She was so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed Agha Baraan sitting on a bench, sheets of paper in his hand.
“As-salaam-alaikum,” he said gently.
Shekib turned sharply. When she realized who it was that had startled her, she turned her shoulders and head so her right faced him.
“Wa… wa-alaikum as-salaam,” she whispered.
He turned back to his papers, reading thoughtfully.
Shekib took a step to leave but realized she had walked into a rare opportunity. Here was a link to the palace, a man very close to Amanullah. There were no walls between them, no interferences. She could speak to him, if she could make her voice follow her command.
“I… I guard the harem,” she said simply.
Baraan looked up, his brown eyes surprised. “Yes, I remember. We saw you earlier today by the courtyard. You have an important position here in the palace.”
Everybody has a role in the palace.
“Yes. And it seems you do as well.”
He chuckled. “That will depend on who you speak with.”
“What is it that you do?”
“What do I do? Well, I am an adviser, you could say. I work with one of the viziers. An assistant to the assistant, so to speak.”
Do palace people always speak in riddles? Shekib wondered, thinking of his earlier conversation with Amanullah. “Are you in the army?” she asked. Her voice no longer trembled. His demeanor, his voice, his words told her he was not a threat.
“I am not. I work with them but I am not a soldier myself.”
“I don’t know anything about Kabul.”
“You are from a village. That is not surprising.”
There was condescension in his voice but Shekib chose to ignore it.
“What is your name?”
She paused before she answered. “Shekib.”
“Shekib, I see. And the name your parents gave you?”
“Shekiba.”
“Shekiba-jan. My name is Agha Baraan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Is your family nearby?”
“I have no family.” The words rolled off her tongue before she could reconsider. But it was the truth. Bobo Shahgul and her uncles had made that abundantly clear.
“I am sorry to hear that.”
Shekib suddenly remembered her plan. If she wanted to change her naseeb, she could not waste an opportunity like this. She tried to recover from her misstep.
“I mean, I had a family but now I live here. I no longer see my family. But I had many brothers. I am the only daughter in a long line of sons. My aunts all had boys. My grandmother too.”
Agha Baraan’s lips tightened slightly. He looked away for a moment before returning to Shekib. “Their husbands must be happy.”
“They were.” She fidgeted; her tongue felt thick with lies. He watched her. She wondered if he had sensed the dishonesty in her voice.
“Are you content here in the palace?”
“Yes… mostly.” Shekib hesitated. She was not sure how much to say. “The palace is beautiful.”
“It is. You are in Kabul, in the king’s palace, the heart of Afghanistan. It is here within these walls that history is made.”
Such grandiose talk, she thought, but she let her expression reveal nothing. “The king’s son.” She could not bring herself to utter his name. “He is an important man?”
“He is and he is not.”
“That’s not possible.”
Baraan raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“Because he either is or he isn’t. He cannot be both,” she said bluntly.
He chuckled again. “You disapprove of contradictions. Well, you are ill prepared for life in the palace then. These walls are home to all that is and is not.”
Two soldiers walked by and looked at them curiously. Shekib saw one whisper something to the other. She turned away from Agha Baraan abruptly and straightened her back.
“I need to get back to the harem.”
She was clumsy and unrefined, Baraan thought, but interesting in an odd way. He wondered how she had gotten her scar and how much of what she had said was true.
CHAPTER 37. RAHIMA
Badriya looked surprised.
“It’s just that you look like it’s bothering you. You’ve been holding your back all day long. I think you’d feel better if you let me rub it.”
“That’s just what I need. You’re right. I have some oil here. Let me lie down.” She wasted no time leading the way back to her bed, where she stretched out on her side, her back to me. She wiggled her dress up to her neck, looking over to make sure the door was closed.
I dipped my fingers into the tin of animal fat and started to knead into her back. Rolls of skin hung loosely around her waist.
“Wooeee wooooeee,” she moaned. I rolled my eyes. She tended to complain about her back only when there was something to be done around the house. Other times, she loved to point out that she was more active than Jameela and even Shahnaz, who were both much younger than her. Just another one of her contradictions.
She was putting on a good show now, although it wasn’t necessary.
“Akkkh, you’re young. You have no idea what aches and pains are. Have a couple more children and you’ll see. My back, my knees, even my neck! Every part of me hurts from morning to night. And the road from here to Kabul is long and bumpy. My muscles get so stiff that by the time we get to the city, I can barely straighten my legs.”
I kneaded harder, knowing she loved the attention. She had brought up Kabul, though, and I searched for a way to broach Khala Shaima’s idea.
“Are you going back to Kabul soon?”
“In about three weeks. The parliament is meeting again. We have to vote on a couple of laws and there are some subjects up for discussion. Things you wouldn’t understand.”
My massage must have relaxed her. She was falling into her old habits and boasting about her position. This was what had gotten her black and blue under Abdul Khaliq’s fist before she’d even taken the seat in the jirga.
“It must be a lot of work for you to do while you’re there.”
“Oh, it is. It’s a huge responsibility. And going back and forth from here to Kabul is exhausting. It’s not easy.”
“You must be so tired.” My tongue felt heavy and awkward saying things I didn’t mean. Badriya hardly lifted a finger around the house and her children were mostly grown. They helped her with what little she had to do. And if she was so happy to have been elected to the seat in the jirga, then she should have been happy to travel to Kabul.
“I am — I am so tired. Push harder here,” she said, pointing somewhere in her lower back.
I told myself not to huff. My fingers started to cramp but I dug my palms in where she had pointed. I needed her cooperation for the plan that was starting to take shape in my mind. Khala Shaima had planted a seed.
“You know, I was thinking, maybe I could help you in Kabul.”
“You? Help me?” Badriya balked. I gritted my teeth. “You’re young, just a girl! You know nothing about the jirga or what goes on there. It’s government business, not child’s play.”
It had been a long time since I’d had time for any kind of child’s play. And, as Khala Shaima had explained, Badriya had no experience or knowledge to qualify her to participate in the parliament. She was there only because Abdul Khaliq wanted her to be.
“I just thought I could help you with some of the smaller things, like filling out any paperwork or reading through the Kabul newspapers…”