Women Without Men (3 page)

“Amir Khan warned me not leave the house. He said I might get my head cut off.”

“Well, he is right. Someone jumped on the trunk of my cab,” Fa'iza added.

Thinking that she should focus the conversation on her intended topic, she immediately asked “Have you seen Parveen lately?”

“I haven't seen her in a month,” answered Munis.

“Well, why not?”

“The last time I saw her was when her child was sick with rubella. She told people to stay away to avoid spreading the virus.”

“Just as well you didn't see more of her.”

Munis looked at her companion quizzically. Fa'iza waited for her to pick up the thread of the conversation, but the older woman remained silent, staring at the patterns on the rug. So Fa'iza had to continue.

“Never in my life have I seen such an indecent person,” Fa'iza blurted.

Munis lifted her head and looked at her with eyes awash in surprise. “But why?” she asked in bewilderment.

Oh, God, I wish her face wasn't so round, Faiza thought to herself.

“She's mean and vicious,” she said venomously. “It is terrible to find this out about a person you have been friends with for fifteen years. She's all pretense and not an ounce of sincerity in her.”

There was something close to fear in Munis's eyes as she asked, “What has she done? Sued for divorce?”

“Oh no. What divorce?” Fa'iza hissed. “That is the last thing she'd do, that filth. My poor brother is wasted on her.”

Munis pursed her lips, completely absorbed. In her mind she was trying unsuccessfully to find a reason for
such a view of Parveen. She had known the woman through Fa'iza at parties, funerals, and other such functions and had come to have a casual friendship with her. She'd never detected any serious flaws in her character.

Munis stared at Fa'iza, expecting an explanation. Fa'iza returned her gaze, her eyes turning red. Suddenly she began to cry. This evoked a sympathetic response in Munis who started sobbing uncontrollably. She had always had a tendency to cry at the sight of other people's tears. She never knew why.

“Don't cry,” Munis pleaded. “Oh, please don't cry for God's sake. What is the matter?”

Fa'iza was looking for a handkerchief, and not finding one dabbed her eyes with the corner of her chador, now fallen in a heap around her.

“Do you know how nice I was to her?” Fa'iza asked, not waiting for an answer. “She wouldn't be so fortunate had it not been for me. It was just this past year when she had a row with my brother. It was her fault. The stupid woman packed up and ran to her mommy's. No decent woman with a lick of sense would do such a thing. And who do you think patched things up between them? Poor me! I gave a dinner party that is still being talked about all over town. I went to the best meat market and tipped the butcher for extra-fine cuts of meat. I made eggplant stew with lamb and rice. And grilled chicken. What a grilled chicken! I marinated it in lemon juice and spices and spent a whole hour roasting it on an open fire in the courtyard. I made yogurt and spinach. Do you think it was easy to find tomatoes out of season? I went all the way to the
farmer's market to get them. I had Colonel Sarvbala's orderly get enough vodka for Parveen's father to drink all night.”

As if to keep down the bitterness welling up inside her, Fa'iza pressed her lips together. Munis was looking at Fa'iza, her eyes bulging. “Then what?” she asked.

“What do you think? It was like another wedding.” Fa'iza said with a shrug of her shoulders. “My brother took her back. Then two months later she supposedly wanted to reciprocate, but actually the bitch wanted to outdo me and make me look bad. She gave a dinner party serving a European menu. She threw a few pieces of shoe leather on a china plate calling them steaks, like we are peasants, like we have no taste. I knew right away that she wanted to antagonize me. All right, I said to myself, you want war, I'll show you war!”

“She never told me she was at war with anyone,” Munis muttered , trying not to sound defiant.

“What do you think she could say?” Fa'iza retorted. “Could she say she was trying to upstage me? All these years those who have tasted my cooking have had nothing but compliments. How could this upstart go around challenging me? She is just malicious by nature.”

“I see,” Munis said resignedly.

“Well,” Fa'iza continued, “I went and got myself a cookbook. If I can make the rice and lamb dish the way I do, I can make steaks out of a rubber mat. I learned all about it.”

