Shekiba dried the floor hastily and tightened her head scarf under her chin. She went outside and saw that her uncles were taking a break, leaning against the outside wall and drinking tea that her cousin Hameed had brought out to them. Shekiba turned to assess the progress they had made.
From this side of the house she could see her home. It looked small in comparison to the clan’s house.
This is how it felt to watch us.
She noticed that there were new pieces of equipment in their field and that her father’s tools had been carted over to this side of the land. The house had been emptied. A pile of their belongings lay outside the wall her father had built.
They’re taking my home. They wanted our land.
Suddenly, Shekiba realized why it was that Bobo Shahgul had summoned her youngest son after so much time. Her father was tilling the most fertile land the family had and they wanted it. They wanted more than the share of crops he sent over from time to time. They wanted it all. Now there was no one in their way. They were taking her home.
Shekiba thought she would feel nothing but inside, she seethed. No one had thought of her when the house’s contents were thrown outside for trash. The few remaining items that had belonged to her mother, her father, her siblings all tossed aside to make way for something new. Was someone going to move into her home? Shekiba realized part of her was still hoping to return to that home, to live there independently as she had before. But, of course, that would never happen.
Shekiba found a container and walked into the field. There was much to be harvested. The onion plants had long yellow leaves and had probably dried up about three weeks ago, given their appearance.
Why haven’t they pulled these onions out? Shekiba thought, and leaned over to get a closer look.
“Hey, Freidun! Look what she’s doing! Tell her not to touch the onions! They aren’t ready yet! This imbecile is going to ruin our lot!” It was Kaka Sheeragha, the skinniest and laziest of the group.
The leaves were brittle in her fingertips. She reached at the base and began to pull the bulbs from the earth.
Almost too late. They’re about to rot. No wonder our food tastes the way it does. God knows what they’re doing with the rest of the crops.
Kaka Freidun walked over and looked at the three onions she had already unearthed. Shekiba did not turn to look at him. He grunted something and then walked away.
“You didn’t say anything to her?” Sheeragha yelled out.
“Enough,” Freidun answered. “They’re ready.”
Sheeragha looked at his elder brother and bit his tongue. The men returned to the fields and grunted instructions at each other. They kept a distance from Shekiba but watched her from the corners of their eyes. She moved nimbly through the rows, her callused fingers weaving between the stems and yanking with just the amount of force needed to bring the bulb to the surface. She stopped only to readjust her head scarf.
But when she had finished one square area, the sun was beginning to set and it was time to prepare dinner. Shekiba resumed her post in the kitchen and was dismayed, but not surprised, to see that nothing had been done for the evening dinner. She quickly started a flame and set some water to boil. Khala Zarmina walked past her and peered into the dim room.
“Oh, there you are! I was just about to boil some rice for dinner but I see that you’re here now. I’ll leave it up to you, then. I just hope you’ll clean your hands well — they’re filthy.”
Shekiba waited till Zarmina had walked away to let out a heavy sigh. How she wished she would have died on the cold floor of her own home, before her uncles had found her.
Jumaa prayers had just ended. Her uncles were returning home from the small masjid in town.
“Children, outside. We are speaking with your grandmother,” Kaka Freidun snapped. Shekiba watched her cousins scamper out of the main living room. Kaka Sheeragha looked at her and seemed to be considering something. He followed his brothers into the living room.
Shekiba pretended to walk back into the kitchen with the clothes she had gathered from the clothesline. Before she reached the kitchen, she stopped and sat on the floor to fold the clothes. From there, she could hear some of what her uncles were saying.
“We need to settle this debt. Azizullah is losing patience with us. He says he’s waited long enough.”
“Hmm. What exactly were his demands?”
“I spoke with him in the village two weeks ago and he told me that he is in need of a wife for his son. He wants one of the girls from this family.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Well, he said that there is a debt to settle. And that he was thinking of it more these days because he wants to secure a wife for his son.”
“I see.” Bobo Shahgul’s voice was sharp, matter-of-fact. “How old is his son?”
“His son is ten.”
“He still has time.”
“Yes, but he wants to arrange the matter now.”
I could hear Bobo Shahgul tapping her walking stick on the floor in thought.
“Then we need to arrange a deal with him.”
“Zalmai, your girls are the right age. Maybe one of them. The older one. She’s eight, isn’t she?” Kaka Freidun’s voice was unmistakable.
“Sheeragha’s daughter is the same age. And your daughter is the same age as Azizullah’s son. She would be a good match as well and would settle our debts sufficiently.”
“Freidun’s got more girls than anyone. It makes sense to give one of—”
“I don’t think it is necessary to send one of the girls.”
There was a pause as Bobo Shahgul’s sons waited for her to explain.
“We will offer Shekiba.”
I am not one of the girls.
“Shekiba-e-shola? Are you joking? He’ll take one look at her and come after us demanding twice what we owe! To offer Shekiba will offend him, for sure!”
Shekiba closed her eyes and pressed the back of her head against the wall.
Your name means “gift,” my daughter. You are a gift from Allah.
“Zalmai, I want you to speak to Azizullah and tell him that his son is still young. God willing, he and his father have long lives ahead of them with plenty of time to arrange for a suitable marriage. Tell him it would be more useful for them to have someone who can help them at home now. Tell him a happy wife bears more sons. Then you can offer Shekiba.”
“But what if he says no?”
“He won’t. Just be sure to tell him that she is very capable. That she has the back of a young man and can manage a household. She is a reasonable cook and she keeps quiet, now that she’s been tamed. Tell him that it is an honorable thing to take in an orphan and that Allah will reward him for bringing her into his home. She will be like a second wife without the price.”
“And what about the work she’s doing here? Who will do that?”
“The same lazy women who were doing it before Shekiba came here!” Bobo Shahgul snapped. “Your wives have been spoiled. They have taken to lying about, drinking tea and making my ears ache with their chatter. It will be good for them to get back on their feet. This is a home, not the royal palace.”
The brothers grunted. Would Azizullah really take the offer? they wondered. Better to try than to argue on whose daughter would be given as a bride otherwise.
“Say nothing to your wives now. No need to go stirring the henhouse yet. First let us discuss matters with Azizullah.”