The Honey Thief (20 page)

Hameed turned the book to the page that read ‘Here Begin’.

‘This is where the story starts,’ he said. ‘I will read it to you.’

And so he did. Every time he stopped, Nadia cried out, ‘What are you doing? Read!’ Iram Khalaj and Najaf Khalaj listened with great attention for as long as they could remain. When she was compelled to leave to attend to her tasks, Iram Khalaj told her daughter to come with her. This was necessary, for Nadia could not be left alone with Hameed or with any young man courting her. But Nadia would not move. She sat on her four-legged stool, overpowered by the spell of the story. Finally her mother threw up her hands and left Nadia where she was.

It was evening before Hameed was permitted to depart. Najaf Khalaj begged him to stay the night in his house, and his pleas were exceeded in strength by those of the daughter, Nadia. ‘Bandits will attack you!’ she said. ‘For all mercy, remain here and read the story!’ But Hameed, strangely, recalled that his father would need him the next day when the roof of the house was to be thatched again. That he should have recalled this obligation was itself a miracle, and that he was prepared to make a long journey in darkness to assist in the work a second miracle. ‘Return when the roof is made,’ instructed Nadia. Then she said, more courteously, ‘If it pleases you.’ Next she said, ‘Bring the book of Huckleberry.’ Then she added, more courteously, ‘If it pleases you.’ Finally she said, ‘I will have melon ready for your refreshment, and tea.’

*   *   *

Hameed returned within the week. He might have chosen to forget the pleas of Proud Nadia, but the plain fact was that he had taken a liking to the girl. She had asked questions about the black man Jim and Widow Douglas and the two big rivers that joined together – questions that Hameed was able to answer. And Nadia had thanked him for his answers. In his life, no one but Nadia had thanked him for his answer to a question.

When he arrived at Najaf Khalaj’s house, the melon that had been promised was prepared for him by Nadia herself, and it was Nadia who brewed the tea that followed, and it was Nadia who offered the small cakes that followed the tea. It was Nadia who said to Hameed, ‘Now read the book.’ And it was Nadia who added, more courteously, ‘If it pleases you, sir.’

At the end of this second visit, Iram Khalaj kissed his hand. She said, ‘Sir, come again.’ Najaf Khalaj kissed Hameed on both cheeks, adding, ‘Tell your father that Najaf Khalaj wishes him a hundred years of life,’ to which Nadia added, ‘Sir, bring the book of Huckleberry when next you visit.’

Hameed not only brought the book of Huckleberry, but also the book of Little Women and that of Uncle Tom’s Cabin and that of Tom Sawyer. This was the first Nadia had heard of the other books. She had been sitting on a four-legged stool when Hameed revealed them, but at the sight of them she jumped to her feet.

‘You have more? Why did you not tell me?’ she cried. Then she remembered her manners. ‘Surely you had your reasons.’

Nadia served her guest and her parents
dogh
and
boulanee
and
naan
. Then she placed before Hameed a big white plate of
kishmish panir
, the cheese freshly made and the raisins sweet and plump. Red grapes followed in one of the bowls from Kandahar kept for special guests. Nadia had carefully removed the seed from each grape. Finally she offered Hameed apricots in halves, and melon juice.

With her guest satisfied, Nadia asked Hameed’s leave to study the books he had brought. Her excitement was so great that she began to cry, startling her mother and father and of course her guest, Hameed.

‘But daughter,’ said Iram Khalaj, ‘is there no pleasing you? You were happy to see one of the books of America, and now you have three more!’

Nadia gave no explanation but instead asked her mother if she would come with her to the well. Along the way she said, ‘I will marry him.’

‘Is it true?’ asked Iram Khalaj.

‘I will marry him,’ said Nadia. And she added, ‘There. It is done!’

*   *   *

Two days after, Najaf Khalaj and Iram Khalaj took the road to the village of Ahmed Behsudi. Uppermost in the mind of Najaf Khalaj was the small fig orchard that was promised. Uppermost in the mind of Iram Khalaj were the books of America, for her daughter had told her that she cared nothing for the fig orchard but craved only the books. If the books came with Hameed Behsudi, certainly her father must accept his proposal.

