I wasn’t worried about that at all. Shahla and Parwin could cook nearly as well as Madar-jan. But the mention of them made my heart ache. It had been two weeks since we were taken away from our home. I wondered what my mother was doing. I could picture my father, asleep in our living room with a satisfied smile on his face, clouds of heady smoke around him and his stomach heavy with food.
“Shahnaz, how can I see my sisters? I miss them so much! Parwin is so close by. Can I go to visit her?”
“Not a question to ask me. Ask your husband. Or your mother-in-law,” she said. I wasn’t sure if that was really a good idea or if she was setting me up again.
I saw my mother-in-law most afternoons. My third day at the compound, I was summoned back to the main house but this time by my husband’s first wife, Badriya. There was laundry to be done. Badriya was also Bibi Gulalai’s second cousin and, therefore, her favorite bride. Abdul Khaliq treated Badriya well, since she had been a good wife to him and because there was a family relation to respect. But as he added newer, younger wives to his compound, she spent fewer and fewer nights in his bed. This was a point of contention, though I couldn’t understand why.
Badriya was nothing near pretty. Her cheeks hung low and she had two moles above her mouth, a constellation that looked to me like the letter tay. Her face was as thick as her hips, but she didn’t need looks. Now in her thirties, she was heavyset, her girth widened by the five sons and two daughters she had proudly borne her husband. Bibi Gulalai loved the grandchildren Badriya had given her and boasted about them to the other wives. This fed the tensions among Abdul Khaliq’s wives and kept life interesting for Bibi Gulalai.
“Make sure she does a good job, Badriya. This girl has a lot to learn. She was a bacha posh, don’t forget. Can you believe that? A bacha posh at this age! No wonder she has no clue how to carry herself as a woman. Look at the way she walks, her hair, her fingernails! Her mother should be ashamed of herself.”
Badriya was resentful of Abdul Khaliq taking me on as a fourth wife, but he was a warlord and this was common practice for anyone, so she bit her tongue as any good wife did. Badriya had nothing to complain about anyway. She had the best house in the compound, the one with an actual bed and sofas in the living room. She had a cook and a housekeeper to tend to all the chores in her house. She was the most esteemed wife, the one Abdul Khaliq would discuss matters with, and she made sure the others knew as much.
There was a rhythm and routine to life in the compound. The wives tended to their children while Abdul Khaliq tended to his affairs, whatever that meant. There hadn’t been any armed fighting lately, but nearly every day he and his bodyguards sped off in his three black SUVs, clouds of dust in their wake. His entourage circled him as he walked, nodding when he gave out orders and keeping away from any of the women in the compound. The men ate meals together, served by the housekeepers that Abdul Khaliq had brought on. They ate in Abdul Khaliq’s entertaining room, a carpeted room with a perimeter of cushions and pillows on which the men reclined, licking their fingers and sipping their tea as they discussed the day’s affairs. When they were finished, the women and children ate what was left. The servants were the third round, hoping enough had slipped through the many greedy fingers before them.
The women never left the compound. The children played together and fought together as brothers and sisters but subdivided. Half brothers got along most of the time but a casual game of soccer could quickly disintegrate into a scuffle where the sons of the first wife teamed up against the sons of the second. The same held true for the girls, who could become catty in the blink of an eye.
Badriya had no problem putting me to work. Nor did anyone else. Though they had plenty of help at the compound, the women seemed to derive a special pleasure from making me take on the most menial of tasks, especially since I fumbled with them. I swept the floors, washed the diapers and cleaned the western toilets as best I could. My hands burned at the end of the day and all I wanted to do was lay my head down. Most nights, that wasn’t possible. Abdul Khaliq called for me to join him in his bedroom to repeat what he had done the night before. And the night before that.
My insides burned and I walked as if a shard of glass was stuck in my underwear. Sometimes I would wake up in the night remembering. It made it impossible to go back to sleep. I would pull my thighs together tight and curl up, praying he would tire of me. I wished my monthly bleeding would come more often but it had only started six months ago and came infrequently. My only escape was training my mind to wander when I was with him. I would close my eyes or stare at a stain on the wall, like seeing shapes in the clouds.
During the day I watched the compound’s walls, hoping for a glimpse of my sister. I prayed Parwin would hobble into our courtyard unannounced and surprise me with a visit, a drawing, a smile. I couldn’t bear to think of what her days were like. I hoped she didn’t have to do all the things I had to do. Parwin’s legs moved slowly, clumsily. People didn’t like that. If the people around her were anything like the people around me, she was sure to be punished. I’d been smacked around more than once for a job not done well enough.
I couldn’t bear knowing my sister was just over the wall. I wanted to see her. I wanted to look at a face that knew me, that loved me. I couldn’t bear it anymore and worked up the nerve to ask Bibi Gulalai when I saw her walking through the courtyard.
“Khala-jan! Khala-jan!” I panted, running up behind her.
My mother-in-law turned around, already displeased. When I reached her she wasted no time and slapped my face.
“What are you doing yelling and running like that? My God! You have absolutely no idea how to behave yourself! Have you learned nothing here yet?”
My face stung and my mouth gaped as I searched for an apology that wouldn’t make her angrier.
“Forgive me, Khala-jan, but I wanted to speak with you before you left. Good morning. How are you feeling?” I asked, not really caring but trying to show her that I did have some manners.
“You came running across the yard like a rabid dog to ask me that?”
There was no winning with her.
“Khala-jan, I wanted to ask you something. I really miss my sisters. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen either one of them or anyone from my family. Would it be possible that I could see my sister Parwin, at least? She’s just next door and I—”
“You were not brought here to go playing with your sister and taking her away from her responsibilities as well. It’s bad enough that you can’t manage what’s asked of you here! This is your family now. Stop thinking about anything else and go finish your chores. Your sister is hardly a help over there with her limp leg. Forget about making things even worse.”
“But, please, Khala-jan. Just to see her for a few moments. I promise I’ll have all my work done. I’ve already washed the floors and beaten the dust from the carpets this morning. I could even go there and help her with whatever she needs to do—”
Another slap across my face. I took a step back and felt my eyes blur with tears. I was always surprised by the amount of force her wrinkled fingers brought.
“You had better learn to hear what I say the first time I say it.”
She turned her back to me and walked out of the courtyard, shaking her head.
I shouldn’t have been surprised but I was. My sister was yards away but she might as well have been across the country. Bibi Gulalai made me wonder even more how she was doing, with her “limp leg.” I prayed the other wives had some sympathy for her, that there was at least one kind face.