Words in the Dust (20 page)

“She says … you’re a very bad man.” Shiaraqa sounded uncertain. Captain Mindy’s shouting got even louder and she held up her fist. Shiaraqa’s eyes widened. “A very, very bad man.”

Finally, Captain spit at Tahir’s feet as she stepped past him. Corporal Andrews kept watching him with his gun ready. She ran to me and crouched down beside me. When she pulled me in close to hug me, I didn’t resist her. It all felt unreal, like Captain wasn’t hugging me, but some other girl I was watching in a nightmare that would never end.

She let me go, and I looked at her for a moment before I got into the car.

My brother Najibullah wept all the way home.

The month following Zeynab’s death was long and painful.

Hajji Abdullah’s family reached Baba by satellite phone, and he came home late the day my sister died. He looked drained and empty, hollow, the way I felt. I never saw him cry, not even at her funeral, but he locked himself in his room for days. I’d take him food sometimes. Other times Malehkah or Najib would try to get him to eat. Either way, he did not eat much.

When he finally did come out, he still didn’t talk. He just went back to work, building the clinic in Nimruz and welding at the base in Farah. He was even working with the Abdullahs, trying to get the contract to improve the old Russian air base that the Americans were using to the north in Shindand. Baba was a busy man.

Malehkah’s baby came. We did not celebrate as people usually did when a new baby was born. It was a girl. We named her Safia. She cried at night sometimes. I half wondered if she was crying over Zeynab like I was. A few days after she was born, Malehkah was better able to help with the work around the compound.

“Zulaikha, when you’re finished dusting, will you sort the rice for dinner?” Malehkah stood in the doorway to the storage room, holding the new baby. Lately, she actually asked me to do chores, instead of ordering me as she had always done.

“I sorted it already, Madar.”

“Ah. Feed Torran then.”

“I already did that too.”

“Bale.” She left the room.

That was how most of our exchanges had been lately. Except for the baby’s cries, the house had been quiet. I launched myself into chores, and when those were done, I sneaked away alone to practice my writing. Maybe I worked so hard because it helped to keep my mind focused on something. Maybe I volunteered for all those chores because when I did them, I didn’t have to focus my mind at all.

I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, then shook my head. Everything was supposed to be perfect once my mouth was fixed. Zeynab was supposed to be happily married. I was supposed to marry his handsome brother. The two of us would raise our children together. But nothing had happened the way it was supposed to. Maybe I looked normal. Maybe even a little pretty. What difference did it make? What had beauty done for Zeynab? I felt the tears coming, and so I bit my lower lip. I could do that now, with my new mouth. I did that a lot.

I pulled my notebook from my trunk and slipped it into the pocket of my dress. Malehkah was in the kitchen, humming and peeling potatoes while Safia slept in a basket.

“Do you need anything from the bazaar?” I asked.

“Onions.” Malehkah pulled a stack of bills out of her pocket and counted off fifty Afghanis.

As I went through the courtyard, Khalid came out of his fort behind the fuel drums in the front corner of the com
pound. Habib was with him. “Buy us some candy?” I nodded to them on my way out.

Outside, a dog barked in the distance and a gentle breeze blew a dried-up leaf across the dirt road. The water in the river was cold. Soon I’d need to wear shoes when I crossed.

In the bazaar, I bought three onions. I didn’t even argue about the price. I’d give the boys some of what was left of the candy the Americans had given me.

When I had rounded the corner from the bazaar road and passed a few compounds down Meena’s street, Anwar and Salman came out of a side alley, laughing, pushing, and shoving each other. As soon as Anwar saw me, his smile vanished and he held up his arm to stop his cousin. I clenched my fists at my side. My stomach felt like it was twisting over.

“Look, Anwar,” said Salman. “It’s Zulaikha with her pretty new mouth.”

I wheeled around in the direction I had come, but Anwar rushed to block my way. They had me cut off from the bazaar and from home. My legs felt wobbly again, almost as bad as that morning they had cornered me on the river road.

“Naw, look at that scar,” Anwar said. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s just the same old Donkeyface.” He put his fingers straight out from under his nose to imitate the way my teeth used to be.

Used to be. I didn’t look at all the same anymore. I didn’t feel the same anymore. Couldn’t they think of new mean things to say? How could they still think this was funny?

“HEEEE-HAAAAAW,” Salman droned. Anwar slapped his cousin on the back and laughed.

