He missed Elena. He thought she might reach out to him even after they’d broken up. She never did, even when she knew he’d be leaving for Afghanistan. It was as if she’d agreed with him that they were too different to think they could be together. He’d not regretted his decision. He’d only regretted that he’d let things get as far as they had because it had caused them both unnecessary pain.
Sitting in the terminal at JFK airport waiting for his flight to Dubai, Yusuf had taken out his cell phone and deactivated his Facebook account. It was a sharp-edged moment, dulled only slightly by the number of people who passed him without noticing the bright young lawyer who had just disconnected himself from that world. Maybe it wasn’t such a monumental decision after all. He deleted the app from his phone. He would immerse himself in his work, he’d resolved, and it would be best not to be distracted by pictures of his former classmates clinking glasses in dimly lit lounges in the East Village of New York City or biking through Rock Creek Park in D.C.
“I’m not going to stay here forever, Madar-jan. I’ll be home once I feel like I’ve accomplished something here.”
He could hear her tired exhalation, the acquiescence to her son’s whims.
“I know that country better than you do,” she said. “You’ll accomplish a lot there, but the second you step away, it’ll seem that you’ve accomplished nothing at all. You’ll be the poor ant who drags grains of dirt three times his size to build a home only to have it trampled over with one person’s careless footstep. It’ll break your heart, and that’s what I’m most worried about.”
When he hung up, Yusuf felt the weight of quiet in the room. He rose from the bed and went to the radio on the dresser, flipping it on and turning the dial to scan through the stations. At the sound of a young man’s voice, his fingers paused.
“You’ve called Radio Sabaa,” the host announced. “Go ahead and speak whatever is in your heart.”
“This is the first time I’m calling.” The voice was nervous and Yusuf closed his eyes. He could picture the caller, a young man in dark denim and sneakers, a polo shirt with Coca-Cola embroidered on the pocket. He was on his cell phone, ducking into a side room of his home so his sisters and parents would not overhear his confession. “I’ve been in love with a girl since I was a boy. I love everything about her. The shape of her eyebrows, the sound of her voice, the way she smiles. I used to follow her whenever she left her home, just so she’d know how much I cared about her. When she noticed, she looked back and smiled at me and it was as if. . as if in that moment our hearts became stitched to each other.”
“Ah, young love.” The host sighed. “Please go on.”
“In the last two years, we’ve talked nearly every day. We talk about our studies and our families and our hopes for the future. I want, God willing, to own a business one day, maybe a restaurant or a furniture store.”
Yusuf smiled to himself, let go of the dial, and wandered back to the bed.
“I can only imagine doing all this if she’s with me, by my side. I can’t imagine life without her. I’ve never loved anyone else. I’ve never even looked at another girl the way I look at her.”
“It sounds like she loves you as well. Is something standing in the way of your being together?” the host nudged, his voice thick with sympathy.
“There is a big problem. Her family has recently engaged her to another, a boy she does not love. He is in Germany and will be coming in two weeks for a wedding. After that, it’s only a matter of time before she leaves to join him in Europe. She doesn’t want to go. She told me that, but her family is insisting.”
“How very heartbreaking!”
“It is. I cannot sleep. I have no appetite. I can barely do my job. If she leaves, I’m sure I’ll be alone for the rest of my life. Nothing could fill the hole in my heart.”
“Beautifully said, my young friend,” said the host. He whispered something barely off air and cleared his throat. “I hope that if you and this young woman are destined for each other, nothing will stand in the way of your devotion. This is Night of the Hearts on Radio Sabaa. We’re going to take another caller now. .”
Yusuf chuckled softly to himself, thinking of a boy and girl who spent stolen moments talking on mobile phones, shooting each other lustful glances and thinking they knew true love. Then again, who was Yusuf to judge? He had chosen to walk away from Elena and had been more hurt that she had not put up a fight. She’d called him an idiot for wasting her time and moved on — just like that. He thought of the women in Chil Mahtab, the women who dared run off with men even though they were risking their freedom or their lives to do so. What love could possibly be that compelling?
CHAPTER 38
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY MOTHER?” ZEBA DEMANDED ANGRILY. “Tell me!”
The mullah answered her through tight lips.
“I’ve done nothing to your mother. We spoke about your situation. Zeba-jan, I want you to be safe,” he said in an oddly conspiratorial whisper. “Your lawyer says madness can be used to get you leniency in your case. I. . I think it’s important for you to spend some time here so that there is no question to your madness. I’ve promised your mother that I would watch over you. I’m going to keep that promise.”
“God will never forgive you,” she growled. “You can spend a million years praying and He will still condemn you for whatever it is that you’ve done to my mother.”
She’d spat at his feet with whatever saliva she could muster, sick at the memory of the way he’d put his hands on Gulnaz.
The mullah rubbed at his temples.
“We’re each haunted by our own sins, Zeba, but the ultimate judgment is left to Allah for a reason. With only five senses, we are limited in our ability to understand. Your mother will return today. You can ask her yourself.”
Zeba turned her back to him and didn’t move again until she was certain he’d left.
The other patients knew of her presence now and sometimes called out to her, “the woman.” Zeba did not answer. There were too many ways for this situation to get worse for her. The best she could do was to maintain the solitude she sought. The nights should have been easy respites, but madness seemed to sparkle to its zenith under moonlight.
She was restless and unable to sleep. She needed to know that her mother was all right. She needed to know what the mullah had done to her and already reeled with guilt so poisonous that she almost wished Kamal back to life. That was how desperate she’d become. She did not question her mother’s reasons for not lashing out at the mullah or turning on her heels. She understood now that everything Gulnaz had done, every bizarre behavior or act of madness, was a demonstration of love.
When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Zeba felt her skin prickle. She sat perfectly still and understood, with the intuition of a woman who had endured much in the past few weeks, that she was moments away from another tectonic shift in her life. She focused on keeping her breathing even and pressed her back flat against the clay wall.
There had been a certain comfort to the shrine, Zeba admitted, before the mullah had shamelessly led her mother into his quarters. The small of her back ached. She pushed her shoulders back and felt the sharp pangs of protest in her muscles.
CHAPTER 39
“GENTLEMEN,” SAID QAZI NAJEEB SLOWLY. “I’VE RECEIVED SOME interesting information related to the case of Khanum Zeba. I think we have to be very cautious with what I’m going to share with you. It could be a very ugly situation and would have been, no doubt, if her husband Kamal were not already dead and buried.”