Words in the Dust (12 page)

“I’m sure that wasn’t the case,” said Aunt Halima.

“We’ll never know,” Gulzoma answered.

It was happening all over again. The humiliation. The polite-sounding insults. It was bad enough to hear the hurtful words, but I just wished the party could go smoothly tonight for Zeynab’s sake. I was relieved when Malehkah and Gulzoma began making many introductions and everyone sat down, just like the night of the engagement party.

“We’re sorry, Zeynab,” Jamila said. “I know everyone was probably expecting dancing tonight, but my brother’s wife and I are getting too old for all that pre-wedding dancing bit.” She leaned back next to Gulzoma. “Besides, there will be plenty of dancing after everybody has cake at the arusi.”

Gulzoma elbowed Jamila, nodded toward Zeynab, and spoke out, “But you might want to save your energy for the wedding night.”

All the women laughed at the vulgar joke, except my sister, who only forced a smile.

For once I welcomed Malehkah’s demands when she told me to go with her to the house and start bringing in the meal. After everyone had washed and begun eating, the
conversation began to flow as it had at the shirnee-khoree. Gulzoma had even more stories, but the Abdullah women were also full of questions about Kabul. Aunt Halima seemed happy to answer. The night went on for hours. Eventually I was sent to check on my sleeping brothers and to bring in a tray of sweet cakes and fruit.

I returned to the sitting room amid the sound of laughter. Gulzoma continued with a story that she told in a very lively way, clapping her hands and almost rolling about where she was sitting. “Well, the tables had turned, you see. American jets swooped over the skies, bombing everything.” She swooshed her hand around like a plane, the palm wide open. “The Taliban were on the run. And would you believe it, but this same little man, this boy Talib came crawling back to my husband asking for a job?” She burst into a deep bellowing laugh that shook her whole body. The other women were shaking their heads. “… No … no, it’s true,” she said through her laughter. “He asked my husband to give him a job working to help build the American compound at Farah! Oh, good. Bananas!”

I placed the tray on the dastarkhan, then took a cake to Zeynab. As the other women had stopped listening so they could pick out their treats, Gulzoma frowned, peeling the banana she’d taken with exaggerated movements.

“What did Hajji Abdullah tell him?” asked Farida when everyone had something.

Gulzoma threw her hands up in the air, flopping the banana peel all around. “Now you will think my husband
told that little Talib to go eat sand. But he’s much smarter than that. My husband gave the man a job serving food to the other workers at lunch time.” She paused and looked around the room with her hands in her lap. Then she burst out, “Then he reported the Talib to the Americans, who brought him in for questioning!”

“Wah wah! Gulzoma!” Jamila shouted.

The big lady’s smile seemed genuine at last as she looked around the room, enjoying the cheers, clapping, and laughter. “When the Americans came for him, he was shaking, almost crying.”

“A man crying, grandmother?” said a small girl.

“The Taliban were not men.” Gulzoma leaned forward as her voice became quiet. “My husband says he never saw the Talib again.”

“So my brother Hajji Abdullah is a hero,” Jamila said.

I never liked Taliban talk. I smoothed out the dastarkhan and straightened some of the dishes.

“What’s the matter, Zulaikha? Don’t you like the story?” Gulzoma said.

Malehkah was smiling, but her eyes were somehow still hard, still cold. I had to say the exact right thing. I looked at my sister, who twisted her dress tight in her lap.

“He and his brother Tahir have talked to the Americans for my father about my surgery.” I was surprised that I had spoken out loud. I risked a glance at Malehkah, who glared at me. I squeezed my hands into tight fists.

Everyone was quiet again and Gulzoma stared at me. “What did you say, Zulaikha?”

I swallowed and covered my mouth. I had to keep going. “Jamila-jan said that Hajji Abdullah is a hero. I was agreeing because I am very grateful for his help with the Americans. Their helicopter couldn’t come to Farah, and with the wedding, there was no time to take the trip to their doctor in Kandahar. But if they almost” — I waved my hand in front of my mouth — “fixed this, Hajji Abdullah is as much to thank as the Americans.” Nobody spoke. They all just kept looking at me. I must have said too much. I blinked my eyes, trying to stop the hot tears of embarrassment from falling. “Please thank him for me.” I lowered my head as the first tear fell.