The same old jokes every time, and now the insults weren’t even true. I stood and simply watched the boys laugh at me. They could do what they wanted. I couldn’t make myself care.

Anwar frowned, as though he sensed that something besides my mouth was different from the last time we’d been through this. He pulled back his fist. Suddenly, he lurched forward like he was going to hit me. I flinched when his fist came close.

But he didn’t hit me. He stopped his fist a few centimeters back. He grinned at Salman and then at me. “Just testing,” he said.

All the same as that day on the river road. He hadn’t really hit me. He’d stopped short. The only difference was that back then, his hateful words had hurt, because I did look horrible.

“The way I look doesn’t make a difference,” I said. “Nothing does.”

“What are you talking about, Donkeyface?” Salman shouted.

“It never made a difference, except that the insults and the threats used to bother me.” It was time to forget about what these boys were always saying, about what they would always say, no matter what happened. “Khuda hafiz, Anwar.” I stepped past Anwar and Salman and went on my way to Meena’s shop.

“Wait a minute!” Anwar shouted, rushing to block my path again. “I didn’t give you permission to leave yet!”

I faked to the right and then stepped around Anwar to the left. “I’ve given myself permission.”

“Donkeyface, where you going?” Salman said.

I didn’t reply. I kept walking. Anwar caught up with me.

“I can still see the scar, Zulaikha. You’re still ugly,” he said. “You’ll always have the scars.”

At another time I might have smiled. These boys I had always been so afraid of, they were powerless except to call me mean names. They weren’t going to do anything to me. I walked right past them.

“Aw, who cares about old ugly Donkeyface?” Anwar said from somewhere behind me.

I forced myself not to look back. When I reached Meena’s shop, I finally turned to check behind me. The street was empty. Anwar and Salman were gone.

Meena welcomed me in as always. She put on the tea and we took our usual seats. I didn’t say anything, but handed her my notebook. She examined the pages I had copied. “Good.” She turned more pages. “Very good.”

I wished I could enjoy her praise. She must have noticed something in my expression when she looked up from my work. “But how are
you
, child?”

“I …” The tightness was back in my throat. “I can’t stop thinking about Zeynab.”

“Nor should you, Zulaikha.” Muallem’s voice was very quiet.

“She was so beautiful and …” I bit my lower lip. “I mean, I always thought if I could be even a small part as pretty as my sister …” Then the tears came. “I miss her. It just hurts so much.”

Meena stood up and went for the tea. She placed my cup on the table next to me and poured. “‘Every triumph from patience springs, the happy herald of better things.’”

“But what better things?” I wiped my nose with my chador. Meena poured a cup for herself and then sat down. She watched me through the steam over her cup and said nothing. I took a sip. “You mean the school? In Herat?”

“I did not say so, child. You must decide for yourself if that’s the desire Allah has placed in your heart.” She lowered her cup and held it with both hands in her lap. “I will help you no matter what you decide, but I cannot make the decision for you.”

“The poems you have me copying,” I said. “They make more sense. In the back of my notebook, I started to write a letter … to Zeynab, and to my madar-jan.” I rubbed the tears from my eyes. “You can check it over if you —”

“No.” Meena leaned back on her bed. “No, those are sacred words, between you and your mother and sister.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. “You’re learning. You are a very good student.”

“The poems are the only things that bring me peace. Poems and prayer. They comfort me.” I stopped and waited for Meena to say something, but she only nodded, her eyes still closed. “But I can’t go to Herat,” I said. She didn’t move. “Baba would never let me.”

Meena kept her eyes closed but raised her eyebrows. “Really, child? Have you asked him?”

“I’m too afraid to,” I said, looking down. “He’s … He’s not the same since Zeynab died. And he’d be furious to know I’ve been sneaking away from the house and coming here. And …” I sighed. “I worry that if he finds out I’ve been learning, he’ll put a stop to it.” This time my teacher was quiet for so long that I wondered if she was sleeping. “Anyway, ‘every triumph from patience springs,’ right?”

Now Muallem’s eyes were wide open. She was more awake than I had ever seen her. “Haven’t you been patient long enough?” She gestured at herself and then at me. “Haven’t we all waited long enough?” She leaned toward me. “What if this chance for school
is
the better thing that you were always destined to be patient for?”

“Herat isn’t going anywhere.”

Muallem nodded. “Yes. But as we get older, as we gain more responsibilities, life’s options have the tendency to slip away.”

