Translated from the Pashto by Dr. Negeen Kargar
It was 1986. The war was raging across the country. The government launched air and ground attacks on the insurgents’ positions, and the insurgents targeted government aircraft. They fired Luna and heavy rockets at government buildings, but few hit. Most landed on people’s homes and local markets. More casualties were reported.
I looked at the hanging clock on the wall; it was quarter to seven. I dressed Saeed for school, then opened his lunch box and put some juice and biscuits in it. I told him to put on his shoes and wait for me in the corridor. As usual, there was no electricity, so I left the curtains open to let the light in. I made sure I had Halima’s present, then took my keys from the drawer, locked the door, checked and rechecked that I had locked it properly.
Outside the estate, I heard the sound of a car horn. I deliberately didn’t look back, and it sounded again. It was Kazim, our landlord. It was the thirtieth of the month, and he wanted the rent. I held Saeed’s hand tight and walked towards the car. When Kazim opened the window I was only a few feet from him, but still he shouted, “It will be twelve thousand afghani next month. Stay or leave, it is up to you.” His bloated belly shifted sideways, full of food paid for with our rent.
I looked at my watch. It was five past seven and I had only twenty minutes to drop Saeed at kindergarten. If I went back to the apartment, I would miss the university transport. I asked Kazim if it could wait until tomorrow. The wrinkles on his forehead showed his frustration. “I need it now,” he said.
Faheem’s salary was hardly enough for our daily expenses, and we did not have any savings. “If we are leaving, we will tell you,” I said, firmly. “Wait a minute,” I added, after a pause. I knew that if I had said anything else, he would get out of his car and make even more noise.
Saeed cried and said he was tired as I hurried back to the flat. I calmed him down, took the money from the cupboard and counted out ten thousand afghanis, then put the remainder in my handbag in case I missed the bus. I could hear Kazim sounding his horn again. A neighbor shouted at him to stop hooting. “Mind your own business,” Kazim yelled back at her. As we passed her flat, I apologized, gave Kazim the money and signed the papers.
I left Saeed in kindergarten and crossed the road to catch the university bus, but it had already left. So I caught a taxi, and spent money that would have gone towards Saeed’s juice and biscuits. I sat back and opened the window—at least today the weather was friendly. The sun’s rays warmed the mountains in the distance and the soft morning breeze calmed me down. Thank god, I said to myself, that the sun is not someone’s property, otherwise I’d have to pay rent for that as well.
The taxi arrived as some of the students were leaving for their lecture—maybe they were late too, like me. Others were walking around the yard, chatting to each other, and the rest were sitting on benches. On the way to my faculty, I saw Halima.
“Why weren’t you on the bus?” She took my hand and led me to her office. I told her about the drama with Kazim and how our rent had increased.
“Can’t Faheem ask the newspaper for a pay rise? That’s what husbands are for.”
“He is a dedicated government employee. He wouldn’t dare.”
“Like you,” she laughed, “one of our most dedicated senior lecturers!”
She looked at my dress, which was black and white striped. “It’s not for you,” she said. “You are too slim, and it makes you look even thinner.” Ever since our student days, Halima had been honest about my choice of clothes.
“I’ll give it to someone,” I told her. “But not to you!”
Halima’s room was tiny. There was a desk and chair in one corner, and a small coffee table with another chair in front of it. She took her thermos, poured some tea for both of us, and placed a small piece of cake on a plate. I wished her happy birthday and gave her my gift. It was a purple handbag; purple had always been her favourite color. I watched as Halima swapped her old handbag for the new one. She twirled around with it on her shoulder.
“How does it look?” she asked.
“It’s bright!”
“It’s perfect,” she smiled as the sunlight caught the bag’s vibrant purple.
The tea and cake had given me back my energy. I stood up to go and prepare for my lesson, when a piercing noise, like the sound of metal dishes colliding and falling heavily to the ground, cut through the air. Halima shouted at me to get down. We threw ourselves to the floor as more rockets went over our heads and there were more explosions. It felt as though we were on the ground for longer than the few minutes it took for the rockets to stop.
“All right?” Halima asked me.
“Yes, fine,” I said.
This was our routine exchange after such attacks. She was always more resilient than me except for the time when she was taken to hospital and I had to give her my blood. I got up, went to the window and looked across the college campus. The yard was empty; the students had all run inside.
In my office, I tried to concentrate on a student’s dissertation, but, yet again, my eyes went to my watch. It was still only noon. All I could think about was our flat, and how one day we might be able to have our own house, far away from the likes of Kazim. I rearranged the books and papers on the tabletop, then stood up. Halima’s arrival interrupted my thoughts, and she persuaded me to go for an early lunch.
