“She looked terrible, Khala-jan,” I said. “I just never thought I would see my mother looking like that. Shahla would have been in tears to see her!”
It occurred to me, though, that Shahla too had likely changed. None of us were what we had been three years ago. Shahla now had two children. I thought of her when I looked at Shahnaz. I wondered how her new family was treating her. I prayed she was faring better than Parwin had.
“Rohila is a smart girl. I just wish they would send them to school.” She sighed. “That’s all I wanted for each of you. A bit of education that you could carry with you through life.”
“What good did it do me?” I asked in frustration. “I went to school for a few years and it did absolutely nothing to change where I am now.”
“You’ll see later in life. Every bit does some good. Look at me. I’m lucky I know how to read. It’s a candle in a dark room. What I don’t know, I can find out for myself. It’s easier to fool someone who can’t figure things out on his own.”
I bit my tongue. I still didn’t see what use it was. Khala Shaima had been the only one of her sisters to make it to the eighth grade, since no suitors had come for her. Other than her being able to read a newspaper or a book here and there, I didn’t see how her life was any better. She hadn’t been able to stop anything from happening to my sisters or me.
“Your mother will be all right,” Khala Shaima said, misreading the doubtful expression on my face. “The human spirit, you know what they say about the human spirit? It is harder than a rock and more delicate than a flower petal.”
“Sure.”
“Your mother is protecting herself. She’s protecting her spirit, making the delicate petal as hard as rock with the medicine your father brings home because it’s the only way she knows to survive. You should do the same, in a different way, of course. Don’t forget that you are part flower petal and part rock too.”
She sighed.
“That damn medicine. Now that Abdul Khaliq is your father’s damaat, he can get as much as he wants. There was just too much of it for your mother to resist.”
“They made out well in this whole arrangement,” I said with more cynicism than I’d intended. Sometimes I saw my mother as a victim. Other times I thought of her as my father’s coconspirator. Either way, my sisters were the ones who suffered. I looked at Jahangir and swore never to do the same to him.
“You can blame your mother but it won’t do any good. You don’t know what it was like to be in her position. In an ant colony, dew is a flood.”
“But you said it too! You were the one telling her that she shouldn’t give us away. I remember you arguing with her!”
Khala Shaima sighed and looked away, frustrated. “Of course I told her all those things! And she tried. She tried to talk to your father but he’s—”
“I know what he is.”
Khala Shaima quieted. She bit her lip. It was time to change the subject. “How has Abdul Khaliq been with you lately?”
“He’s so busy with his own affairs that he’s hardly around the house at all.”
“Good. Busy with what?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not sure exactly but I heard him talking with his advisers and guards the other day. Something about his soldiers doing what the foreign soldiers can’t do.”
“Or don’t want to do. He’s got a good racket. These other countries come in here and throw a few bombs around. Friends today with yesterday’s enemies. They just change their hats and all of a sudden, they’re allies to these western countries. No one cares what Abdul Khaliq was doing for the past few years.”
“What was he doing?”
Khala Shaima’s lips pursed together. “He’s your husband, Rahima, so I would have thought you’d have a better idea by now. How do you think he got to be so rich and powerful? Off the blood of our own people, that’s how. By ransoming, stealing, killing and then washing up and looking pretty for the westerners who either don’t know any better or pretend not to. Your husband is not the only one and he’s probably not even one of the worst. You were too young to really know how things worked and no one in your house would talk about it since your father was fighting under him.” Khala Shaima’s voice was a cautious whisper.
I remembered how Shahnaz had come to be Abdul Khaliq’s wife—pillaged from her home as if she were a piece of jewelry or silver serving tray.
“You should know these things, Rahima, since you’re living here in this house. As his wife, no less. But don’t speak of them, ever. Not even with his other wives. Understand me?”
I nodded. Her warning was unnecessary. I already knew how loose the lips in this house were.
“His advisers were telling him he should have one of his wives run for parliament,” I said, thinking of the conversation I’d overheard. “It sounds like such a crazy idea.”
“Run for parliament? Those conniving bastards!”
“They really want him to. That would be a big change for him, Khala Shaima, wouldn’t it? Imagine, one of his wives in the parliament.”
“To hell it’s a big change! It’s a charade. There’s a rule that a certain number of seats have to be filled by women. They made this rule part of the constitution because otherwise no one would give any woman the time of day. But he’ll put one of his wives in and tell her exactly what to say, how to vote, who to talk to. It’s no different than Abdul Khaliq taking the seat himself!” Her words were bitter, underscored by the way she spat some letters out.
I hadn’t thought of the situation that way but Khala Shaima’s reasoning made sense. And it explained why Abdul Khaliq was even considering the option. It was as his adviser had said—this might be the only way to keep control over the region.
“Did he say which wife he wanted to have run?”
“No, they didn’t.” I had wondered the same thing myself.
“Probably Badriya.”
“Why Badriya?”
“Because Jameela is too pretty. He won’t want men’s eyes on her. And you and Shahnaz are too young.”
She was right.
Over the next few weeks Badriya was groomed for the election. Abdul Khaliq spent more time with her behind closed doors. We didn’t know what they were talking about and Badriya was tight-lipped, or at least put on the appearance of being so.
“It’s going to be a difficult election,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips. It was obvious she was feeling very special to have been chosen for the task. “We’ve been discussing getting the word out, getting my name out.”
“What kinds of things will you have to do if you’re part of the parliament?” Shahnaz asked. It was a warm afternoon and the children were all in the courtyard. Abdul Khaliq had gone on an overnight trip and Bibi Gulalai was in bed, recovering from a cold that she said had nearly killed her three times over. The compound could breathe now that Bibi Gulalai swore she couldn’t.
“Silly thing! Don’t you know what the parliament does? Good thing it’s me and not you that’s running!”
