CHAPTER 24
ZEBA STARED AT HER MOTHER.
“And what did the judge say?”
“Not much. But he won’t be your biggest problem.”
“What did you do?” Zeba asked, feeling an old anxiety rise within her.
“Nothing. We talked mostly about your children needing you.” Before Zeba could ask any more questions, Gulnaz gave a quick nod in the direction of the yard. “Why are those girls staring?”
Zeba glanced over her shoulder. Latifa looked away abruptly. Nafisa pretended to point at something in the distance. No wonder she was in jail. The girl couldn’t lie to save her life.
“Probably because I told them about you,” Zeba admitted. “You’re the kind of person women love to hear about — especially women with big problems.”
“Oh, is that so? How nice to know that at this age, I can still be interesting.” Gulnaz’s eyebrows lifted in amusement.
“Of course. You always have been. Even when your daughter’s accused of murder, you’re the more interesting person.”
“Are you sure it’s me they’re staring at?”
“Positive.”
Gulnaz sensed a difference in her daughter. Her back was a little straighter, her eyes a bit less downcast. Gulnaz pursed her lips.
“You’ve done something,” she declared.
Zeba hid a sheepish smile. Gulnaz’s intuition was confirmed.
“What did you do?” she pressed.
Zeba shook her head, but there was an undeniable twinkle in her eye.
“Zeba!” Gulnaz whispered brightly.
“Okay, Madar-jan, I’ll tell you,” Zeba whispered with halfhearted reluctance. “There was a girl here — a dumb, pregnant, lovesick girl. Though I have to admit she was clever in some ways. She managed to get herself and her boyfriend thrown into jail by turning herself in. For him to get released, he had to marry her.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” Zeba said cheerfully. “She needed his family to propose and they did.”
“If only they had a prison for couples,” Gulnaz said. “Though I suppose that’s what marriage is, isn’t it?”
Zeba didn’t flinch. In the years since her father had disappeared, she’d not really seen her mother lament his death the way other widows had. She’d almost seemed relieved, actually.
“Tell me what you did,” Gulnaz said, intrigued.
Zeba bit her lower lip. She suddenly felt like a child caught trying to walk in her mother’s shoes.
“I told her about the string and the chicken feathers.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
Gulnaz looked puzzled.
“Where did you learn that from?”
“From you, of course. You made me pluck the chicken feathers myself when we did it for Nooria-jan.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten about her.” Gulnaz looked off into the distance. There was a haze in the air, as if the day might bring rain. “There was no way Latif would’ve married her if we hadn’t helped out. The rumors in town about her sneaking around with him and his cousin were pretty bad.”
“If it were today, she would have been my cellmate. Ten years for zina. Lucky for her she chose to be immoral in a better time. How is she doing, anyway? She must have grandchildren by now,” Zeba mused.
“She died years ago. Her devoted husband remarried three months later.”
“Three whole months. Love is beautiful, isn’t it?” Zeba smirked.
Gulnaz smiled faintly. When had Zeba become so sarcastic? What had happened to her docile daughter, the girl who had been tearful even as she closed the door on her mother?
“Anyway, my roommate and her mother did everything I told them to do. I was surprised, to tell you the truth, when we heard his family had gone to her home to ask for her hand. I didn’t know if it would really work.”
“Seven knots?”
“Seven knots,” Zeba confirmed. Gulnaz smiled smugly.
“Then there was no way it wouldn’t work.”
“It had to. She’s too young to have her life ruined like this. Not to mention the baby.”
“And her life would’ve been ruined for sure if you hadn’t pulled her ass from the fire. Imagine a girl choosing to go through all this,” Gulnaz said softly. “For one awkward moment in the dark.”
“The girl puts on a good show, Madar-jan,” Zeba said in a low tone. Gulnaz looked at her with raised brows. “But I highly doubt it was one moment, and it was surely not in the dark.”
Gulnaz laughed, an unbridled, carefree laugh. Her eyes closed, and her head tilted back a degree.
She had to catch her breath. There was no fence. There was no jail. There was only a mother and a daughter, gossiping in the warm glow of the sun. The ache of Gulnaz’s bones eased and the knotted muscle in her neck released just enough for her to chuckle without pain. The blood pulsed to her toes and fingers, turning her nailbeds pink. She was, in that one trivial moment, more alive than she’d been in years.
Watching her mother, Zeba was overcome. She giggled like a schoolgirl.
Gulnaz’s eyes welled with happy, wistful tears.
Relishing the sound of lost laughter, mother and daughter looked at each other. The world around them dissolved.
“Madar, are you all right?” Zeba asked hesitantly.
“Ah, Zeba, you are my daughter after all, aren’t you?”
Six months ago, Zeba would have resented the comment. But now, surprisingly, Zeba felt a twinge of pride. She blinked and uncrossed her legs. The grounds of the prison were pebbly, and Zeba hadn’t brought out a blanket to sit on.
“I’ve spoken with your judge and your lawyer. The lawyer is off in the village now, trying to find out if anyone believes you could be innocent or if anyone knows anything helpful.”
“No one will talk to him.”
“Probably not, but it’s a possibility. And Yusuf looks like the type of man who goes wild when he smells a possibility. That could be a good thing for you.”
“There are worse traits, I suppose.”
“Are you ready to tell me what happened?” Gulnaz prodded gently. “I might be able to better help you if I know.”
“You sound like my lawyer.” Zeba sighed.
“I suppose I do,” Gulnaz said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out three chocolates wrapped in red foil. “I brought something for you. Something to sweeten your tongue in this sour place.”
She slipped the chocolates through the fence. Zeba took them from her mother’s fingers, wishing she could pull her mother’s whole hand and arm and body through the latticework as well.
Gulnaz leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the warm metal of the fence.
“I know you, Zeba. You might not think I do, but you’re my blood. Your soul talks to me even when your mouth doesn’t. It always has.”
Zeba looked up. Why did her mother always say such peculiar things? Why was her whole family bent on being holier or craftier than everyone else?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Madar. I tell you what I’m thinking and there’s no more to it. Whatever rings in your ears is your own — it doesn’t come from me.”
Zeba unwrapped one chocolate and popped the entire round candy, half softened by the warmth of Gulnaz’s body, into her mouth. She crumpled the foil in her palm and felt the chocolate melt against the inside of her cheek.
“Zeba, I’m here to work out what I can for you. Trust me that I know best.”
Her mother was wrong. She’d never listened to Zeba. Why should she when Gulnaz knew best? Gulnaz made all the decisions and, out of paranoia, had driven away every single family member who’d ever looked upon Zeba with kindness.
“You always have, haven’t you?” Zeba said sarcastically.