The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (44 page)

There was talking outside their door. Shekib could not make out what they were saying but heard a few words here and there.

Whores. Stoning. Deserved.

Whores? Shekib realized she was a woman again. As guilty as the woman lying a few feet from her.

I have been both girl and boy. I will be executed as a girl. A girl who failed as a boy.

Stoning. Today. Stopped.

Stopped? What was stopped?

Shekiba listened carefully.

King. Pardon. Gift.

At hearing “gift,” Shekiba realized something was happening to her. She strained to hear the voices more clearly but could not make out most of what they were saying.

The door opened. The same ranked soldier reappeared, his face cross.

“Khanum Benafsha, prepare yourself. You,” he said, looking at Shekiba with disgust. “You will attend the stoning and then you will be punished for your crime. After that, you will be given in marriage. You should thank Allah that you have been shown a mercy you do not deserve.”

The room went dim again and the chains were locked in place. Shekiba’s heart pounded.

They will not stone me! I will be given in marriage? How could this be?

Benafsha looked at her, the corners of her mouth almost turned up in a weak smile.

“
Allahu akbar,
” she whispered; the condemned’s prayer had been answered.

Shekiba’s hands trembled. Was it Amanullah? He must have intervened! But why would he want her now that she had been accused of such treachery? Now that she had made herself an unworthy wife?

Everyone spoke of Amanullah’s noble character. Maybe he had seen through the accusations. Maybe in their brief exchanges he had seen something, something that told him she was more than just a woman-man, more than just a harem guard. Was that not what he had told his friend Agha Baraan?

Tears ran down Shekiba’s cheeks. Now all she could do was wait. The hours passed slowly. It became painful to sit in the same room with Benafsha. Shekiba looked at her glazed eyes and broken spirit. She crawled over and crouched at her side.

“Khanum Benafsha,” she said, her words a hush. “I am praying for you.”

Benafsha’s eyes focused on Shekiba. She looked hollow but grateful.

“I cannot understand why you… but I want…”

“I fulfilled my destiny,” Benafsha said calmly. “That is all I did.”

When they came for Benafsha, Shekiba was holding her hands. Two soldiers dragged Benafsha to her feet and another two pulled Shekiba up by the shoulders. Shekiba’s fingers lost their grip when they bound Benafsha’s wrists together and covered her with a blue
burqa
. Benafsha looked at her and began to wail, long slow moans that grew louder as they walked through the hallways.

“Shut your mouth, whore!” a soldier snapped, whipping his hand against the back of Benafsha’s head after he had made sure they were not being watched. Though she was about to be executed, she was still the king’s concubine.

Benafsha’s head bounced forward. She began to pray loudly.

“
Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar. Allahu
. . .”

They shook her gruffly by the shoulders and warned her again. Her prayers went on.

Through the palace, out a back door and into the courtyard, where the afternoon sun nearly blinded the women. Shekiba looked at the harem and saw the women lined up outside, head scarves pulled across their faces. Halima in silhouette, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Sakina stood among them, her arm linked with Nabila’s.

You did this,
Shekiba thought bitterly.

Ghafoor, Karim, Qasim and Tariq stood in front of the women, solemnly watching the dead woman walk by. Even from this distance, Shekiba could see Tariq trembling. Ghafoor kept her eyes averted, whispering something to Karim as she looked back at the concubines.

Coward. You can’t even look at me.

“
Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar…”

Soldiers stood everywhere. The palace grounds were quiet, an eerie silence given the number of people in sight. Benafsha’s prayers echoed through the gardens, her toes dragging through the ground. The women of the harem shrank into the distance. Shekiba could hear someone crying. Others tried to hush her but the sobs continued. Shekiba thought it sounded like Nabila.

“Do not weep for those who damned themselves!” a voice boomed.

Shekiba turned around to see where the voice came from. Ahead of them stood a general. From this distance she could not tell if it was one of the men who had come to their makeshift prison cell. Three soldiers stood on either side of him, their backs straight as rods.

A hundred times Shekiba had crossed the palace grounds but never had it seemed this far. They inched along.

“
Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar. Allahu
. . .”

Shekiba began to mouth the words too. Her voice was barely audible, her throat so dry it burned to talk.

As they neared the general, he nodded to the soldiers and they walked past the fountains, toward the far limits of the palace. They marched solemnly to a clearing where a semicircle of soldiers stood at attention. Shekiba’s heart dropped. In front of the soldiers lay two separate piles of stones, most the size of a fist. The heaps reached the soldiers’ knees.

Shekiba’s prayers grew louder, synchronizing with Benafsha’s. She tasted tears. They walked to the edge of the palace; high walls shielded the onlookers. King Habibullah emerged from the palace and stood beside the general he had placed in charge of the execution. The men whispered to each other, keeping their eyes on Benafsha.

The general nodded at something the king said and approached the condemned as she was brought to the center of the semicircle. A deep pit had been dug in these outskirts of the palace, behind a row of fruit trees, a place Shekiba had never before ventured. The soldiers, about fifteen feet away, stared at Benafsha. Shekiba was still within earshot.

“Tell me, Khanum Benafsha, are you ready to divulge the name of the man you welcomed in your chambers?”

Benafsha looked up and met his stare.

“
Allahu akbar.
”

“You could be granted mercy if you would at least tell us who this man is.”

“
Allahu akbar.
”

The general threw his arms up and looked back at the king, exasperated. The king nodded, his face a contorted mix of wrath and disappointment.

