Allure of Deceit (19 page)

Leila did not seek refuge in the compound. A few weeks later, her father arranged a fast marriage with a man who did not care about a wife carrying a child that belonged to another man. The night of the wedding, the couple and Mari were sent away to prison.

The week after Leila's estimated due date, Zahira traveled to Kandahar. The prison building was large and new, with thick, concrete-block walls painted pale blue and lots of windows covered with screens of thick wire. The place was surrounded by tall chain-link fences topped with curled razor wire. Inside the prison yard, children ran and played.

One entrance was marked for visitors. A plaque over the door read: “In the Name of Allah, the most merciful and the most compassionate.” Zahira stopped at the office, introducing herself as an aunt before dropping coins into an empty box labeled
sadaqa
. She needed both forgiveness and protection against evil. A guard guided her through a maze until they reached a series of large cells shared by women and their children.

“How is the baby?” Zahira whispered. The guard unlocked a door and shrugged. The door slammed, and Zahira searched for Leila.

Bunk beds lined the walls on either side, and colorful sheets shielded each space. The crowded room was lively with chatter. Women sat on the edges of the beds, holding and feeding infants. Toddlers crawled and tumbled on a carpet in the center of the room.

The women were accustomed to strangers coming and going, and offered no greetings. Instead, they stared, as if waiting for Zahira to tell them what to do next. Zahira scanned the group a few times before eyeing Leila crouched in a corner, leaning against a wall and trying to quiet a wailing infant. Using her thumb and finger, the young mother tried to stretch the infant's mouth open while using her other hand to guide the baby's head close to her chest. But the infant was red-faced, letting loose tiny, sharp cries, as furious as the baby Zahira had soothed so many years ago.

Hurrying over, Zahira crouched next to Leila. She hesitated to reach for the squalling child. “Babies want so much,” she said in a matter-of-fact way.

Only then Leila looked up. Shiny patches of ruined skin stretched along one side of Leila's face—the scar was long healed, the damage from before Leila's prison stay. Zahira was surprised that Parsaa had not mentioned such an event, but then he had suppressed many negative details about his precious village. Zahira tried not to react, but Leila was keen. “They are going to fix my face,” she retorted. “My attorney is collecting money. They will schedule the operation now that she has been born.”

A little girl—that pleased Zahira. She asked if the infant had taken the breast.

“A few times,” Leila said. “But she fusses.”

“Let her calm down before you try again,” Zahira advised. “And in the meantime, lay her on your thighs and rock your legs side to side. Gently.”

Leila followed the instructions, and the infant stopped crying and locked her unblinking eyes onto her mother's face.

“At last, peace.” Leaning back, Leila closed her eyes. “If I could move back to the other cell.”

Zahira faced the girl and sat, trying to ignore the worn carpet with splotches of dried food and stains of unknown origins. She asked about the other space.

“The noise here is driving me mad,” Leila explained, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Women with children must stay together, and I miss being with the women without children.”

Sighing, she looked around the room. “The other cell block was pleasant. Here, women only talk about their children. They don't like me. Most are older, and they're jealous because the foreign NGOs are interested in my case. So they ignore me but help one another with their children and washing so they can nap or go to classes.” Leila glared at her child. “I'm only in here because of Hasti. She is never satisfied. She doesn't let me sleep, and the other children are tiresome, too. I can't bear it much longer!”

“She will become more accustomed to feedings and your schedule.” Zahira tried to soothe the young mother.

“Hah!” Leila was ready to cry. “She cries more than she sleeps! One woman claims Hasti is terrified of my face! Do you think that is true?”

“No,” Zahira spoke firmly and took the girl's hand. “The baby is not crying now. And you are right. The others envy the attention directed your way.”

The baby's eyes were wide open, her breathing was shallow, and Zahira wondered if the child was getting enough liquid nourishment. She asked how old the baby was, and Leila said five days. Zahira suggested that she try giving the infant another chance to feed. Sighing, Leila leaned forward and exposed a full breast. Shifting her own position to block the curious stares from others in the room, Zahira directed Leila to sit up straight and then helped lift the infant, gently arranging her in Leila's arms.

A mother should not hurry. Zahira cupped her hand around the full breast and squeezed with the other, using her fingers like scissors. Milk leaked out and Zahira suggested directing the baby's mouth closer to the damp nipple. The baby latched on, sucked a few times, before pausing to stare up at Leila with beautiful eyes. Leila leaned over the baby, using her right hand to shove the breast back into the mouth.

As the baby turned, Zahira noticed the top of her head was slightly sunken.

Leila was frustrated. “They're right. She doesn't like looking at me.” Moving the baby to the floor, Leila let the blanket lay loose. “Let her go hungry and cold!”

Then she quickly relented, swaddling the baby tightly and roughly plopping her down on a nearby cushion.

“She may not be hungry,” offered Zahira. She was amazed the baby did not fuss more, but had to show she did not care. She wanted to ask about the color of the baby's urine, but too many questions would put Leila on the defensive. Instead, Zahira pointed out that a baby that young could not possibly care about her mother's face. The girl did not respond.

Zahira sat back and waited patiently. Leila's stare hardened through the long spell of silence. “Why are you here?” she asked.

