Six scruffy-looking boys, who were going door-to-door begging, surrounded me, teasing me about my blue dress, lifting my skirt. Their behavior shocked me at first, and I thought of running home. But if I ran home, I would never reach Mother. Besides, these boys weren’t any bigger than my brothers and their friends. And I wasn’t afraid of them. I pushed my skirt down and yelled at them, “I never wear a dress. If I had my jeans on, I’d kick your butt. I have an older sister and older brother I fight with all the time.”
I balled up my fists, ready to swing. They backed off, and just then a gate opened and a car backed out into the street. The biggest one said they should go, and they strolled away in the other direction.
By the time they disappeared around a corner, my heart was beating so hard it pounded in my head. I continued on my way, wary about what lay ahead. It was a warm early-fall day, and I had already begun to perspire from the fright of those thugs trying to intimidate me. Trucks and cars whizzed past me, and I strolled along the sidewalk by the busy boulevard.
I missed Mommy. How could our beautiful life be so terrible that she would leave us like this? All along the walk to my uncle’s house, I tried to decide what I wanted to say to her. I need you, Mommy. I miss you. Or maybe just a question: Why are you staying away? The house wasn’t the same without her. Trucks rumbled the road, exhaust fumes smelled terrible, and I was scared, but I had to see her and let her know how much I missed her.
It must have taken me an hour or more to walk to the exclusive neighborhood where my uncle lived. By the time I reached the front door, I was shaking. The housekeeper let me in with a surprised look. I stood in the grand entryway while she went off to find Mommy. If our house was elegant and expansive, this home was royal, with marble floors and crystal chandeliers and a sweeping staircase and dark wood walls. A large bouquet of flowers in the hall, a spray of red, orange, white, and purple, gave off the fresh smell of cool garden air. My uncle was in banking and finance, and his wealth was obvious.
My uncle strode down the hall, dressed in a well-tailored suit, his light-brown hair slicked back off his shiny forehead. I thought he was one of the handsomest men in the city, tall, regal, and well mannered. He greeted me with a care that always made me feel like I was his only child. He took my hand and led me into a parlor with elegantly upholstered chairs and a sofa and the most intricately woven carpet. I sat in a comfortable wing chair. Mommy came in and took a seat across from me while my uncle took a seat on the couch. My uncle’s wife, my aunt, sat in an upholstered chair next to Mommy, staring at me while she puffed on a cigarette with angry breaths. I wanted to run and leap into Mommy’s arms, but ours wasn’t that kind of relationship. She gave me a vague smile. I couldn’t tell if she was glad to see me, but I knew I was so happy to see her. I sat across from her and folded my hands in my lap.
I asked her why she didn’t come home.
My aunt snapped at me before Mommy could say a word. “Tell your father to stop drinking. She won’t return unless he stops.”
“Don’t put that on the child,” my uncle said. He sat on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other; one shiny shoe gently bounced as he spoke.
It wasn’t until my uncle’s words soaked in that I realized my aunt was serious. She wanted me to speak to Padar, tell him to stop drinking. What could I do about his drinking? Mommy didn’t say anything, even though I looked to her for some encouragement, something I could hold on to. How could she expect me to go home and straighten things out?
Uncle worked to soothe his wife. He kept telling her to be careful what she said to me, that I had just come to visit my mommy, not to negotiate a settlement between spouses. His voice itself was calming and mellow; he spoke so warmly and thoughtfully. Mommy looked only at her hands, then in the air above us all, as if she were trying to decide what to do. Finally, my aunt said something that stopped me cold.
“Your father is making your mommy’s life a living hell. He knows she has a bad heart. He will kill her one of these days.”
The air in the room became thick, and I couldn’t breathe. Kill her. Those words floated in the air, and even my articulate uncle, who I supposed had comforting words for every situation, seemed uncomfortable. To my little-girl mind, the thought of Mommy dying was far from me. Something I had never considered. Despite her heart problems, she always seemed so full of energy, ready to embrace life as it came her way. I just wanted her to come home. She looked at me with her sad eyes like she had so much to say, and for a beat of a second, I saw a woman at a crossroads.
I leaned forward and stared down at my uncle’s highly polished shoes. He was dressed so flawlessly, and the books on the shelves behind him, the lamps and drapes, gave the room a luxurious, secure feeling. The house seemed perfect. Why was it that the war in the streets had somehow seeped inside our Shura Street house and not this one?
“Enjeela!” my aunt said. “Go now.” She waved her hand toward me in the air. “Get up, go.”
I stood, thinking Mother would protect me from this angry woman, but she had only this sheepish look on her face, as if her sister-in-law was a woman she didn’t dare cross. Even Uncle fell silent in her presence.
“Go and tell your father what I said—she’s not coming home until he stops drinking,” she said with a dismissive wave.
I went into the hall by the door and turned to them in the parlor. I was certain Mommy would come to me, comfort me, but she only sat and stared at her hands, not moving. I wanted to run to her, but I had just been told to leave. The whole house went into an eerie silence, as if I could hear things only from a great distance.
Uncle told a maid something. She strode past me and opened the door. She led me out to the street, and we walked together toward my home. Everything came into sharp focus as we briskly strode along the boulevard. Soldiers were everywhere, on streets leading off Pul-e-Surkh Road. Truckloads of soldiers and equipment rattled past us in traffic, noisy and harsh. Our beautiful city had turned into an armed camp, a military outpost full of men and their bristling weapons. I walked right through them, past their guns and bold faces, with my aunt’s message burning inside me.
6
THE BROKEN CIRCLE
At the dinner table that evening, I sat up straight in my chair with my face and hands freshly washed, still shaken from my journey that day. My aunt’s meanness rummaged around inside me, stealing my appetite. I played with my fork, waiting for the right instant to deliver her message. If Padar didn’t stop drinking, Mommy wouldn’t come home. I wanted to reach over and slap the glass of Scotch out of his hand, but he would beat me if I did such a disrespectful thing. As had been the custom since Mommy left, Padar barely spoke, only sipping his drink and then eating. I sat a few chairs down from him with Zia between us, out of his reach. I tried to gauge how angry he was tonight, but he was so absorbed in his thoughts he hardly even looked at us. I had to speak up. A weight rested on my shoulders, unlike my sisters, who ate and chatted, and Zia, who smiled and joked like always.
“I saw Mommy today,” I finally blurted out. Ahmad Shah sighed. Shapairi stared at me with an evil eye, as if she wanted to whip me with a cord as she’d done before. The whereabouts of Mommy was not a subject we discussed openly. Everyone knew where she was the same way I knew, from Noor. Padar lifted his head slowly.
“Where?” he asked, gripping his drink.
“I walked to Uncle’s.”
His face flushed; he began to stammer at Noor, who sat cross-legged on the floor at the far end of the dining room eating dinner. “Did you know this?”