The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (13 page)

I felt a crunch and saw red peppers, crushed by my sandal, at our front gate. Where Madar-
jan
had dropped them. I collected what I could from the ground and went inside.

“Madar-
jan,
I’m going to wash up for dinner,” I called out. I could see her in the kitchen and wanted to test the waters, without actually meeting her eyes.

She didn’t answer me, which I could only take as a bad sign.

I felt my hands start to shake. Sure, I knew better. Even dressed as a boy, I shouldn’t have let things go so far. My aunts or uncles could have seen me. And it was possible they had. I would hardly have noticed with Abdullah up against me.

I wondered if she would tell Padar-
jan
. That would be the end of me. Every possibility sent my brain spinning and drove me into a wild panic. I left the broken peppers on the family room table and went to wash up as I’d said I would. I tried to come up with a plan to talk my way out of this mess. I went to the kitchen, my face still wet.

“Madar-
jan
?”

“Hmm.”

“Madar-
jan,
what are you doing?” My voice was meek and unsteady.

“Dinner. Go and finish your work now that you’re done embarrassing yourself in the streets.”

There it was. I felt a tiny bit relieved to hear her say it. Now I could start to defend myself.

“Madar-
jan,
we were just playing.”

Madar-
jan
looked up from the pot she was stirring. Her eyes were narrow and her lips tight.

“Rahim, you know better. Or at least I thought you did. This has gone on too long.”

“Madar-
jan,
I—”

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you. I will talk to you later. Right now, I’ve got to get your father’s dinner ready or I’ll have a second disaster on my hands.”

I retreated to the other room and worked on my homework assignments for a while before I decided to see if Agha Barakzai needed any help for the afternoon. I didn’t want to be around while Madar-
jan
’s anger festered. He kept me busy until the evening and I came home to find that Madar-
jan
had not saved me any food.

She saw me looking into the empty pots.

“There’s a little soup left. You can have it with some bread.”

“But, Madar-
jan,
there’s nothing but onions and water in this soup. Wasn’t there any meat left?”

“We finished it all. Maybe next time there will be some for you.”

My stomach growling painfully, I suddenly became very angry.

“You could have left me something! That’s how you treat me? You want me to just go hungry?”

“I’m not sure what it is you’re hungry for!” she whispered pointedly.

Padar-
jan
walked in just then. He rubbed his eyes.

“What’s all the yelling about?” he asked. “What’s going on,
bachem
?”

I shot my mother a look and spoke without thinking.

“She didn’t save me a single piece of meat. She wants me to have onion broth and bread! I was working at Agha Barakzai’s shop and there’s no dinner for me when I come home!”

I threw my wages on the table for good measure. The bills fluttered in the air and spread out dramatically.

“Raisa! Is this true? Is there nothing for my son to eat?”

“Your son… your son…” Madar-
jan
fumbled, trying to find a reasonable explanation for why she was punishing me. But Madar-
jan
wasn’t quick enough or sly enough to come up with an alternative story on the spot. And as angry as she was, my mother couldn’t bring herself to throw me into the fire.

I saw it coming and instantly wished I could take back what I’d said. I saw his face redden with anger. I saw his head tilt and his shoulders rise. His arms began to wave with anger.

“My son is hungry! Look at the money he’s brought home! And even with this you can’t find a morsel of food for him? What kind of mother are you?”

A clap as the back of his hand swung across her face. She reeled from the blow. My stomach dropped.

“Padar!”

“Find him something to eat or you’ll be going hungry for a month!” he barked. He struck again. A drop of blood trickled from my mother’s lip. She covered her face with her hands and turned away from him. I trembled when he looked at me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Shahla and Rohila peeking from across the hall.

“Go,
bachem
. Go to your grandmother and ask her to fix you something to eat. Make sure you tell her what your mother has done. Not that she’ll be surprised to hear it.”

I nodded and stole a glance at my mother, thankful she didn’t meet my gaze.

That night I thought of Bibi Shekiba. I liked to compare myself to her, to feel like I was as bold and strong and honorable as her, but in my most honest moments I knew I wasn’t.

CHAPTER 13

T
he idea brewed for some time before Shekiba considered actually going ahead with it. The conversation with Marjan should have discouraged her but it hadn’t. All she had gleaned from it was that, officially, she had a right to claim at least a portion of her father’s land.

She lay awake every night thinking of the deed. A mere piece of paper with a handful of signatures, and yet it carried so much weight. Where would her father have kept it? Shekiba closed her eyes and imagined herself at home. She heard the clapping of the gate against the latch, the metal rusted over. She pictured her father’s corner, his blankets laid out and ready for those chilly nights. She saw her mother’s kitchen stool and her brother’s sweaters, folded and stacked on a shelf.

It must be in his books,
Shekiba thought. Since she’d been the only one to tend to it, she knew every inch of the house. She thought of the shelf and how she’d given up on dusting it after her mother died. Padar had collected three or four books over the years and that was where he kept them.

When Shekiba made the realization, she nearly hit herself for how obvious it was.

But how do we know, Padar-
jan
?

All the answers are in the Qur’an, bachem.

Her father taught them all to read, first with the Qur’an and next with the books he kept. She would follow along as his callused finger traced the words. Her brothers occasionally brought home a newspaper from their adventures into the village and the children would take turns poring over the pages and practicing making sense of the words and phrases. It was difficult but Padar-
jan
patiently let them make mistakes, peering over their shoulders when they faltered and filling in the pieces.

