Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

There were others, she was told. She would see more tomorrow.

Harem life was relatively simple. Shekiba listened in amazement to hear what the women did. And, more important, what they did not do. They did not cook, nor did they carry buckets of water from a well. They did not tend to animals or spend hours peeling vegetables.

“Who does all the housework then?” Shekiba asked Ghafoor as they watched Sakina and Benazir rouge their cheeks and stain their lips with crushed cherries.

“The people for the housework. Everyone has a purpose here in the palace. The guards, the servants, the women, and us. We all do our part in Arg.” Ghafoor sat with her right ankle crossed over her left knee. She was comfortable as a man.

“Arg?”

“Arg-e-Shahi. You do not know what Arg is?” Ghafoor laughed with the self-satisfaction of someone who had once been as ignorant. “This is Arg-e-Shahi, the palace! Arg is your new home, Shekib- jan !”

“Take off your chador .”

I kept my face to the wall and pulled my legs in under me. The room was small enough that I could hear each raspy breath.

Abdul Khaliq stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. From this angle, he looked larger than life. He took two steps in and shut the door behind him.

“I said, take off your chador .”

I lowered my head and told myself to breathe. I prayed he would be frustrated and walk away, as he had yesterday.

“I will not tolerate insolence. Yesterday, I let you be. That was my gift to you, to show you I can be kind. Today, things are different. You are in your husband’s home, my home. You will behave as a wife should.”

I was sharing a house with Abdul Khaliq’s third wife. I was his fourth. The other wives lived in separate homes within the same compound, all interconnected. It had been nearly dark when we got to the compound and I hadn’t seen much. Bibi Gulalai, his mother, had insisted on using me as a cane to get to the car. She was old and I was not rude enough to refuse, though I only answered her questions with one-or-two-word responses. She was sizing me up.

Bibi Gulalai led me to a small room at the end of a hallway. This was to be my room, she said. There was a bathroom just outside my door, the likes of which I had never before seen. It was modern, with running water and a toilet.

Wife number three was Shahnaz. I saw her for just a moment before I was ushered into my room. She turned her back to me and walked away, uninterested in introductions.

“That’s Shahnaz. You’ll meet her in the morning when she shows you around.”

My room had a cushion in the corner, a pillow and a small table.

“We’ll send you a plate of food for tonight. Tomorrow you become part of your new home,” Bibi Gulalai said smugly.

I doubted it.

I had nearly screamed yesterday when Abdul Khaliq entered the room. I was crouched in the corner. He wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. He had just finished eating. My plate was untouched.

“You haven’t eaten? My wife is not hungry, eh?” He chuckled.

I said nothing.

He squatted next to me and lifted my chin with two fingers. His touch was rough. I kept my gaze averted. He pulled my chador off my head and felt the back of my head.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, and walked back out of the room. I shook with fright.

Night came and went and I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned on the mattress, listening for the sound of footsteps, a hand on the doorknob, a knock. I thought of my mother, my sisters. I wondered if Shahla and Parwin were close by. I prayed we were all in the same compound and I would see them in the morning, every morning. I wondered what Rohila was telling Sitara, who every day had been asking more questions that we couldn’t answer. I wished I could be laid out at Khala Shaima’s feet, listening to her tell another chapter of Bibi Shekiba’s story.

I wished more than anything that I could be back in class, Moallim-sahib ’s back turned toward us, Abdullah and I shooting each other bored looks, kicking each other under the table and tilting our notebooks so the other could see the right answer.

I wished I could be anywhere but here.

When my bladder could wait no longer, I opened the door a crack. I looked into the hallway, saw that it was empty and crept out slowly to go to the washroom. Shahnaz caught me on the way out.

“Good morning,” she said plainly. She looked a few years older than Shahla, with features that matched the dullness in her voice. She was thin and stood a couple inches taller than me. She balanced a baby on her hip, no more than six months old.

“ Salaam, ” I replied cautiously. I knew who she was and I remembered my mother’s warnings.

“Your name is Rahima?”

I nodded.

“All right, Rahima. Bibi Gulalai has asked me to show you around. So, let’s get started. You’ve hid in your room long enough.”

Shahnaz looked disinterested in me but she’d been given a task, and as Madar- jan had advised, she was doing what her mother-in-law— our mother-in-law — had asked of her.

“This has been my home for three years. I was told I wouldn’t be sharing it with anyone else. This room is for my children and me. Here is the kitchen. That is our living room. That hallway leads to the rest of the houses, the better houses. I expect that you’ll do your share of the cooking and cleaning. As you can see, I’ve already got my hands full.”

She paused and looked at me carefully.

“Your hair. Why is it cut so short?”

“I’m a bacha posh . I mean, I was a bacha posh .”

“I’ve never seen a bacha posh before. Why were you made into a boy?”

“My mother had only daughters and my father wanted a son.”

“So they dressed you as a boy? And did you go out of the house like that?”

I could hear more curiosity than dislike in her voice. It gave me confidence to continue the conversation. Something about her reminded me of Shahla and I could already tell I would be desperate for an ally here.

“Sure. I went to school. I ran errands for my mother. I even worked and brought money home. I was learning how to fix electronics,” I boasted. That was more than I had done for Agha Barakzai but Shahnaz wouldn’t know the difference.

“Well, don’t expect to be treated like the special son here.”

As soon as she said it, I realized that’s what I had secretly been hoping.

“Who else lives here in the compound?” I asked, hoping my face didn’t show my disappointment. The baby started to whine, her small hands batting at her mother’s face.

Shahnaz led me into the living room, where she began to nurse the baby.

“Our home is one of three. Each wife has her own home. Or at least we did, until you came along. His first wife is Badriya. She has the biggest home, with the bedroom on the second level. His second is Jameela. She lives in the biggest part of the house too but on the lower level. Abdul Khaliq’s room is in that main house. I thought you would have seen it last night but I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough.”

I ignored her last comment, scared to think of what that meant. The memory of his touch made me shiver.

“Where does… where does Bibi Gulalai live?”

“In the compound next door but she’s here often, keeping an eye on her eldest son’s affairs. Especially since he’s gone so often. Be careful with her. She rules with a heavy hand.”

“And what about the rest?”

“What rest?”

“I mean his cousins, Abdul Sharif and Abdul Haidar?” I was nervous to ask. I prayed she would tell me they were next door as well.