The Dressmaker of Khair Khana (13 page)

She passed the bag over to Malika, who was struggling to contain her amazement.

“You need two wedding dresses and four wedding party gowns made in one day?”

The woman nodded energetically. She did indeed look desperate.

Malika stood silent for a moment. This kind of order would normally take at least a week of work. If it was even possible to get this done, which she was not at all sure of, she would need the help of all her sisters and every student in the school. It would have to be all hands on deck, starting as soon as possible. Like now.

Well, she thought to herself, we wanted more work. . . .

Malika escorted Nabila to the foyer, where she asked her to wait with the two girls, then hurried back to the living room workshop where Kamila was still absorbed in her beading.

“Kamila Jan, there is a woman here wanting me to make her six dresses in one day for her daughter's wedding party. Of course I can't do it by myself; I honestly don't even know whether we can get it done all together. It's a huge amount of work. What do you think?”

Kamila didn't need to think; she dropped the purple fabric and answered immediately and decisively.

“Yes, of course we can do it. The girls and I will help you. We're nearly finished with this order for Hamid anyway,” she said. “We'll get it done--you know we always find a way. Besides, how many times have you rescued us? More times than we can count!”

“Well, it will be quite an adventure,” Malika said, kissing her sister on the cheek in gratitude before returning to her new customers.

“All of you must come back today, just before six P.M., so your measurements can be taken,” she instructed. “Usually we wouldn't ask you to come back at night because of the soldiers and the curfew, but if we're going to work quickly, we'll need your help,” she said. “But please make sure not to come late; we don't want you to be on the streets or at our gate at the time of prayer.”

“Yes, yes, of course, that will be fine,” said the mother of the bride, now smiling. “We will see you this evening. And thank you. Thank you so much.”

As soon as the women had gone, the living room began to buzz with activity as Malika called her troops to order and gave directions to each and every one.

“Okay, girls, we are going to get started on this order and we need all of your help,” she began, standing before the students at the front of the living room. “We have seven hours until the women come back. By then we will need to have the shells of each dress ready for them to try on. I will lead the wedding dresses team, and Kamila will be in charge of the gowns for the mother and sisters. Saaman will cut all the fabric and do the stenciling for the embroidery. Laila and Neelab will make sure we have all the supplies we need. Sara Jan will be coming around to make sure everyone understands what they are supposed to be doing. Please don't hesitate for one second to ask any of us a question; we don't have time to make mistakes, and we are all glad to stop what we're doing and help with whatever you need. And if any of you can stay a bit later today, we would very much appreciate it.”

With that, the teams broke off to begin their work. They would work in two stages, starting with the green dress, which Shafiqa would wear during the ceremony in which the bride and groom consented to marriage. Then she and the girls would turn to the white gown, which Shafiqa would wear to greet her guests during the wedding reception afterward. The bride had requested that both frocks be very long and very plain, with only a bare minimum of beading around the neckline and sleeves. It struck Malika as a bit odd, particularly since the bride had seen from the dresses hanging around the workspace what pretty embroidery work the girls could do. “But so much the better,” she told the girls. “The handwork would have set us back at least half a day.”

Kamila's group of seamstresses began by unrolling the fabric Nabila had brought and matching each material with the woman who would wear it. She wrote their names on a piece of scrap paper that she then taped to the floor next to each pile of fabric. Once Saaman had cut the material and drawn the patterns for them, the girls went to work in pairs, dividing each bodice and skirt into panels that they could work on separately. When it came time to work on the sleeves, the girls wrote down each customer's arm length and placed it on the table in front of them before starting to run stitches across the top of the fabric in the way that Kamila had taught them. This would make it easier to attach the arms to the rest of the dress later on. The girls made certain to leave extra fabric for the first fitting. As their teachers had told them so many times, it's better for a sleeve to be too long than too short. “Long,” the mantra went, “you can always shorten.”

