Shekiba, the gift, she thought miserably.
Azizullah took her past the masjid to a small home about a quarter of a kilometer away. He knocked at the front door.
“Salaam, Faizullah-jan,” he said with his hand on his chest.
“Agha Azizullah, how nice to see you! Are you on your way to Jumaa prayers?”
“Most certainly. But I had a favor to ask of you. This is my servant. I am taking her to visit her family after prayers have finished but I hoped I could trouble your wife to watch over her until then. I cannot leave her out in the street.”
“Oh, of course! I heard you had taken in Bobo Shahgul’s grandchild, the one with the half face. Have her stay in the courtyard. Not a good idea to leave an idle girl in the marketplace.”
Shekiba was directed to a stool with a view of the outhouse. She rested her head against the wall. The smell from the outhouse was overwhelming but she dared not move her seat, afraid to anger her unseen hostess.
She never met the man’s wife or children but she could hear them inside. Crying. Laughing. Running.
The sounds of a family.
I could leave now, Shekiba thought. What if I just opened the door and left? I can find my home from here. I could look for the deed and maybe even make it back for the end of prayers.
But Azizullah would probably come back and find her gone. Or the lady of the house would notice that the burqa had disappeared from the courtyard and tell him. And then what? Shekiba feared angering Azizullah mostly because she feared being sent back to Bobo Shahgul’s house. Nothing would be worse. At least, nothing she could think of.
Azizullah returned and thanked his friend for allowing Shekiba to stay. He gave her a nod and again they were on the dirt road, this time headed toward Bobo Shahgul’s house. When they arrived, Hameed answered the gate.
“Salaam!” Hameed called out.
“Salaam, bachem. Where is your father? Your uncles? I did not see them at Jumaa prayers. Did they not go?”
“No, sahib. No, and if you only knew what Bobo-jan told them for being so lazy.” Hameed never could keep anything to himself.
Azizullah chuckled. “Well, may God forgive their sins even if your bobo-jan will not. Tell them your kaka Azizullah and your cousin are paying a visit.”
Hameed led them into the courtyard and ran inside announcing their arrival at a volume that rivaled the mullah’s azaan, call to prayer.
“Bobo-jaaaaaaaan! Bobaaaaaaaaaa! Kaka Azizullah brought Shekiba baaaack!”
Shekiba panicked even more and turned to look at Azizullah’s face. Had he really brought her for a visit or was he returning her to this house? Maybe Marjan had complained about her? About the way she sat? About her odd questions? Her palms grew sweaty. The burqa was suffocating.
Azizullah’s attention had turned to a flowering bush. He was examining the petals and did not seem to notice Hameed’s announcement.
Kaka Freidun appeared in the doorway. He looked unsettled.
“Agha Azizullah! Welcome! How wonderful to see you.” Kaka Freidun extended his arms in greeting. The men hugged and exchanged customary pecks on the cheek. “How are you? How is your family?”
“Everyone is well, thank you. And you? Bobo Shahgul is in good health, I pray?”
“Ah, the usual aches and pains of age and unruly children,” he joked, shooting me a glaring look. He thinks I have done something wrong. Already, he would love to punish me.
“Your family is blessed to have her at this age. I still grieve my mother, God rest her soul, and it has already been two years since she passed.”
“May Allah forgive her and may heaven be her place of rest,” Freidun said. “Please come in. Join us for a cup of tea.”
They walked toward the house and Shekiba stood a few meters back. She felt out of place and shifted on her feet. She was within her family’s courtyard but she kept her burqa on. She preferred its cover for the time being.
“Azizullah-jan, we have not seen each other in some time. I hope that things are well at home.” Freidun’s statement was more of a question. He was trying to gauge the reason behind the visit.
“Yes, yes, things are well. And you? How is the family doing? How is the farm? Are your crops doing well this year?”
“As well as can be expected, with the lack of rain. The dry skies do not help but we are hoping to make at least enough to get by.”
“I have heard similar complaints from others around town. And where is Bobo Shahgul? Is she resting?”
“She went to lie down after she finished her prayers,” Freidun said. “Did you want to speak to her?” Again, he looked anxious.
Kaka Zalmai and Kaka Sheeragha entered the courtyard, their expressions mirroring their brother’s. Azizullah stood and the men hugged and exchanged brief pleasantries.
Her uncles pretended not to notice her in the background. Shekiba knew she should go through the back door and find the women but she had little interest in doing so.
“Shekiba wanted to pay a visit to the family, since Eid is coming next week. She missed everyone a great deal and wanted to say hello, especially to Bobo Shahgul.”
Her uncles could not conceal their surprise. After a moment, Kaka Freidun nodded smugly.
“Ah, I see. I am not surprised. Bobo Shahgul is much loved by all her grandchildren.”
He thinks I regret how I left. He’s even dumber than his wife.
“Her grandmother is probably about to wake up from her rest and will surely be surprised to see her,” Freidun said.
Shekiba’s lips tightened with frustration.
“Well, you have come all this way. Let us go inside and share a cup of tea with you, dear friend. Surely Bobo Shahgul will be happy for the time with her dear granddaughter!” Freidun said glibly.
Zalmai and Sheeragha shared a smirk.
Shekiba felt like a puppet; her arms and legs were being directed by her uncle. What else could she do? Her every move was propelled by her desire to stay out of this house. If Azizullah saw her as an insolent girl, she risked being returned to her family.
Her legs obeyed and she walked slowly through the back door of the house. She passed by Khala Samina’s son, Ashraf, who was carrying a tray of steaming teacups and bowls of raisins and nuts. The cups rattled with his unbalanced nerves.
Shekiba walked into the hallway and paused. Should she really go to her grandmother? Would they check on her? She lifted her burqa and let it drape from her head.
Khala Samina appeared in the hallway. She was thin framed, more petite than her sisters-in-law.
“Salaam, Shekiba,” she said quietly. “She knows you’re here. She’s waiting for you.”
“Salaam,” Shekiba answered.
“Shekiba…”
She turned around to look at her aunt, who was scratching her forehead. She took a few steps toward Shekiba and lowered her voice.
“She is an ornery old lady. Don’t give her any reasons. She knows no other means of entertaining herself.”