Words in the Dust (11 page)

A week later, the sun burned hotter than it had all summer. The Winds of 120 Days gusted full upon us, but did nothing to cool us down. Sweat ran down my face. It tasted like tears when it ran into my mouth through the gap in my upper lip. After a day of cooking and cleaning to make sure all was prepared for the shahba-henna tonight, Malehkah had decided it was time for Zeynab to rest while she sent me to the construction site with food for Baba, Najib, and Uncle Ghobad, who had arrived that morning with his wife and Malehkah’s mother. The men had met at Hajji Abdullah’s house the night before to officially settle the bride-price, so they planned to just keep on working until well after dark.

I walked down the street in the blazing heat with the bundle of naan held awkwardly under my arm. The wire handle from the heavy pot of rice dug into my hand. The road in this section of town was even more rough and uneven than other roads, and so I had to watch the ground to avoid tripping. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. A shadow approached, and I looked up to see Anwar blocking my path. He stood with his arms folded over his chest and smiled in a cruel way. He leaned in and squinted his eyes to take a good look at my mouth.

“Hmm. Nope,” he said. “Still ugly old Donkeyface. Not even the rich Americans with their fancy machines and doctors could fix that mangled mouth and nose of yours.” I tried to step around him, but he moved to keep standing in my way. “Whoa there, Donkeyface! What’s your hurry?”

“Can you please just let me pass, Anwar? I need to get this food to my father.”

Anwar pretended like he was about to vomit. “Ugh, don’t say my name. You sound as ugly as you look when you talk.”

“I’ll just yell for help. We’re close enough. My baba will hear.”

Anwar laughed. “I don’t think your father would want you shouting all over town like some whore. Besides, he’d be angry if he knew you were causing me trouble. Without my father’s help and the bride-price my uncle paid to marry your sister,
your
father would be as pathetic and poor as he ever was!”

I couldn’t stand listening to him for another moment. I swung the pot of rice at his knees. When he jumped back out of the way, I ran past him. He did not follow, but I could hear him laughing behind me.

“Khuda hafiz, Donkeyface! I’ll see you at the wedding!”

I slowed down as I approached the school site, marveling at how quickly the building had grown. Baba had said the welding was almost complete. On top of a big cement platform was a giant cage of steel beams and poles. Baba was welding at the base of one of them.

“Don’t look at the light, Zulaikha,” said Najib, walking toward me. I turned away from the shower of sparks that fell from where Baba worked. Najib took the covered pot of rice and the wrapped naan out of my hands, setting them on a low mudstone wall. He patted his skinny stomach over his sweat-soaked perahan-tunban. “I’m hungry.”

Baba finished making his white sparks on the steel pipes he was joining. He took off his heavy mask, turned down dials on two different tanks, and then flipped a switch on a machine. After that, he walked over to take a seat on the wall. “Tashakor, Zulaikha.” His hair was wet and his shirt was so soaked with sweat that it looked like he’d taken a dip in an irrigation canal. He wiped at his forehead, letting his hands run slowly down his face. When his fingertips sunk below his eyes, he looked at me. “My brother get here yet?”

I shook my head. Uncle Ramin’s family was supposed to be on a bus from Kabul to Farah. We were expecting their taxi from Farah at any time. Malehkah and her mother and sister had been grumbling all morning, accusing them of being late on purpose to get out of helping with the shahba-henna.

“Are you staying to eat with us?” Uncle Ghobad asked. He had said he was going to the construction site to help Baba and Najib, but he was a carpenter, and by the look of how clean he was, it didn’t seem like he had worked very much.

I shrugged. “Madar wants me to buy some things for tonight at the bazaar.”

Baba dropped one hand to his lap and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “She sends you out a lot, doesn’t she?” Somehow I didn’t think he wanted an answer. He continued. “More than she used to anyway. After she has the baby, she should start going herself. It’s not good for a young unmarried girl to be running all over town.”

Why was it not good? Baba couldn’t seriously be worried about some boy trying to touch or kiss me. The only boys who chased me called me mean names or threw rocks.

“Bale, Baba,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Hurry home. Your madar and sister will need your help to get ready for tonight.” He turned his attention to a piece of naan.

With a nod to my brother, I turned and walked off to the bazaar, where I bought Malehkah the peppers she claimed she needed, though I was sure I saw some in the kitchen just last night.