The room hummed with activity but there was little noise aside from the whirrs and clicks of the sewing machines alongside the purr of the generator and the directions that Malika and Kamila called out every few minutes. Everyone was focused on the job before her. After an hour or so, one of the younger students asked Kamila if she might play a cassette she had brought, promising to keep the volume low. Kamila agreed it would be nice to have some music, and she reached into a cabinet to retrieve her father's old Chinese tape recorder. Soon the room filled with the melodic voice of Farhad Darya, a legendary folk-pop artist and former Kabul University music teacher who had been named Radio Afghanistan's “Singer of the Year” in 1990, the same year he fled Kabul for Europe after running afoul of the Soviet-backed Afghan government. The girls knew all the words to every ballad, and they sang along quietly to the tunes as they sewed.

When the bodice of the white wedding dress had begun to take shape and the skirt was almost finished, Malika asked one of the students whose height nearly matched the bride's to come and stand in the middle of the room. Here Malika's experience showed as she pinned the front and back sections of each dress around the girl and took quick stock of how much work lay ahead.

“Okay, this is a good start,” Malika said. “On the skirts, make sure we have a cushion of fabric at the bottom. Remember they are straight skirts, which can be tricky with the shiny white fabric, so go slowly and leave yourself a lot of room to work. Our bride will be back before long.”

Once she had finished gathering all the fabric and laying out the zippers and clasps they would need later on, Laila went to the kitchen to prepare a tray of chai and halwaua-e-aurd-e-sujee, a sweet confection of flour, sugar, oil, and nuts, for the girls to snack on. The dinner hour was approaching, and it was clear she would need to make enough food for at least twenty, not the usual twelve she normally cooked for. She sent Neelab to the store across the street to buy more naan and onions. Rice they purchased in large sacks and it looked like they had enough for now; no need to buy anything before they must.

At 6 P.M. sharp the bridal party rattled the gate and knocked at the girls' front door once more. They warmly greeted Malika and Kamila and followed them to the fitting room. Stepping gingerly into her bridal dress to avoid being pinched by the straight pins that now held the panels together, Shafiqa stood motionless while Malika and Kamila walked around her, exchanging ideas with one another and taking notes about which places needed to be taken in and which needed to be let out. Afterward Nabila and her other daughters each had her turn. Kamila made certain that the young students were managing the fittings they had been assigned to, and she found herself filled with pride. Soon they won't even need me, she thought to herself, marveling at how much the girls had learned and how confidently they worked with their customers.

Before the women left, Nabila stopped at the door to arrange her chadri. “I know this is a big job for you and all your students,” she said to Malika. “My family and I are very grateful. We haven't had so many happy occasions these last few years, and this is one we're glad to celebrate.”

“This is our work and we're glad to do it,” Malika said, smiling. “We'll look forward to seeing you and your daughters again tomorrow morning for your last fitting. Please come early so we have as much time as possible.”

Malika, Kamila, and their teams toiled on into the night. Rahim, too, joined in the dressmaking marathon once he had returned from school; his sisters were eager to have his embroidery and beading expertise. All of them would indeed have to work around the clock, as Malika had predicted. Sometime after midnight, the young women finally called an end to the day. The sisters would rise for prayer at dawn and pick up where they left off. All of them were exhausted, though Kamila still had enough energy to tease her younger sister.

“I don't think we'll do this again,” she said, extinguishing the last of the hurricane lamps. “When you get married, Saaman, I insist on at least two months' notice.”

“Kamila Jan,” her sister retorted, “by the time I get married we won't have this business anymore; you'll be teaching literature to a classroom full of students and who knows what I'll be doing but one thing I'm certain of: we won't have time to make dresses; we'll go to the finest store and buy them!”

Early the next morning the girls were back at their machines.

When Nabila and her daughters returned, they found the dressmakers so occupied with their gowns that they barely noticed the bridal party entering the house. This time Shafiqa could try on her dress without fear since Malika had removed the last of the pins. She had finished sewing the gown together just an hour earlier.

“It is so beautiful,” Shafiqa said, taking a step forward, then completing a quick pirouette. “The neckline is perfect, and the beading is lovely.”

