Shekiba and Gulnaz kept house together and endured Aasif’s outbreaks, episodes where his frustration got the best of him. He ranted, berated and slapped. He threw things, twice breaking windowpanes. The cost of replacing them sent him into a new rage.
The tension drew the two women together. They shared a husband, they shared blame, they shared punishment. They bickered as well. Shekiba hated Gulnaz’s lofty attitude and her bland cooking. Gulnaz thought Shekiba dull and plain, a lousy conversationalist. But they made the situation work. Shekiba added spices when Gulnaz turned away and Gulnaz talked enough to make up for her husband’s boring second wife.
There were a few months of nervous respite when Gulnaz’s belly began to swell. She told Shekiba when she realized that she had not bled for two months. They wondered on the possibilities until Gulnaz began throwing up once every four days. Shekiba confirmed that these were the signs that a child was growing, as she had learned in the harem. Nothing was said to Aasif, since it was improper to discuss such delicate matters with men, but when he noticed her belly protruding, he smiled with satisfaction and entered Shekiba’s room after dark with renewed zeal.
Aasif came home and shared meals with his wives. They had taken to eating together, the three of them, from time to time. Shekiba was cautious not to join them too often, knowing now that Gulnaz was carrying Aasif’s child he would see Shekiba as an even bigger failure than before.
But Aasif was busy anticipating the birth of his first child. Aasif’s family was quieted, their whisperings that he should take a third wife silenced temporarily. Gulnaz and Shekiba knew that he had been debating the idea but simply could not afford a third wedding and another mouth to feed.
Ramadan came and went. Gulnaz, excused from fasting, glowed with satisfaction as her belly grew large, her cheeks fattened and her breathing grew loud. She huffed walking from the living room to the kitchen. Shekiba had seen many women with child but none had looked as uncomfortable as Gulnaz. It was hard not to notice that she only panted and sighed when she knew Shekiba was around to hear it.
When the pains came, Shekiba hurriedly walked the four blocks to summon the midwife. Gulnaz bit her lip and twisted in agony, her triumphant grin gone for now. Aasif came home and, hearing the midwife coaching Gulnaz through her moans, left again. Hours passed.
The baby finally came, just before Aasif nervously returned to a silent house. The midwife smiled politely and congratulated him as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and headed out the front gate. Aasif nodded and walked into Gulnaz’s bedroom. Shekiba pretended not to hear him enter and kept her head over the stove, pouring flour into the hot oil and stirring as it thickened. Litti, the hot flour soup with sugar and walnuts, would help Shahnaz’s womb heal and make her milk come in. Shekiba waited.
“After all that? A girl? How can this be?”
Gulnaz mumbled something that Shekiba could not make out.
“Is there no end to my humiliation?” he shouted. The baby began to cry.
Even a newborn can tell she is not wanted, thought Shekiba. Aasif walked into the living room and yelled for Shekiba to fix him something to eat.
“And it better be hot,” he shouted. “I’ve had enough disappointment for today.”
He fell asleep in the living room, his snores echoing down the hallway. Shekiba tiptoed into Gulnaz’s room. She was lying on her side, trying awkwardly to get her daughter to nurse. Shekiba sat her up and showed her how to tuck the baby under her swollen bosom. Small pink lips slowly opened and pulled together, her mouth closing in on Gulnaz’s nipple.
Shekiba noticed the funny look Gulnaz was giving her.
“I guarded a house full of women and children. I’ve helped with plenty of newborns.”
“Well, I haven’t. If only my mother were alive. It would be different then.”
Shekiba sighed. If only my mother were alive.
“What will you name her?”
“Shabnam.” Morning dewdrops.
“Beautiful. I made you litti. You are zacha now. Warm foods will heal your body.”
Warm and cool foods had nothing to do with temperature but everything to do with a mysterious inherent property of the food. Walnuts and dates were warm. Vinegar and oranges were cold. Joint aches and childbirth made the body cold and were treated with a diet of warm foods.
Gulnaz took the bowl readily. The hours of straining had left her pale, exhausted and ravenous. She spooned the hot soup into her mouth, pausing just once to look up at Shekiba with gratitude.
“I am glad you are here, Shekiba.”
Shekiba froze. It was not like Gulnaz to make such a statement and it made Shekiba fidget. She picked up the baby instead of responding.
