Nadia Hashimi - A House Without Windows

Then again, Zeba knew that no one would believe the truth. Furthermore, she had silently and without ceremony sworn to herself that she would not hurt that little girl any more than Kamal already had. Was she forsaking her own children for a child she did not know?

Possibly. But she’d made the choice weeks ago and would not reconsider it. If she were released from prison and something more were to happen to that child, every day of freedom would be torture. One day, she would tell the girls the truth too. She did not want to hurt them either, but she needed for them to look at her as they once had.

The sooner she accepted Chil Mahtab, the sooner she could begin to survive. She had to build a new life for herself. She had to be stronger than she’d ever been before. There was nothing crazy about her, she’d realized at the shrine. Her thoughts streamed in clear lines. The only voice in her head was her own.

Her father, Mullah Habibullah, had spent hours and hours at her cell in those nineteen days. His voice, the soft rasp of it like a familiar song, soothed her. She forgave him for his many years of absence. Disappearing, she now knew, was not the worst thing a man could do to his family. And she did not want to lose him a second time.

“You’re not insane, Zeba. If there’s anything wrong with you, it’s that you have too much of your mother’s blood in your veins. Her blood is hot and vengeful. She says she believes in God, but she believes only in Gulnaz. I know her well. I loved her, too. Since you’re an adult and almost a stranger to me, I can tell you that much. I loved her once.”

Zeba had not argued with him. She’d had the same string of bitter thoughts about Gulnaz for years.

“But I told the lawyers to leave you here because once I realized who you were. . once I realized you were a part of me. . I could not tear my eyes away from you. You looked troubled. Just as troubled as the other souls who are brought to the shrine. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out if you’re crazy or if it’s the world around you that’s insane. Sometimes if you don’t lose your mind a little bit, there’s no way to survive. You’re not broken, my daughter. That’s what you have to remember.”

ZEBA’S THOUGHTS WERE INTERRUPTED BY A KNOCKING AT THE door. She saw faces she recognized. They pretended not to see her sitting on the bed and addressed Latifa. They bit their lower lips and cast sideways glances at one another.

“Malika Zeba is not sleeping, is she?”

Latifa looked to Zeba for direction.

“Come in,” Zeba said. After so many nights alone, she craved the company. “Come in, sisters.”

Their faces burst into broad smiles, and they clogged the doorway trying to get in. They sat, cross-legged, on the floor in front of Zeba with their head scarves hanging casually around their necks.

“I wanted to thank you for helping me,” began Bibi Shireen. She had been sentenced to twenty-seven years for murder after her son was killed for running off with a girl. Zeba felt embarrassed to be sitting above someone as gray haired as Bibi Shireen and slid off the bed to sit among the women on the floor. Zeba half stood and gestured for Bibi Shireen to take her seat, but the woman waved her off with a frown. “You saved my daughter. They were going to take her as a bride in vengeance. No amount of begging had changed their minds but you. . I don’t know what you did, but it’s worked. They decided they didn’t want her after all.”

“Really?” Zeba exclaimed. For a family to give up their claim on a girl was unusual, even if the government had outlawed the practice of baad, giving daughters to resolve disputes between families, in 2009. “That’s wonderful news!”

“I’m not going to live another twenty-seven years, anyway. They’ll never get that much time out of me. It’s more important that my daughter’s life not become a prison. She’s the one with that many more years in her, God willing.”

The other women nodded and chirped in agreement.

“And we wanted to thank you, too.” It was the sister-wives, the two women imprisoned for the murder of their husband though he’d actually been killed by his cousins. The younger woman spoke first, her voice as sweet as cream. She looked at the first wife who sat beside her, grinning. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

“Go on. You tell her.”

“Well,” she said, smiling surreptitiously. “While you were gone we found out that one of the men who murdered our husband was killed.”

“Killed? By whom?” Latifa asked. She loomed over the circle of women sitting on the floor, more attentive than any prison guard.

“The cousins who came after our husband turned on each other. They started fighting about the land among themselves, and one shot his cousin in the chest. The family is in shambles. They’re all about ready to kill each other now, and we’re the only ones in prison. We are safe here. It’s almost funny.”

“It’s not funny at all, actually,” the older wife said with a chastising look. “But let them kill each other. Leaves us with fewer enemies out there. In the meantime, we’re probably in the best place we could be.”

The younger wife nodded.

“You bet,” Latifa interjected. “I’m sure someone from the family would be ready to snatch both you widows up as wives since your husband is gone. That’s what happened to my aunt.”

“You’re right,” the older wife said, her face grim. “There was talk about that even during our trials. Better to stay here if that’s the option.”

“Will you tell us what you did, Zeba- jan ?” the younger wife asked. She was kneeling, her hands on her thighs and her head tilted. “What kind of curse did you put on them?”

Zeba was stunned. She remembered the day these prisoners had laid their problems at her feet. She’d had no answers for them. She’d managed only to say that she would think on their situations and she had — at the shrine. She’d prayed for each of these women, though only in vague terms, distilling her request to Allah down to one simple word. Mercy.

“I. . I cannot say what I did. I prayed and thought about you all.” Zeba stumbled over an explanation.

“But what did you use for the spell? Fire? A chicken bone? I’m so curious!”

Latifa sensed Zeba’s hesitation and filled the silence with her booming voice.

“She can’t tell you, of course! This is dangerous stuff she deals with, don’t you see? Lethal stuff.” Latifa’s voice was a hoarse whisper as she leaned in for the last words. From where they sat on the floor, she appeared larger than life. “What Malika Zeba does is not a game. It is not for everyone. It stays in her capable hands.”

The women exchanged glances, Latifa’s words sinking in. The young wife bit her cheek in regret, and Latifa returned to her bed to observe from a distance. Zeba struggled to maintain her composure.

“I don’t need to know what you did,” declared Wahida. “I’m just thankful you did it.”

“Yes, this is a good one.” Latifa chuckled. She was happier now that order had been restored in the cell. “Tell Zeba what happened in your case.”

Zeba looked at Wahida, a young woman who looked much more polished than any of the others at Chil Mahtab. She had finished high school and she had one brother living in Iran who sent her gifts. She sidled up next to Zeba and put a hand on her knee.

“It is a good thing. Latifa- jan is right. The boy I’d run off with begged his family to allow us to marry, but it wasn’t until Zeba came along that they finally agreed. At last, we’re going to be together!”

“Lucky girl! Are they planning a wedding for you?” the older sister-wife asked, leaning backward to see past the younger sister-wife.