“Settled down? Settled down where? In this house or do you mean the whole country? And when do you think that will be, because as far as I can remember these children have been living under rocket fire for their entire lives! For God’s sake, I can’t even remember a day when this country wasn’t at war.”
“I know that, Shaima-jan, but I don’t think you understand my situation. If their father forbids them from—”
“Their father can eat shit.”
“Shaima!”
Shahla and Parwin both froze. That was more than we would have expected, even from Khala Shaima.
“You’re so defensive about him! Open your eyes, Raisa! Can’t you see what he is?”
“What he is, is my husband!” Madar-jan yelled, louder than we’d ever heard her before. “And you have to understand that! Please! Don’t you think I know better than anyone what he is or isn’t? What can I do?”
“Your husband is an idiot. That’s why I worry about these girls being around him. Sit with us and you’ll be one of us. Sit with a pot and you’ll be black.”
“Shaima, please!”
Khala Shaima sighed and relented. “Fine. All right then, Raisa. But that’s why I keep coming here and harping after these girls. Somebody needs to oppose him.”
“And who better than…”
“That’s right,” Khala Shaima said with satisfaction. She turned her attention back to me. Shahla and Parwin resumed their work but at a slower pace, unnerved by Madar-jan’s yelling. “So, tell me then. Have you been adjusting well? No troubles with the boys?”
“No, no trouble, Khala-jan. I’ve been playing soccer and I’m better than my cousin Muneer, I think.”
“And no one’s said anything to you?”
“No, Khala-jan.”
“Good. And what kinds of things are you doing to help your mother?”
“Rahim’s been going to the market for me. The store owners give him better prices than they do me.”
“Don’t forget, Madar-jan. I’ve been working with Agha Barakzai and he’s been giving me a little money!”
“I was getting to that, Rahim. You know Agha Barakzai has that little shop in the village. Well, he’s been in need of help with errands and I asked Rahim to stop by there and see if he could pick up a bit of work. Agha Barakzai can hardly see anymore with his terrible eyes.”
“You’re a working boy! Now, that’s news!” Khala Shaima clapped her hands together.
“Yup, I go all around town and no one bothers me. I can do anything! I even saw Padar’s friend Abdul Khaliq yesterday.”
Madar-jan stiffened and looked at me.
“Who did you see?”
“Abdul Khaliq,” I repeated, quieter this time. Khala Shaima looked as displeased as my mother. I wondered if I’d done something wrong.
“Did he say something to you?”
“Not much. He bought me a snack and told me I was coming along nicely.”
Madar-jan shot another look at Khala Shaima, who shook her head.
“Raisa, that is not a man to have your children tagging along after. Not even Rahim!”
“You’ll stay away from that man, Rahim,” Madar-jan said, warning me, her eyes wide and serious. “Do you understand me?”
I nodded. My sisters fidgeted in the silence that followed.
“Khala Shaima, could you tell us more about Bibi Shekiba?” Parwin asked.
“Bibi Shekiba? Ah, you want to know more? Well, let me see if I can remember where I left off…”
Just as Khala Shaima leaned back and closed her eyes to tell us more of the story, we heard the door open. My grandmother rarely came to visit us but Padar-jan had been gone two months and she felt compelled to check up on things, especially when she saw Khala Shaima hobble through the front gate. Khala Shaima treated my grandmother with respect, but it was measured and anything but warm. My grandmother, on the other hand, felt no obligation to put on airs with my aunt.
“Salaam,” she called as she entered. My mother jumped to her feet, startling Sitara, who had nearly fallen asleep. She adjusted the top of her dress and walked to the door to greet her mother-in-law.
Khala Shaima took her time but pushed herself up to greet her sister’s mother-in-law.
“Salaam, Khala-jan. How is your health? Well, I hope.” She almost sounded sincere. My sisters and I kissed her hands. She sat down across from my mother and Shahla brought a cup of tea from the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re here, Shaima-jan! How nice of you to drop by again so soon.”
I could hear it in my grandmother’s voice: You come too often. Khala Shaima said nothing.
“You’ve heard nothing from Arif-jan? Any word on when they’ll return?”
Madar-jan shook her head. “No, Khala-jan. Nothing at all. I pray they will return soon.”
“In the meantime, I’ve spoken with Mursal-jan and her family has agreed to give their daughter’s hand in marriage for Obaid.” Obaid was my father’s brother. This was surprising news.
“Obaid-jan? Oh, I didn’t realize…”
“Yes. So we’ll be preparing for her arrival. We will have their nikkah in two months’ time, inshallah. This will be a blessing for our family. A second wife will bring him more children and grow our family.”
“They have five children, nam-e-khoda,” Madar-jan said softly.
“Yes, but only two boys. Boys are blessings and Obaid wants more sons. Better to have more children than to try to change the ones you have. Anyway, I’ve made you aware. Fatima may call on you for help preparing a place for his new wife. This is happy news and we’ll all take part in it.”
“Of course, Khala-jan. It’s wonderful news.” Madar-jan’s voice was soft. Khala Shaima watched the interaction with narrowed eyes.
“Hopefully, there will be more of it in the future,” she said, nodding her head.
My grandmother got back up and walked to the door.
“Anyway, that’s all for now. Shaima-jan, send my regards to the family, will you please? I guess you’ll be leaving soon, as it is getting late.”
“You’re too kind, Khala-jan. You make me feel so welcomed here, it’s difficult to leave.”
I saw my grandmother’s shoulders stiffen before she left and the way Madar-jan and Khala Shaima looked at each other. Khala Shaima shook her head. This meant bad news for our household.
“Come, girls, let me tell you more about Bibi Shekiba. I’ll tell you how easily women pass from one place to another, from one home to another. What happens once, happens twice and then a third time…”
CHAPTER 11. SHEKIBA
Azizullah sat in the living room with his brother, Hafizullah. There were two other men with them as well but Shekiba did not know their names and had never seen them before. They had white turbans on their heads and pale blue tunics and pantaloons. Hafizullah wore a brown vest over his tunic, his prayer beads hanging from the pocket.
“Shekiba, Padar-jan wants the food to be ready in twenty minutes,” announced Haris. “He says they’re going to leave soon so it better not take too long.”
Shekiba nodded nervously, knowing the rice would have to be a touch undercooked. She added more oil to the pot, hoping that the extra grease would soften the grains.