“Well, you boys enjoy yourselves. Kamal, give your father my regards when you speak to him. Tell him I’ll be waiting for a visit when he returns. It would be nice to catch up with him at the end of the semester.”
“Of course, Mr. Hakan. I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll be most pleased to hear from you. Just a few more weeks and he’ll be home.”
Hakan walked out of the kitchen, and Kamal punched Saleem in the shoulder playfully.
“Hey, come on, man. Get that look off your face! And some of that sweat, too, while you’re at it.”
Saleem smiled sheepishly and went to wash the hard day’s work from his face, neck, and arms. Madar-jan, Samira, and Aziz were in the back bedroom. Aziz was already asleep and Madar-jan was braiding Samira’s hair. Saleem greeted them and leaned over to kiss his mother’s cheek. She had met Kamal, she told him, and was happy that Hakan seemed to know his family. He seemed like a nice young man.
“He is,” Saleem said. “We’re going to go for a little walk, all right? I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay, bachem. Be careful and don’t stay too late. A mother should see her son’s face too, you know.” Saleem promised to return soon and walked back out to find Kamal waiting impatiently behind the house, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.
“Ah, much better! Now maybe you won’t scare the girls away,” he said, laughing.
Saleem and the professor’s son went out into the market in search of some mischief that would entertain them for about an hour. It was a taste of a life so deliciously normal that Saleem wanted to fall to his knees and pray for it to last.
CHAPTER 23. Saleem
KAMAL, HAKAN, AND HAYAL MADE SALEEM FEEL SETTLED IN INTIKAL, thousands of miles from “home.” It was harder to think of Intikal as just a temporary stop on their way to England.
Aziz’s condition had improved slightly. His weight and appetite still lagged, but he didn’t look as uncomfortable. Madar-jan gave his doses religiously and was grateful for his improvement. In her second visit with the good Doctor Ozdemir, Madar-jan had prepared a special dish of mantu dumplings. She had felt compelled to show her gratitude somehow, but he again declined any fee for the visit.
But even as things seemed to be turning around, Saleem knew they would eventually have to plan their next move if they were to make it to England. Madar-jan had called their family in England several times but was unable to get through.
She seemed reluctant to call again even though Saleem knew they were the Waziri family’s only hope. Aziz’s medications were an additional draw on the family’s meager monies. There was nothing to save him from the brutally long days at the Polat farm. If it weren’t for the generosity of Hakan and Hayal, they would have been on the street for sure.
Kamal and Saleem spent more time together off the soccer field. With the connection between Kamal’s father and Hakan, Madar-jan was even happier about Saleem’s new friend. She wanted him to be social and enjoy his time away from work. When Kamal invited Saleem to join him at his second cousin’s wedding in the village, Saleem was hesitant. He wasn’t certain how the rest of Kamal’s family would receive him, the migrant worker with manure under his fingernails. Madar-jan encouraged him to go.
Weddings in Kabul were major social events, dampened only in the last few years by the stringent restrictions of the Taliban. Madar-jan had always loved getting dressed up, the banquet halls, the music, and the sight of the bride and groom embarking on a new life together. Though she did not speak much about her own wedding, Saleem knew it was the first time she’d been the center of attention and that it had marked a break from the hardships of her childhood. More times than he could count, Saleem had heard the story of his parents’ wedding — the car draped in flowers and ribbons, the drummer who led their celebratory procession down the street, the music that had gone on until four in the morning.
“What will you wear, Saleem? Let’s see here. .” she said as she rummaged through his duffel bag and pulled out a pair of pants. She continued digging. “Here’s your button-down shirt. This should do. Why don’t you try it on?”
“Madar-jan, the wedding is three days away.”
“What if it doesn’t fit? Better we know now than on that day.”
The pants were undeniably short and the shirt hung loose on his shoulders. Madar-jan let out the one-inch hem and restitched it so that his ankles were not completely exposed. The pants and shirt would have to do.
On Friday night, Saleem walked the fifteen minutes to Kamal’s house, his palms sweaty. On his ride back from the farm, he’d started to imagine what it would be like as a total stranger amid a Turkish family’s private celebration. He had serious doubts about going. Afraid of disappointing Kamal, he chose to push his apprehensions aside.
Saleem would be joining Kamal and two of his cousins to drive to the wedding together. The rest of the family had already left. The celebration was being held at a farmhouse outside of town, and the boys were eager to get there before dinner was served.
Kamal’s cousins were older, in their twenties, but cut of the same unruly cloth. They were chain-smoking young men who told lewd jokes and went home to mom’s cooking every night. The cousins barely raised an eyebrow to see Saleem, reassuringly disinterested. They parked the car and headed into the house, hoping that they had timed their arrival well to miss the religious ceremonies and make it for the food and music that would follow.
They were right on time. The bride’s and groom’s families were shaking hands and congratulating one another. The smell of roasted meats and baked cheeses wafted through the air. Food was to be served shortly and this left time for the guests to wander around, for relatives to catch up on gossip, stories of the old days, and complaints about the unseasonably hot weather.
Saleem drank it all in. This could be an Afghan wedding, he thought to himself. It really was no different. A circle of men chatted in one corner. Women were laughing in another. Turks and Afghans were more alike than he had thought.
The food was delicious. Since Saleem had barely had time to eat anything when he came home from work, he arrived at the party ravenous. He kept his eyes on his plate. Quite a few girls in the room had caught his attention, but he did not want to be caught ogling them. Although they were dressed modestly, their calf-length dresses showed off the shapes of their youthful curves. One girl had chestnut hair that curled around her face and brushed against her cherry lips. Saleem made extra effort not to stare in her direction.
“Do you want some more food? I’m going for seconds. Or maybe you’re worried you’ll split your pants?” Kamal said, nudging Saleem with his elbow as he stood up.
“No, I’ll come with you. I would gladly split my pants for this kebab.” They walked over to the long tables where trays of food were laid out. Off in the corner, the bride and groom stood chatting with a few guests.
“The family’s been waiting a long time for this wedding,” Kamal explained. “The bride is my cousin. The groom comes from a family that lives nearby, a neighboring farm. He’s been in love with her for years. There’s another family that wanted her to marry their son so that they’ll inherit this land eventually, but she wasn’t interested and her father doesn’t like them anyway.”