“Look at the poor dear. She can hardly talk with that mouth. She hasn’t even been fixed and she’s so grateful to my husband that she’s crying with gratitude. Oooh.” Gulzoma clapped her hands, and when I looked up she was beckoning for me to come closer. “Come here and sit by your Gulzoma-jan.”

As much as I hated the idea of being close to Gulzoma, and as embarrassed as I felt for my big dumb speech, I wasn’t stupid enough to disobey her. I stood up and walked around the circle of women to take a place beside her. She slipped a heavy damp arm around my shoulder and pulled me in to lean against her.

“You sweet little angel.” She looked up from me to Malehkah. “My husband is such a good man by nature that
he often hardly realizes how much he has helped people.” Gulzoma turned to one of the women whose name I had forgotten. “You brought that tambourine, didn’t you?” The woman nodded. “Then let’s make some music! I feel so close to this family already that we just have to dance. Sometimes you can’t help yourself, even if you are full to bursting on such delightful food.” She pulled me against her heavily perfumed body as everyone started singing, laughing, and dancing.

I looked to Malehkah. She gently nodded her approval. Then her sister elbowed her and laughed. Malehkah turned her attention toward the music, clapping her hands along with the beat of the tambourine. She didn’t seem angry with me for all I had said. That was a relief, but the best part was that my sister’s party had been rescued from dreary awkwardness.

Women jiggled around like I’d never seen anyone move. They laughed and shook their bodies and even pinched and slapped each other in private places. Gulzoma didn’t dance, but she shook around with the rhythm and sometimes joined in singing the songs. She kept me by her side. Being so close to her, and being packed into a small room in the middle of summer with all those frantic dancing women, made the room very hot.

The party continued as one by one, each married woman made her way through the chaos to sit on the little couch beside Zeynab. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew they were giving her advice about being a wife. This advice must have been the reason Malehkah had insisted on
Zeynab wearing so much makeup — to hide her embarrassed blushing at what she heard.

As soon as one song ended, another began. Once, Gulzoma shook me. “Oh, Zulaikha! You must dance for us!”

I looked at her with surprise. “I don’t know how. I’ve never —”

“Ah, you silly little thing!” Gulzoma laughed. “We all learn sometime.”

Malehkah coughed and nodded toward the space before Zeynab. I stood up. All night I’d watched how smoothly the women danced. They all seemed to know the perfect movements for each song. Some of the women hooted as the music rolled on. At first, I thought they were mocking me, but their smiles seemed sincere. I threw my arm up and out from my side, then spun away, trailing my other arm in an arc over my face. Almost on its own, my foot flew forward and I pointed my toe on the floor. I swayed from side to side with my toe pointed out and my hands above my head.

Was I doing it right? I didn’t know. Somehow I didn’t care. The singing and clapping took over in the heat. The music and dancing held a power very much like Meena’s poetry, its rhythm calling out to me from across time. Someone had danced before my madar-jan’s wedding. Before the Taliban had outlawed music, she had probably danced as well. The song ended, and although Zeynab wasn’t supposed to show emotion, I saw the happy glimmer of tears in her eyes.

Finally, when it was very late, Malehkah spoke up. “It is time for the henna.” And so, while she held a dish of mint-green-colored paste, and with a lot of advice from the other women, I painted swirls and flowers all over Zeynab’s hands and feet, trying my best to make my designs as delicate as I could.

“It tickles.” She giggled. Then she dropped her voice to the quietest whisper. “Thank you for helping to make this night so wonderful.”

I nodded and touched her shoulder.

When I finished painting the paste on my sister’s hands and feet, I wrapped them in a glittery scarf that we’d been saving just for tonight. Later, after the Abdullahs had said good night and gone home, I helped Zeynab lie down on a mat with a pillow under her head, and we all settled down to sleep. As I rested close to my sister, the reality set in. This was our last night together. Tomorrow, she would belong to her new husband.

That thought must have occurred to my sister as well, for soon she shook with tiny sobs. I stroked her hair. In this way, we drifted off to sleep, together.