I breathed in deeply and huffed out over the steam from my tea. “I have to do this now, don’t I?”

“Of course not, child. But it may be much more difficult to do later. Not that convincing your father to allow you to go to Herat for your studies will be easy now.”

“But it would be worth it,” I said, to myself as much as Meena.

As if by unspoken agreement, we fell into our work, reviewing some of the poems we’d read before and practicing new words. When it was time to go, Muallem gave me a new page
of poetry to copy. I picked up my bag of onions from the bazaar and went through the shop to the street door.

“Muallem-sahib?” I asked as I reached the door. She looked up at me. “Do you pray?”

“Absolutely, child. It seems I hardly ever stop praying.”

I smiled. “Will you pray for me tonight?”

Meena made a little bow. “Bale, Zulaikha.”

That night, we ate much later than usual because Baba and Najib arrived home late from work. When we were all seated around the dastarkhan, I stared at my rice and naan and twisted my old dinner towel in my lap. I no longer needed it as I did before my surgery, but right then I found it comforting.

“We should be finished with the clinic in a few weeks. The Americans have inspected our progress and they are very impressed.” Baba spoke plainly, with some of his old excitement. “They paid me the third installment of my total payment, and they say that if I finish before the end of the month, which I easily will, they will give me a hundred thousand Afghani bonus. Can you believe that?”

Baba tore off a piece of naan with his teeth. “What did I tell you, Najibullah? You watch your workers carefully or they will work slowly, sleep on the job if they can. Watch them, work with them now and then so they will like you and work harder for you. Then …” He pointed at Najib. “… Then you will get results.”

Baba wasn’t exactly happy, but he was in a better mood than I’d seen him in for a long time. This was good. It was a good time to ask him about Herat. But how could I, when he would hardly stop talking about his jobs and his money? My
palms were sweaty and my hands shook. Finally, I jumped in and spoke up. “Baba-jan, I need —”

“Yes, I know.” He smiled at me. I had not expected this kind of happy reaction. “I know. You need new clothes. A few new dresses. Some shoes.” His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to look at me. “Maybe it is even time to get you a chadri.”

Clearly Baba was thinking about other things for me. Maybe I should wait. I took a drink of water. Or maybe Meena was right and I had waited long enough.

“Baba-jan,” I said. My stomach felt so twisted I worried I would lose my food. Maybe I should let it go. It would be enough just to learn from Meena.

“What, Zulaikha?” said Baba.

I lowered my eyes. “Nothing.”

“Come on, Zulaikha. What troubles you? There’s nothing your baba can’t fix.”

When I started talking next, I was surprised at how fast the words spilled out. “I’ve been meeting with a woman, a muallem who used to teach in Herat and who was friends with Madar-jan. She’s been teaching me to read and write. She has a friend who teaches at the university in Herat now. This friend has offered to let me live and study with her … that is, with your permission … until one day I’m ready to apply to the university.”

It was all out. Nobody in the room moved. I risked a look at Baba to see if he had heard me. He dropped the chicken he’d been eating right into the rice bowl.

I went on quickly so I wouldn’t lose him. “It wouldn’t cost anything. Meena said —”

Baba’s eyes went wide. “Meena?” He half whispered the name. “Meena.” Did he know her? Maybe he remembered her from years ago.

Too late to stop now. “It’s just that I have already learned a lot and —”

“You aren’t going to Herat.” Baba spoke with his mouth packed full of chicken. He stared off into the distance for a moment. Finally, he shook his head and pointed at me with a scowl. “And if I hear about you meeting with that Meena woman again, I’ll beat you myself.”

I bit my lower lip and twisted the towel in my lap. Nobody spoke.

My father let out a little chuckle. “What would you need school for anyway? You’re already learning all you need at the school of Malehkah.” He turned to his wife. “Right?” But she did not smile back at him, or even look away as she usually did. When he saw that I didn’t smile either, he stopped laughing himself. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why do you waste my time with these stupid ideas?”

That was his answer then. It was over. I should have known. Everybody went back to eating in silence. I ate a pinch of rice.

