Pul-i-Charkhi Prison was a long walk from Parvana’s home. By the time the huge fortress came into view, her legs were sore, her feet ached and, worst of all, she was scared all over.
The prison was dark and ugly, and it made Parvana feel even smaller.
Malali wouldn’t be afraid, Parvana knew. Malali would form an army and lead it in a storming of the prison. Malali would lick her lips at such a challenge. Her knees wouldn’t be shaking as Parvana’s were.
If Parvana’s mother was scared, she didn’t show it. She marched straight up to the prison gates and said to the guard, “I’m here for my husband.”
The guards ignored her.
“I’m here for my husband!” Mother said again. She took out Father’s photograph and held it in front of the face of one of the guards. “He was arrested last night. He has committed no crime, and I want him released!”
More guards began to gather. Parvana gave a little tug on her mother’s burqa. Her mother ignored her.
“I’m here for my husband!” she kept saying, louder and louder. Parvana tugged harder on the loose cloth of the burqa.
“Hold steady, my little Malali,” she heard her father say in her mind. Suddenly, she felt very calm.
“I’m here for my father!” she called out.
Her mother looked down at her through the screen over her eyes. She reached down and took Parvana’s hand. “I’m here for my husband!” she called again.
Over and over, Parvana and her mother kept yelling out their mission. More and more men came to stare at them.
“Be quiet!” ordered one of the guards. “You should not be here! Go from this place! Go back to your home!”
One of the soldiers snatched the photo of Parvana’s father and tore it into pieces. Another started hitting her mother with a stick.
“Release my husband!” her mother kept saying.
Another soldier joined in the beating. He hit Parvana, too.
Although he did not hit her very hard, Parvana fell to the ground, her body covering the pieces of her father’s photograph. In a flash, she tucked the pieces out of sight, under her chador.
Her mother was also on the ground, the soldiers’ sticks hitting her across her back.
Parvana leapt to her feet. “Stop! Stop it! We’ll go now! We’ll go!” She grabbed the arm of one of her mother’s attackers. He shook her off as if she were a fly.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” But he did lower his stick.
“Get out of here!” he spat at Parvana and her mother.
Parvana knelt down, took her mother’s arm and helped her to her feet. Slowly, with her mother leaning on her for support, they hobbled away from the prison.
FOUR
It was very late by the time Parvana and her mother returned home from the prison. Parvana was so tired she had to lean against Mother to make it up the stairs, the way Father used to lean against her. She had stopped thinking of anything but the pain that seemed to be in every part of her body, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet.
Her feet burned and stung with every step. When she took off her sandals, she could see why. Her feet, unused to walking such long distances, were covered with blisters. Most of the blisters had broken, and her feet were bloody and raw.
Nooria and Maryam’s eyes widened when they saw the mess of Parvana’s feet. They grew wider still when they saw their mother’s feet. They were even more torn up and bloody than Parvana’s.
Parvana realized that Mother hadn’t been out of the house since the Taliban had taken over Kabul a year and a half before. She could have gone out. She had a burqa, and Father would have gone with her any time she wanted. Many husbands were happy to make their wives stay home, but not Father.
“Fatana, you are a writer,” he often said. “You must come out into the city and see what is happening. Otherwise, how will you know what to write about it?”
“Who would read what I write? Am I allowed to publish? No. Then what is the point of writing, and what is the point of looking? Besides, it will not be for long. The Afghan people are smart and strong. They will kick these Taliban out. When that happens, when we have a decent government in Afghanistan, then I will go out again. Until then, I will stay here.”
“It takes work to make a decent government,” Father said. “You are a writer. You must do your work.”
“If we had left Afghanistan when we had the chance, I could be doing my work!”
“We are Afghans. This is our home. If all the educated people leave, who will rebuild the country?”
It was an argument Parvana’s parents had often. When the whole family lived in one room, there were no secrets.
Mother’s feet were so bad from the long walk that she could barely make it into the room. Parvana had been so preoccupied with her own pain and exhaustion, she hadn’t given any thought to what her mother had been going through.
Nooria tried to help, but Mother just waved her away. She threw her burqa down on the floor. Her face was stained with tears and sweat. She collapsed onto the toshak where Father had taken his nap just yesterday.
Mother cried for a long, long time. Nooria sponged off the part of her face that wasn’t buried in the pillow. She washed the dust from the wounds in her mother’s feet.
Mother acted as if Nooria wasn’t there at all. Finally, Nooria spread a light blanket over her. It was a long time before the sobs stopped, and Mother fell asleep.
While Nooria tried to look after Mother, Maryam looked after Parvana. Biting her tongue in concentration, she carried a basin of water over to where Parvana was sitting. She didn’t spill a drop. She wiped Parvana’s face with a cloth she wasn’t quite able to wring out. Drips from the cloth ran down Parvana’s neck. The water felt good. She soaked her feet in the basin, and that felt good, too.
She sat with her feet in the basin while Nooria got supper.
“They wouldn’t tell us anything about Father,” Parvana told her sister. “What are we going to do? How are we going to find him?”