The next morning before prayers, Malehkah and I washed off the dried henna to reveal the deep amber and brown swirls on Zeynab’s skin. It looked beautiful, but we couldn’t admire it for long. There was a large breakfast to cook after prayers. Baba didn’t want to give Uncle Ramin a chance to complain about the food.

After that, most of the hot day was devoted to getting ready for the nikah. We cleaned both the house and the people in it. I swept and scrubbed the sitting room on my own while Malehkah and Zeynab bathed Khalid and Habib. Later, when the sitting room and house were ready and all of us were washed and dressed in our best, it was time to prepare Zeynab.

In the side storage room, I helped my sister into the beautiful embroidered green dress that she and I had worked on and dreamed about for years. “Are you nervous?” I zipped up the back of her dress.

“Hmm. I think maybe there are two kinds of nervous.” Zeynab closed her eyes as I brushed thick white makeup onto her cheeks. “There’s that feeling you get when you are worried about doing something you don’t want to do. Then there’s a happy anxious feeling, when you’re excited because
a wonderful and important moment is approaching. I’m happy nervous.”

“I’m happy too,” I said. Neither of us spoke as I finished putting on her makeup and curled her hair, pinning it up into a pretty crown. Maybe I should have said more, but we’d been so close for so long that we didn’t always need to talk, especially when all that remained to discuss was what we both already knew. This was the end of our time together, and although we’d always dreamed about our weddings, now that Zeynab’s had come, we would miss each other terribly.

The door opened. Malehkah and all the other women came in. She examined Zeynab and nodded. “Tahir is in the sitting room with the rest of the men. The mullah has arrived.”

Zeynab squeezed my hand and stepped toward the door. “Should we go?”

“Just wait.” Malehkah held up her hand. “The mullah will send two witnesses to ask if you are willing to get married. After they take back your answer, your father will sign the papers for you. Then the mullah will lead a prayer and the nikah will be over.”

“You mean they don’t even need her to be there?” Khatira asked.

Malehkah’s mother and sister laughed. Aunt Halima hugged her daughter. Malehkah scowled. “I wasn’t present for mine.” She shrugged. “It’s tradition.” Zeynab frowned. When Malehkah saw her disappointed look, she went on.
“There’ll be plenty to do at the arusi in Hajji Abdullah’s house. Gulzoma says she’s even hired two bands, one for the men and one for the women’s party.” She sighed. “Should be quite a show.”

Then it was quiet for a while. We waited, and I held Zeynab’s hand.

After a few minutes, Najib and Baba’s brother Ramin came to the door and asked Zeynab if she was willing to marry Tahir. Of course she said yes. Then they left and we waited some more. I squeezed my sister’s hand. It was really happening. The long-awaited wedding day had finally arrived. These were her last few minutes living here at home.

“Malehkah?” Baba’s voice came from just outside the door. His happiness seemed to charge his every word. “It’s time to go!” When Malehkah opened the door, he stepped in, wearing his new Western-style suit. She shook her head. “Don’t be so grumpy,” he said to her. “This suit was a much better idea than any old perahan-tunban. Tahir is a smart businessman. He’s invited the Americans to the wedding.” He smoothed his hand down over the silly strip of cloth that hung down from his neck, this thing he called a
tie
. “Rude as they are, they probably won’t bother to show up. But if they do, I’ll be ready to show them that I’m just the man for all their welding needs. HA!” He clapped his hands. “But that’s enough complicated men’s talk. Zeynab, your husband’s family is outside and ready to take you to Hajji Abdullah’s for the arusi.” He went back out to the sitting room.

I regretted not saying anything while we waited through the nikah. Now I wanted to tell Zeynab so much, but everything was happening very fast.

After a few minutes, we could hear the singing — happy songs of love and hope. Malehkah and I helped Zeynab into her chadri and led her out of the house to the front courtyard, where most of the women who had been at the shahba-henna awaited her. Just before they took her outside to the street where their cars waited, Zeynab squeezed my hand.

The arusi was usually held at the groom’s home, but since Tahir lived over an hour away in Farah, Hajji Abdullah had offered the use of his beautiful new house for the occasion. Uncle Ramin rode up front in Baba’s Toyota. Najib, Halima, Khatira, and I rode in the backseat. Uncle Ghobad, Malehkah, her family, and the boys followed in their car.