What would my madar-jan have done? She never gave up on her studies even when the Taliban outlawed her books. It had been
that
important to her. And she’d made me promise to do all I could to learn as much as possible. I owed it to her, and to Meena, and to Zeynab. “Meena doesn’t think it’s stu
pid,” I said. “She has already arranged for my school and for a place with a respected Afghan woman. She said Madar-jan used to —”

“I said no!” My father sprang to his feet. “You see?” he shouted. He pointed at Najib. “Remember this, Najibullah. This is what happens when you are too soft on women. The Americans let their women boss them around like they own everything. Then you offer your daughter some nice clothes and what does she do?” He turned to me. “She spits it back in your face and disrespects you in your own house!”

Little baby Safia jolted awake at the sudden noise. Khalid looked surprised. He reached for Habib, who was crying, and led him out the back door by the hand.

I stood up. “Please, Baba-jan —”

“You call me jan? Like you hold me dear when you just told me what a stupid, backward Afghan I am?” He kicked the bowl of rice, scattering food across the room. “This is all because of ideas put in your head by that American whore!”

I bit my lower lip. “I just want to learn. I just want a chance. I can make you proud of me, Baba —”

“You’ll make me proud, all right! When you’re good and married off. But you’re not going to school, especially not in Herat! My word is final and I won’t —”

“Let her go to the school.” Malehkah had taken the crying baby into the kitchen and come back. She stood up straight, a few paces behind my father.

Baba’s nose wrinkled into a snarl. He did not look at his wife. “What did you say, Malehkah?”

“If she wants to go to the school and the school is paid for, let her go. You’ve already lost one daughter. Do you want to lose —”

Baba swung his arm back and struck Malehkah with the back of his big fist. She flew backward to the floor and landed hard, her head hitting the cement. My father took a step toward me, but before he could take another, Najib stood in front of me.

“Baba, enough,” he said.

My father stared with his mouth open. He held his hand up in front of his face, wet with his wife’s blood on his new gold rings. In a moment, tears fell.

“I …” he whispered. “I loved Zeynab. I love …” He turned and looked at Malehkah. If the blood from her nose hadn’t bubbled when she breathed, I would have thought she was dead. He turned back to me and wiped at his tears, smearing blood on his face. Then he ran out the front door.

Outside, the street door slammed shut. Najib faced me. He was shaking and his shoulders rose and fell in heavy breaths.

“Go.” I motioned to the door. “Go with Baba. I’ll help Malehkah and the kids.”

My brother nodded and left. I poured some water on my old dinner towel and then sat down next to Malehkah, wiping her forehead and then wiping the blood from her face. “Come on, Madar-jan. It’s okay. You’re safe now.” I propped
her head up on my lap and smoothed her hair with my fingers.

Khalid peeked in around the corner of the door from outside. “Is Baba still mad?”

I looked up and held out my hand to him. “No, bacha. Everything’s okay. You and Habib come on inside now.” I gently cleaned the rest of Malehkah’s face and then hugged both boys when they crouched down beside me.

Habib pointed to his mother. “Madar?”

Tears rolled down Khalid’s face. How different he looked now from when he was angry and calling me hateful names. Now he was only helpless and scared. I hugged him again. He was growing and changing, and would only continue to do so, but he’d always be my little brother.

Finally, Malehkah opened her eyes. She touched her nose and groaned in pain. Then she looked up at me and realized she was lying in my lap.

“Help me to the kitchen,” she said. “Will you hand me Safia? She’ll be hungry.”

“Bale, Madar,” I said. After I helped Malehkah settle down on the floor of the kitchen, I let the boys snuggle in close to her. Then I carefully picked up my tiny baby sister, who had cried herself to sleep. She opened her eyes and yawned with her little pink face. “It’s okay, Safia. You’re okay.” I gently eased her into Malehkah’s waiting arms.

I watched as Malehkah put the little mouth to her breast. The baby drank and drank. Malehkah closed her eyes,
her nose already crooked and swollen in shades of black and blue.

“I’ve got to get dinner cleaned up,” she whispered. “We don’t want bugs.”

“I’ll take care of it, Madar. Just rest. Please.”

“Tashakor, Zulaikha,” she said.

I turned to Khalid. “Khalid-jan, could you help Madar and me? Could you go out to the well and draw a bucket of water so that we can wash up from dinner?”

Khalid rubbed his eyes and turned back to bury his face against his mother’s shoulder.

“Khalid,” Malehkah said.

“It’s okay, Madar. I’ll take care of it. All of you just rest.”

I went out into the dark back courtyard and set my bucket down next to the well while I pulled up a full pail of water. I could hear them talking inside. The different and varied tones of my brothers. The muffled sound of Malehkah’s tired voice, trying to calm her children.