“You look very pretty,” said Kamila. “We hope you will have a wonderful wedding.”

The green dress was almost finished as well. Mahnaz just needed to complete the last of the beading, which she rushed off to do now that they knew Shafiqa was happy with the dress's design and pleased with its fit.

“I think we are in fine shape,” Malika told Kamila later that afternoon. “We should be ready by the time they return this evening to pick everything up. We just need to focus on finishing the dresses for Nabila and her daughters, and those gowns are so much simpler.”

But they did not have the luxury of time. Hours before they were expected, Nabila and her daughters were once again at the girls' doorstep.

This time they were really in a hurry.

“Do you have the dresses ready, Malika Jan?” Nabila pleaded as she rushed into the workspace. Her daughters, including the bride-to-be, stood in a close huddle behind her, watching nervously. “I am so sorry. We have had a change of plans and we need the gowns right away.”

If Malika was stunned she didn't show it. After years of sewing for friends and neighbors she had grown accustomed to the most impossible requests and had taught herself to answer calmly and patiently.

“We have most of them,” she responded, stealing a look at her sister, “but we're still finishing your gown.” Kamila marveled at her sister's composure. “We'll have it done in just a few more minutes. Please sit down and have some tea while you wait.”

“Please, I don't care about my dress, don't let that hold us up,” Nabila insisted. The pitch of her voice was moving upward fast. “We really are in a hurry.”

Malika took a breath.

“Okay, wait here,” she said, motioning to the pillows in their workspace. “We're just finishing the hem on your dress and we need only five minutes to get it done. Then you can take everything.”

Her words unleashed a torrent of activity as the girls pulled the white and green frocks down from the doorway where they hung. Since the power was out and they had used the last of their generator fuel, Nasia and Neelufar went to the kitchen and lit the gas stove that they would use to heat the steam iron. Malika refused to let Shafiqa's gowns leave her house without a proper pressing. No bride wants a wrinkled wedding dress.

As for Nabila's gown, Sara was directing the students to focus on finishing it, not perfecting it. One of the girls stood still in the gray patterned garment while three others crouched around her on the floor sewing the hem.

And then, finally, “We're done!” one of the girls yelled to Sara, still clenching a needle between her teeth. The trio had finished its work. By now the other five dresses were pressed and packed, waiting by the door for Neelab and Malika's son Hossein to help their anxious owners carry them outside.

Malika hurried over to give the last garment a final check. “It looks good, girls. With more time we could have made it even better, but this will do.”

By now Nabila had risen from her seat to pace across the workshop. As soon as she saw her dress being placed in the bag, she offered hasty hugs to Malika and Kamila, profusely thanking them for all of their help while at the same time commanding her daughters to get moving: they had to go now.

Neelab picked up the package with great care and accompanied the women through the courtyard to the street outside. There she found the day's biggest surprise.

Neelab saw three cars waiting in the street for the women. She had to catch herself from exclaiming out loud when she realized that two of them were dark Toyota Hilux trucks with Q'uranic verses painted on the side. Taliban vehicles.

Several Talibs were sitting in the first truck and to Neelab's surprise they were exceedingly polite. They gratefully took the package of dresses from her and, even more, handed her a bit more than the five hundred thousand afghani she had requested, per Malika's agreement with the mother of the bride, Nabila. In the second truck sat a young Talib whom Neelab guessed to be the groom. Behind him was the Toyota Corolla that would transport Shafiqa, her mother, and sisters to the wedding. No flowers or streamers adorned the car's hood and front bumper as they would have in the old days, before the Taliban put an end to noisy celebrations. But Neelab had no doubt whatsoever that this was indeed the start of a wedding procession.

Kamila and Malika looked at one another in amazement after Neelab had finished her story. And then they broke out in huge smiles. The dresses they had just dedicated the last thirty hours to making were about to be worn in a Taliban wedding. “Oh Malika,” Kamila said, “that's why the gowns had to be so simple!”