Nadia Hashimi - A House Without Windows

“And you, Khanum, do you have anything to add in your defense? The murder of your husband, this is a very heavy charge.”

Zeba shook her head, her ears buzzing. The room seemed to dim. She was there again, locked in that moment. She hadn’t been able to go near her husband’s body though she’d wanted desperately to close his eyes. They were bright and vengeful even as his lips grayed. His mouth had been half open in a look of surprise. Even as she’d backed away, shaking, she’d thought it was terrible that he would die with that dumbfounded, angry look on his face. He’d been such a handsome man once.

The prosecutor was talking, but Zeba wasn’t listening. She tried to keep her eyes off the manila folder. It might as well have been a noose.

There were stairs in the hallway. If she could get to the top of the building and jump off, she could end this ordeal now. Would they bury her next to Kamal? Husbands and wives were supposed to be reunited in the afterlife, she’d heard. But God couldn’t possibly be that cruel, could He?

You’re mine forever, my husband would say

But I’m certain we’ll be parted come Judgment Day.

Zeba longed to be that bird of solitude she’d sung about just days ago. The melody replayed in her head and calmed her enough that she remembered to breathe. To be alone was to be free.

KAMAL HAD TRIED TO SAY HER NAME, BUT HE HADN’T BEEN ABLE to get it out. He couldn’t even say her name one last time. There was something profoundly sad about that, Zeba thought.

She’d seen the darkness very clearly that day, crisp and stark against the sun’s brilliance. Like steam, it seeped out of his pores, a thousand tiny clouds that merged into one, weaving around his twitching arms and legs. Slowly, the twitching stopped, and the dark cloud began to unravel. It uncoiled and traced a path along Kamal’s leg, around his hip, and up to his chest where it coaxed the last breath from Kamal’s lungs. It swarmed around his face. Zeba saw it, so clearly and vividly she could have grabbed it if she’d dared. Kamal’s face began to droop under the weight of it. As the seconds ticked by, the darkness slid along the ground and melted into the earth behind the outhouse.

Would it come back for her? For her children?

Rima was crying. Zeba could not rise to her feet. She could not face her daughter with the splotches of blood on her hands and face. And although he looked utterly lifeless, Zeba knew now that Kamal was not a person to be trusted, even in death. She needed to watch over him — to make sure he did not twitch his way back to life. Rima would have to wait. Zeba was doing the best she could for her. She could imagine Rima, alone in the kitchen, crawling around in search of her mother.

Shhh, Zeba had whispered from behind the house. Sweet girl, don’t cry. Piece of my heart, don’t cry. Something terrible has happened but we cannot cry about it.

Zeba watched for the darkness. She made sure it didn’t come back around the corner and slither back into their home where Rima bawled, uncomprehending.

Basir’s voice rang through the courtyard. He was calling out to her. Her children were home. He would find her soon enough.

Allah had ninety-nine names. He was the Merciful, the Beneficent, the Protector . He was also the Reckoner, the Forgiver, the Avenger . He was the All-Knowing and the Witness .

Zeba bit her tongue. She wouldn’t pray to Him until she knew which of those names to choose from. But if she couldn’t pray, was she not already damned?

“KHANUM? KHANUM! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”

Zeba’s breaths shortened, sharpened. Her legs felt like lead, and the walls of the judge’s office seemed to bend inward as if they were being pushed from the outside. How was that possible?

Something rose in her chest, clawing its way to the surface, hungry for air. She tightened every muscle and tried to push it back down, to bury it for just a little while longer, but it refused to be tamed.

“Khanum, did you hear what I said? Have you anything to. .”

Zeba’s head lifted. Yusuf’s mouth slipped open in a dumbfounded stare reminiscent of Kamal’s last moments. The prosecutor put down his cup of tea and watched through narrowed eyes.

A tingling sensation crept up from the tips of Zeba’s fingers to her hands. By the time it reached her shoulders, Zeba was no longer in control. She opened her mouth and a piercing howl erupted, quite indecorously, in the qazi ’s office.

ZEBA WAS FORCIBLY RESTRAINED AND LED BACK TO HER CELL AT the women’s prison. Nafisa had stuffed her cell phone into her pillowcase at the sound of the door opening, not wanting it to be confiscated again. Zeba’s cellmates gawked at the sight of the guards dragging her limp frame onto the bed, where she curled up on her side and faced the wall, shutting her eyes to their stares and falling into a deep slumber. She slept all afternoon, through the evening, and into morning. She did not waken for breakfast or lunch. Nafisa and Mezhgan sat on the edge of the bed and whispered about her. Latifa’s round face loomed just inches from Zeba’s, peering at her with irreverent curiosity.

“What are you doing? Get away from her face!”

“I want to see if she’s breathing. A dead cellmate will stink this place up really quickly,” Latifa whispered.

“She’s sleeping, you goat,” Nafisa hissed. “Let her sleep as long as she wants. She’s not much different when she’s awake. The judge thinks she’s a little crazy. That’s what the guard said.”

In the evening, just as her cellmates were finishing dinner, Zeba opened her eyes. Her limbs and neck felt stiff. Zeba sat up slowly, feeling her head spin.

Latifa scoffed.

“Our roommate has risen from the dead. A little late for dinner but I’m not complaining,” she declared and slid another ball of rice into her mouth. “You’re back just in time to hear the big news. Our darling Nafisa passed her test! Her purity has been confirmed!” Latifa threw a heavy arm around Nafisa’s shoulders while the poor girl’s face turned a splotchy red.

“Latifa!” she protested, throwing the arm off her and turning away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mezhgan shook her head.

“You’re a bully, Latifa. Leave the girl alone. She’s been through enough, spreading her legs for that stupid doctor.”

Latifa grinned but said nothing more.

“I’m happy for you, Nafisa.” Zeba’s voice was somber.

“Yes,” Mezhgan said sweetly. “You’ve got your honor. There’s hope for you now. And, Khanum Zeba, you will enjoy this. I even wrote a couplet for her!

“Innocence is a word that can only be spoken

If your womanly veil has yet to be broken.”

Zeba felt her lips lift in smile. Her couplets had always been a solitary habit, a private escape. It was surprisingly enjoyable to hear someone else join in.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Latifa warned. “Who knows? The doctor might have taken your honor while he was in there.”

Nafisa’s eyes watered. She would forever be the tramp who’d been imprisoned for premarital sex, regardless of the doctor’s final statement in her case file. Would the widower want her as a wife after a flashlight had been shone on the place only one man was meant to claim? She flopped onto her bed and buried her face in a balled-up blanket. The women listened to her cry, mourning along with her.

YUSUF RETURNED THE NEXT DAY.

Women and their hysterics, one of the guards had muttered as she checked him in. When Yusuf looked up at her with a distinctly unamused expression, she picked up a pen and turned away to adjust the belt on her olive jacket.