Shah’s feet pounded against the dirt of the road. Just because he was supposed to accompany his sister home from school didn’t mean he couldn’t race her to the front door. He panted, turned around and saw Shabnam walking hurriedly to catch up. She looked frustrated.
“Why are you always in such a rush? Don’t you know it’s not easy to run in a skirt? And anyway, Madar-jan would be upset if she saw me chasing after you through the streets!”
“It’s not my fault I’m faster than you. I could have been home a long time ago if I didn’t have to wait for you!”
It was the same argument every day. They bickered but adored each other, oblivious to the resentment between their mothers. Shabnam had long ago opted to ignore her mother’s hand pulling her back and would sit with Shekiba while she washed the clothes, asking her question after question about everything from horses to baking bread. And Shah, who knew no boundaries thanks to his father, loved to torment Gulnaz by pulling at her knitting and running away, his giggles undoing her anger at the work he had unraveled.
Aasif had hoped for more children but Gulnaz and Shekiba seemed to alternate; one would start her womanly illness when the other stopped. He wondered if a curse had been lifted from him for those two years. Or maybe the women had done something . . . but he grew tired of being angry. His mother had not given up hope. Even one week before her death, she’d reminded her son that Allah had wanted men to take on more than two wives.
“And where will I put another wife, Madar-jan? In our small home, there is no room for another woman and I have enough trouble feeding the ones I have.”
“Marry and Allah will provide a way,” his mother had told him, her eyes half closed with fatigue.
He debated her advice, as illogical as it seemed, on his way to and from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He had been transferred from the Ministry of Agriculture and given a position working with a higher-ranked vizier two years ago thanks to his relationship with Amanullah.
When Agha Khalil arrived with his wife, it was Shah who met them at the door. His knees were dusty from trying to climb past the second branch of the tree in their courtyard, which made the visitor and his wife smile and think of their own young son at home.
“Good evening, dear boy! Is your father home? I would like to speak with him.”
“Yes, he is. Come in! My mother is making dinner. Why don’t you stay and be our guest?” he said with a grin, aping his father’s hospitality. Agha Khalil’s wife could not help but laugh.
“Isn’t that kind of you! We wouldn’t want to trouble her, my friend,” he said just as Aasif entered the courtyard.
“Agha Khalil, how pleasant to see you!”
“And you as well, Agha Baraan. Forgive me for dropping by at this hour but I wanted to bring you those papers since I will not be at the office tomorrow.”
“Please, please, come in,” Aasif said, motioning to the house door.
“Your son was quite the host and already invited us but my wife and I were just on our way home from visiting relatives. We don’t want to be a bother.”
Aasif insisted and Shekiba quickly set out cups of tea and dried mulberries. Gulnaz had taken to her room with a headache, so Shekiba was forced to join Aasif in sitting with the guests. Shekiba and Agha Khalil’s wife, Mahnaz, were introduced and they sat in one corner of the living room while the men chatted in the other. Shekiba kept her head turned to the side as she always did when she met someone new.
“Your son is such a darling boy, nam-e-khoda!” Mahnaz said. Shekiba bowed her head and smiled to hear the kindness in this woman’s voice. Mahnaz wore a taupe-colored ankle-length dress with airy sleeves that buttoned at the cuff. She looked elegant and fitting of someone who might be a palace guest.
“May Allah bless you with good health, thank you,” she said, not wanting to invite nazar by saying any more about her little king.
“Do you have much family in Kabul?”
“No, I came from a small village outside Kabul.”
“So did I. This city was quite a surprise for me! So different from where I grew up.” Mahnaz was young, probably no more than twenty-four years old, with a bright and cheerful face. “Where was your village?”
“It was called Qala-e-Bulbul. I doubt you ever would have heard of it,” Shekiba said. At the age of thirty-six, she hadn’t thought of her village, named for the hundreds of songbirds that lived there, in years. And her village made her think of her songbird sister. Aqela’s lifted voice and dimpled face flashed across her mind, blurry and vivid all at once as memories are.
Mahnaz’s mouth dropped open. She put a hand on Shekiba’s. “Qala-e-Bulbul? Are you really from there? That is my village!”
Shekiba suddenly felt a surge of panic. She did not regret in the least that she had no contact with her family. She looked over at Aasif and saw that the men were deeply engaged in a conversation. He had never cared to ask her anything about her family and she saw no reason for him to learn anything now.
“I left when I was fairly young and I barely remember anyone . . . ,” Shekiba said quietly.
“What a remarkable coincidence! What is your family name?”
“Bardari.”
“Bardari? The farm that was north of the hill of the shepherd? Oh, my goodness! My uncle was neighbor to the Bardari family. I spent so much time at my uncle’s house that I know them well. We lived not too far from there ourselves. How are you related to Khanum Zarmina or Khanum Samina? Their daughters and I used to braid each other’s hair and sing songs by the stream that ran behind my uncle’s land.”
“You did? They are my uncles’ wives.”
