The Breadwinner (5 page)

The bread was still warm. It smelled so good! The wonderful smell reminded Parvana how hungry she was. She could have swallowed a whole loaf in one gulp.

The fruit and vegetable stand was next. Before she had time to make a selection, a voice behind her shouted, “What are you doing on the street dressed like that?”

Parvana whirled around to see a Talib glaring at her, anger in his eyes and a stick in his hand.

“You must be covered up! Who is your father? Who is your husband? They will be punished for letting you walk the street like that!” The soldier raised his arm and brought his stick down on Parvana's shoulder.

Parvana didn't even feel it. Punish her father, would they?

“Stop hitting me!” she yelled.

The Talib was so surprised, he held still for a moment. Parvana saw him pause, and she started to run. She knocked over a pile of turnips at the vegetable stand, and they went rolling all over the street.

Clutching the still-warm nan to her chest, Parvana kept running, her sandals slapping against the pavement. She didn't care if people were staring at her. All she wanted was to get as far away from the soldier as she could, as fast as her legs could carry her.

She was so anxious to get home, she ran right into a woman carrying a child.

“Is that Parvana?”

Parvana tried to get away, but the woman had a firm grip on her arm.

“It is Parvana! What kind of a way is that to carry bread?”

The voice behind the burqa was familiar, but Parvana couldn't remember who it belonged to.

“Speak up, girl! Don't stand there with your mouth open as though you were a fish in the market! Speak up!”

“Mrs. Weera?”

“Oh, that's right, my face is covered. I keep
forgetting. Now, why are you running, and why are you crushing that perfectly good bread?”

Parvana started to cry. “The Taliban...one of the soldiers...he was chasing me.”

“Dry your tears. Under such a circumstance, running was a very sensible thing to do. I always thought you had the makings of a sensible girl, and you've just proven me right. Good for you! You've outrun the Taliban. Where are you going with all that bread?”

“Home. I'm almost there.”

“We'll go together. I've been meaning to call on your mother for some time. We need a magazine, and your mother is just the person to get it going for us.”

“Mother doesn't write any more, and I don't think she'll want company.”

“Nonsense. Let's go.”

Mrs. Weera had been in the Afghan Women's Union with Mother. She was so sure Mother wouldn't mind her dropping in that Parvana obediently led the way.

“And stop squeezing that bread! It's not going to suddenly jump out of your arms!”

When they were almost at the top step,
Parvana turned to Mrs. Weera. “About Mother. She's not been well.”

“Then it's a good thing I'm stopping by to take care of her!”

Parvana gave up. They reached the apartment door and went inside.

Nooria saw only Parvana at first. She took the nan from her. “Is this all you bought? Where's the rice? Where's the tea? How are we supposed to manage with just this?”

“Don't be too hard on her. She was chased out of the market before she could complete her shopping.” Mrs. Weera stepped into the room and took off her burqa.

“Mrs. Weera!” Nooria exclaimed. Relief washed over her face. Here was someone who could take charge, who could take some of the responsibility off her shoulders.

Mrs. Weera placed the child she'd been carrying down on the mat beside Ali. The two toddlers eyed each other warily.

Mrs. Weera was a tall woman. Her hair was white, but her body was strong. She had been a physical education teacher before the Taliban made her leave her job.

“What in the world is going on here?” she
asked. In a few quick strides she was in the bathroom, searching out the source of the stench. “Why aren't those diapers washed?”

“We're out of water,” Nooria explained. “We've been afraid to go out.”

“You're not afraid, are you, Parvana?” She didn't wait for her answer. “Fetch the bucket, girl. Do your bit for the team. Here we go!” Mrs. Weera still talked like she was out on the hockey field, urging everyone to do their best.

“Where's Fatana?” she asked, as Parvana fetched the water bucket. Nooria motioned to the figure on the toshak, buried under a blanket. Mother moaned and tried to huddle down even further.

“She's sleeping,” Nooria said.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Four days.”