“I'm sure,” said Munis in confirmation. “It is not a big
deal. There is a cooking show on the radio every morning. It makes it sound so simple.”

“That is exactly what I was trying to prove. So I gave another dinner party,” Fa'iza said with a touch of self-satisfaction.

“When was that?” Munis asked.

“Just about a month ago,” Fa'iza replied. “I invited the same group to dinner with a European menu. I went to the meat market and tipped the butcher five tomans for eight prime-cut filets. I bought green beans. I bought snow peas. I bought tomatoes and small potatoes. I mixed rice with beans for the salad. I also made yogurt and spinach. The sauce I made for the filets was delicious. From the fruit stalls downtown I bought the largest peaches and nectarines, as well as sweet and sour cherries. I asked Colonel Sarvbala's orderly to get me the best vodka again. I poured it into a decanter. I put some ice in Grandma's crystal fruit bowl and put the decanter in the middle of it.”

Munis was fascinated, staring at Fa'iza admiringly. “Why did you do that?” she wanted to know.

“To keep the vodka chilled,” Fa'iza replied triumphantly.

“Wow!”

“I wish you were there to see.”

“Why didn't you invite me?”

“Well, Amir Khan was in Shiraz and you couldn't get back home alone late at night.”

“I see,” said Munis, somewhat crestfallen.

“What can I say, they just ate and ate and gave me compliment after compliment. The little bitch was bursting with jealousy. She'd turned red like a slice of beet.”

“You mean Parveen?” Munis asked, somewhat perplexed.

“Of course. Who else?” answered Fa'iza. “You know what she did then?” Not waiting for an answer, Fa'iza continued, “Without warning she turned to me and said ‘Foozy dear'—giving me a nickname, ‘Foozy,' as if she couldn't bring herself to call me by my full name—‘Foozy dear, let me tell you something. You don't put sauce on filet mignon.' She said it so loud the whole neighborhood could hear.”

“Really!”

“You can't guess how that made me feel. ‘Who says you don't put sauce on filet mignon?' I asked. She said she'd heard it on the radio. I said I have read the instruction in a book. She said she'd also read it in a book. I said the book she read must have been garbage. At this point my brother intervened and said with or without sauce it was just delicious. The little woman blew up like a balloon because my brother had taken my side, and she continued to sulk through dinner.”

By now Munis was so engrossed in the account that Fa'iza felt she had to add a few more embellishments to her narrative.

“She acted uptight until the men went on the balcony,” Fa'iza went on. “She stayed behind supposedly to help me clear the table.”

Fa'iza went silent, her lips pressed tight and tears streaming down her cheeks, as if in anticipation of the enormity of what she was about to relate.

“Oh, God. Please don't cry,” Munis implored, her tears flowing.

“Then,” Fa'iza went on, “the bitch turned to me and said ‘A woman who messes around with Fetty in the hall should think more of protecting her virginity curtain than throwing dinner parties.'” By now tears were streaming down Fa'iza's face to her lap. Munis, equally tearful, asked, “Who is Fetty?”

“That son-of-a-bitch, her brother,” Fa'iza answered. “He looks like shit, like a overflowing toilet. I was outraged. I thought of slapping her so hard to burst her eardrums, something she'd never forget. But for better or worse my brother was nearby and I thought better of it. But if she was taunting me, I'd taunt her back. ‘First of all,' I told her, ‘only the Angel of Death would mess around with your brother. The way he looks only the Angel of Death would be interested in him. Secondly, virginity is not a curtain; it's an orifice, and you wouldn't know the difference after three kids. And you go around talking behind people's back.'”

Munis had ceased crying. With her mouth open, she was staring at Fa'iza, who continued to talk after a short pause. “I told her if she opened her filthy mouth once again and talked like she did I'd teach her a lesson she'd remember for life. Good thing she is afraid of my brother, who was nearby. So she shut her trap.”