A love song by Ahmad Zahir was playing in the large teachers’ canteen, and the smell of dried coriander with fresh chile was comforting. We found an empty table and sat face-to-face, as usual. The waiter brought rice and meatballs, along with a small bowl of salad and a yogurt drink. I wasn’t very hungry. Halima told me not to worry. Everything would be fine. She put a spoonful of rice in her mouth and told me to eat too.
At a nearby table, two of my male colleagues talked about the government housing allocation for lecturers.
I interrupted them. “Have people heard about their applications?”
“Yes, we received letters today. All those on the list have been asked to provide further information, such as photos and other documents.”
Maybe, finally, some good news, I thought.
“You are so lucky, Halima, that you and your brother have houses.”
“My older brother asked for land when he sent in his application, and he was also granted an apartment.”
“How?”
“He knew a government official and asked for his help in the application process.”
This reminded me of Kazim; maybe he also found it easy to get apartments from the government and was now charging us a high rent. Or maybe, like Halima’s brother, he had had a few houses from the government and was charging a high rent on all of them.
“Does your brother live in the apartment?”
“No, he rents it out. If it was mine, you could have had it for free.”
“You are too kind, Halima!”
“What are friends for?” she said, with a look in her eyes that I couldn’t quite discern.
Halima lowered her voice. “My brother also got an apartment from the government in my name. He couldn’t get it in his name as he already had two places.”
I drank some water. “Do you rent that out too?”
“Yes. My second brother gets the rent for that one.”
I put a spoonful of rice in my mouth and thought how, if only I had a relative who worked as a government official, he would have helped us. I couldn’t think of anyone. Poor people have poor friends.
Later that afternoon, my lesson was canceled, so I had a free hour and time to go to the director’s office. As I arrived, Halima was coming out.
“What are you doing here?”
She brushed past me without saying anything. I had noticed over the past year or so that Halima had stopped discussing anything work-related with me and chose instead to go to the director’s office—from her first day, she had been attracted to him. He was a flirt; not a decent man.
“Halima!” I raised my voice and insisted she tell me.
She blushed.
“I went to talk about land eligibility and the application. The director added my name to the list.”
“But you are not eligible.”
“You were jealous of me and did not put my name on the list,” Halima continued.
“The list is for lecturers who do not own a house or land. You already have an apartment. I couldn’t lie.”
“So, what are friends for?” Halima said.
The director called me in to his office before I had time to respond.
I asked him to show me the confirmation letter from the municipality and the list of applicants. He was distracted and didn’t look at me when speaking. “The lecturers forget they have lessons. Each one has come to ask about the land application process.” He picked up the list and ignored the first page, then turned to the second.
“Give me the list,” I said.
He handed it to me. I looked again and again at the names but couldn’t find mine. I looked one more time. Halima’s name was there, but not mine.
“Can you see my name?” I asked him.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that your name was removed,” he said, nonchalantly.
“When?”
“When these lists were first created.”
“That was a year ago,” I said. “Who removed it?”
“I did.”
“But I don’t own a house.” I was struggling to take in what he was saying.
“What do I know? I gave your slot to Halima. She proved to me that she was homeless.”
I knew what that meant. It made me grit my teeth and my body heat up. I slammed the list down on the table.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have explained my situation. Please do something so I can get some land and help my family.”
“The list is with the municipality. No name can be added or removed.”
The director’s words made me squirm. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was in pain, but I wasn’t ill. I had been betrayed, which was worse. I hurried back to my office.
I picked up the decorative stone from the top of the desk and passed it from one hand to the other. My confidante and friend, Halima, had turned my hopes into despair.
In the evening, I went to the kindergarten to pick up Saeed. He smiled and hugged me tightly. He wrapped his arms around my neck. I kissed his face. The exhaustion and agony of the day were forgotten for a moment in his little arms.
The next day, in my office, I had my head in a book but was struggling to concentrate. I wearily put a pen in the middle of the chapter to save the page, then closed it. I looked out into the corridor and saw Halima pass by, carrying some books. My heart ached from the dishonesty. I stared at her. We were like sisters. I’d given her my blood. I couldn’t forgive myself.
I picked up the stone from my desk and threw it hard. It hit the wall. In the next room, the teachers panicked. Halima also came out. I turned away. Someone said a bomb had exploded, and someone else said it was the sound of a rocket.