“Where's your father?”

“Arrested.”

“Ah, I see.” She caught sight of Parvana holding the empty bucket. “Are you waiting for it to rain inside so your bucket will fill itself? Off you go!”

Parvana went.

She made seven trips. Mrs. Weera met her
outside the apartment at the top of the steps and took the first two full buckets from her, emptied them inside and brought back the empty bucket. “We're getting your mother cleaned up, and she doesn't need another pair of eyes on her.”

After that, Parvana carried the water inside to the water tank as usual. Mrs. Weera had gotten Mother up and washed. Mother didn't seem to notice Parvana.

She kept hauling water. Her arms were sore, and the blisters on her feet started to bleed again, but she didn't think about that. She fetched water because her family needed it, because her father would have expected her to. Now that Mrs. Weera was there and her mother was up, things were going to get easier, and she would do her part.

Out the door, down the steps, down the street to the tap, then back again, stopping now and then to rest and change carrying arms.

After the seventh trip, Mrs. Weera stopped her.

“You've filled the tank and the wash basin, and there's a full bucket to spare. That's enough for now.”

Parvana was dizzy from doing all that exercise with no food and nothing to drink. She wanted some water right away.

“What are you doing?” Nooria asked as Parvana filled a cup from the tank. “You know it has to be boiled first!”

Unboiled water made you sick, but Parvana was so thirsty that she didn't care. She wanted to drink, and raised the cup to her lips.

Nooria snatched it from her hands. “You are the stupidest girl! All we need now is for you to get sick! How could anyone so stupid end up as my sister!”

“That's no way to keep up team spirit,” Mrs. Weera said. “Nooria, why don't you get the little ones washed for dinner. Use cold water. We'll let this first batch of boiled water be for drinking.”

Parvana went out into the larger room and sat down. Mother was sitting up. She had put on clean clothes. Her hair was brushed and tied back. She looked more like Mother, although she still seemed very tired.

It felt like an eternity before Mrs. Weera handed Parvana a cup of plain boiled water.

“Be careful. It's very hot.”

As soon as she could, she drank the water, got another cupful, and drank that, too.

Mrs. Weera and her granddaughter stayed the night. As Parvana drifted off to sleep, she heard her, Nooria and Mother talking quietly together. Mrs. Weera told them about Parvana's brush with the Taliban.

The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Mrs. Weera saying, “I guess we'll have to think of something else.”

They were going to turn her into a boy.

“As a boy, you'll be able to move in and out of the market,
buy what we need, and no one will stop you,” Mother said.

“It's a perfect solution,” Mrs. Weera said.

“You'll be our cousin from Jalalabad,” Nooria said,
“come to stay with us while our father is away.”

Parvana stared at the three of them. It was as though they were speaking a
foreign language, and she didn't have a clue what they were saying.

“If anybody asks about you, we'll say that you have gone to
stay with an aunt in Kunduz,” Mother said.

“But no one will ask about you.”

At these words, Parvana turned her head sharply to glare at her sister. If
ever there was a time to say something mean, this was it, but she couldn't think
of anything. After all, what Nooria said was true. None of her friends had
seen her since the Taliban closed the schools. Her relatives were
scattered to different parts of the country, even to different countries. There was no
one to ask about her.

“You'll wear Hossain's clothes.” Mother's
voice caught, and for a moment it seemed as though she would cry, but she got control of
herself again. “They will be a bit big for you, but we can make some adjustments
if we have to.” She glanced over at Mrs. Weera. “Those clothes have been
idle long enough. It's time they were put to use.”

Parvana guessed Mrs. Weera and her mother had been talking long and hard
while she was asleep. She was glad of that. Her mother already looked better. But that
didn't mean she was ready to give in.

“It won't work,” she said. “I won't look
like a boy. I have long hair.”

Nooria opened the cupboard door, took out the sewing kit and slowly opened
it up. It looked to Parvana as if Nooria was having too much fun as she lifted out the
scissors and snapped them open and shut a few times.