Nooria started to say something, but Parvana didn’t catch what it was. She began to feel heavy, her eyes started to close, and the next thing she knew, it was morning.
Parvana could hear the morning meal being prepared.
I should get up and help, she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.
All night long she had drifted in and out of dreams about the soldiers. They were screaming at her and hitting her. In her dream, she shouted at them to release her father, but no sound came from her lips. She had even shouted, “I am Malali! I am Malali!” but the soldiers paid no attention.
The worst part of her dream was seeing Mother beaten. It was as if Parvana was watching it happen from far, far away, and couldn’t get to her to help her up.
Parvana suddenly sat up, then relaxed again when she saw her mother on the toshak on the other side of the room. It was all right. Mother was here.
“I’ll help you to the washroom,” Nooria offered.
“I don’t need any help,” Parvana said. However, when she tried to stand, the pain in her feet was very bad. It was easier to accept Nooria’s offer and lean on her across the room to the washroom.
“Everybody leans on everybody in this family,” Parvana said.
“Is that right?” Nooria asked. “And who do I lean on?”
That was such a Nooria-like comment that Parvana immediately felt a bit better. Nooria being grumpy meant things were getting back to normal.
She felt better still after she’d washed her face and tidied her hair. There was cold rice and hot tea waiting when she had finished.
“Mother, would you like some breakfast?” Nooria gently shook their mother. Mother moaned a little and shrugged Nooria away.
Except for trips to the washroom, and a couple of cups of tea, which Nooria kept in a thermos by the toshak, Mother spent the day lying down. She kept her face to the wall and didn’t speak to any of them.
The next day, Parvan
a was tired of sleeping. Her feet were still sore, but she played with Ali and Maryam. The little ones, especially Ali, couldn’t understand why Mother wasn’t paying attention to them.
“Mother’s sleeping,” Parvana kept saying.
“When will she wake up?” Maryam asked.
Parvana didn’t answer.
Ali kept waddling over to the door and pointing up at it.
“I think he’s asking where Father is,” Nooria said. “Come on, Ali, let’s find your ball.”
Parvana remembered the pieces of photograph and got them out. Her father’s face was like a jigsaw puzzle. She spread the pieces out on the mat in front of her. Maryam joined her and helped her put them in order.
One piece was missing. All of Father’s face was there except for a part of his chin. “When we get some tape, we’ll tape it together,” Parvana said. Maryam nodded. She gathered up the little pieces into a tidy pile and handed them to Parvana. Parvana tucked them away in a corner of the cupboard.
The third day barely creeped along. Parvana even considered doing some housework, just to pass the time, but she was worried she might disturb her mother. At one point, all four children sat against the wall and watched their mother sleep.
“She has to get up soon,” Nooria said.
“She can’t just lie there forever.”
Parvana was tired of sitting. She had lived in that room for a year and a half, but there had always been chores to do and trips to the market with Father.
Mother was still in the same place. They were taking care not to disturb her. All the same, Parvana thought if she had to spend much more time whispering and keeping the young ones quiet, she would scream.
It would help if she could read, but the only books they had were Father’s secret books. She didn’t dare take them out of their hiding place. What if the Taliban burst in on them again? They’d take the books, and maybe punish the whole family for having them.
Parvana noticed a change in Ali. “Is he sick?” she asked Nooria.
“He misses Mother.” Ali sat in Nooria’s lap. He didn’t crawl around any more when he was put on the floor. He spent most of the time curled in a ball with his thumb in his mouth.
He didn’t even cry very much any more. It was nice to have a break from his noise, but Parvana didn’t like to see him like this.
The room began to smell, too. “We have to save water,” Nooria said, so washing and cleaning didn’t get done. Ali’s dirty diapers were piled in a heap in the washroom. The little window didn’t open very far. No breeze could get into the room to blow the stink away.
On the fourth day, the food ran out.
“We’re out of food,” Nooria told Parvana.
“Don’t tell me. Tell Mother. She’s the grownup. She has to get us some.”
“I don’t want to bother her.”
“Then I’ll tell her.” Parvana went over to Mother’s toshak and gently shook her.
“We’re out of food.” There was no response. “Mother, there’s no food left.” Mother pulled away. Parvana started to shake her again.
“Leave her alone!” Nooria yanked her away. “Can’t you see she’s depressed?”
“We’re all depressed,” Parvana replied. “We’re also hungry.” She wanted to shout, but didn’t want to frighten the little ones. She could glare, though, and she and Nooria glared at each other for hours.
No one ate that day.
“We’re out of food,” Nooria said again to Parvana the next day.
“I’m not going out there.”
“You have to go. There’s no one else who can go.”
“My feet are still sore.”
“Your feet will survive, but we won’t if you don’t get us food. Now, move!”
Parvana looked at Mother, still lying on the toshak. She looked at Ali, worn out from being hungry and needing his parents. She looked at Maryam, whose cheeks were already beginning to look hollow, and who hadn’t been in the sunshine in such a long time. Finally, she looked at her big sister, Nooria.
Nooria looked terrified. If Parvana didn’t obey her, she would have to go for food herself.