Najaf Khalaj and Iram Khalaj were received at Ahmed Behsudi’s house as honoured guests. After a fine evening meal of
shorwa
and
bichak
– the
bichak
served with
badenjan
– and last of all (a specialty of Hameed’s mother’s)
she’er berinji
sweetened with raisins soaked in honey, Ahmed Behsudi walked in the evening air with Najaf Khalaj, while Zainab Behsudi sat with Iram Khalaj beneath the eucalyptus tree that the bulbuls favoured.

Najaf Khalaj said to his host, ‘A fig orchard was spoken of, if I remember truly.’

Ahmed Behsudi replied, ‘Will you see the orchard for yourself in the morning, brother? The mature trees number thirty-five, while ten trees on the eastern side have yet to reach full age. And yet even these young trees produce four-and-a-half bushels each in the season. A spring from the mountains feeds the channels drought or no drought, and you will recall that we were stricken with drought on this side of the big mountain three seasons past. What does your wife say to this match?’

‘It pleases her, brother.’

‘And your daughter?’

‘So long as your gift of the small fig orchard comes with the boy, she will be content.’

Under the eucalyptus tree, Zainab Behsudi asked, ‘Your daughter will accept my son?’

To which Iram Khalaj responded, ‘Her liking for the boy has grown. His books please her, so it seems. So long as the boy comes with the books, she is content.’

There remained one last difficulty with the match. Hameed, although he had come to like Proud Nadia well enough, did not show any interest in marriage. When his mother told him that Nadia would marry him, he said, ‘Who asked her?’

‘But why do you think these visits to the village of the good man were arranged?’

‘Oh,’ said Hameed, ‘I thought my father was going to purchase Najaf Khalaj’s orchard, that was all.’

‘But the girl has treated you with courtesy,’ said Zainab Behsudi. ‘You told me you liked her. She offered you
boulanee
and
kishmish panir
. She made the cheese with her own hands. And the beauty of the girl! Only think, she has spurned twenty young men, some of them from as far away as Kariz and Jarghan! Further! From Mazar-e-Sharif! She sent a silversmith away who would have adorned her with his metal!’

‘Well, let her call the silversmith back, and great joy may she find with him.’

The news was conveyed to Nadia that Hameed of the books had shown some reluctance to marry her. Nadia flew into a rage. ‘He? That fool? Let him marry a block of stone, for no living thing will bear him! What, because he has four books he can give himself such airs and graces? Let him take his books for a wife if I have failed to please him!’

But an hour later, the desire to hear the stories in the books gnawed at Nadia’s insides like the pain of eating rice that has grown mould. She went to her mother in a more tender mood: ‘What does he require of me? In what way have I failed to please him?’

Iram Khalaj was washing bedsheets at the trough near the well. She first sighed, then she stood and dried her hands. ‘Daughter,’ she said. ‘When did you mention to the boy the joy that would come into your life and into his life with the birth of children? Did you say, as I said to your father before our marriage, “Five children is my desire, do you agree?” Did you say, “A clean house is my desire, do you agree?” Did you say, “Let us always eat well, if God provides the means, do you agree?” Did you say, “Our household will honour God, above all things, do you agree?”’

‘What, is it my task to court him? Is it my task to ask every question that needs to be asked? Is it not enough that I made him
kishmish panir
with my own hands?’ asked Nadia.

Iram Khalaj shook her head, thinking, ‘I thought this annoying girl was off my hands, now look!’ To Nadia, she said, ‘You are charmed by this boy’s books of America. Good. But when you are a wife, a day comes when you are too tired to stand up and care for your children, and a day comes when your husband snores loud enough to make the plates rattle on the shelves. What will you do? Lock the children outdoors while you read yourself a story? The stories are one thing. Marriage is a thousand things. Better that you should love your husband in a thousand ways.’

