Nadia Hashimi - A House Without Windows

“But they’re of the same blood.”

“Yes, but the circumstances are different.”

“I’d like to be able to talk to Khanum Zeba’s children. They’re the only ones who know what things were like between their mother and father. How can I get to them?”

Hakimi laughed lightly and shook his head, ushering Yusuf toward the door.

“You’re being ridiculous. They’re only children. They don’t know anything about their parents, and they weren’t there when their father was killed — thank God they were spared that much. There’s no way that Fareed is going to let you near his nephew and nieces. You’d better find someone else to talk to.”

ONCE HAKIMI HAD LEFT HIM, YUSUF DECIDED TO CONTINUE HIS investigation. He knocked on the door of the house to the left of Zeba’s. There was the patter of small feet before the door swung open. A young boy, no more than six years old, peered at Yusuf.

“ Salaam! ” he said brightly.

“ Wa-alaikum salaam, ” Yusuf replied, burying a smile. The sight of young boys had had a surprising effect on him since his return, as if he were stepping back in time and seeing himself as a child.

“Who are you?” the boy asked. It was unusual to have strangers at the door.

“My name is Yusuf. Is your father home?”

“No, he’s working,” he answered. Just then his mother appeared behind him, sliding her head scarf over her forehead.

“Sorry, who are you? What do you need?” she said abruptly, pulling her son aside and closing the door just slightly.

Yusuf took two steps back.

“Forgive me, Khanum. I am looking into the terrible tragedy that happened next door to you. I was wondering if you or your husband wouldn’t mind helping me. I just have a few questions and won’t take much of your time.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“No, I have nothing to say about it. This is something for the police to take care of,” she replied as she gently closed the door on Yusuf.

The next four homes gave him the same response. The fifth refused to open the door. Yusuf was beginning to wonder if he’d wasted his time in coming out to the village. He’d learned nothing from visiting the house. Why was everyone so reluctant to talk about Zeba’s family? Where was the gossip mill when he needed it?

Two blocks away from Zeba’s home, Yusuf’s luck changed.

She was a sprightly, gray-haired woman who shouldn’t have come to the door herself but she’d been in the courtyard picking peppermint leaves and was probably happy to have someone to talk to. Yusuf crooked his neck to speak to her.

“Yes, I knew that family. For God’s sake, we all know that family! We almost live close enough to know when they’ve burned their dinner.”

Yusuf smiled brightly.

“What was Khanum Zeba like? Did you speak to her often?”

“Who are you? You’re not a police officer. Why are you asking so many peculiar questions?”

“No, and forgive me for not introducing myself properly. My name is Yusuf. I’m a lawyer working on the case.”

Yusuf found it better not to say, straight off, whose interest he represented.

“Oh, a lawyer. You’re not from the city, then,” she deduced, taking a closer look at him. “Good for you. Are you married? Where is your family from?”

Yusuf felt his potential being assessed. He half expected a dark-haired young woman to emerge from the house and bat her eyes at him. Had he imagined it or had the window curtains just fluttered?

“You’re a kind woman. You remind me so much of my aunt,” Yusuf interjected in an effort to redirect the conversation. “She was always friendly with the neighbors as well. Everyone loves her.”

“Is she dead?”

“No, no. . God forbid. She’s very well.” Yusuf was thrown by her comment.

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Why?”

“The way you talk about her. People only say nice things about the dead, so you never know what the truth is. You can be a brute in life, but the moment you die, all is forgiven. It used to make me mad, but now that I’m old and know what people say about me, I’m glad for it.”

“I’m sure people have only kind things to say about you,” Yusuf offered politely. “But what did you think about Khanum Zeba — since she’s still alive — was she a good person?”

“I saw her from time to time. Enough to know she was a good woman — always polite. She knew God.”

“And what about her husband?”

“Eh, he was a man. Nothing special about him.”

“Do you know if they fought? If he beat her?”

The woman let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Young man, I came out here to pick mint leaves,” she said, waving a fistful of greens in Yusuf’s face. “Do you see this? Half of this is weeds because my eyes can’t see the difference. Even if I’d seen those two with their arms around each other, I couldn’t tell if they’d been wild with passion or about to kill each other.”

“I suppose every family has its secrets.”

“Of course. And that man was up to no good. Even with these tired old eyes, I could see that.”

“What makes you say that?” Yusuf asked, intrigued.

“First of all, they moved to this neighborhood to get away from his family. They never said that was the reason, but I know it because I used to know his mother. My daughter-in-law’s sister is friends with his sister. No one in his family could stand him.”

“Do you know why?”

She shook her head and waved a hand in the air dismissively.

“Siblings are supposed to love each other but some people are so busy being jerks that they forget who their siblings are. They start being a jerk to everyone around them. I’ve raised my children differently, thank God. My own sons and daughters get along very well. When they were young, I used to tell them. .”

“I’m sure your children are quite different,” Yusuf gently interrupted. “How was Zeba when they moved into the neighborhood? Did you ever speak with her then?”

“That was years ago. She was friendly, actually. She was always very polite to me. She told me once that I reminded her of her mother.”

“Really?” Yusuf did not see a bit of resemblance between this woman and Gulnaz.

“Yes, and the way she said it, I almost thought her mother might be dead. But I met her once when she came to visit her daughter and grandchildren. Her mother’s much younger than me. And I think her vision is just fine. Both of us have lost our husbands, though. Maybe that reminded her of me. I can’t imagine what else.”

“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her and she’s an admirable woman, just like yourself.”

“I see. You’re one of those young men who knows all the right things to say,” she said with a smirk. “I like that.”

Yusuf laughed lightly.

“I hope I can ask the right questions as well,” he said, trying to stay on track. “When did you notice a change in Khanum Zeba? Did something happen?”

The old woman’s smile turned quickly into a scowl.

“She couldn’t take anymore, that’s what happened. Her husband would barely say hello to my sons when they passed him in the street. He would pretend as if he hadn’t seen them, but I would watch him from here and he would stare as soon as their backs were turned. He did the same with anyone on the street, especially the young girls. No decency. No, that man was not a good man, and I know the difference because I was married to a good man. Thirty-two years we spent together until God took him from me. Everyone in town knew him and he knew everyone. He would have hated Zeba’s husband. He told me once if a wife doesn’t love her husband, there’s a good reason for it.”

“Your husband, God rest his soul, sounds like he was a wise man,” Yusuf offered.