Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, it will be amazing. I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say. Though I worry about her. Many will not welcome so many changes so quickly. Why don’t you come with me? We can go and hear her speak!”

Shekiba was taken aback. Queen Soraya? Shekiba had wondered about her so much, she brightened at the thought of actually seeing this revolutionary woman. But Shekiba was not accustomed to attending public events.

“Oh, I couldn’t… I mean, I have to tend to—”

“Come, just for a day! It’ll be great to see!” she said with excitement, and then turned her attention to the men. They were so deeply engaged in conversation that they had not yet touched their tea. “Excuse me, dear Agha Baraan!”

Aasif turned around. He looked startled. “Yes, Khanum?”

“Could I steal your wife tomorrow?”

Steal your wife. I wonder how that sounds to him, Shekiba thought. The talk of Amanullah and Soraya reminded her of the palace. And Benafsha.

“Steal my…”

“Yes, I would love to go to the speech and have been looking for someone to join me! We won’t be gone long. We can take adorable Shah- jan with us too!”

“It will be an important speech. I have no doubt that the Afghan people will be impressed with Queen Soraya the more they get to know her,” Agha Khalil said.

“You will be there?” Aasif asked him. Shekiba watched as her afternoon was planned for her.

“Certainly.”

“Well, then…”

“Wonderful! Hope you don’t mind her escaping for a bit!” Mahnaz said contently. Aasif tried not to let his face show his displeasure.

“They said around one o’clock. Shouldn’t be much longer. Just look at this crowd! All these people here to see our Queen Soraya!”

Shekiba held Shah’s hand tightly, her eyes scanning the stage for any sign of Amanullah. She wondered what he looked like now. It had been years since she last saw him.

Stupid, she told herself. Look at this crowd. How could you have thought you were suited for something like this, that you could be worthy of taking that stage, of appearing before all these people!

Shekiba adjusted her veil and leaned over to give Shah a handful of nuts to snack on. She’d been unable to stomach much food in the past few weeks and even the woody smell of roasted almonds turned her nose, a smell she’d never before even noticed.

Little Shah was happily entertained by the many faces, the man selling vegetables from his wooden cart, the children holding their mothers’ hands. He did not mind that they had been standing around for over an hour, nor did he notice the number of stares his mother’s face attracted. Shekiba kept her veil draped over the left half of her face and averted her gaze when she saw curious eyes. Shah was seven years old now and wise enough to detect stares and whispers. She did not want her son to feel embarrassed by her.

Gulnaz and Shabnam were at home. Gulnaz was not happy that Shekiba had been invited for an outing by Agha Khalil’s wife and she had only spoken a few words to Shekiba since finding out. But she contented herself with the knowledge that Aasif would be pleased she’d stayed home instead of shamelessly wandering around Kabul in a crowd of people.

Soldiers lined the stage and created a perimeter around it so the crowd couldn’t get too close. In the center of the stage was a podium draped in navy blue velvet with gold tassels and embroidered with two crossed swords. Shekiba looked at the soldiers and thought of Arg, the guards, the harem. It seemed like a hundred years ago that she’d walked about the palace grounds with cropped hair and men’s slacks. She looked at her son, soon to be a young man, and wondered what he would have thought to see his mother dressed that way.

He wouldn’t understand. Only a daughter could know what it was to cross that line, to feel the freedom of living as the opposite sex. Her fingers touched her belly briefly. She looked at Shah and knew this one was different. She could feel it.

Mahnaz shielded her eyes from the sun.

“Have you seen her before?” she asked.

Shekiba shook her head.

“She looks like a queen. I don’t know how else to describe her. You should see the clothes she wears! Straight from Europe! My husband tells me that even the children wear European clothes!”

“Your husband works with them?”

“Yes, he does some calligraphy work for the king and he serves as counsel to the queen when the king is away. He’s going to be traveling with them soon.”

“He’s away often, isn’t he?”

Mahnaz nodded, her face showing her disappointment. “He is, but at least I have my mother-in-law and his family around. I would be so lonely otherwise.”

“How was your marriage arranged? His family is from Kabul, are they not?”

“Yes, they are. He and his family had traveled through our village on their way to Jalalabad one year. In that time, his father and my father came to know each other and they arranged for us to be married. I had seen him only once, just for a second. It was so unexpected!”

“And you’ve been living in Kabul since then?”

“Mostly,” she said, and leaned in to speak more discreetly. “My husband had some differences of opinion, you could say, with some of the government officials. We went through some difficult times then. They took everything from us. Our furniture, our home, our jewelry. We moved into the countryside for a year and a half until word was sent that we could return. The children were miserable there. We were so happy to come back!”

“That sounds awful,” Shekiba said. But worse could have been done to you, she thought.

“It was awful. But that’s how it is. When you don’t agree with powerful people, be prepared to lose everything. I only hope we will not go through such an experience again.” She sighed. “It is hard to say, though, since what men will tolerate changes as often as the shape of the moon.”

Shekiba nodded.

“There they are!” Mahnaz spotted Amanullah and Soraya being escorted onto the stage. Soldiers were lined up ceremoniously on either side of them and generals stood at their side. They were smiling and waving to faces they recognized in a group of dignitaries just in front of the platform.

A man in a suit took the podium and began to speak. He introduced himself and spoke of King Amanullah’s recent trip to Europe. Afghanistan was in a period of rebirth, he declared, and would grow with the leadership of such a strong-willed and visionary monarch. His speech went on until one of the generals could take no more and whispered something into his ear that brought him to closing remarks rather abruptly.

“Our noble king Amanullah!” he announced, and stepped away from the podium, his arms outstretched dramatically to welcome the country’s leader to the stage.

“ As-salaam-alaikum and thank you! I am pleased to come and speak here with you!”

Shekiba’s lips turned up ever so slightly in a half smile. He looked even more dignified than she remembered, his olive-brown military jacket was decorated with medals and stars and cinched at the waist with a leather belt. He took off his hat and placed it on the podium before him. His posture gave an aura of confidence, a self-assurance that seeped through the crowd. Shekiba looked at the faces around her, their eyes focused on the stage, their expressions eager.

We are in good hands, people seemed to be thinking.

Shekiba tried to focus on his speech but her mind wandered. She kept her eyes on Amanullah, wondering if he would remember her, the harem guard with the scarred face. She willed his kind eyes to fall upon her again. She felt a flutter in her stomach and wasn’t surprised that even the smallest of spirits could be moved by Amanullah’s presence.