“Oh my! Then it was your cousins that I played with as a girl! Do you write to them often? My letters to my family take so very long to reach home. Do you have the same trouble?”
“I . . . I am not in contact with my family now that I am living in Kabul. It has been a long time,” Shekiba said vaguely.
“Really? I understand. I was just there two years ago, you know. For my brother’s wedding. The village hasn’t changed a bit. But did you . . . Shekiba-jan, do you know about your grandmother?” Mahnaz’s eyes softened and her voice quieted.
“My grandmother? What is it?”
Mahnaz bit her lip and looked down for a second. She shook her head and held both Shekiba’s hands in her own.
“She passed away just two days after the wedding. It was such a sad time. I did not know her personally but I heard that she was a very strong woman. The whole village marveled at how blessed she was to have lived such a long life!”
Shekiba was taken aback. Part of her had expected her grandmother to live on forever, pickled in her own bitter juices. She quickly realized that her guest was expecting some kind of reaction.
“Oh. I had no idea. May she rest peacefully in heaven,” she mumbled, lowering her head.
“I am so sorry that I should share such sad news with you, especially in our first meeting. How awful of me!”
“Please, please. My grandmother, as you said, lived many more years than anyone would have expected. Such is life and the same end awaits us all,” she said, struggling to sound polite.
“Yes, yes, God bless her. She must have had a good soul to have been blessed with such a long life.”
You did not know her, Shekiba thought.
“Mahnaz-jan,” Shekiba said hesitantly. She wondered how to ask what she really wanted to know. “Do you happen to know how the farms are doing? My father’s land . . . my father’s land used to produce such a yield of crops. I often wonder . . .”
“Which was your father’s land?”
“It was behind my grandmother’s house, separated by a row of tall trees . . .”
“Oh, of course! Well,” she said. The subject obviously made her uncomfortable. “From what I heard there were some . . . some disagreements about the land. When I was there, Freidun-jan and Zarmina-jan were living there but they were about to divide it up.”
Shekiba could decipher what Mahnaz was too polite to say. Her uncles must have quarreled over the land. She could imagine Kaka Freidun asserting his right as eldest and haughty Khala Zarmina pushing the others aside to get a home of her own. Greed had torn the family and the land apart.
“But they were not having a good yield when I visited. I saw their daughter, your cousin, at the wedding and she told me that they believed there was some kind of curse on the soil.”
Shekiba smiled. Mahnaz thought her odd. Shekiba realized but couldn’t help it. She could hear her grandmother’s cackling voice telling her sons that it was Shekiba who had cursed the earth and condemned their crops.
“How did things go at the wedding? Congratulations to your family,” Shekiba said. She had no interest in hearing anything else about her family.
Mahnaz relaxed and broke into a smile. “It was wonderful! Dancing and music and food! It was so lively and I had not seen my family in so long. I could not have had a better time!”
“How nice! I wish the bride and groom a happy life.”
“They nearly had to call off the wedding, truthfully.”
“Why?”
“Well, the bride’s family had asked for a huge sum of money as her bride price, but my father had said it was unreasonable, especially since King Amanullah had outlawed the practice of bride price. The bride’s father felt disrespected, so they settled on a lesser sum. I suppose I could understand though. No money at all? I mean, a bride is worth something, isn’t she? I know I was!” she laughed.
Shekiba smiled meekly and looked away. “You are right. Amanullah’s laws seem so foreign in a village like ours. Kabul is so different. Can you imagine if people in Qala-e-Bulbul knew about the English and German secondary schools here?”
“You are so right, Shekiba-jan! Only some of the girls went to school in our area. Do you know that Queen Soraya will be making a speech in two days?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, it will be amazing. I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say. Though I worry about her. Many will not welcome so many changes so quickly. Why don’t you come with me? We can go and hear her speak!”
Shekiba was taken aback. Queen Soraya? Shekiba had wondered about her so much, she brightened at the thought of actually seeing this revolutionary woman. But Shekiba was not accustomed to attending public events.
“Oh, I couldn’t . . . I mean, I have to tend to—”
“Come, just for a day! It’ll be great to see!” she said with excitement, and then turned her attention to the men. They were so deeply engaged in conversation that they had not yet touched their tea. “Excuse me, dear Agha Baraan!”
Aasif turned around. He looked startled. “Yes, Khanum?”
“Could I steal your wife tomorrow?”
Steal your wife. I wonder how that sounds to him, Shekiba thought. The talk of Amanullah and Soraya reminded her of the palace. And Benafsha.
“Steal my . . .”
“Yes, I would love to go to the speech and have been looking for someone to join me! We won’t be gone long. We can take adorable Shah-jan with us too!”
“It will be an important speech. I have no doubt that the Afghan people will be impressed with Queen Soraya the more they get to know her,” Agha Khalil said.
“You will be there?” Aasif asked him. Shekiba watched as her afternoon was planned for her.
“Certainly.”
“Well, then . . .”
“Wonderful! Hope you don’t mind her escaping for a bit!” Mahnaz said contently. Aasif tried not to let his face show his displeasure.