As we approached the Abdullah compound in the new section of town, Baba smiled and pointed. “You see? Look. Look at that compound. No mudstone walls there. No. All cement block. Look at all those colored tiles on the second floor. He’s got a big porch up there where you can see down into his back courtyard and out to the mountains. And all of this built just in the last year since he’s been working for the Americans!”

“And now you’re building for the Americans too, Uncle Sadiq,” said Khatira.

Baba’s grin was hard not to catch. “Yes. And my darling daughter is marrying a great man today.” He tooted the horn and smiled.

Baba parked our Toyota just off the dirt road in front of the Abdullah compound. We tumbled out of the vehicle. I smoothed out my freshly cleaned pink Eid dress the best I could. We went up the path past many cars. The sound of music came from inside the compound. Zeynab must have already gone in. Habib stopped for a moment and looked up with an open mouth at the big house, but Khalid grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him along. When we reached the compound gate, Baba knocked on a colorful door, but I was not prepared for what I saw when the door opened.

“Salaam. Welcome to our home.” Anwar. He spoke with his right hand over his heart as he bowed to the men. On his face was a grin like the one he had whenever he’d just pulled off a particularly cruel stunt. His eyes quickly swept us all, stopping for just the smallest instant on me. I pulled my chador up to cover my mouth as Anwar stepped back and motioned for us to pass him and go inside. “Please come in.”

Everyone went through the gate, and Anwar made a little bow to Baba again. “If you will follow me? The men are celebrating inside where it is cool. The women can head down this hall to the back courtyard.”

Baba-jan thanked Anwar, who led him down a separate corridor. Baba gently pushed Uncle Ramin, Uncle Ghobad, and Najib ahead while he held back a moment. He held out his hands to Khalid and Habib and spoke louder so the little boys would be sure to listen. “Let’s see if you’re big enough to behave yourselves at the men’s party this time.” Then he led my little brothers away to celebrate with the men.

“Come on.” Malehkah beckoned with the veil she carried, leading us all down the hallway toward the back of the house. “I need to get out of this chadri and sit down. Besides, we don’t want to keep the women waiting.”

The Abdullah house was a massive two-story castle, easily four or five times the size of our little mudstone home. The entire front courtyard was cement save for a circle cut out for a palm tree. Flowers grew in little pots everywhere. The back courtyard was much the same, except a larger part was left without cement for a garden. In the center of the back courtyard was a beautiful, circular fountain with colored tiles, a column of water spurting up in its center and streams of water arching from the outer ring toward the middle. Women were already seated on rugs, talking and drinking tea. Would Zeynab live in a house like this? If so, it was a good thing Tahir had two other wives. She would need a lot of help to keep such a large house clean.

“There you
are
!” Gulzoma came out of one of the back doors of the castle onto the stone porch. She wore a flowing blue dress and spread her big arms out wide. “Come on, all of you, take those chadris off and come up here. Zeynab is waiting right inside. She looks absolutely beautiful.” When the women had removed their chadris, Gulzoma swept up Malehkah in an embrace. “Malehkah, you look lovely. Such a pretty dress.” She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Have you been sneaking visits to my tailor? Meena is so talented. She made this for me just for this wedding.” Gulzoma spun around, showing off her blue dress. My face
grew hot with the mention of sneaking visits to the tailor. Meena was more talented than Gulzoma would ever know.

Just when Malehkah was about to reply, Gulzoma switched her attention to her mother and sister. It was as if Malehkah had vanished and her family had suddenly appeared on a wind. “Farida! Tayereh!” She put heavy emphasis on each of their names as though it was the first time she’d ever heard them. “I can see good taste runs in the family!” She turned to look at Halima and Khatira and spread her fingers over her chest. “And are
those
the latest styles from Kabul? Beautiful!”

Then she ran her hands down the sleeves of my dress. “Oooh, my baby girl! My little bird. There just aren’t words.” I suspected that somehow Gulzoma would find more than a few words. She kissed my cheeks, one after the other, then pulled me to her, smothering me against her big chest. “Look at you, in a pretty dress. Trying to look pretty but with your poor, poor mouth.” She was making such a big show of my mouth that other guests were starting to look. “Oooh!” She leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Don’t you worry. I am going to convince my husband to make those Americans get you all fixed up.” She spun me around to stand beside her with her arm draped over my shoulders. “She’s a bird. Just a very bird! We are going to get her all fixed up. I just know it.”

