The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (41 page)

In our hotel room that night, I asked Badriya about Zamarud’s allegations.

“Is it true? Are there that many people in politics who are that corrupt?”

“Don’t bother yourself with things like that. It’s none of your business.”

That angered me. I was fairly sure Sufia would not have agreed with her. “But it’s yours, isn’t it? You’re going to be voting on those nominations tomorrow. Are you going to approve them?”

“Of course I am.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because that’s who I will vote for! Have you finished filling out that form yet? The director’s office has been asking about it all week.”

“It’s almost done.” I sighed. I wondered how Badriya had coped in her last stay in Kabul. She could barely scratch out her own signature. “But how do you decide how you will vote?”

“I decide, all right? I know what the issues are and then I choose.”

I thought back to today’s heated session, Zamarud’s determined look. “Does she have a husband?”

“Who? Zamarud?” she snickered. “They say she does but I can only imagine what a mouse of a man he must be! Can you believe the way she behaves?”

“She’s not afraid of them.”

“She should be. Zamarud’s gotten more threats than any other woman in that assembly. Not surprising, the way she carries on. Shameless,” she said, clucking her tongue.

“You haven’t gotten any threats, have you? Hamida said most of the women have. Her family begged her not to run for parliament again but she wanted to.”

“She’s another mule of a woman. I haven’t gotten any threats because I know what I’m doing. I mind my own business and do only what needs to be done. I’m not here to embarrass myself or my husband.”

I shuddered to think how Abdul Khaliq would put Zamarud in her place. But I didn’t think Badriya had any special business in the parliament. My instincts told me it had something to do with our husband.

“This form asks if you want to join the group traveling other countries with parliaments. As a learning experience, it says. Europe. It says, ‘the director highly recommends that all parliamentarians go to learn how other assemblies function.’ ”

Now that I was in Kabul, I was hearing of places even grander and more unimaginable, like Europe. I wondered what a place like that could look like. We’d come all the way to Kabul. Maybe we could go to Europe too? Badriya lifted her head, as intrigued as I was by the exotic name.

“Go to Europe? Really?” Once she’d said it, Badriya realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Forget it. Not interested. Put that damn thing away. I’m tired. You can finish it in the morning. I’m going to bed.”

CHAPTER 44

“W
e will now take a vote on the candidate Ashrafullah Fawzali. Please raise your paddles with your vote on his nomination.”

The parliamentarians each had two paddles, one red and one green, which they raised to vote aye or nay in the assembly. This was the first vote to be taken and Badriya looked nervous.

“Are you going to vote for him?” I whispered.

“Shhh!” she hissed at me, her eyes scouting the room. Paddles were going up, many at a time. Badriya reached for the green paddle and raised it halfway, still unsure.

I followed her eyes to a man sitting toward the front of the room. From our position, we could see his profile. He was a burly man with a heavy beard and thick features. His gray turban sat coiled on his head like a serpent. He held a green paddle.

I saw him look in our direction, giving Badriya a subtle nod. Her green paddle went up and she kept her eyes fixed on the front of the room. I was puzzled. I didn’t recognize this man but it looked like Badriya did.

“Badriya, what are you doing? Who is that?”

“Shut up! Just take notes or whatever it is that you’re doing.”

“But he’s looking over here!”

“Shut up I said!”

I crossed my arms, shut my mouth and watched. That’s how things went for the rest of the session. Each time the director asked the parliament to vote on a candidate, Badriya waited until this man raised his paddle. And each time she would pick the paddle that matched his. Green, green, red, green, red, red. And each time he looked over, his face was smug with approval to see her vote his way.

The ladies looked over at Badriya, seemingly confused. Sufia whispered something to Hamida, who shrugged her shoulders.

Qayoumi. It was time to vote on his nomination. I looked over at Hamida and Sufia. They were shaking their heads as the director prepared to take a vote. A small murmur wove through the assembly as the parliamentarians prepared to decide on one of the most controversial figures in Kabul. Tongues clucked with disapproval even before the paddles went up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please raise your votes. Raise them high so we can see them!”

The man voted green.

I looked at Badriya. I was sure she could feel my eyes on her but she avoided my gaze.

She watched as the ladies both raised their paddles red. The representatives around them raised their red paddles as well. There were pockets of green here and there, almost all men.

The mumbling got louder as green paddles went up.

Badriya kept her head down and picked up her paddle. I opened my mouth to say something.

Green.

“Badriya! What are you doing? Didn’t you hear what they said about him? Why are you voting for him?”

“Please, Rahima, shut up!”

Hamida and Sufia looked over, eyebrows raised. They looked away and leaned toward each other. I thought of our conversation with Hamida. I couldn’t ignore everything she’d told us.

“But Hamida said—”

“If you can’t shut your mouth, leave then! Just get out!” she snarled. “I don’t need you.”

I stared at her. There was nowhere for me to go. I sat beside her, fuming, even though I had no right to. Maybe I would have done the same if I were her. Maybe I would have aped the votes of the man in the corner.

Abdul Khaliq. He set her up for this. That man must have something to do with that security contract he wanted to land. Just like Hamida talked about.

I was surprised only that my husband’s influence was this far-reaching, into the parliament building of Kabul. And wherever that man was from.

Hamida looked over, her lips pursed.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been like Badriya if I were in parliament. Maybe I could have been more like Hamida. Or Sufia. Or even Zamarud. Maybe I would have sat in that assembly seat and made up my own mind.

But I probably would not have. It wouldn’t be easy to go home to Abdul Khaliq after going against his instructions. Especially in a matter this big.