I saw Jameela swallow a smile. We both knew Badriya was trying to come up with an answer.
“It’s a lot of work once you hold a jirga seat. There are things to vote on, decisions to make . . .” She waved her hand about as if it was just too much trouble to bother explaining.
Shahnaz raised her eyebrows. “But you’re going to be covered, right?”
“Of course! I’ll be wearing my burqa.”
“And if you make it into the parliament, then what? It’s mostly men, isn’t it? You’ll have to go and meet with them?”
“Yes, that’ll be my responsibility as an elected official. We’ll have to talk about the voting, the issues.”
“When are the elections?”
“In two months. There’s a lot to be done.” Badriya sighed as if she had just realized how much work awaited her.
Badriya, the first wife, had been accustomed to a status within the compound but she had started to resent all the attention the other wives were getting. This development was just the boost she needed to reclaim her distinction. But not all attention was good attention.
About a week after our conversation, I woke up in the morning, tied my hair behind my head and slipped on my work dress. I was to clean out the chicken coop. The smell always turned my stomach so I brought a square of cloth to tie around my nose and mouth.
I walked outside and went to the far edge of the compound. The chickens were up early and clucked with excitement at my arrival. Feathers flew into the air, making me cough. I adjusted my mask and took a deep breath.
Before I could pick up my broom, the clucking heightened, and the chickens started to pace the area as if they’d been upset by something. I turned back toward the compound and saw Badriya walking behind the house. She had her left arm tucked in under her side and walked with a slight limp that made me think of Parwin.
I watched her and realized she hadn’t seen me. She stopped at the clothesline and reached up to pull off a chador and a dress. It took her three tries before she was able to get the dress down; each time she reached upward, she would stop short and withdraw her arm sharply, shaking her head. I wondered what had happened and was happy for an excuse to delay my task anyway.
“Badriya-jan! Sobh bakhair!”
Badriya whipped around, her surprised expression interrupted by a wince. “Oh, Rahima! Yes, sobh bakhair. Good morning to you too. What are you doing back here?”
Her arm was still tucked in.
“I have to clean out the henhouse,” I explained. “It looks like you’re having a hard time with your arm. What happened?”
Badriya frowned. “It’s nothing,” she said unconvincingly. As she went to turn back to the clothesline, I caught a glimpse of her neckline and saw bruising around her collarbone. I started to say something about it but caught myself. She tried to move around as usual but her face betrayed her.
“Just get on with whatever you were doing, Rahima. I’m too busy to chat,” she said dismissively. I walked back toward the chickens, looking over my shoulder to confirm that she was still limping. Hashmat met her at the door of the house and helped her in. He noticed me watching and shook his head. I kept my distance from him these days. By now I’d figured out that I shouldn’t be around boys my own age or older, no matter what their relation to me. And I didn’t want to invite any talk about Abdullah, who now seemed like a character I’d created in my imagination.
In the afternoon, I returned to Jameela’s house. Most of the time, my son joined me while I did my chores, but cleaning the henhouse was impossible with him around. Jahangir had taken to spending time with Jameela while I was attending to some of the more taxing work. She enjoyed having him around now that her own children were grown and I trusted her more than anyone else. Even though I lived with Shahnaz, it was Jameela I turned to with every question about feeding and bathing Jahangir. She even knitted a sweater and cap for him to keep him warm through the winter.
“He hasn’t been too much trouble, has he?” I asked, knowing what her answer would be.
“Oh, he’s getting sweeter every day, Rahima. Tomorrow we should espand him, to keep the evil eye away. Before you know it, he’s going to be talking his mouth off. You should see him trying.”
“Have you seen Badriya today?” I asked, wanting to talk to someone about what I’d observed.
“No, are you looking for her?” She was feeding morsels of tea-soaked bread into Jahangir’s open mouth.
“I saw her this morning, outside behind the house. She looks like her arm’s pretty badly hurt. And she’s not walking right.”
“Hm. Did you ask her about it?” Jameela said, shaking her head.
“Yes, but she brushed me off.”
“She expected too much.” Jameela sighed. “A man has to feel that he’s in charge of his home, at the end of the day. Especially a man like Abdul Khaliq Khan.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know it’s not easy for him to agree to have her run for election. Her name has to be publicized in the area for people to vote for her; she will be talked about. And it will be big news that the powerful Abdul Khaliq’s wife is out of the house, running for parliament. It’s not what he wants.”
I felt stupid for not figuring this out on my own.
“Last night, I heard him.”
“What happened?”
“He warned her not to turn into one of those women, the kind who make a lot of noise, talk with lots of people. He wanted her to know that it was his decision to put her into the election and that it had nothing to do with her. I think he’s heard her talking about it. That’s not what he wants of his wives. I don’t know what exactly she said but he was rough on her last night.” Jameela shook her head and clucked her tongue. “It sounded like he was at his worst.”
As much as her smugness had irritated me, I pitied Badriya. We all knew Abdul Khaliq’s heavy hand. I wondered if Badriya regretted being chosen to run for the jirga seat.
“Is he still going to go through with it? I mean, to have her run for the parliament?”
“I think so. He wants the power. Through her, he would have his finger in a lot of different projects. He’s not going to give that up, as much as he might hate to have his wife’s name written on ballots and know that she’s going to have to be away from the house sometimes to fulfill her duties. I’m sure he’s trying to think of a way around all that anyway.”
Abdul Khaliq had indeed taught Badriya a lesson. She didn’t talk about the upcoming election after that. He met with her from time to time as well as his advisers. I caught bits and pieces of conversations. Things weren’t going well. His advisers weren’t sure Badriya would win the seat in the jirga but Abdul Khaliq had a way of convincing them.
My husband was used to getting his way. If he wanted Badriya elected, she would be.