“I thought it was going to be a boy. We waited for so long. And in the end, God gave me a girl.”
“Aasif is upset.”
“He says it’s my fault. He didn’t want to hold her. He was too upset.”
“You will have another. You had one baby. The door is open now. God will give you another.”
“Maybe. He wanted to name her Benafsha.”
Shekiba looked up in surprise. Gulnaz’s face was calm.
“Think of that. To name my daughter Benafsha. He’s mad.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’ve never put up a fight before but there was no way I could call my daughter by that name.”
“And?”
Gulnaz’s face twisted with pain. Shekiba instinctively put a hand on her shoulder and leaned toward her.
“What is it?”
“She warned me it would be painful.”
“What would?”
“It’s my womb. The midwife said my womb would be angry and looking for the baby that used to live in it.”
“It is angry?”
“It must be. Oh . . .” Gulnaz moaned.
The spasm passed after a moment and Gulnaz remembered their conversation.
“He wasn’t happy. He stormed out. He said Benafsha would be a fine name for a girl, but I think he knows it’s wrong.”
And if word got back to the palace, it could cast suspicion on him, Shekiba thought. She smiled to think of Aasif not getting his way.
“I’m going to wash her up some more. She still has blood in her hair.”
Gulnaz gave a weak smile and closed her eyes, thankful for a moment’s rest.
Shabnam’s first year passed with two mothers. Gulnaz and Shekiba took turns bathing her, feeding her and rocking her to sleep. Shekiba held her head while Gulnaz lined her eyes with kohl and again a month later when she shaved her head to make her hair grow in thicker. Shekiba served tea and nuts when Aasif’s family came to visit, days that reminded both wives how fortunate they were not to be living at the Baraan family compound. Aasif’s mother made no attempt to hide her repugnance for Shekiba. She had been first to suggest her son take on a second wife, since his first appeared to have been defective, but this deformed creature with another barren womb was not at all what she had in mind.
She held her granddaughter but kept her eyes roaming around the living room, looking for evidence that her son’s home was not being kept well by his two wives. She had a talent for masking criticisms with compliments.
“The colors of your carpet finally show! Looks like someone took the time to beat the dust from it, eh? How long had it been? I had to wash my dress last time I went home from here.”
Neither Shekiba nor Gulnaz replied to her comment. It would only feed the flames.
“Gulnaz-jan, those cookies that you sent over, they were delicious! How lovely that you’ve finally started baking sweets!”
“I cannot take the credit for Shekiba-jan’s hard work. She made the rosewater cookies and sent them over for you,” Gulnaz said, pretending to ignore the snide comment.
“Oh, well, I wondered how it was possible that after this much time you would have started to treat your husband’s palate to something tasty. Shekiba-jan, they were better than the cookies Khanum Ferdowz makes every year for her family and neighbors.”
“Noosh-e-jan, Khala-jan,” Shekiba said quietly as she refilled her mother-in-law’s teacup. “Please help yourself to another.”
“Maybe I will. It’s not often that my aroos makes such goodies.” She shook her skirt, a shower of crumbs raining down on the newly cleaned carpet.
“Who knows, Madar-jan, maybe it’s just not often that we get to taste them,” Parisa said, laughing. Parisa was Aasif’s eldest sister. She often accompanied her mother on visits, leaving her four children at home as she joined her mother’s social circuit.
Aasif’s mother smiled at Parisa’s comment. Her lips curled up at the corners and the dark hairs on her upper lip cast a shadow. Shekiba opened the teapot and, although it was still full, headed back into the kitchen to refill it.
Gulnaz and Shekiba breathed a sigh of relief when Aasif’s mother and sister finally left. Shekiba beat the cookie crumbs from the carpet and tossed the larger pieces into the cage for the canaries. They chirped and tweeted with excitement, watching Shekiba as they flitted from one side of the cage to the other.
Two had bald spots where the aggressive one had pecked their feathers away. Still, they looked content. They watched Shekiba cautiously, occasionally hopping a few inches closer to her for a better look. She reached her finger through the wires and wiggled it. All three birds retreated to the opposite side of the cage immediately, horrified that she would dare trespass into their home.
Shekiba withdrew her finger and watched their wings relax, their syncopated chirping less alarmed.