When she stopped to breathe, I thought it best to take my opportunity. “Tashakor, Gulzoma. I am very grateful.”

“I’m sure you are! I’m just sure you are. You sweet little thing. You bird.”

I really wished she would stop calling me bird.

Gulzoma led us through a set of double glass doors into a beautiful room with a carpeted floor, a soft sofa, two chairs, and a small polished wooden table on which rested a tray of fruit and some bottles of water. Zeynab sat on the sofa, trying to hold back her smile. She looked at me and then at Gulzoma. I was sure she had heard everything outside. “Here she is!” Gulzoma squeezed my sister’s arm. “So beautiful! Here is where you will wait until it’s time for you to walk up and join Tahir by our fountain. I have to go make sure the servants are taking care of the guests. Half the town of An Daral is going to be here.” She laughed. “Our family is large, but my husband has also invited others, even the Americans. And though I begged him not to, he just
had
to invite the Farah Province governor!” She leaned toward Malehkah and lowered her voice as though telling a big secret. “I really hope he doesn’t come. You know, I was just saying the other —”

“Gulzoma!” A stern voice boomed from another part of the house.

Gulzoma instantly stood straight up and turned serious. “My husband.” She glided out of the room.

Zeynab let out a breath. “I’m glad she’s gone.” We snickered, but Malehkah turned a warning glare on us both.

“This is the home of your host. You will not disrespect anyone who lives here.”

“Bale, Madar,” we said together.

She leaned in close to us. “Do not embarrass your father,” she warned. She turned to me so that her face was inches
from mine, the wrinkles around her eyes folding into deep creases as she scowled at me. “Remember your place, Zulaikha. Remember your duty.”

“Bale, Madar.”

Zeynab turned her head to the side. “Madar, why are you so upset? Why can’t you be happy? This is supposed to be a happy day.”

Malehkah snorted. “Your special day.” Then her expression softened and her eyes glistened just a little. “Oh, Zeynab,” she said.

My sister’s mouth fell open and she looked at Malehkah, wide-eyed. “Madar? What is it?”

Malehkah shook her head and then forced a smile. “Nothing.” She wiped her eyes. “Nothing. Let’s just make this day the best it can be.”

This apparently satisfied Zeynab. “Tashakor, Madar.”

Malehkah only nodded. I couldn’t get past the feeling that she had wanted to say more — that Zeynab had been too easily comforted by her false smile. I looked at my father’s wife as she ate a banana from the tray. No matter what she said, she seemed determined to ruin Zeynab’s dream wedding. I clenched my fists. I’d just have to work extra hard to make sure the day was perfect.

The sound of voices and laughter made me peek through the curtain covering the door to the back porch. Dozens of women were crowding the courtyard. The men must have been filling up other parts of the house. Children rushed around serving the women. I touched my split upper lip. My hand was
sweaty. I forced myself to think about Zeynab and not about having to go out there in front of all those people.

At least it was as wonderful a setting as Zeynab and I had ever dreamed of. The servants were bringing out the food. It was a lot like last night’s feast, but of course, here at the Abdullah house, there was more. I could see roast chicken, mutton, beef, and goat. Enormous bowls of rice with little pieces of carrots and raisins. Roasted buttered potatoes. Radishes, pickled cucumbers, and peppers. Bowls of nuts. Bowls of candies. Oranges, apples, bananas, and pomegranates. Almost all that An Daral had to offer for food, plus some things from the bazaar in Farah City, were laid out for the enjoyment of the guests.

Three women brought their musical instruments out and took seats on a rug off to the side of the fountain. One set up her tabla drums. Another began to warm up by squeezing her harmonium and pressing the keys. The third strummed and plucked the strings on her rubab, turning wooden keys at the top of its neck to adjust the sound. I looked back at Malehkah and my sister. “The women’s band!” Not in our most elaborate fantasies had we ever dreamed that Zeynab could have a band just for the women’s party at her wedding.

“It won’t be long now,” said Malehkah. “Soon, Tahir will come.”

“Bale, Madar.” Zeynab’s voice was shaky.