Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

“He’s so busy with his own affairs that he’s hardly around the house at all.”

“Good. Busy with what?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not sure exactly but I heard him talking with his advisers and guards the other day. Something about his soldiers doing what the foreign soldiers can’t do.”

“Or don’t want to do. He’s got a good racket. These other countries come in here and throw a few bombs around. Friends today with yesterday’s enemies. They just change their hats and all of a sudden, they’re allies to these western countries. No one cares what Abdul Khaliq was doing for the past few years.”

“What was he doing?”

Khala Shaima’s lips pursed together. “He’s your husband, Rahima, so I would have thought you’d have a better idea by now. How do you think he got to be so rich and powerful? Off the blood of our own people, that’s how. By ransoming, stealing, killing and then washing up and looking pretty for the westerners who either don’t know any better or pretend not to. Your husband is not the only one and he’s probably not even one of the worst. You were too young to really know how things worked and no one in your house would talk about it since your father was fighting under him.” Khala Shaima’s voice was a cautious whisper.

I remembered how Shahnaz had come to be Abdul Khaliq’s wife — pillaged from her home as if she were a piece of jewelry or silver serving tray.

“You should know these things, Rahima, since you’re living here in this house. As his wife, no less. But don’t speak of them, ever. Not even with his other wives. Understand me?”

I nodded. Her warning was unnecessary. I already knew how loose the lips in this house were.

“His advisers were telling him he should have one of his wives run for parliament,” I said, thinking of the conversation I’d overheard. “It sounds like such a crazy idea.”

“Run for parliament? Those conniving bastards!”

“They really want him to. That would be a big change for him, Khala Shaima, wouldn’t it? Imagine, one of his wives in the parliament.”

“To hell it’s a big change! It’s a charade. There’s a rule that a certain number of seats have to be filled by women. They made this rule part of the constitution because otherwise no one would give any woman the time of day. But he’ll put one of his wives in and tell her exactly what to say, how to vote, who to talk to. It’s no different than Abdul Khaliq taking the seat himself!” Her words were bitter, underscored by the way she spat some letters out.

I hadn’t thought of the situation that way but Khala Shaima’s reasoning made sense. And it explained why Abdul Khaliq was even considering the option. It was as his adviser had said — this might be the only way to keep control over the region.

“Did he say which wife he wanted to have run?”

“No, they didn’t.” I had wondered the same thing myself.

“Probably Badriya.”

“Why Badriya?”

“Because Jameela is too pretty. He won’t want men’s eyes on her. And you and Shahnaz are too young.”

She was right.

Over the next few weeks Badriya was groomed for the election. Abdul Khaliq spent more time with her behind closed doors. We didn’t know what they were talking about and Badriya was tight-lipped, or at least put on the appearance of being so.

“It’s going to be a difficult election,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips. It was obvious she was feeling very special to have been chosen for the task. “We’ve been discussing getting the word out, getting my name out.”

“What kinds of things will you have to do if you’re part of the parliament?” Shahnaz asked. It was a warm afternoon and the children were all in the courtyard. Abdul Khaliq had gone on an overnight trip and Bibi Gulalai was in bed, recovering from a cold that she said had nearly killed her three times over. The compound could breathe now that Bibi Gulalai swore she couldn’t.

“Silly thing! Don’t you know what the parliament does? Good thing it’s me and not you that’s running!”

I saw Jameela swallow a smile. We both knew Badriya was trying to come up with an answer.

“It’s a lot of work once you hold a jirga seat. There are things to vote on, decisions to make…” She waved her hand about as if it was just too much trouble to bother explaining.

Shahnaz raised her eyebrows. “But you’re going to be covered, right?”

“Of course! I’ll be wearing my burqa .”

“And if you make it into the parliament, then what? It’s mostly men, isn’t it? You’ll have to go and meet with them?”

“Yes, that’ll be my responsibility as an elected official. We’ll have to talk about the voting, the issues.”

“When are the elections?”

“In two months. There’s a lot to be done.” Badriya sighed as if she had just realized how much work awaited her.

Badriya, the first wife, had been accustomed to a status within the compound but she had started to resent all the attention the other wives were getting. This development was just the boost she needed to reclaim her distinction. But not all attention was good attention.

About a week after our conversation, I woke up in the morning, tied my hair behind my head and slipped on my work dress. I was to clean out the chicken coop. The smell always turned my stomach so I brought a square of cloth to tie around my nose and mouth.

I walked outside and went to the far edge of the compound. The chickens were up early and clucked with excitement at my arrival. Feathers flew into the air, making me cough. I adjusted my mask and took a deep breath.

Before I could pick up my broom, the clucking heightened, and the chickens started to pace the area as if they’d been upset by something. I turned back toward the compound and saw Badriya walking behind the house. She had her left arm tucked in under her side and walked with a slight limp that made me think of Parwin.

I watched her and realized she hadn’t seen me. She stopped at the clothesline and reached up to pull off a chador and a dress. It took her three tries before she was able to get the dress down; each time she reached upward, she would stop short and withdraw her arm sharply, shaking her head. I wondered what had happened and was happy for an excuse to delay my task anyway.

“Badriya- jan! Sobh bakhair! ”

Badriya whipped around, her surprised expression interrupted by a wince. “Oh, Rahima! Yes, sobh bakhair . Good morning to you too. What are you doing back here?”

Her arm was still tucked in.

“I have to clean out the henhouse,” I explained. “It looks like you’re having a hard time with your arm. What happened?”

Badriya frowned. “It’s nothing,” she said unconvincingly. As she went to turn back to the clothesline, I caught a glimpse of her neckline and saw bruising around her collarbone. I started to say something about it but caught myself. She tried to move around as usual but her face betrayed her.

“Just get on with whatever you were doing, Rahima. I’m too busy to chat,” she said dismissively. I walked back toward the chickens, looking over my shoulder to confirm that she was still limping. Hashmat met her at the door of the house and helped her in. He noticed me watching and shook his head. I kept my distance from him these days. By now I’d figured out that I shouldn’t be around boys my own age or older, no matter what their relation to me. And I didn’t want to invite any talk about Abdullah, who now seemed like a character I’d created in my imagination.

In the afternoon, I returned to Jameela’s house. Most of the time, my son joined me while I did my chores, but cleaning the henhouse was impossible with him around. Jahangir had taken to spending time with Jameela while I was attending to some of the more taxing work. She enjoyed having him around now that her own children were grown and I trusted her more than anyone else. Even though I lived with Shahnaz, it was Jameela I turned to with every question about feeding and bathing Jahangir. She even knitted a sweater and cap for him to keep him warm through the winter.