“I’m not feeling well at all,” I said. I hoped I sounded believable.
Badriya huffed and rested her hands on her hips dramatically. “What is it now? You expect me to go by myself to the session? And who do you suggest should fill out the ballots that are due today?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s my stomach. It must have been something I ate last night. My stomach is a terrible mess,” I said, wrapping my arms around my abdomen and leaning forward. “I don’t want to cause a disturbance sitting next to you. I just feel like I might have to run—”
“Oh, that’s enough already! I don’t want to hear more. Some assistant you are. Useless!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. She grabbed her handbag and stormed out. When I heard her footsteps moving away, I crept to the door and put my ear against it. I could hear her speaking to Hassan and Maroof, their heavy voices echoing in the hall.
“She’s not going?”
“No, she says she’s not well. I suppose we should just let her stay here. I’m not staying with her, if that’s what you are thinking. I’ll hear it from the director if I miss another session.”
“Agh. This girl’s nothing but trouble,” Maroof said.
“Just take her. I’ll stay here with this one,” Hassan offered reluctantly. “The last thing we need now is for Abdul Khaliq to hear we left her alone in the hotel.”
“Fine.”
I heard the metal of the chair scraping against the floor. He was going to stay at his post down the hall. My chest felt heavy with anticipation.
I took a deep breath and went back to the bed, pulling my duffel bag out from under it. My hands dug through the dresses until I found what I was looking for. I thanked God I’d brought it along, even if I hadn’t anticipated wearing it. I changed quickly, a small thrill running through me. I went back to Badriya’s bag and rifled through it until I found the scissors she kept with her sewing supplies. To the bathroom again, where I looked at my reflection and finished what my husband had started. Snip, snip, snip. It was badly uneven but better than what Abdul Khaliq had done.
I put my sandals on and considered my duffel bag for a moment. From the back, it might give me away. I decided against taking it and sat down to calm my breathing.
It took five minutes of intent listening at the door to convince myself no one was approaching, especially Hassan. No thump of his heavy foot or whistle of his raspy breath. I imagined he’d probably gone out for a smoke.
My fingers touched the knob and closed around it slowly. I turned, still keeping my ears perked.
I looked out through the crack, opened the door wider when I was certain I’d seen no one. And wider yet when I worked up the nerve to walk into the hallway. I craned my neck to see where the chair usually sat.
Hassan’s back. I took a deep breath and turned to the right, to the stairwell. I closed the door as silently as I could behind me. I moved one foot in front of the other, walking past the four doors between me and the end of the hallway. I was so focused on listening for the sound of Hassan moving that my left sandal caught on the carpeting and I stumbled, catching my balance by grabbing the doorknob of the next room.
I held my breath when I heard the scraping of the metal chair legs.
“Hey!”
I froze, keeping my back to Hassan. I was sure he could see my whole body quivering even from a distance.
“Watch your feet, you klutzy kid!” he called out.
I nodded and grunted something in a voice deeper than my own but barely audible.
“Boys running around in a hotel . . . ,” I could hear him muttering as I resumed my trek to the stairwell. With each step I waited, waited for the moment when he would realize that the boy he saw was actually a girl in Hashmat’s new clothes, the pants still unhemmed.
I was and then I wasn’t. I was Rahima. And then I wasn’t.
I walked through the lobby, keeping my eyes lowered. The man from the front desk was nowhere to be seen. I moved quickly. I opened the door and sunlight tickled my eyes. I lifted my hand and blinked. When my sandals hit the dirt road I scanned the street to make sure I recognized no one and that no one recognized me. My eyes fell on a sparrow, nimbly passing between tree branches and chirping as earnestly as the birds over Jahangir’s grave. Pray for me too, I thought.
Rahim wound in and out of the streets, heading further away from the hotel and in the opposite direction of the parliament building. Rahim, the bacha posh, listened for someone yelling behind him, listened for a sign that he’d been spotted, that he was going to be dragged back to Abdul Khaliq’s compound and punished.
Rahim, shaking so badly that he thought his legs might collapse, needed a place to hide.