The session closed for the day. Badriya rose quickly from her seat and gathered her bag. She made her way down the row and out the main aisle without turning around to see if I was following.

We ran into the ladies near the security check. Not even a polite smile. It was obvious they were disappointed in Badriya’s voting. They could tell her reds and greens were decided by outside forces. She was part of the problem.

“I’m glad the day is finally over,” Sufia said neutrally.

“Yes, so am I,” Badriya said, agreeing demurely.

“Interesting day,” Hamida murmured, adjusting her head scarf.

I watched the exchange, wanting to shout out that I wasn’t part of this. I wanted to say that I wouldn’t have voted for Qayoumi. Even though I was almost certain I would have. I was learning that cosmopolitan Kabul was, at least in that way, no different from my obscure village. Many of our decisions were not decisions at all. We were herded into one choice or another, to put it gently. I wondered if the other women representatives truly felt free to make their own judgments.

I sat in the car and leaned back, wishing I was home with Jahangir. He was probably taking a nap now, his mouth half open and his eyelids fluttering with innocent dreams. Thank God Jameela was there to look after him.

Badriya got in from the other side, slid across the seat, turned and slapped my face so hard I fell against the car door.

“Rahima, you question me again and I swear I will go straight to Abdul Khaliq and tell him you’re opening your idiot mouth in the assembly. We’ll see if you’re so eager to wag your tongue then! Learn to control yourself, you bitch.”

Maroof looked into the rearview mirror. An expression of surprise twisted into a smirk. He was entertained. My face stung but I said nothing. I had the rest of our stay to get through and I refused to become a spectacle for our bodyguards.

The following morning, we wove through clusters of foreign soldiers and returned to the parliament building. Late, because of Badriya. But there was no voting today, only discussions. Nothing of importance to her, though she was obligated to make an appearance.

I wasn’t speaking to her, just answering her questions and keeping out of the way. I was beginning to reconsider if being in Kabul was worth putting up with her attitude. As bad as she was at the compound, she was worse here. There was only me to take all her attention and the pressure of following our husband’s plan was getting to her.

I took notes for her and filled out a survey distributed by some international organization looking to improve the parliament, and then we broke for lunch. I gravitated toward Hamida and Sufia. Badriya reluctantly followed with her tray.

“How are you two doing?” Hamida said. They looked at us differently now. Yesterday had changed things.

“Fine, thanks. You?” Badriya was curt. It wasn’t helping the situation.

“Still surprised from yesterday. We were hoping to block more of those nominations. But I guess it was their
naseeb
to get approved.”

Naseeb.
Did Sufia really believe that? If she did, why bother voting?

“Maybe so,” Badriya said in agreement.

I searched for something to say that would tell the ladies I was on their side but without riling Badriya’s nerves.

“Sometimes people surprise you, don’t they?” I said. “Maybe something good will come of it.”

“An optimist—there’s something we don’t see often.”

I had no reason to think Qayoumi was anything but the bastard they said he was. I had almost no reason to believe anyone would do anything good, really. My “optimism” was just words, strung together in hopes of making me look neutral. I wanted to be friendly with these women. They were independent and happy, something I’d tasted only as a young boy.

“Sufia and I are going to the resource center this evening. Maybe you would want to join us?”

“Thank you but I can’t,” said Badriya. “I’m going to my cousin’s home tonight. I haven’t seen her in over two years.”

I looked at her, surprised. Was she telling the truth? She spoke up, seeing the look on my face. “My mother’s cousin lives here in Kabul. I haven’t seen them in so long and my aunt is getting older. They’ve insisted that I come by and visit them. They live on the other side of the river, by the women’s hospital.”

“Well, if you ladies are going there tonight then maybe another—”

Badriya looked startled. “Us? Oh, no. I’m going alone. Since it’s my cousin, you know,” she said, fumbling her words as she tried to undo my accompanying her. “And Rahima-
jan
said she didn’t want to go anyway.”

Eyes on me for confirmation.

“Well, you kept saying they were such nice people. Maybe I should go after all, huh?”

Badriya’s eyes widened. “Really? You want to go? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” she said. Her glare told me the answer she expected.

“No,” I said. “You know what? I think I’ve changed my mind. You should go and see your aunt and cousins. Maybe I’ll go to the resource center instead. It would be great to see what they offer. I wouldn’t mind taking some lessons while we’re here.”

Hamida’s eyes lit up. It was as if she saw me in a new light.

“That’s a great idea! That’s what we’ll do. While Badriya visits her aunt, we’ll go to the resource center. We can go meet directly after the session closes today and then head over to their office. You’ll be ready to go then, right?”

I agreed, satisfied that I’d gotten my way, even if Badriya had gotten hers as well. We parted ways when the session closed and I followed Hamida and Sufia. Badriya had taken Maroof and the guard. I was left with no one, which made me feel more free than alone. We picked up some dinner from the cafeteria and carried the plastic bags with us.

“Do they have these classes all the time? Is it like a school?” I asked. I was getting more and more excited at the thought of returning to a classroom. Even if nothing came from the lessons.

“They have different instructors. Haven’t you heard Sufia speak English? Where do you think she learned to say so nicely, ‘Hello, how are you?’ ” Hamida mimicked cheerfully.

I had no idea what she’d said but I was impressed that they were learning English. Even more than that, I wanted to learn how to use the computers I’d seen in the parliament’s library. The library was a small room in the basement level with three bookcases, two of which were empty. The book collection was sparse but the woman in charge was determined to amass a collection with works on politics, law and history. I thumbed through the books and realized how much there was to learn about government. It was not as simple as raising paddles.