“You're not cutting my hair!” Parvana's hands flew
up to her head.

“How else will you look like a boy?”
Mother asked.

“Cut Nooria's hair! She's the oldest! It's her
responsibility to look after me, not my responsibility to look after her!”

“No one would believe me to be a boy,” Nooria said calmly,
looking down at her body. Nooria being calm just made Parvana madder.

“I'll look like that soon,” Parvana said.

“You wish.”

“We'll deal with that when the time comes,” Mother said
quickly, heading off the fight she knew was coming. “Until then, we have no
choice. Someone has to be able to go outside, and you are the one most likely to look
like a boy.”

Parvana thought about it. Her fingers reached up her back to see how long
her hair had grown.

“It has to be your decision,” Mrs. Weera said. “We can
force you to cut off your hair, but you're still the one who has to go outside and
act the part. We know this is a big thing we're asking, but I think you can do it.
How about it?”

Parvana realized Mrs. Weera was right. They
could hold
her down and cut off her hair, but for anything more, they needed her cooperation. In
the end, it really was her decision.

Somehow, knowing that made it easier to agree.

“All right,” she said. “I'll do it.”

“Well done,” said Mrs. Weera. “That's the
spirit.”

Nooria snapped the scissors again. “I'll cut your hair,”
she said.

“I'll cut it,” Mother said, taking the scissors away.
“Let's do it now, Parvana. Thinking about it won't make it any
easier.”

Parvana and her mother went into the washroom where the cement floor
would make it easier to clean up the cut-off hair. Mother took Hossain's clothes
in with them.

“Do you want to watch?” Mother asked, nodding toward the
mirror.

Parvana shook her head, then changed her mind. If this was the last she
would see of her hair, then she wanted to see it for as long as she could.

Mother worked quickly. First she cut off a huge chunk in a straight line
at her neck. She held it up for Parvana to see.

“I have a lovely piece of ribbon packed
away,” she said. “We'll tie this up with it, and you can keep
it.”

Parvana looked at the hair in her mother's hand. While it was on her
head, it had seemed important. It didn't seem important any more.

“No, thanks,” said Parvana. “Throw it away.”

Her mother's lips tightened. “If you're going to sulk
about it,” she said, and she tossed the hair down to the floor.

As more and more hair fell away, Parvana began to feel like a different
person. Her whole face showed. What was left of her hair was short and shaggy. It curled
in a soft fringe around her ears. There were no long parts to fall into her eyes, to
become tangled on a windy day, to take forever to dry when she got caught in the
rain.

Her forehead seemed bigger. Her eyes seemed bigger, too, maybe because she
was opening them so wide to be able to see everything. Her ears seemed to stick out from
her head.

They look a little funny, Parvana thought, but a nice sort of funny.

I have a nice face, she decided.

Mother rubbed her hands brusquely over Parvana's head to rub away
any stray hairs.

“Change your clothes,” she said. Then she left the
washroom.

All alone, Parvana's hand crept up to the top of her head. Touching
her hair gingerly at first, she soon rubbed the palm of her hand all over her head. Her
new hair felt both bristly and soft. It tickled the skin on her hand.

I like it, she thought, and she smiled.

She took off her own clothes and put on her brother's.
Hossain's shalwar kameez was pale green, both the loose shirt and the baggy
trousers. The shirt hung down very low, and the trousers were too long, but by rolling
them up at the waist, they were all right.

There was a pocket sewn into the left side of the shirt, near the chest.
It was just big enough to hold money and maybe a few candies, if she ever had candies
again. There was another pocket on the front. It was nice to have pockets. Her girl
clothes didn't have any.

“Parvana, haven't you changed yet?”

Parvana stopped looking at herself in the mirror and joined her
family.

The first face she saw was Maryam's. Her little
sister looked as if she couldn't quite figure out who had walked into the
room.

“It's me, Maryam,” Parvana said.