Without a word, Munis stared at the floral patterns on the carpet. Fa'iza, as she dried her eyes, intently watched the expression on her face.

“I know she is a snake,” Fa'iza said, “and won't let go until she injects her venom. Now she is going around badmouthing me. But I don't care. My conscience is clear. I was so incensed I wanted to get a virginity certificate from the midwife and frame it on the wall for all to see.”

Munis continued to stare at the rug.

“According to my mother,” Munis said softly, “the hymen is a membrane that can rip open, even if a girl falls from a height.”

“What talk is that?” Fa'iza said dismissively. “It's an orifice. It is constricted and it will expand as a result of penetration.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Munis, the color draining from her face. Alarmed, Fa'iza asked, “Something's the matter?”

“No, no, it's nothing. But it must be a membrane,” Munis insisted.

“No, dear woman,” Fa'iza said emphatically. “I have read it in a book. I read a lot, you know. It is an orifice.”

Carrying a fruit tray, Alia entered the room, followed almost immediately by Amir Khan. Fa'iza acknowledged him demurely. The squarely built man made himself comfortable in an armchair in the corner of the room as he greeted the women.

“It is really crazy out there,” he said. “Don't plan on going out.”

He noticed the women's red eyes. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Munis.

Not satisfied with the answer, he asked more firmly, “I'm asking, what is the matter?”

“We were just having a girl talk,” said Fa'iza, trying to lighten the mood.

“Why are you crying?” He wanted to know.

“Well, we're women, you know.”

This brought a faint smile to his lips.

“I must get going,” said Fa'iza.

“Where to? It's total chaos outside. It's so bad a dog wouldn't recognize its master,” said Amir Khan.

“It is not that bad,” Fa'iza ventured.

Amir Khan did not appreciate being contradicted. “On principle,” he said, “women belong in the house. The outside is the world of men.”

Fa'iza made no response. It was no use arguing with Amir Khan. Better wait for time to do its work. Now that she'd put the matter with Parveen to rest, the woman could no longer muddy the waters. She was happy with herself for having taken the initiative.

Amir Khan stood up, preparing to take Fa'iza home before daylight faded. Fa'iza was secretly delighted to have time alone with him.

“It will be safer if we take the side streets,” she said. “That's what the cab driver told me.”

 

AT FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON on August 7, 1953, Munis was standing on the roof of the house watching the street below. She had not slept a wink for exactly fifty-six hours. Amir Khan had forbidden her to leave the house.

From the roof she watched the street thick with crowds that seemed to be running back and forth, as if chasing each other. Then a convoy of trucks packed with people went by, followed by a procession of tanks. The sound of machine-gun fire could be heard from a distance.

Munis was thinking obsessively that for as long as she could remember she had looked at the garden through the window convinced that virginity was a delicate, vulnerable
membrane. At the age of eight she had been told that God would not forgive a girl who lost her virginity in any way. Now, a couple of days ago she had learned that virginity was not a curtain but an orifice. Something had broken inside her and a cold rage penetrated her body. She thought of her childhood days when she had longingly looked at hedges and trees, hoping for a time in her life when she could freely climb them without compromising her virginity. Her knees felt like ice.

“I'll take my revenge,” she told herself.

A man turned into the alley on the side of the house. He moved unsteadily with his hand pressing on his belly. He came a few steps into the alley and fell in the ditch head first. From where she was Munis could not see his face but his feet were sticking out of the ditch.

Munis closed her eyes and leaned forward. Within five seconds she was plastered on the pavement below, face up, eyes open, staring at the blue of the sky.

 

AT FIRST MUNIS WAS DEAD. Or at least she thought she was. For the longest time she lay on the pavement, her eyes wide open. Gradually the blue of the sky darkened and tears began to flow down her face. She pressed on her eyes with her right hand and slowly rose to her feet. Her body felt sore and very weak.

Farther down the alley a man had fallen into a ditch with his legs sticking out. Uncontrollably Munis moved in his direction. The man's face was also turned skyward, his eyes open.