I filled my bucket and took the water inside. While it heated on the stove, I helped get Habib and Khalid settled in to sleep. Then there were dishes to clear and the floor to sweep. When I returned to the kitchen to wash the pots, I found Malehkah standing, wobbling on shaky feet.

“Madar, please lie back down!” I hurried to her side, took her arm, and eased her back to the floor.

“I thought I would help,” said Malehkah. She gently put her hand to her face and turned to me. “I’m glad you found Meena. That’s why I sent you on all those extra trips to the bazaar.”

“You knew?” All my life it seemed that Malehkah complained about everything I did. It seemed impossible that she had been trying to help me go to my lessons all along. Though yesterday I would have said a lot of what had happened tonight was impossible. “Madar, if you knew I was studying with Meena, why did you —”

“I’m just so dizzy. Head hurts.”

When she was resting on the floor again, I put a damp towel over her forehead. “Tashakor, Madar-jan.”

It took a few hours to wash, dry, and put away all the dishes. By the time I had done that and checked on the kids, Malehkah had fallen asleep. I sat down, leaning against the wall in the kitchen, where I stayed by her side through the long night.

I jumped awake at the sound of the front house door squeaking on its bad hinge. I stood and looked through the little kitchen window. The dark sky was just beginning to take on the first hints of morning light. Soon the muezzin would call the faithful to prayer. I whispered to Malehkah, “Stay here.” As I moved to see who had come in, the door to the kitchen opened. Baba stood in the doorway with Najib right behind him. My father rubbed his knuckles against his rough, unshaven chin. He watched Malehkah and me for a long time.

Najib gently squeezed his elbow. “Go ahead, Baba-jan. You can do it. It’s just like we talked about.”

Baba nodded. He took one step into the kitchen. “I …” He swallowed and licked his lips. “I’ve been working this over in
my mind. All night.” He slid his hands down his face. “Malehkah, please forgive me. I should not have hit you so hard.” My father stopped for a moment, and then went on. “Your mother, Zulaikha. You were too young to remember, but your mother loved her books. Always with her it was these old Afghan poets.” A small shudder went through him, and he bit his lower lip as he struggled to regain control of his wavering voice. “They … they killed her for those books.”

“But the Taliban —”

My father held up a hand. Malehkah tugged on my skirt from where she sat.

“They killed her. They should have killed me. Or I should have stopped them.” A single tear rolled down my father’s cheek. He did not try to hide it. “I … I’ve been thinking. This school you’ve been talking about.” He shrugged. “They say the educated ones make all the money. But what do I know?” He waved his fingers in a circle in front of his face, as though he had much more to say but couldn’t squeeze out the words. As though he were struggling for air. “It’s a new Afghanistan, right? I’m just an illiterate welder. I just —”

“I don’t want to go to Herat,” I said. It is what I had realized as I took care of Malehkah, the boys, and the baby during the night. My father frowned, and I continued. “I love my family too much. I can’t abandon them. I’m needed here.”

“Zulaikha,” Malehkah said.

Baba began, “Last night you said —”

“I do want to go to school, Baba-jan. I want to learn. I need to go to school.” Before last night I could never have believed I would be saying this today. “But my family needs me too. The kids are small and Madar is overworked. I can’t abandon them.” I took a deep breath. “So I was hoping that I could go to school here in An Daral, at the school you helped build. I hear they’ve hired a very good teacher there.” I held my breath, waiting for my father’s reply, afraid and excited at the same time. But I did not look away from him.

He was standing up straight with his arms out just a little, like he was trying to make himself look as big as he could. He stared at me with hard eyes, but I could see the tremor in his jaw. Then slowly he relaxed, and something like a smile spread on his face. “You’re a good girl, Zulaikha. More like your mother than you will ever know. And I would be honored for you to go to the school your baba built.”

He held out his arms for a hug. I hesitated for a moment, but then felt Malehkah push me toward him. And no matter how I tried to stay angry with him, I felt myself relaxing into his embrace and resting my head against his chest. When we finally took a step apart, I looked up to my father again. “And, Baba-jan?” I asked.

Baba put his hands on his hips. “What is it now?”

“I think I
do
want a chadri.” I shrugged. “You know, so the boys will leave me alone on the way to school.”

He nodded. “You certainly are growing up, Zulaikha.” My father smiled and wiped his brow before he left the room.