The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (23 page)

I wished more than anything that I could be back in class,
Moallim-sahib
’s back turned toward us, Abdullah and I shooting each other bored looks, kicking each other under the table and tilting our notebooks so the other could see the right answer.

I wished I could be anywhere but here.

When my bladder could wait no longer, I opened the door a crack. I looked into the hallway, saw that it was empty and crept out slowly to go to the washroom. Shahnaz caught me on the way out.

“Good morning,” she said plainly. She looked a few years older than Shahla, with features that matched the dullness in her voice. She was thin and stood a couple inches taller than me. She balanced a baby on her hip, no more than six months old.

“
Salaam,
” I replied cautiously. I knew who she was and I remembered my mother’s warnings.

“Your name is Rahima?”

I nodded.

“All right, Rahima. Bibi Gulalai has asked me to show you around. So, let’s get started. You’ve hid in your room long enough.”

Shahnaz looked disinterested in me but she’d been given a task, and as Madar-
jan
had advised, she was doing what her mother-in-law—
our
mother-in-law—had asked of her.

“This has been my home for three years. I was told I wouldn’t be sharing it with anyone else. This room is for my children and me. Here is the kitchen. That is our living room. That hallway leads to the rest of the houses, the better houses. I expect that you’ll do your share of the cooking and cleaning. As you can see, I’ve already got my hands full.”

She paused and looked at me carefully.

“Your hair. Why is it cut so short?”

“I’m a
bacha posh
. I mean, I
was
a
bacha posh
.”

“I’ve never seen a
bacha posh
before. Why were you made into a boy?”

“My mother had only daughters and my father wanted a son.”

“So they dressed you as a boy? And did you go out of the house like that?”

I could hear more curiosity than dislike in her voice. It gave me confidence to continue the conversation. Something about her reminded me of Shahla and I could already tell I would be desperate for an ally here.

“Sure. I went to school. I ran errands for my mother. I even worked and brought money home. I was learning how to fix electronics,” I boasted. That was more than I had done for Agha Barakzai but Shahnaz wouldn’t know the difference.

“Well, don’t expect to be treated like the special son here.”

As soon as she said it, I realized that’s what I had secretly been hoping.

“Who else lives here in the compound?” I asked, hoping my face didn’t show my disappointment. The baby started to whine, her small hands batting at her mother’s face.

Shahnaz led me into the living room, where she began to nurse the baby.

“Our home is one of three. Each wife has her own home. Or at least we did, until you came along. His first wife is Badriya. She has the biggest home, with the bedroom on the second level. His second is Jameela. She lives in the biggest part of the house too but on the lower level. Abdul Khaliq’s room is in that main house. I thought you would have seen it last night but I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough.”

I ignored her last comment, scared to think of what that meant. The memory of his touch made me shiver.

“Where does… where does Bibi Gulalai live?”

“In the compound next door but she’s here often, keeping an eye on her eldest son’s affairs. Especially since he’s gone so often. Be careful with her. She rules with a heavy hand.”

“And what about the rest?”

“What rest?”

“I mean his cousins, Abdul Sharif and Abdul Haidar?” I was nervous to ask. I prayed she would tell me they were next door as well.

“Oh, I heard what happened. So, it’s true then? Sometimes Safiya gets the story all wrong. She told me two other sisters were married at the same time. And one of them has a limp, right? Hard to imagine how they arranged that deal. Well, Abdul Sharif lives on the other side of the hill, about four kilometers away. Abdul Haidar lives on the other side of that wall. He’s here often since he’s Abdul Khaliq’s right-hand man.”

Parwin was close by! She was on the other side of the wall. I wondered what she was doing and if she knew that I was meters away from her. Shahla. Shahla had been taken the farthest.

“Does Abdul Sharif come here sometimes?”

“He does, but not as often as his brother. If you think you’ll see your sisters, though, don’t get your hopes up. Neither one of them brings their wives when they come by. The women of this family don’t travel much. Get used to these walls. They’re going to be all you see.”

Shahnaz tired of me and went to put the baby to sleep. She had two children, a two-year-old son and the five-month-old girl I’d seen her holding.

I found out weeks later that Abdul Khaliq had taken her from a village in the south. He and his men had gone there and successfully pushed back the Taliban forces. The village had been saved so Abdul Khaliq and his men felt they earned the right to take what they wanted. They looted houses, harassed women. The village had no one to defend it. Most of the men had perished in the war. The men took whatever caught their eye. In Abdul Khaliq’s case, it was Shahnaz. She hadn’t seen her family since the day of her
nikkah
.

It could have been worse, she said. At least he took her as his wife. She had heard of many women who had been raped and left with their families. There was nothing worse than that.

I thought about Shahnaz’s village often, knowing my father must have been party to that mission. I wondered if he pillaged as the others had. I wanted to believe he hadn’t.

I could start with cleaning, Shahnaz said. She needed to bathe her son. I found the broom and began to sweep the floors as I’d seen my sisters do. The broom felt awkward in my hands and I waited for someone to relieve me from the duty. When Shahnaz didn’t come back out, I put the broom away and went back to my room to pout. I missed my old life.

Before long, it was evening again. Bibi Gulalai came to eat with us, around the cloth laid out on the living room floor. Shahnaz had prepared a meal of stew and rice. I reminded myself to fold my legs under me and sit like a lady. I could feel my mother-in-law watching me. I helped Shahnaz clear the dishes and wash up before I went back to my room. Bibi Gulalai sat in the living room with her cup of tea, watching her grandson play with a wooden spoon.

