The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (34 page)

“She can’t read. Neither can Shahnaz. Jameela can read a little bit, I think.”

“Well, there you go,” she said. She leaned forward and exhaled slowly, her lips pursed. “Talk to her, nicely. I think it would be good for you to see the places your
bibi
Shekiba saw.”

The idea excited me even more once she brought up Bibi Shekiba. I had already experienced her double life, living as a boy. I wanted to see the places she’d seen. But I wanted more than she had too. I didn’t want to be a pawn the way she had been, passed from one set of hands to another. I wanted to be bolder. I wanted to make my
naseeb,
not have it handed to me. But from what my mother had always said, I didn’t know if that was possible.

“Khala Shaima, do you think you can change your
naseeb
?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me this, how do you know what your
naseeb
is?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. “I don’t know. Madar-
jan
said it was my
naseeb
to be married to Abdul Khaliq. And for Shahla to be married to Abdul Sharif and Parwin to be married to Abdul Haidar.”

“And what about this morning? What did you eat for breakfast?”

“I ate a piece of bread with tea.”

“Did someone bring you the bread?”

“No.” I nearly laughed at the thought of someone bringing something to me. “Of course not! I got it myself.”

“So maybe this morning it seemed it was your
naseeb
that you shouldn’t have any breakfast at all. And then what happened?”

“I changed it?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was your
naseeb
all along that you should have the bread and tea. Maybe your
naseeb
is there but waiting for you to make it happen.”

“But wouldn’t people say that is blasphemous? To change the
naseeb
that Allah has for us?”

“Rahima, you know how deeply I love Allah. You know I bow before God five times a day with all my heart. But you tell me which of those people who say such a thing have spoken with Allah to know what the true
naseeb
is.”

That night I lay awake thinking of what Khala Shaima had said. Jahangir breathed softly, tucked in next to me, his small hand on my neck.

Was it Parwin’s
naseeb
to die that way, her skin a mess of melted flesh? Or had she missed an opportunity to change things? To realize her actual
naseeb
? Was it Madar-
jan
’s
naseeb
to lie dazed with opium while Rohila and Sitara fended for themselves? Dodged my father’s angry rages on their own?

It baffled me. I sighed and pulled the blanket over my son’s shoulders. I traced his pink lips with my finger. His face twitched in his sleep and the corners of his mouth turned up in a dreamy grin. I smiled.

I didn’t know what my
naseeb
was, much less that of my son. But I decided that night I would do whatever I could to make it the best
naseeb
possible. For both of us. I was not going to miss any opportunities.

From what Khala Shaima had told me about Bibi Shekiba, she looked for chances to make her own
naseeb
. I, her great-great-granddaughter, could do the same.

CHAPTER 36

S
hekib’s heart pounded; her mouth was dry. Amanullah was again walking through the gardens. Shekib was standing at her post, just a border of shoulder-high shrubs between them. He was walking with the older man again, his friend. Shekib recognized him by his wool hat. They took a seat on a bench and made Shekib’s palms sweat.

It was
naseeb
that they should walk through here now, while I am on guard.

“There are many forces at play here. Your father will have to tread carefully. We are mice in a field of elephants but if we are smart about our moves, we can save ourselves from their heavy feet.”

“The problem is that we have unrest within our borders and unrest at the borders. Our attention cannot lag or we will be weakened.” Shekib could hear the respect in Amanullah’s voice. He trusted this man.

“This is true. But the two are linked. A country secure in itself will stand strong against those who eye it hungrily. And those who eye us know that troubles at home make for easy prey.”

“Our army is weak compared to theirs.”

“But our will is strong,” he said firmly.

Amanullah sighed thoughtfully.

Shekib stiffened at the sound of his breath. She took a step to the right and then two to the left, stirring to make her presence known.

“Our people know so little of what goes on outside these borders. They are barely aware what happens one province, one village away from their own.”

Shekib held her breath. She wondered if Amanullah realized it was her. Her back was facing the two men but she kept her head turned just slightly, her right profile to them—if they had bothered to look. They stood and walked back toward the palace. Shekib could not resist the opportunity to look at Amanullah when she was close enough to see the color of his eyes. She twisted at the waist and looked from the corner of her eye.

He looked back. A nod.

He looked! He nodded! He saw me!

Shekib felt her breath quicken. Nearly an hour passed before she realized that Agha Baraan, too, had nodded in her direction, a subtle acknowledgment. She rubbed her moist palms on her uniform pants. She had made contact with Amanullah. He had noticed her and nodded. She had not detected any repulsion in his expression, not an ounce of disgust. Was it possible? Could Amanullah have looked past her disfigurement?

The afternoon reenergized her. She needed more contact with the palace, with anyone outside the harem. But the guards were insulated, were they not? Shekib considered the situation. She had more freedom than the concubines. She could travel the palace grounds without restriction. She could interact with the servants who came to deliver meals to the harem.

Karim came to relieve her of her post.

“You can get some dinner. I think they were going to bring the carts over soon.”

“I am not that hungry yet, actually. I may just go for a stroll.”