“I don’t suppose I could solicit your help in carrying these bolts of fabric?” The voice came from a pile of cloth, tottering at the side of the road as I went through the butcher district. Meena. I sighed and took off the top three rolls of cloth, uncovering a smiling face that looked the opposite of what I felt. “Salaam alaikum!”

“Walaikum salaam,” I greeted the old teacher, and we walked out of the bazaar together. Today I’d really make Malehkah wait. Why not? She always said I took too long at the bazaar even when I hurried.

“How has the writing practice gone?” Meena asked, once we were back at her apartment and had stowed away the fabric. She had poured me a cup of tea. “Have you been copying the words?”

I nodded, but said nothing. How could she be asking about her dreamy poetry when it was obvious that my dream of finally looking normal was a failure? Why did she not ask why I was still so ugly? My big, split-open mouth was right in front of her.

The silence was uncomfortable. I thought about leaving, but Meena always trapped me with tea. I would have to stay at least as long as it took to finish my cup.

“Zulaikha?” Meena asked. I couldn’t answer her. “What is the matter? Is it the surgery?” Of course it was the surgery! How could she be so blind and still be able to read? “The Americans were not able to help you. I’m sorry, child.”

I sipped my tea, hating myself for having to tilt my head back so that I could drink. More quiet.

“Do you want to show me how you’ve improved your writing?”

“No,” I said. And right then I knew what I wanted to say to her. “I won’t be studying anymore.” I pointed to my mouth. “What difference does it make to a girl like me? Reading won’t fix my mouth. Poetry won’t find me a husband. It’s all just a bunch of useless old words in dusty old books.” I stood up. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Meena put her cup down on the table, and lowered her hands and her gaze to her lap. “It’s a pity.”

I nodded. “I just should never have even thought it was possible for my mouth to be fixed.”

“No, child. The pity is that you’re placing so much importance on the temporary. On physical appearance. Beauty. These things fade in time, but the literature that your mother loved — that you love — is timeless.” Meena watched me with deep, dark eyes.

I wished she could somehow understand. “I’m not as smart as my madar. Not as pretty.” There was a stinging in my eyes. I wanted to leave before the tears began to fall. “Your books. They aren’t my life.” I wiped my eyes. “I need to get home.” I started for the front door.

“Why did you want the surgery?”

I stopped and took a deep breath. “I already told you. I want to look normal.”

“And if you looked, as you say, ‘normal,’ what would you do then?”

I turned around and faced her. “What?”

Meena slid back across her bed so she could lean against the wall. “If you had your surgery and looked normal, what would you do?” I was about to answer but she interrupted. “Would you get married like your sister? Then what?”

“What do you mean, then what?” I folded my arms across my chest. What kind of stupid questions were these? “People wouldn’t be disgusted at the sight of me!”

Meena shook her head. “You’d have a husband who wasn’t disgusted by your appearance.”

“Yes!” I threw my arms out wide.

“And how would your life be different then than it is now?”

“I don’t know! It would be — I mean, I wouldn’t always have to listen to …” She couldn’t expect me to want to stay looking like this, could she? She couldn’t expect me to be happy that I couldn’t have the surgery. “It would be different because I wouldn’t waste my time with your stupid old books!”

I stormed through the sewing shop and out the door into the street. I wasn’t about to stay around and listen to more of Meena’s crazy talk. My sister and Malehkah needed help getting ready for Zeynab’s party, and I wasn’t going to let them down. It was time to stop with these selfish dreams. It was time to get back to what really mattered.

Zeynab was sitting on the porch when I came into the compound. She was trying to cool herself with a fan I’d made her from some of the notebook paper the Americans had given me. She wore her pretty pink and purple flowered dress, and blew out an exhausted breath through lips red with lipstick. “Oh, why do we have to do this at the hottest time of year?” She tried to laugh, but she was unconvincing. I shared in her misery. It was nearly sundown, her last night with us, and still the heat blazed and the sand and grit flew on the wind.

Malehkah came out of the house. “Into the sitting room, both of you.” She hurried us across the courtyard and into the little room where her mother and sister were already waiting. She took the peppers from me, slipping them into her pockets. Then she pushed a wet rag in my face. “Wash up the best you can.” She rushed around, straightening the cushions.