I listened for the sound of her leaving but she didn’t. My door opened.

“Your husband has asked for you. You should go and see to him as his bride. Shahnaz will take you there.”

When I didn’t get up, she came after me, pulling me to stand by my ear.

“Did you not hear what I said? Do you want me to repeat myself?”

My twisted ear stung under her gnarled fingers. I yelped and stumbled to my feet. Shahnaz was in the hallway. She looked mildly entertained.

We went down the hallway and into the main house. Had I been less nervous, I probably would have noticed more of my surroundings. I remember thinking that the hallways were wide, the ceilings tall. We passed by many doors. I’d never imagined a house so large!

Shahnaz pointed to a door and told me to go ahead and knock. Before I could ask a question she turned and headed back down the stairs. I ran after her and grabbed her arm.

“Shahnaz, please, let me go back with you!”

She shook her arm free and looked at me with annoyance.

“Let go of me!” she hissed. “Your husband has asked for his new bride. You’d be making a big mistake to keep him waiting. That’s my best advice to you.”

“Please, Shahnaz-
jan
! I’m scared!” I panicked. I didn’t want to be alone here. I wanted to go back to my dark room and my small mattress. I felt out of place and I hated wearing a dress. It felt unnatural, awkward. I was a
bacha posh
! Just like Bibi Shekiba, the palace guard!

“Are you stupid? Get in there or you’ll regret it. You’ll be punished worse than you could imagine.”

She walked away and left me in the hallway, scrambling for options that didn’t exist.

He must have heard me. I gasped and jumped backward when the door opened. My reaction made him smile. He beckoned me in. I hesitated, but fearing that Shahnaz was right, I followed.

In subsequent visits, I would realize that Abdul Khaliq’s bedroom looked like what I might have imagined of a palace. His mattress sat on a wooden platform a few feet off the ground. A plush armchair sat in the corner and a beautifully woven burgundy carpet covered the floor. Two windows overlooked the courtyard, where three armed men were on guard.

I walked in, too terrified to see anything but Abdul Khaliq. He had already made himself comfortable on his bed. He was sitting up, propped up against pillows.

“Take your
chador
off,” he ordered.

I looked at the ground and stood motionless. I had wanted to rip the
chador
off my head when Madar-
jan
put it on me but now, with Abdul Khaliq eyeing me in this way, I couldn’t let it go. I watched him from the corner of my eye and saw his intrigued but exasperated face.

“Listen,” he said, leaning forward. With his turban off, I could see that his hair matched his salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a beige cotton tunic and pants. His legs were outstretched. The room was lit by a lamp on his bedside table. “Maybe you haven’t received any instruction on what it is to be a wife. From what I’ve seen of the women in your family, I wouldn’t be surprised. Let me explain to you how things are here. I am your husband and this is your home. When I ask for something, you make it happen. In return, you will be given shelter and have the privilege of being wife to Abdul Khaliq.”

Again he beckoned me closer. I fought the wave of nausea and took two steps toward him. I was within his reach. My muscles stiffened.

He turned my face toward him. He was so close I could see the lines on his face. I could make out each hair of his eyebrow. I tried to keep my eyes lowered.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded. My mind flashed back to his bodyguards and their guns. I was terrified.

“Good. Now, do as I say and take off your
chador
.”

He could have done it. I thought about it later and realized he could have done all the things he made me do, but that wouldn’t have served his purpose. One by one, he made me take off everything I’d been wearing. First the
chador,
then my socks, my pants, my dress. With every piece, I trembled more. When my pants came down, I began to cry, which didn’t faze him in the least. I was humiliated. I stood before him, weak and vulnerable, my arms doing their best to cover as much as they could.

He nodded in approval, his lips wet with excitement.

“You’re not a
bacha posh
any longer. Tonight I’ll show you that you’re a woman, not a boy.”

CHAPTER 24

T
he thought of him made me queasy. I hated the feeling of it. I hated his breath, his whiskers, his callused feet. But there would be no escape. He called for me when he pleased and made me do what he wanted. Thankfully, it rarely lasted more than a few minutes. I wished Madar-
jan
had told me exactly what to expect, but then I think if she had, I never would have made it to the
nikkah
.

Shahnaz seemed to pity me the following day. She must have known. My face reddened when my eyes met hers.

My insides hurt. Raw and angry. I nearly cried when I urinated into the fancy western toilet.

Shahnaz asked me to prepare lunch for the family. She had the children to tend to. I went into the kitchen and looked through the vegetables on the counter, almost thankful to have a task that would keep my mind off what I had endured. There were canisters of flour and sugar as well. I thought of my mother and sighed. Ever since I’d been converted into a
bacha posh,
I’d been relieved of all cooking duties as well. If my father had seen his “son” working in the kitchen, his temper would have turned our home upside down. I had no idea how to make even a simple meal.

I tried to think of the foods my mother and Shahla cooked. Even Parwin could prepare a decent meal, although she spent more time sculpting shapes out of the potatoes than she did actually cooking them.

I set out to make some potato stew. I put the rice in water, as I’d seen my mother do. I tried to focus but my eyes kept drifting to the kitchen window, with a view into the courtyard. Several boys, two of them looking to be almost my age, were kicking a ball around. They shouted and teased each other. I felt my heart beat faster, wanting to be with them instead of bent over a metal pot with potato peels stuck to my fingers.

I wondered who the boys were. I could see they wouldn’t have been much of a challenge on the field. They kicked clumsily, barely making contact with the ball.

“Rahima! Why are you sitting like that? For God’s sake, aren’t you embarrassed?”