“And what about her husband?”
“Eh, he was a man. Nothing special about him.”
“Do you know if they fought? If he beat her?”
The woman let out a sarcastic chuckle.
“Young man, I came out here to pick mint leaves,” she said, waving a fistful of greens in Yusuf’s face. “Do you see this? Half of this is weeds because my eyes can’t see the difference. Even if I’d seen those two with their arms around each other, I couldn’t tell if they’d been wild with passion or about to kill each other.”
“I suppose every family has its secrets.”
“Of course. And that man was up to no good. Even with these tired old eyes, I could see that.”
“What makes you say that?” Yusuf asked, intrigued.
“First of all, they moved to this neighborhood to get away from his family. They never said that was the reason, but I know it because I used to know his mother. My daughter-in-law’s sister is friends with his sister. No one in his family could stand him.”
“Do you know why?”
She shook her head and waved a hand in the air dismissively.
“Siblings are supposed to love each other but some people are so busy being jerks that they forget who their siblings are. They start being a jerk to everyone around them. I’ve raised my children differently, thank God. My own sons and daughters get along very well. When they were young, I used to tell them. .”
“I’m sure your children are quite different,” Yusuf gently interrupted. “How was Zeba when they moved into the neighborhood? Did you ever speak with her then?”
“That was years ago. She was friendly, actually. She was always very polite to me. She told me once that I reminded her of her mother.”
“Really?” Yusuf did not see a bit of resemblance between this woman and Gulnaz.
“Yes, and the way she said it, I almost thought her mother might be dead. But I met her once when she came to visit her daughter and grandchildren. Her mother’s much younger than me. And I think her vision is just fine. Both of us have lost our husbands, though. Maybe that reminded her of me. I can’t imagine what else.”
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her and she’s an admirable woman, just like yourself.”
“I see. You’re one of those young men who knows all the right things to say,” she said with a smirk. “I like that.”
Yusuf laughed lightly.
“I hope I can ask the right questions as well,” he said, trying to stay on track. “When did you notice a change in Khanum Zeba? Did something happen?”
The old woman’s smile turned quickly into a scowl.
“She couldn’t take anymore, that’s what happened. Her husband would barely say hello to my sons when they passed him in the street. He would pretend as if he hadn’t seen them, but I would watch him from here and he would stare as soon as their backs were turned. He did the same with anyone on the street, especially the young girls. No decency. No, that man was not a good man, and I know the difference because I was married to a good man. Thirty-two years we spent together until God took him from me. Everyone in town knew him and he knew everyone. He would have hated Zeba’s husband. He told me once if a wife doesn’t love her husband, there’s a good reason for it.”
“Your husband, God rest his soul, sounds like he was a wise man,” Yusuf offered.
“He was.”
“What do you think was going on between Zeba and her husband?”
“Hmph.” The woman folded her thin arms across her chest. “You know, God made turtles with a hard shell. They’re born expecting to need that shell. Women are not born that way. A husband like Kamal can destroy them. He was a beast. Lately, I didn’t see her as much, and when I did see her, she was scurrying back home, afraid she’d been gone too long. She was nervous a lot. And her husband. .”
But before Yusuf could ask his next question, a voice boomed from inside the house.
“Madar, who are you talking to?”
Her son entered the courtyard and looked at Yusuf with suspicion. Yusuf stuck out his hand, hoping to defuse the situation before he lost this opportunity.
“Salaam, brother. My name is Yusuf and I was just speaking with your dear mother—”
In a moment, Yusuf was back on the street, listening to the son admonish his mother for letting in a foreign spy.
With heavy feet, Yusuf headed down the street. He couldn’t bring himself to knock on any more doors — not for now. No, Yusuf was done for the day. He walked past the school Zeba’s daughters attended and opted not to stop the man pushing a wagon of fresh fruits and plump, enticing raisins.
CHAPTER 27
THE NEXT DAY, YUSUF STEPPED INTO THE VILLAGE MAIN STREET. The acrid smell of diesel mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread. There was the clink of soft drink bottles in a crate as a man in a gray tunic and pantaloons set up his kiosk.
The young lawyer breathed it in, dust and all. It was the smell of opportunity, rebirth, and hope. He’d dreamed of this moment for years, imagined walking through streets just like this one and struggling to practice law here the way thrill-seeking doctors travel to field hospitals in Africa to test their skills.
It was stripping the profession down to its core. It was all guts. It was all glory.
He’d imagined drafting arguments and constructing defenses and finding ways to make the well-intentioned Afghan penal code live up to its potential. He would plow through the weeds of injustice and corruption and let righteousness see the light of day.
His time in Afghanistan had been nothing like what he’d imagined. He tried not to dwell on it. These were the obstacles that would make it all worthwhile in the end. These were the challenges that made him want to come to Afghanistan in the first place. If it had been easy, someone else could have done it. The lawyers here could have managed.
It wasn’t easy. That’s why Zeba needed him. That’s why this place called out to him.
Yusuf wanted to make a name for himself and he wanted to do that in Afghanistan. Was that vanity? No, he promised himself. Vanity was wanting a tailored pin-striped suit or a corner office in a skyscraper.
This was honor and legacy. This would give his mother something to boast about to her friends. This is what would save him from looking as disappointed as his father at the way life had turned out.
Still, Yusuf had to admit that this visit to the village was not as productive as he’d hoped. He’d confirmed that the police hadn’t gathered any evidence, something he could use in his defense argument though he could already imagine the qazi shaking his head.
The police didn’t have the time or resources to gather evidence, Aneesa had told him as he’d pored over the arrest registry for Zeba. As long as the officers had obtained a statement from the arrested person, there really was no need to waste time with evidence that probably didn’t exist or couldn’t be scientifically interpreted.
Zeba’s prosecutor had probably heard by now that Yusuf had gone to the village to poke around. He was doubtless entertained by Yusuf’s naïve efforts. The prosecution could write his case up on toilet paper and unfurl it in the qazi’s office — it would still be stronger than Yusuf’s defense.
Two men passed Yusuf walking in the opposite direction. One, who had a white beard and a triangular karakul hat, reminded Yusuf of his grandfather. The other had a stubbly chin and walked with his two hands knotted behind him. Their unhurried pace gave them ample opportunity to take in Yusuf’s incongruous appearance.
“Salaam-ulaikum,” Yusuf said with a nod.
They returned his greeting and continued to look at him unabashedly.