Now I’ve got her, Parvana thought. I can make her as miserable as she makes me. But she was surprised to find that this thought gave her no pleasure. Maybe she was too tired and too hungry. Instead of turning her back, she took the money from her sister’s hand.
“What should I buy?” she asked.
FIVE
It was strange to be in the marketplace without Father. Parvana almost expected to see him in their usual place, sitting on the blanket, reading and writing his customer’s letters.
Women were not allowed to go into the shops. Men were supposed to do all the shopping, but if women did it, they had to stand outside and call in for what they needed. Parvana had seen shopkeepers beaten for serving women inside their shops.
Parvana wasn’t sure if she would be considered a woman. On the one hand, if she behaved like one and stood outside the shop and called in her order, she could get in trouble for not wearing a burqa. On the other hand, if she went into a shop, she could get in trouble for not acting like a woman!
She put off her decision by buying the nan first. The baker’s stall opened onto the street.
Parvana pulled her chador more tightly around her face so that only her eyes were showing. She held up ten fingers—ten loaves of nan. A pile of nan was already baked, but she had to wait a little while for four more loaves to be flipped out of the oven. The attendant wrapped the bread in a piece of newspaper and handed it to Parvana. She paid without looking up.
The bread was still warm. It smelled so good! The wonderful smell reminded Parvana how hungry she was. She could have swallowed a whole loaf in one gulp.
The fruit and vegetable stand was next. Before she had time to make a selection, a voice behind her shouted, “What are you doing on the street dressed like that?”
Parvana whirled around to see a Talib glaring at her, anger in his eyes and a stick in his hand.
“You must be covered up! Who is your father? Who is your husband? They will be punished for letting you walk the street like that!” The soldier raised his arm and brought his stick down on Parvana’s shoulder.
Parvana didn’t even feel it. Punish her father, would they?
“Stop hitting me!” she yelled.
The Talib was so surprised, he held still for a moment. Parvana saw him pause, and she started to run. She knocked over a pile of turnips at the vegetable stand, and they went rolling all over the street.
Clutching the still-warm nan to her chest, Parvana kept running, her sandals slapping against the pavement. She didn’t care if people were staring at her. All she wanted was to get as far away from the soldier as she could, as fast as her legs could carry her.
She was so anxious to get home, she ran right into a woman carrying a child.
“Is that Parvana?”
Parvana tried to get away, but the woman had a firm grip on her arm.
“It is Parvana! What kind of a way is that to carry bread?”
The voice behind the burqa was familiar, but Parvana couldn’t remember who it belonged to.
“Speak up, girl! Don’t stand there with your mouth open as though you were a fish in the market! Speak up!”
“Mrs. Weera?”
“Oh, that’s right, my face is covered. I keep forgetting. Now, why are you running, and why are you crushing that perfectly good bread?”
Parvana started to cry. “The Taliban...one of the soldiers...he was chasing me.”
“Dry your tears. Under such a circumstance, running was a very sensible thing to do. I always thought you had the makings of a sensible girl, and you’ve just proven me right. Good for you! You’ve outrun the Taliban. Where are you going with all that bread?”
“Home. I’m almost there.”
“We’ll go together. I’ve been meaning to call on your mother for some time. We need a magazine, and your mother is just the person
to get it going for us.”
“Mother doesn’t write any more, and I don’t think she’ll want company.”
“Nonsense. Let’s go.”
Mrs. Weera had been in the Afghan Women’s Union with Mother. She was so sure Mother wouldn’t mind her dropping in that Parvana obediently led the way.
“And stop squeezing that bread! It’s not going to suddenly jump out of your arms!”
When they were almost at the top step, Parvana turned to Mrs. Weera. “About Mother. She’s not been well.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m stopping by to take care of her!”
Parvana gave up. They reached the apartment door and went inside.
Nooria saw only Parvana at first. She took the nan from her. “Is this all you bought? Where’s the rice? Where’s the tea? How are we supposed to manage with just this?”
“Don’t be too hard on her. She was chased out of the market before she could complete her shopping.” Mrs. Weera stepped into the room and took off her burqa.
“Mrs. Weera!” Nooria exclaimed. Relief washed over her face. Here was someone who could take charge, who could take some of the responsibility off her shoulders.
Mrs. Weera placed the child she’d been carrying down on the mat beside Ali. The two toddlers eyed each other warily.
Mrs. Weera was a tall woman. Her hair was white, but her body was strong. She had been a physical education teacher before the Taliban made her leave her job.
“What in the world is going on here?” she asked. In a few quick strides she was in the bathroom, searching out the source of the stench. “Why aren’t those diapers washed?”
“We’re out of water,” Nooria explained. “We’ve been afraid to go out.”
“You’re not afraid, are you, Parvana?” She didn’t wait for her answer. “Fetch the bucket, girl. Do your bit for the team. Here we go!” Mrs. Weera still talked like she was out on the hockey field, urging everyone to do their best.
“Where’s Fatana?” she asked, as Parvana fetched the water bucket. Nooria motioned to the figure on the toshak, buried under a blanket. Mother moaned and tried to huddle down even further.
The Breadwinner Page 3
