Nadia Hashimi - A House Without Windows

Zeba had not thought much of the conversation, and Gulnaz had only nodded and smiled. Her aunt had been the voice of reason, she’d believed. But once Gulnaz and her children were within the confines of their own home with the curtains drawn, everything changed.

“He’s had enough, she thinks,” Gulnaz snapped at no one in particular. “Of course he’s had enough. What a terrible wife she must be!”

“What’s wrong, Madar- jan ?” Zeba had asked cautiously. She was around twelve at the time, hovering in the space between childhood and adolescence. She and the other cousins her age spent their time with the women, learning the nuances of gossip and etiquette.

“Your aunt always says what’s on her mind with that look that she’s being so noble and above gossiping. I don’t know what’s more insulting — the way she hints that I drove your father away or that she thinks I’m too stupid to know what she’s really talking about!”

Rafi never knew what to do when their mother went into one of her fits. Hating to feel helpless, he would busy himself with work outside the house. On this particular occasion, he picked up the yellow plastic container and headed out the door to draw water from the well. Zeba watched him go. She had no such escape, especially in the evening hours.

“But Madar- jan, I didn’t hear her say anything about our father,” Zeba protested cautiously. If she had, she would have been duly offended. She missed him still, even as the memory of his face was starting to blur.

“You didn’t? Oh, Zeba.” Gulnaz sighed. “My daughter, a one-inch scorpion can be just as deadly as a hulking tiger. You’ve got to learn to pay attention and respect every threat for what it is. And the way she watched you! I’m sure she’s jealous because you’re much taller than her daughter and your skin is so much fairer. Your cousin is sweet, but she doesn’t have your looks and her mother knows it.”

Zeba didn’t feel that much prettier than her cousin. As a matter of fact, she’d felt distinctly less pretty than her and everyone else. It felt good to think she might have been wrong about how her own looks compared to others.

“To think, I spent two days making dumplings for tonight’s dinner because she asked me to — not to mention that I cooked for them every day last week while she was ill and bedridden. But your aunt doesn’t remember any of that. She’s too busy thinking that I sent her brother off into the mountains — as if I had that much control over that man! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about and should bite her tongue before something else does.”

It stung to hear her mother speak about her father so distantly. He’d been gone six years, but Zeba still held out hope that he might return. She dreamed of crossing paths with him in the markets. Would they recognize each other? Would he run to her and kiss her forehead? Zeba had less optimistic thoughts, too. Maybe they’d been within a stone’s throw of him already and he’d ducked out of view before they could spot him. There were times when her thoughts drifted further and further in that mournful dejected direction and Zeba’s world became colored with loneliness, suspicion, and doubt.

And maybe Gulnaz was right. She did catch Ama Ferei eyeing her and her mother strangely once in a while. Just last week, when she’d dropped off a pot of her mother’s soup at their home, Ama Ferei had asked her if her mother was taking good care of her and her brother. Zeba had not mentioned the question when she returned home, shrugging it off as concern, but it was quite possible that there was more to it than she’d realized.

Four weeks later, Zeba sat beside her mother as she chopped a molted snakeskin into tiny flakes and folded a pinch of it into a pot of spinach and leeks simmering over a ringed flame. They cooked in the roofless room at the back of the house, where the smoke and fumes drifted into the outside air. All the while, Gulnaz chatted casually with her daughter, commenting on how pretty Zeba looked that day and that she, as a mother, could not have asked God for a more perfect daughter. Zeba swelled to hear her mother’s words and to see the glimmer of pride in her green eyes.

Gulnaz fried some homemade cheese separately and layered it into the spinach when the leaves had melted smooth. She moved the mixture around with a fork to confirm the snakeskin had disappeared completely.

“What will this do, Madar- jan ?” Zeba had asked her mother as she stared into the pot.

“It will square things with your aunt for trying to skin us with her eyes. This will keep her busy enough that she won’t have time to say such awful things about us again.”

Gulnaz put the top on the pot and wrapped it in an old wool blanket to keep it warm. She and Zeba delivered it to Ama Ferei.

“Oh, Gulnaz- jan, for me? Why did you go to such trouble?” she’d asked, eyeing the small pot carefully.

Zeba wondered if she suspected something. She held her breath.

“You’re like a sister to me, Ferei- jan . You’ve been looking quite anemic lately, and I thought some spinach would do you good.”

“I have been feeling very weak lately. God save your husband, he would always say that you were quite a doctor with nothing more than vegetables and herbs at your disposal. So tell me. What did you put in this sabzee ?”

Gulnaz’s eyebrows pulled upward.

“Did my husband say that?” she said demurely. “Ah, he was too generous with his words. But to be honest, I added a little fresh ginger. My mother always told me there was nothing ginger couldn’t fix.”

“I’ve heard the same thing,” Ama Ferei said, nodding. She tried her best to sound playful. “Now, I’m not one for gossip but everyone knows about your tricks, my dear. What else have you put in here?”

Gulnaz put her hands on her narrow hips. Her back straightened and she inhaled sharply.

“Really, Ferei. I thought better of you,” she said in a huff. The corner of her blue head scarf fluttered in the breeze.

Ama Ferei laughed easily before turning her attention to Zeba.

“Zeba- jan, ” she said, her voice sweet despite her accusing countenance. “What did your mother really put in this food? You’re not going to be deceitful like her, are you? I don’t think our family could handle it.”

Zeba watched her mother smile gracefully and touch her aunt’s forearm gently. Zeba’s face flamed red with shame and anger.

“My dear, I know you’re not well. There’s no reason to say such things, especially in front of my daughter, who’s barely a young woman. Feed the spinach to the dogs in the street, if that’s how you feel. I was only trying to help.”

Gulnaz looped her arm through her daughter’s and turned to walk away, leaving Ama Ferei holding the swaddled offering.

“Madar, why would she say—”

“Stop, Zeba. Just let it be.” Gulnaz did not allow Zeba to ask any questions.

WHEN THE MOON HAD WAXED INTO A FULL GLOBE, THE EXTENDED family gathered once again. Another aunt had delivered a baby over a month ago, and the family convened to mark the infant’s fortieth day of life. Zeba and Gulnaz ran into Ama Ferei just outside the home of the cousin who had invited everyone.

Zeba nearly gasped.

Ama Ferei’s face looked taut and angry. The skin around her nose and the corners of her mouth were cracked and peeling. Her scalp was littered with tiny white flakes.

They exchanged pleasantries and went inside, Gulnaz and Zeba finding their way to the opposite side of the room.

The roll of fingers on a tabla drowned out the chatter. The mood was festive, but Zeba was too distracted to appreciate it much.

For most of the night, Zeba watched Ama Ferei rub and scratch at her arms angrily. She stopped whenever her sister-in-law leaned in to speak to her but resumed just as soon as she turned away. Zeba imagined her aunt’s entire body covered in a prickly sheath of scales beneath her cotton dress.