“Very well! Khanum Benafsha, your crimes have been reviewed by the scholars of our beloved Islam and according to the laws of our land, you are to be stoned for the grave offense you have committed.” He looked at the two guards and pointed at the hole. Benafsha let out a wail as they held her by the armpits and lowered her into the pit, her legs kicking, her blue
burqa
flailing like a goldfish pulled from the palace fountain.

Shekiba took a step toward her and felt two hands tighten on her arms. She looked over at King Habibullah. His arms were folded, a finger over his lips as he mouthed something. At the sound of Benafsha’s voice, he shook his head, lowered his gaze and walked away. He would not stay for the execution.

The soldiers shoveled the earth back around Benafsha until she was buried to her chest. She continued to twist and turn but she was deep in the ground and her arms stuck to her, useless. As the dirt piled up around her, she moved less but moaned louder. Shekiba closed her eyes and heard the wails: “
Allahu akbar. Allahu akbar. Allahu
. . .”

Suddenly a sharp yelp. Shekiba opened her eyes, startled. A thin line of darkness formed above the eye mesh of Benafsha’s
burqa
. Three stones lay near her.

It has started.

The soldiers bent over, picked stones from the arsenal before them and mouthed something before hurling them at Benafsha, the blue half person.

May Allah have mercy on you, Khanum Benafsha!

Her body jerked with each stone that hit her. The soldiers took turns. Picking, hurling, and moving to the back of the half circle. Ten minutes passed, a hundred stones. Benafsha’s voice grew weaker; she slumped forward, her
burqa
stained in a dozen places, dark circles bleeding toward one another. The earth around her grew dark as well, blood soaking into the soil. Two stones had ripped through the blue fabric, gashed flesh showed through the holes.

Shekiba turned around, unable to stomach any more. She saw the row of blue
burqas
behind a row of spectator soldiers. Benafsha was to be an example to the dozen or so who had been brought out to bear witness. As horrified as Shekiba, the blue cloaks were half turned away.

Stone after stone, scream after scream, until Benafsha went silent and still. The general raised his hand. The execution had been carried out.

CHAPTER 47

B
enafsha’s limp body flashed over and over in Shekiba’s mind as she received her own punishment. She had been sentenced to a hundred lashes, which were delivered precisely by one of the soldiers, a general standing watch over him. Shekiba had been made to kneel while they stood behind her, her wrists bound as Benafsha’s had been.

Though her face twisted in pain with each blow, she did not make a sound.

Her back stung, hot and wet. The soldier had a book tucked under his arm, as law instructed, to soften the striking force. They counted out loud and when they reached a hundred, Shekiba’s wrists were untied and she fell on her side in exhaustion. The men said nothing and left the room.

Her mind drifted. She felt water on her lips. Hands rubbed ointment on her back. It was nearly a day later before Shekiba realized Dr. Behrowen was tending to her wounds. The British woman clucked her tongue and shook her head, almost as an Afghan would, muttering something that Shekiba did not understand.

Shekiba closed her eyes to block the horror but it was still there, the images seared onto the insides of her eyelids. She opened her eyes again and looked at Dr. Behrowen. She was squeezing water out of a wet rag. She considered Shekiba carefully.

“
Dard?
” she asked, her British accent blunting the letters so thickly that the word was unrecognizable. She had to repeat herself twice more before Shekiba understood she was asking about pain.

Shekiba shook her head. Dr. Behrowen raised her eyebrows and turned her attention back to the bucket of rags.

Shekiba looked down. She was wearing thin pantaloons that tapered at her ankles. A head scarf lay strewn across a chair in the corner of the room. Shekiba realized she was in Benafsha’s room in the harem. Through the walls, she could hear women chatting. She remembered how Benafsha had begged and prostrated herself before them, asking forgiveness and mercy from a crowd focused only on saving their own skins.

The door opened and Halima peered in.

“Can I come in?” she asked quietly, looking at Dr. Behrowen.

Dr. Behrowen must have understood; she nodded and waved Halima into the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Her throat felt like sandpaper.

“I’m glad.” She knelt at Shekiba’s side. “Things have been ugly here the last few days. Never have we experienced such things.”

Shekiba had nothing to say in reply. Halima sighed heavily and looked quickly at Dr. Behrowen with tears in her eyes.

“Tariq is outside. She wants to see you but she’s very nervous. Is it all right if she comes in for a few moments?”

Shekiba nodded. She remembered seeing Tariq when she turned her gaze from Benafsha’s stoning. Tariq’s mouth and eyes were open wide with horror, a small pool of vomit at her feet.

Halima placed a gentle hand on Shekiba’s forehead before she stood and quietly walked out. Shekiba wished she would come back, stroke her hair and hold her hands as a mother would. Instead, Tariq rushed in and fell at Shekiba’s side; the trembling in her hands vibrated her voice.

“Oh, Allah have mercy! Are you all right? Are you badly hurt? What did they do to you?”

“I was punished.”

“How?”

“One hundred lashes.”

Tariq scanned her body, her brows furrowed together in angst. “How awful! How very awful! Oh, Shekib! Did they say why they were punishing you?”

“Because I did not do my job as a guard.”

“Oh, Allah forgive us! We were all as guilty as you!” she whispered, as if afraid the palace would hear her.

“But only I had been on duty that night. Ghafoor made sure to tell them that.”

“She… I never would have imagined she could be so… I mean, I know she thinks only of herself but I just never thought she would do something like…”

“That’s what people do. She’s no different than anyone else.”

It suddenly occurred to Shekiba that Benafsha had been different. The general had offered leniency in exchange for a name. Although she must have known his offer was a lie, even the possibility of mercy didn’t faze her resolve. She never named the man. Why had she done that? Why had she protected Agha Baraan?

“She said that they only wanted to talk to you. She said she did not know they were going to punish you.”