Leaning back so Leila could not check her face, Zahira explained she was in town for other business. Then Zahira pointedly asked about other visitors from Laashekoh. The girl shook her head. “Will you tell Parsaa that you have seen me?” Leila asked bitterly.

“Not at all,” Zahira said.

“You know he is why I am here?” Leila was nervous. “A good man would have understood that I had to follow orders from my father and my husband. Parsaa could have simply punished us and allowed us to remain at Laashekoh. He did not have to involve the foreign soldiers. That is what my attorney says.”

Zahira asked the length of her sentence.

“Six years.” Leila's laugh was short. “It's strange. This is supposed to be punishment, but I like it better here than living in Laashekoh. I would never go back. If only I didn't have the child.”

The mother was eager to rid herself of Hasti, and the infant sensed the resentment. But Zahira could not plead for the child. The idea had to come from Leila.

“Could a relative care for her?” Zahira questioned in a cool tone.

“My mother is in another prison,” Leila snapped. “And my sisters are stuck in Laashekoh and would be fools to ruin their marriage chances by caring for my child.” Leila suddenly twisted her head sideways. “Is that why you came here?”

Zahira was silent and resisted glancing toward the infant. She could not show Leila how much she cared.

But Leila saw.

“This is why you refused to give me the abortion?” Leila charged. “You care more about her than me. And now you want me to hand her over to you?” She demanded that Zahira look her in the eye.

Zahira faced Leila with a set expression and kept her voice steady. “I told you then. Too much time had passed. Only so much is possible in an area as remote as ours. It's not my fault you did not come to me earlier.”

“That is not what others tell me here!” Leila snarled with fury. “Why do you want her?”

Other prisoners went silent and stared, and Leila sat up, resuming a polite demeanor.

“She is not the only infant in Afghanistan,” Zahira tried well-practiced disdain before softening her voice. “My husband and I have no children and a large compound. It's a good home with many resources.”

She paused. “We could explain that I'm an aunt, and I could take her away today.”

Leila was thoughtful. “My father said your father owned all the property around Laashekoh. That he allowed the villagers to farm and live in Laashekoh.”

Zahira stiffened. “We have property, and I can also provide her with an education, a dowry.”

Leila scoffed at the offer. “My attorneys are promising me great wealth.”

Irritated, Zahira stood and prepared to leave. She would not let a girl in prison push her around. “Your daughter won't live long enough to see your wealth. She is dehydrated and needs a doctor. Not an attorney. I am trying to help. What more could you want?”

The inmate stood, too, placed both hands on Zahira's shoulders, and whispered in her ear. The older woman stood still, absorbing the impossible request. “That would not be easy,” she finally responded.

“If you really own the land, you decide who lives there, no?” Leila asked. “And he is nothing to you.” She smiled, somehow knowing that was not true.

Leila did not wait for an answer. Regal and impulsive, she dismissed Zahira. “Go ahead, be my aunt. Take the child with you today. Do with her as you please. As long as you find a way to take care of Parsaa.”

And Leila ordered Zahira not to return because she didn't want to think of Laashekoh again.

Zahira did not argue. Taking the child was easy after meeting with the prison warden and explaining she was a relative who lived near Leila's village. The man made a notation and waved her away.

But Zahira could not force Parsaa's family to leave Laashekoh because she no longer owned the land.

There was time. Leila could appeal her sentence but would be in prison at least a few more months. Besides, Leila had not set a deadline. The girl despised Laashekoh and would not want to return after her release. She talked about money and plans to travel. So Zahira convinced herself. She could move away before Leila returned for the child. She did not want Shareen to know the identity and cruel detachment of her birth mother.

Turning slowly back and forth, Zahira cooed to the baby—Parsaa's first grandchild. Zahira was proud about nurturing the infant back to health so quickly. The little girl was plump, content, alert. Before finding Shareen, Zahira had once believed that abortion was kinder than adoption. A mother could never trust a stranger with her child, and thoughts of Shareen with another woman were abhorrent.

Zahira had rescued the child not once, but twice. Their relationship was exceptional, though it was ironic how much Zahira sounded like the women who opposed abortions for others but vehemently justified their own.

Studying the baby's face, Zahira thought she could see Parsaa in her eyes and definitely Leila in the outline of her jaw and mouth. Zahira did not want Parsaa to know of the child's existence, not yet, and certainly not the identity of her parents. Otherwise, Parsaa and Sofi might try to claim the child, insisting on raising her in the intolerant village where the girl would never be treated as equal. Zahira might eventually tell Parsaa about the child, but only after leaving Afghanistan.

She needed more money to leave and buy citizenship in another land, as advised by Paul—the $750,000 that would take her to Spain or Greece and all she had to do was purchase property. Or, $1 million would take her to the United States if she could create ten jobs. Canada and England were too cold.

The United States was the safest destination. American soldiers had arrested the traffickers, and Leila would be regarded a security risk. Zahira needed Paul's sponsorship and more money. Perhaps she could convince Parsaa to sell some of the land and share the proceeds. Or she could convince the western charities, so free with funds, that she needed more.

“I rescued you before you were born and afterward, and I will rescue again,” she cooed to the child. Shareen belonged to her, and that made Zahira determined to restore her inheritance and pass along a new life, much more than a compound hidden away in a desolate canyon, to her baby girl.