“But Madar, it’s an oven in here,” said Zeynab.

“Then that’s the way it will be,” said Farida. “But if you don’t stay inside, your makeup will be full of dust.”

“Then what will your new family think of you?” said Tayereh.

The only thing worse than listening to Malehkah yell at us was having her mother and sister around to yell at us even more. Malehkah groaned as she lowered herself to the floor and leaned back against a toshak. “The food is ready. We can all rest for a few minutes.”

Zeynab slumped on the small couch that Hajji Abdullah had brought over again. The sitting room was as clean as it was going to get in these winds, with wet rags stuffed at the base of the door to keep out the dust. Outside, the wind howled. Then over the sound of the wind came the even louder sound of one of the boys crying. After taking Habib and Khalid with him to Hajji Abdullah’s house for the men’s shirnee-khoree, Baba had decided the boys were too much trouble to have at the men’s parties. Tonight, when the women came over for the shahba-henna, we’d have to look after the little ones.

“Zulaikha, go check on them. Then bring in the pistachios.” Malehkah sighed and handed me the peppers I had bought. Then she wiped her brow and rubbed her swollen ankles.

“Bale, Madar.”

In the house, the boys were sitting on the floor in the main room, their toy soldiers spread out all over. I had tried to keep them busy and moving around all day so that
they’d be exhausted and sleep through the party. Now they were arguing over who could play with which men. I didn’t waste time trying to reason with them. From my trunk in the side room, I brought out one of the only good things to come from my wasted trip to Farah. “Here, Khalid.” I handed him one of the metal toy cars. His eyes went wide.

“This is great! It’s real metal just like Baba’s car!” Khalid put the car on the floor and pushed it around. His lips buzzed, making an engine sound.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered.

Habib’s lower lip trembled, but before he started crying again, I handed him his own car. He smiled big at me and then imitated his brother. I had known it would be a good idea to wait to give them some of their presents.

“You handled that well.” Zeynab had followed me into the house.

“It’s too hot for you to be running all over the compound. You’ll ruin your makeup,” I called as I entered the kitchen. “Anyway, I think I can find the pistachios by myself.”

When I returned to the main room with the bowl of nuts, Zeynab hugged me. “Thank you for being so nice and helping with all of this. I …” She fanned her face.

I squeezed Zeynab close. “You’re my sister. I’d do anything for you.”

She took my hands in hers. “I can’t believe tonight will be my last night here at home. I’ll miss you so much,” she said. “I promise you can visit my new house all the time.
Farah isn’t really that far away. Baba has the car now. Tahir often comes to An Daral to visit his brother, so he’ll bring me here … and … and hey, you’ll be able to get away from Malehkah sometimes when you come to see me. I know that —”

“Girls! Get out here!” Malehkah’s shrill call came from outside.

“I love you,” I whispered in Zeynab’s ear.

We went out of the house hand in hand. From the sound of all the voices coming from inside the sitting room, it was clear that the guests had arrived. They must have all showed up at the same time. When we entered, the sitting room was a whirlwind of chadris and the enthusiastic greetings of excited women. Gulzoma, Jamila, Isma, and the other women of the Abdullah family were there, but they had been joined by Aunt Halima and her daughter Khatira.

“Zeynab! Zulaikha! Look at you! Oh, you’ve grown up so fast!” Aunt Halima hugged both of us in turn.

Our cousin Khatira was next. She hugged my sister. “It’s great to see you again! I’m so happy that long trip is finally over!” Then she put her arms around me stiffly before holding me back at arm’s length and frowning at my mouth. “Ooh, that’s too bad. I’d heard that the Americans had offered you surgery to fix your lip.” She pouted. “If only these rural villages had the kind of hospitals that we have in Kabul, I’m sure —”

“Come along, Khatira,” said Aunt Halima.

My cousin nodded. “Bale, Madar-jan.”

“Yes!” Gulzoma spoke loudly so that everyone had to listen. “It is just too bad Zulaikha couldn’t get the surgery. You never can tell with those Americans. They promise to fix up all of Afghanistan and get rid of the Taliban completely. Then they get here and find out it isn’t so easy.” She peered closely at my lip. “I bet they just realized that your mouth was too deformed for even their fancy doctors to fix.”