It’s in the Qur’an,
she realized. What were the chances her uncles had not yet found it? Unlikely—but maybe there was a possibility those bullheaded men had not bothered looking for it. Surely they had no inkling that Shekiba would even think to assert any claim over the land.

Which meant Shekiba was thinking of returning to her home—not a small undertaking.

And if she were to find the deed, what would she do with it? She couldn’t expect to show it to her uncles and have a rational discussion with them. No, she needed to bring the deed to an official, the local judge, so that she could argue her case.

It was just like Azizullah and his brother had discussed. A disagreement like this needed to be settled by an official, which meant Shekiba’s plan became even more complex. How would she find this person?

And how would she get to all these places? She needed to be out of the house for a day. Shekiba wondered if Marjan would let her venture out on her own. After their conversation, it was hard to imagine Marjan would be supportive of her idea. Shekiba would have to come up with something.

T
wo days later, Shekiba approached Marjan as she was knitting a sweater for Haris. She rehearsed her question in her mind before clearing her throat.

“
Salaam,
Khanum Marjan,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“
Salaam,
Shekiba,” Marjan said, barely lifting her eyes from the needles as they crossed, uncrossed and crossed again in her hands.

“Khanum Marjan, I wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it, Shekiba?”

“I was wondering if I could take a day to visit my family. I have not seen my family in several months and I was hoping to visit them. Next week is Eid and I know it will be a busy time here, so perhaps this week?” She folded her hands behind her to stop from wringing them.

Marjan stopped her knitting and set the needles on her lap. She looked puzzled.

“Your family? Dear girl, since coming here you have never once mentioned your family. I was beginning to think you were so cold as to not have any affection for them! How is it that you now want to pay them a visit?”

“Oh, I’ve missed them dearly,” she said, trying her best to make her voice sound genuine. “But in my first days here, I did not think it was proper to make such a request.”

“And now?”

“Well, now I have been here for some months and with the holiday coming… I wanted to pay a visit to my grandmother, out of respect.” Shekiba wondered if she was giving omniscient Allah a good laugh or if she’d be damned for her lies.

“Your grandmother.” Marjan sighed heavily and pressed her fingers to her temples.

Shekiba braced herself.

“We have much to do to prepare for the holiday. We need to bake some cookies, there will be many meals to prepare, the house needs to be spotless… ,” she said, listing the tasks ahead. “But I suppose it is only proper that you should pay a visit to Bobo Shahgul. She is your grandmother, after all. I will speak to Azizullah and present your request.”

Shekiba tried not to smile. She bowed her head in gratitude.

“Thank you, Khanum Marjan,” she said. “I would really appreciate that.”

Every once in a while, Shekiba became aware of how painfully naïve she was. The following day was one such occasion.

Marjan walked into the kitchen area as Shekiba sat on the floor, with a heap of potatoes before her. She stopped peeling when she heard her name being called.

“Shekiba, Azizullah agrees… hey, girl! What is wrong with you?” Marjan took one look at Shekiba and froze. Her hands flew to her hips and her eyes narrowed.

“Huh? What is it, Khanum Marjan?” Shekiba looked down at the pile before her, wondering what had offended the mistress of the house so.

“Is that how a girl sits?” she said, waving an arm at Shekiba’s sprawled legs.

Shekiba turned to look at herself. She was leaning against the wall and had her knees bent, the pile of potatoes in the valley her skirt formed between her legs.

“In the name of God, have some decency! Fix yourself before the children see you! Were you never taught how to sit?”

Shekiba got up and fixed her skirt, tucking her legs under her, and looked up at Khanum Marjan for approval.

“That’s better. I heard you had become your father’s son but I did not think it had gone this far.”

“Yes, Khanum Marjan.” Shekiba felt half her face flush.

“Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. Azizullah agrees that you should be allowed to pay respects to your grandmother for the holidays. You are to accompany him this Friday when he goes into the village for Jumaa prayers.”

Azizullah would take her there?

“Khanum Marjan, a world of thanks, but I do not wish to trouble your husband. I can find my own way and I will not bring him out of his way.”

Marjan looked at her incredulously. Shekiba never ceased to amaze her. The girl was quite handy and efficient in the house but when it came to common sense, she was seriously lacking.

“You expect to go wandering around the village by yourself? Have you lost your mind?”

Shekiba remained silent. Her mind raced.

“He will take you, as you requested, and join you to pay a visit to your family, although your uncles usually come by on the holidays. Azizullah will accompany you back home. You cannot expect to be wandering around the village like a street dog!”

Shekiba had done too much on her own while she lived with her father and before her uncles had claimed her. It had not occurred to her that she would have to be accompanied by someone. Her chest tightened with panic. She had not anticipated this stipulation.

“I… I had not meant to trouble…”

“Well, if you do not want to trouble him then you should not have raised the question.” Marjan walked out in exasperation. Shekiba’s bizarre questions were getting on her nerves.

Shekiba was left to wonder. She could tell Marjan she no longer wanted to go. It would seem strange but it could work. Or maybe once she was there she could ask permission to collect some belongings from her father’s home. But what about taking the deed to a
hakim,
the local official?

Maybe on another day. But even if she were granted another day, she would still need to be accompanied. And she had no idea where to find the
hakim
.

Shekiba would have to ponder that one.
One bridge at a time,
she thought.