Marjan turned back to her socks and looked up at Shekiba from the corner of her eye.
“What does it matter?”
“I would like to know.”
“She said that you argue.”
“Argue? With who?”
“You don’t know?”
“I did not argue with anyone there. I did everything they asked of me.”
“Well, seems like you’re arguing right now, aren’t you?”
“No,” she replied adamantly. She was desperate to defend herself. “I am not arguing! But whatever she said about me is not true!”
“Shekiba! Lower your voice! Forget what they said. Just busy yourself with the chores.”
Shekiba felt helpless. She retreated into the kitchen to begin dinner, angry and frustrated and forced to hide it.
Two days later Azizullah came home with his brother. They sat in the living room and shared a lunch of rice and eggplant. Shekiba frantically searched for excuses to loiter around the living room door, eager to hear their conversation.
“They will be traveling with around thirty people. I have asked that the house be readied. We are sparing no expense.”
“Your home will suit them fine, my brother. Better than our simple home would. Have you enough food for the night?”
“Yes, I’ve called in all my favors in town and we’re going to have a meal that even the king himself will talk about! It is costing me more than I had anticipated but I think this will be a great opportunity. For the both of us, do not forget.” Hafizullah was slick with confidence.
“I will be there for sure and if there’s anything we can do, we will do it,” Azizullah said. “But there is something I would like to offer to the king.”
“Oh? And what is that?” Hafizullah said, a half-chewed morsel still in his mouth.
“I would like to offer King Habibullah a gift of a servant.”
Shekiba’s heart began to pound.
“A servant? Which servant?”
“I do not have that many from which to choose,” Azizullah said, chuckling.
“You mean Shekiba-e-shola?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Oh, I don’t know about this. Brother, do you really think it is wise to make such a halfhearted offering to the king? You may anger him, you know.”
“She is a good worker and will serve the palace well. Is there not a way to make an honorable gesture of her?”
Shekiba, the gesture. Shekiba, the gift.
She felt insignificant and disposable to hear herself described that way. Again.
“Well, let me think on it. It is possible, I suppose. I mean, it’s not as if he needs to see her face… but you know there may be a good use for this girl in the palace after all. Now that I think of it — I just had a conversation with a general. You know General Homayoon, don’t you?”
“Yes, that no-good money-hungry fool. What were you doing with him?”
“He is a money-hungry fool but he’s likely going to be promoted, so watch what you say about him. Better to have this fool as your friend than your enemy. He told me that he has been placed in charge of recruiting soldiers to help guard King Habibullah’s harem. The king doesn’t trust men to watch over his women and he has collected a group of women who are kept as men. This way he need not worry that his guards will take advantage of his ladies.”
“Ah, what a brilliant solution! I am telling you, my brother, this girl is well suited for such a role. She walks and breathes like a man, my wife tells me.”
“Then we will arrange it,” Hafizullah declared. “I will speak to the general so that we can make the entourage aware of the gift before you present her to King Habibullah. This is a historic visit to our town and you will be making a mark. You can expect this to bring you many returns, I believe.”
Shekiba had heard enough. She walked back to the kitchen, her legs wobbly beneath her. Her head was spinning.
The king? The palace?
Words that were foreign to her.
Shekiba, the half face. The girl-boy who walks like a man.
Shekiba was not a whole anything, she realized.
CHAPTER 16. RAHIMA
Khala Shaima liked to keep us hanging. I wondered what would happen to Bibi Shekiba almost as much as I wondered what would happen to us. It seemed that we were both about to leave our homes.
Padar-jan spent more time away from home in the following weeks. When he did return, he scowled and barked orders more. Even Parwin’s soft singing, which he usually secretly enjoyed, provoked him. Madar-jan tried to keep him placated with ready meals and a quiet home but he inevitably found another reason to explode.
I spent more time at Agha Barakzai’s shop. It was my way of avoiding the guys without explaining what was happening. I worried that my mother was going to change me back into a girl and I wondered how Abdullah and Ashraf would react. I hated to be away from them, mostly Abdullah, but I was scared to be with them, too.
I lay awake at night, thinking about Abdullah and remembering the day Madar-jan had caught us play-fighting. Until the moment she called my name, it had been thrilling. I tingled to think of Abdullah’s face over mine, his long legs trapping my hips under him, his hands pinning my wrists. And his grin. I blushed in the dark.
I tried to make up to Madar-jan for what I had done. I tried to keep Padar-jan distracted from her, even if it meant him yelling at me. Even though I’d been relieved of housework when I became a bacha posh, I tried to help when I saw her washing clothes or beating the dust from the carpets.
Shahla didn’t say more than a few words to me every day. She was still upset and could sense from Madar-jan’s mood that trouble was brewing. She was quiet around Padar-jan, bringing him tea or food and leaving the room before he could realize she was one of those young women he had kept home for too long.
My grandmother stopped by more often. She was intrigued by the new wave of unrest in our home and wanted to see it for herself. Madar-jan tried to be as polite as she could.
“Tell my son that I want to talk to him. When he gets home, make sure he comes to see me.”
“Of course. What is it that you want to talk to him about?”
“Is it any business of yours? Just tell him what I’ve asked.”
Madar-jan knew what the topic was. Maybe this time her husband would be more interested in bringing another wife home.
I listened in when Padar-jan went to see his mother. I pretended to be playing with a ball in the courtyard and slowly kicked it further and further until I was right outside my grandmother’s living room. I heard her shrill voice loud and clear. My father, mumbling at times, was more difficult to make out.
“Bachem, it’s high time. You’ve given her plenty of opportunity to give you a son and she’s failed. Now, let’s bring a second wife for you so that you can finally expand this family.”
“And where am I going to put her? We have one room for all the girls as it is. There’s no money to build another space behind our home or to buy something else in town. I can always find a new wife. It’s the space and money that are harder to come by.”
“What about Abdul Khaliq? Hasn’t he promised to help you when you need?”
Padar-jan shook his head.
“The men are short on weapons, on supplies. There isn’t money to spare.”
“Psht. The hell there isn’t money. I’ve heard what he does. I’ve heard from the people in town about his horses, his wives, all his children. He’s got plenty!”