . . ,” Shekiba said quietly.

  “What a remarkable coincidence! What is your family name?”

  “Bardari.”

  “Bardari? The farm that was north of the hill of the shepherd? Oh, my goodness! My uncle was neighbor to the Bardari family. I spent so much time at my uncle’s house that I know them well. We lived not too far from there ourselves. How are you related to Khanum Zarmina or Khanum Samina? Their daughters and I used to braid each other’s hair and sing songs by the stream that ran behind my uncle’s land.”

  “You did? They are my uncles’ wives.”

  “Oh my! Then it was your cousins that I played with as a girl! Do you write to them often? My letters to my family take so very long to reach home. Do you have the same trouble?”

  “I . . . I am not in contact with my family now that I am living in Kabul. It has been a long time,” Shekiba said vaguely.

  “Really? I understand. I was just there two years ago, you know. For my brother’s wedding. The village hasn’t changed a bit. But did you . . . Shekiba-jan, do you know about your grandmother?” Mahnaz’s eyes softened and her voice quieted.

  “My grandmother? What is it?”

  Mahnaz bit her lip and looked down for a second. She shook her head and held both Shekiba’s hands in her own.

  “She passed away just two days after the wedding. It was such a sad time. I did not know her personally but I heard that she was a very strong woman. The whole village marveled at how blessed she was to have lived such a long life!”

  Shekiba was taken aback. Part of her had expected her grandmother to live on forever, pickled in her own bitter juices. She quickly realized that her guest was expecting some kind of reaction.

  “Oh. I had no idea. May she rest peacefully in heaven,” she mumbled, lowering her head.

  “I am so sorry that I should share such sad news with you, especially in our first meeting. How awful of me!”

  “Please, please. My grandmother, as you said, lived many more years than anyone would have expected. Such is life and the same end awaits us all,” she said, struggling to sound polite.

  “Yes, yes, God bless her. She must have had a good soul to have been blessed with such a long life.”

  You did not know her, Shekiba thought.

  “Mahnaz-jan,” Shekiba said hesitantly. She wondered how to ask what she really wanted to know. “Do you happen to know how the farms are doing? My father’s land . . . my father’s land used to produce such a yield of crops. I often wonder . . .”

  “Which was your father’s land?”

  “It was behind my grandmother’s house, separated by a row of tall trees . . .”

  “Oh, of course! Well,” she said. The subject obviously made her uncomfortable. “From what I heard there were some . . . some disagreements about the land. When I was there, Freidun-jan and Zarmina-jan were living there but they were about to divide it up.”

  Shekiba could decipher what Mahnaz was too polite to say. Her uncles must have quarreled over the land. She could imagine Kaka Freidun asserting his right as eldest and haughty Khala Zarmina pushing the others aside to get a home of her own. Greed had torn the family and the land apart.

  “But they were not having a good yield when I visited. I saw their daughter, your cousin, at the wedding and she told me that they believed there was some kind of curse on the soil.”

  Shekiba smiled. Mahnaz thought her odd. Shekiba realized but couldn’t help it. She could hear her grandmother’s cackling voice telling her sons that it was Shekiba who had cursed the earth and condemned their crops.

  “How did things go at the wedding? Congratulations to your family,” Shekiba said. She had no interest in hearing anything else about her family.

  Mahnaz relaxed and broke into a smile. “It was wonderful! Dancing and music and food! It was so lively and I had not seen my family in so long. I could not have had a better time!”

  “How nice! I wish the bride and groom a happy life.”

  “They nearly had to call off the wedding, truthfully.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, the bride’s family had asked for a huge sum of money as her bride price, but my father had said it was unreasonable, especially since King Amanullah had outlawed the practice of bride price. The bride’s father felt disrespected, so they settled on a lesser sum. I suppose I could understand though. No money a
t all? I mean, a bride is worth something, isn’t she? I know I was!” she laughed.

  Shekiba smiled meekly and looked away. “You are right. Amanullah’s laws seem so foreign in a village like ours. Kabul is so different. Can you imagine if people in Qala-e-Bulbul knew about the English and German secondary schools here?”

  “You are so right, Shekiba-jan! Only some of the girls went to school in our area. Do you know that Queen Soraya will be making a speech in two days?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Oh, it will be amazing. I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say. Though I worry about her. Many will not welcome so many changes so quickly. Why don’t you come with me? We can go and hear her speak!”

  Shekiba was taken aback. Queen Soraya? Shekiba had wondered about her so much, she brightened at the thought of actually seeing this revolutionary woman. But Shekiba was not accustomed to attending public events.

  “Oh, I couldn’t . . . I mean, I have to tend to—”

  “Come, just for a day! It’ll be great to see!” she said with excitement, and then turned her attention to the men. They were so deeply engaged in conversation that they had not yet touched their tea. “Excuse me, dear Agha Baraan!”

  Aasif turned around. He looked startled. “Yes, Khanum?”

  “Could I steal your wife tomorrow?”

  Steal your wife. I wonder how that sounds to him, Shekiba thought. The talk of Amanullah and Soraya reminded her of the palace. And Benafsha.

  “Steal my . . .”

  “Yes, I would love to go to the speech and have been looking for someone to join me! We won’t be gone long. We can take adorable Shah-jan with us too!”

  “It will be an important speech. I have no doubt that the Afghan people will be impressed with Queen Soraya the more they get to know her,” Agha Khalil said.

  “You will be there?” Aasif asked him. Shekiba watched as her afternoon was planned for her.

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, then . . .”

  “Wonderful! Hope you don’t mind her escaping for a bit!” Mahnaz said contently. Aasif tried not to let his face show his displeasure.