Proud Nadia thought on what her mother had said for a full day. ‘So, I am to love this blockhead, am I? Well, I will.’

Hameed of the books was invited to the house of Najaf Khalaj one more time, and agreed to make the journey at the urging of his mother. He thought, ‘I will read to the girl but nothing more.’ When he arrived at Najaf Khalaj’s house, the daughter Nadia greeted him modestly. Her two sisters were guests for the day, too, and their husbands, and their six children. Nadia served him
ashak
first, then
palao
with lamb. On the best plate in the house, the last unbroken one of three patterned all over with nightingales, she served
badenjan
, offering the dish first to Hameed. Although a meal at midday would normally be simple, Nadia provided
gosh feil
, as crisp as any hungry man could crave.

All through the meal, Nadia’s sisters taunted her with reminders of what she was known for.

‘Sister, the children are present – when your temper returns, spare them for our sake!’

‘Sister, in this light you remind me of Nadia. But I don’t hear Nadia’s voice!’

‘What, Nadia and not her temper? Is this possible on earth?’

The tormenting did not cease even when Nadia had cleared away the dishes and served tea.

‘Such a sad day in Hazarajat – the sweet voice of our sister is nowhere to be heard!’

‘Mama, is the vinegar all gone? Has our sister not taken her cup of vinegar as she does each morning?’

The tormenting finally brought tears – just two, which Nadia quickly brushed away, trying to hide the damage with a smile. But Hameed noticed. He understood that the girl was struggling against her nature, yet until that moment her struggle had meant little to him. He had liked her for the enjoyment she found in the story of Huckleberry Finn and for her questions – otherwise, she had meant little. Now he asked himself why she was struggling in this way and he found the answer: to please him. From that moment, he looked at her in a different way. He thought, ‘If I were a king, she could do no more to make me content.’ And later, when he was preparing to read to her, thinking more on the matter, he said to himself, ‘Indeed, she would scorn a king if he came with nothing but his name and his rank. It is the book that compels her to struggle.’ And finally, this thought came to him: ‘Be worthy of her.’

He read to Nadia for an hour. During that time, her sisters and their husbands and the children gradually drifted away, for the enjoyment of the story soon waned. But Nadia remained. Of course she did.

Before the time came for Hameed to return to his own home, he said to Nadia: ‘Will I leave the book of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and the book of Little Women for you to enjoy by yourself? Will I leave the book of Tom Sawyer?’

Nadia asked her mother who was close by if she might reply to Hameed. Her mother said, ‘If I were you, I would say something.’

‘Sir, are we to have a life together?’

‘If it pleases you, yes. If it pleases your father and your mother, if it pleases my father, if it pleases my mother, yes,’ said Hameed.

Nadia smiled. Iram Khalaj had not seen such a smile on this daughter’s face since she was a small child.

Nadia had more to say. ‘Do you think of the joy that will come into our lives with the birth of children?’ followed by ‘Six children is my desire. Sir, do you agree?’ Then she said, ‘A clean house is best for us, do you agree?’ and ‘Our house will honour God above all things, surely.’ And finally, Nadia, Proud Nadia, said this to Hameed: ‘Take the books with you. We will read them together, that would be best.’

Iram Khalaj, who had heard everything, blessed God for the love that had come into her daughter’s heart. And thinking of the smile on her daughter’s face, she said to herself, ‘Love is not the smile. Love is the struggle before the smile.’

9

The Beekeeper’s Journey

In the years that had passed since Abbas Behishti took on the trade of
perwerrish dahenda
, or beekeeper, the throne of Zahir Khan had been stolen by his cousin Sardar Dawood Khan and then taken over by the communists. Many Afghans regretted the loss to the country of its king, and many more were glad of it. The people of Kabul, watching to see what the communists would make of the country, at first were heartened when three more cinemas opened in the capital. But disappointment soon followed. Zahir Khan had allowed cinemas to show films from Hollywood, but the communists showed only films from Russia.