“Whatever you want. Just keep your eyes open. It’s been weeks and we know nothing.”

The women were tightlipped. Each guard had her own suspicions but the questions they asked had gotten a spectrum of useless and curious answers.

Shekib traversed the gardens, passed the statues, the pond, two soldiers talking quietly to each other, eyeing her from afar. She looked out at Dilkhosha Palace, impressive and forbidden. She wanted to see inside but she had no business there. She let her imagination tell her what might be within.

Maybe there were doves inside, graceful white winged birds that fed on warm palace bread and chirped blessings for the monarch. Or perhaps there were mountains of food, delicacies baked by cooks to tickle the king and queen’s palates.

Things were so different here in Kabul, in the palace. So many things Shekib had never before heard of, things she had never heard her parents speak of. She wondered if the palace thought of the villages as much as they thought of these other things. Why were they so preoccupied by these Russians, whoever they were, when villages were struggling without water?

She was so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed Agha Baraan sitting on a bench, sheets of paper in his hand.

“
As-salaam-alaikum,
” he said gently.

Shekib turned sharply. When she realized who it was that had startled her, she turned her shoulders and head so her right faced him.

“
Wa… wa-alaikum as-salaam,
” she whispered.

He turned back to his papers, reading thoughtfully.

Shekib took a step to leave but realized she had walked into a rare opportunity. Here was a link to the palace, a man very close to Amanullah. There were no walls between them, no interferences. She could speak to him, if she could make her voice follow her command.

“I… I guard the harem,” she said simply.

Baraan looked up, his brown eyes surprised. “Yes, I remember. We saw you earlier today by the courtyard. You have an important position here in the palace.”

Everybody has a role in the palace.

“Yes. And it seems you do as well.”

He chuckled. “That will depend on who you speak with.”

“What is it that you do?”

“What do I do? Well, I am an adviser, you could say. I work with one of the viziers. An assistant to the assistant, so to speak.”

Do palace people always speak in riddles?
Shekib wondered, thinking of his earlier conversation with Amanullah. “Are you in the army?” she asked. Her voice no longer trembled. His demeanor, his voice, his words told her he was not a threat.

“I am not. I work with them but I am not a soldier myself.”

“I don’t know anything about Kabul.”

“You are from a village. That is not surprising.”

There was condescension in his voice but Shekib chose to ignore it.

“What is your name?”

She paused before she answered. “Shekib.”

“Shekib, I see. And the name your parents gave you?”

“Shekiba.”

“Shekiba-
jan
. My name is Agha Baraan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Is your family nearby?”

“I have no family.” The words rolled off her tongue before she could reconsider. But it was the truth. Bobo Shahgul and her uncles had made that abundantly clear.

“I am sorry to hear that.”

Shekib suddenly remembered her plan. If she wanted to change her
naseeb,
she could not waste an opportunity like this. She tried to recover from her misstep.

“I mean, I had a family but now I live here. I no longer see my family. But I had many brothers. I am the only daughter in a long line of sons. My aunts all had boys. My grandmother too.”

Agha Baraan’s lips tightened slightly. He looked away for a moment before returning to Shekib. “Their husbands must be happy.”

“They were.” She fidgeted; her tongue felt thick with lies. He watched her. She wondered if he had sensed the dishonesty in her voice.

“Are you content here in the palace?”

“Yes… mostly.” Shekib hesitated. She was not sure how much to say. “The palace is beautiful.”

“It is. You are in Kabul, in the king’s palace, the heart of Afghanistan. It is here within these walls that history is made.”

Such grandiose talk,
she thought, but she let her expression reveal nothing. “The king’s son.” She could not bring herself to utter his name. “He is an important man?”

“He is and he is not.”

“That’s not possible.”

Baraan raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because he either is or he isn’t. He cannot be both,” she said bluntly.

He chuckled again. “You disapprove of contradictions. Well, you are ill prepared for life in the palace then. These walls are home to all that is and is not.”

Two soldiers walked by and looked at them curiously. Shekib saw one whisper something to the other. She turned away from Agha Baraan abruptly and straightened her back.

“I need to get back to the harem.”

She was clumsy and unrefined, Baraan thought, but interesting in an odd way. He wondered how she had gotten her scar and how much of what she had said was true.

CHAPTER 37

B
adriya looked surprised.

“It’s just that you look like it’s bothering you. You’ve been holding your back all day long. I think you’d feel better if you let me rub it.”

“That’s just what I need. You’re right. I have some oil here. Let me lie down.” She wasted no time leading the way back to her bed, where she stretched out on her side, her back to me. She wiggled her dress up to her neck, looking over to make sure the door was closed.

I dipped my fingers into the tin of animal fat and started to knead into her back. Rolls of skin hung loosely around her waist.

“
Wooeee wooooeee,
” she moaned. I rolled my eyes. She tended to complain about her back only when there was something to be done around the house. Other times, she loved to point out that she was more active than Jameela and even Shahnaz, who were both much younger than her. Just another one of her contradictions.