Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

Through Jameela’s younger son, I sent word to Khala Shaima that I’d returned from Kabul. I wished very much to see her. Where before I was a listener, we could now exchange stories. I wanted to tell her about Zamarud and the bombing. And about Hamida and Sufia and the resource center. But a week passed and Khala Shaima had not come. I asked Jameela if she’d heard anything about my aunt but she hadn’t. A second week went by and still nothing.

I was worried and frustrated but there was nothing I could do. Already I was feeling the differences between home and Kabul. That taste of independence, even the possibility of it, made me yearn to go back.

Three weeks passed. Badriya and I were waiting on Abdul Khaliq’s decision. He was most likely going to allow us to return to Kabul and complete the remaining three months of sessions. He hadn’t said anything to Badriya and she was my source of information. Abdul Khaliq did not discuss these matters directly with me. In that respect, he treated me more like a daughter than a wife. It didn’t matter to me. The less interaction I had with him, the better.

Badriya finally approached Bibi Gulalai and asked her what was going on. Leaning against the living room wall, her shawl across her lap, Bibi Gulalai began to speak to her in a hush. When I paused by the doorway, the two of them looked up, annoyed.

“Go on, get to the carpets! And do it right this time. I don’t want them looking dingy,” Bibi Gulalai said.

I moved away from the door but lingered in the hallway.

“When did this come up?” Badriya said when I was out of view.

“Right when you all left. He knows her brother. I wish he never would have taken this stray. I don’t know what he wanted with Rahima. Such a worthless family.”

“I agree. Why he wanted a bacha posh for his wife, I’ll never understand. But, Khala- jan, why do you think he would want to get rid of her? She is the youngest here and he wanted her for something…”

“He will. I think he knows now that she was a mistake. And he wants to make up for it with this one. He’s going to marry her.”

“But why not just keep her and marry this girl?”

“Because he’s living by the hadith ! He is a respected man in this village, in this province! He leads by example, so he is doing as the Prophet said. And the Prophet, peace be upon him, said that a man should take no more than four wives at a time. This wouldn’t have been a problem if he wouldn’t have taken that bacha posh .”

My throat went dry. What was my husband planning? A fifth wife?

“Well, God bless him. It’s admirable that he wants to be such an upright, devout Muslim.”

Bibi Gulalai gave a quick hum, agreeing with Badriya’s praise of her son.

“Just don’t say anything to Rahima about this. She’s wild enough as it is. We don’t need her or her insane aunt Shaima making a fuss about this. It’s none of their business anyway.”

“I won’t say a word but she’ll find out soon enough…”

The kids were coming down the hall. I slinked away from the door and melded into their footsteps.

I needed to talk to Jameela. Would Abdul Khaliq really try to get rid of me? How?

“Why? What did you hear?” Jameela said, her eyes narrowed.

I recounted the conversation for her. She listened intently.

“I don’t know anything more than that. Bibi Gulalai will only talk to Badriya, of course, her angel. The rest of us will only hear when something happens. But God help us all. If he really does this, it’s going to be a disaster.”

“But do you think he’ll take a fifth wife? He wants to get rid of me, Jameela- jan . Can he do that?”

“He can do—” Jameela started to say, but changed her response after a brief pause. “I don’t know, Rahima- jan . I really don’t know.”

We left it unsaid. If he wanted to take another wife without going over the limit, that would mean getting rid of one of us, and Bibi Gulalai had already made it clear that I was the expendable one. I’d once prayed my husband would send me back to my parents. Now that would mean leaving my son behind. Jameela had told me of one girl who had been sent back to her father’s house, her husband dissatisfied with her as a wife. The girl’s family, unable to tolerate the shame, refused to take her in. No one knew what happened to her.

Four weeks since our return. Jahangir came into our bedroom, where I was mending a tear in my dress, the blue housedress Badriya had warned me against wearing in Kabul. And after seeing how most of the women parliamentarians dressed, I could see why. But it was in fair shape and there was little chance of new fabric coming my way.

Jahangir called out to me. I looked up, surprised to see Khala Shaima hobbling a few steps behind him. She had never come into this part of the house.

“Khala- jan! Salaam, Khala Shaima- jan, you came! I was so worried about you!” I scrambled to greet her.

Khala Shaima put a hand on the door frame, leaning forward and steadying her breathing.

“ Salaam… ah… salaam, dokhtar-jan . Damn Abdul Khaliq for building his compound so far from town,” she panted as I kissed her hands. I could hear the air whistle in her lungs. I quickly glanced in the hallway to be sure no one heard her curse my husband.

“I’m so sorry, Khala Shaima- jan . I wish I could come to you.”

“Eh, forget it. I’ll walk as long as my feet allow. Now, let me sit and get myself together. You must have something to tell me from your trip. And what the hell are you doing back here for so long?”

I told her about everything, the hotel, the guards, the buildings and the foreign soldiers. Then I told her about the bombing and the reason we came back.

“I heard about that on the radio. Bastards. Can’t handle a woman with a voice.”

“Who do you think was responsible?”

“Does it matter? They may not know who brought the bomb there but we all know why. She’s a woman. They don’t want to hear from her. The last thing this country needed is one more cripple. And that’s what we’ve got now.”

“She’s not dead? What happened to her?”

“You don’t know?”

“We heard so many things before we left. And here no one cares to find out. I’m sure Abdul Khaliq knows, but…”

“But you’re not going to ask him.”

I shook my head.

“It seems the bomb went off just next to her car. Exploded and killed one of her guards. But she survived the attack. I think they said her leg was burned but nothing more.”

“Is she going to come back to the parliament?”

“She wants to.”

I didn’t doubt that. Zamarud was not one to be scared off easily. I wished I could be more like her — so determined and brave.

And I should be, I thought. I’d been so self-assured when I was a bacha posh . Walking around with the boys, I feared nothing. If they had dared me to wrestle a grown man to the ground, I would have done it. I thought I could do anything.

And now I trembled before my husband, before my mother-in-law. I had changed. I had lost my confidence. The dress I wore felt like a costume, something that disguised the confident, headstrong boy I was supposed to be. I felt ridiculous, like someone pretending to be something he was not. I despised what I was.

Khala Shaima had read my mind.

“She’s taking risks and she just might be a total lunatic, but she’s doing what she wants. And I bet she doesn’t regret it. I bet she’ll keep doing it. That’s what people have to do sometimes to get what they want. Or to be what they want.”

Khala Shaima was like no one else. Everyone else thought Zamarud was a fool to say the things she did and an even bigger idiot for willingly offending men.