Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

Shekiba felt something rise within her. She turned slowly and lifted her burqa again.

“Yes, I am!” Shekiba smirked and pointed a finger at her grandmother. “And with Allah as my witness, I curse you, Grandmother! May demons haunt your dreams, may your bones shatter as you walk and may your last breaths be painful and bloody!”

Bobo Shahgul gasped. Shekiba could see the fear in her eyes. She stared at her granddaughter’s portentous face and took a nervous step back.

Kaka Zalmai slapped her face with a mighty backhand. Even the deadened nerves on the left side of her face stung with his blow.

Clever, she thought as she tried to catch her balance. Won’t leave a mark there.

He tightened his fingers around her arm and dragged her away from the house.

“We are leaving. Madar- jan, I’ll be back when I have gotten rid of this monster. Samina, help my mother back into the house!”

Shekiba had no trouble keeping up with her uncle’s pace. She kept two steps behind and played the scene over and over again in her mind. Had she really done that? Had she really said those things?

Her burqa hid a lopsided smile.

They walked the four kilometers to Azizullah’s home in silence. Kaka Zalmai occasionally looked back and muttered something that Shekiba could not make out. They passed through the village Shekiba had not seen since early childhood. The shops looked more or less the same and there were a handful of people walking about, blue burqas following men dressed in loose flowing pants and long shirts.

As they moved further from her family’s land, Shekiba wondered if she had done the right thing. What if she found herself alone again? What would she do? But she knew. She would do what she had intended to do months ago.

I will find a way back to our land and bury myself with my family, Shekiba resolved.

Azizullah’s home was large in comparison to Bobo Shahgul’s. And when she discovered that only Azizullah, his wife and four children lived in it, she was astonished. Azizullah had been given the home by his father, who had been a relatively wealthy man by village standards. Today, Azizullah made his living as a man of commerce. He bought and sold anything that was of any value to anyone. He made trades and loaned money as needed. He knew everyone in the village, but more important, everyone knew him. His family was well connected, with two brothers in the military service.

It was Azizullah himself who answered the outer gate.

The men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Shekiba stood just behind her uncle, feeling invisible.

Azizullah was a burly man who looked to be in his thirties. He wore a brown lambskin hat of rippled fur that sat snugly on his head. His eyes were dark and he had a thick but neatly trimmed beard. His clothes and hands looked clean.

He does not look like a working man, thought Shekiba.

“Please come in, Zalmai- jan . Join me for a cup of tea.”

Kaka Zalmai accepted the invitation and followed Azizullah into his courtyard. Shekiba stood behind, not sure what she should do, until she saw her uncle shoot her a look. She took a step into her new home. The men went into the living room but Shekiba thought it best if she remained outside. She stood with her back to the wall, her shoulders now starting to ache where Bobo Shahgul’s walking stick had come down on her earlier. Again, a smile beneath her burqa . Nearly twenty minutes passed before she was summoned into the living room by her uncle.

“This is Shekiba, Azizullah- jan . You will see that, as we told you, she is a very hard worker and is sure to prove useful in your home. I trust your wife will be pleased with her.”

“Zalmai- jan, we have lived in this village for many years and Shekiba -e-shola is no secret. I had heard of her scars before your brother spoke of it. Now I want to see exactly what it is that I am bringing into my home. Have your niece show her face.”

Kaka Zalmai looked in Shekiba’s direction and gave her a nod. His eyes warned her against disobeying. Shekiba took a deep breath, lifted her burqa and braced herself.

His reaction came slowly. At first, he saw only the right side of her face. Her high cheekbone. Skin with the delicacy and color of an eggshell. Her dark iris and naturally arched brow caught Azizullah by surprise. The infamous monster was half-beautiful.

But as Shekiba turned her face, her left side came into view. She moved slowly, deliberately — anticipating a response. It suddenly occurred to her that Azizullah could be so repulsed as to send her back to her grandmother’s house. She held her breath, unsure what to wish for.

Azizullah’s brows wove together.

“Impressive. Well, no matter. For our purposes, her face is insignificant.”

Insignificant?

“She has no other illnesses? Does she speak?”

“No, Azizullah- jan . Aside from her face, she is healthy. She speaks but not enough to pester you. She should be an unobtrusive addition to your household.”

Azizullah stroked his beard. He took a moment to contemplate and then made his final decision.

“She will do.”

“I am so happy that you see things this way, Azizullah- jan . You truly are a very open-minded person, may God grant you a long life.”

“And you, my friend.”

“I should be on my way then. I trust this will satisfy my family’s debt to you. And please know that my mother sends her warmest regards to your wife as well.”

Kaka Zalmai spoke so graciously, Shekiba could hardly recognize him as a member of her family.

“Our debts are settled, as long as this girl works as you’ve said she will.”

And she did. Mostly out of fear that she would be sent back to Bobo Shahgul’s house. Soon Shekiba realized that she was much better off here in Azizullah’s home anyway. Azizullah called his wife, Marjan, into the living room after Zalmai took his leave.

“This is Shekiba. You should acquaint her with the chores of the house so that she can get to work. Her family speaks highly of her abilities to keep a clean house and manage even heavy tasks. Let us see how she proves herself.”

Marjan eyed her carefully, wincing as her eyes fell upon Shekiba’s face. She was a good-hearted woman and immediately took pity on Shekiba.

“Allah, dear girl! How terrible!” she exclaimed, wiping her powdery hands on her skirt. She recovered quickly, though. “Well, let me show you around. I was just kneading the dough but it’s all done now. Follow me.”

Marjan was probably in her late twenties. Shekiba calculated that she must have had her first child at Shekiba’s age.

“This is our bedroom. And this is the kitchen area,” she said, pointing to a doorway on the left. Shekiba stepped in and looked around. “Oh, for God’s sake, look at your hips! How will you squeeze a baby through them?”

Marjan’s girth was generous, probably having increased by inches with each new addition to their family.

But Marjan’s statement surprised Shekiba. No one had ever mentioned the possibility of her bearing children — not even in jest. She felt a heat rise into the right side of her face and lowered her head.

“Oh, you’re embarrassed! That’s sweet! Well, let’s move on. There are many things to be done while we stand here chatting.”

Marjan listed the chores to be done around the house, but she spoke without the bitter condescension of Shekiba’s own family. Despite the fact that she’d been brought here as a servant, Shekiba realized Azizullah’s home would be a reprieve for her. She caught herself before she broke out into a full smile.