Words in the Dust

by Trent Reedy

  As we watched them go, Baba put his hand on my shoulder. I’d never seen this look on his face before, his mouth turned up in a sort of strange smile, but the expression in his eyes shifting. First happiness, then … What? Not fear, but not joy either. I looked at Najib, who shrugged and stepped up to put his hand on Baba’s arm.

  “Baba-jan, what did they want? What is all this about?” Najib moved his head from one side to the other as though trying to get Baba to see him. “Baba, what do they want with Zulaikha?”

  Baba jerked and turned to Najib as though Najib had just woken him from a deep sleep. “Can you believe that? A woman. A woman officer.” He ran his hand back, smoothing his hair. “They’re supposed to be the most powerful army in the world, and they have women in command of men.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. Then he smiled and slapped Najib on the back. “She says they want to fix Zulaikha’s mouth. Make her teeth and lip right.”

  I must not have heard Baba correctly. He must have misunderstood them. I touched my teeth. Could they possibly put my teeth in a straight line like everyone else’s? Could they give me a real lip? How would they do that? There wasn’t even really a lip there to fix. More important, if they were here to fight the Taliban and get revenge for the terrorist attacks on their own country, why would they fix my lip? How could it possibly help them?

  “Baba, is this true?” I asked. Now I didn’t know if I was dizzy from the heat, the excitement of rushing out to see the soldiers, or this impossible news.

  Baba smiled with a slow nod. “She says it would cost us nothing. If their doctor in Kandahar believes he can fix your mouth, the Americans will provide the operation for free.”

  The American soldiers had doctors? Well, of course they did. How else would they fix up their men if one of them was hurt? But why would they use one of their busy doctors to help me? Surely, there were others who needed help more. Did it matter? If what Baba said was true, I might finally look normal. Najib patted me on the back and smiled at me.

  Baba had a far-off look in his eyes again. As the crowd dispersed, he looked at the school construction project. “What did I tell you?” he said. “It’s all working out for the best.”

  When Baba had talked about good times ahead, I had never even imagined that my greatest wish might come true. I put my hand to my mangled mouth. Maybe I could look nice in time for Najib’s wedding. I squeezed the plastic sack in the tight grip of my sweaty hand.

  “This is good news,” said Najib.

  “HA! It’s great news! Nothing can go wrong for us!” Baba put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry.” He squeezed me close to him. “You run along home, Zulaikha. I will make all the arrangements. Your baba will take care of everything.”

  “Oh, Zulaikha, that’s wonderful! It’s beyond wonderful. It’s a miracle!” Zeynab threw her arms around me and kissed my cheek.

  Back at home, my sister and I were talking on the roof of our house while Khalid and Habib played with their new toy soldiers. I had told Zeynab everything that had happened at the construction site.

  “I never even knew something like this was possible.” I sat down, resting my back against the wall at the edge of the roof. “I almost can’t believe that such a miracle could happen. Is that a sin, Zeynab? To doubt so much when I should be dancing with happiness?”

  Zeynab took a seat beside me and draped an arm over my shoulder. “Of course it’s a sin.” I looked at her and she laughed. “But Allah the most merciful will forgive you. I will even say extra prayers so that the surgery happens soon.” She rocked us from side to side. “You’re finally getting what you’ve always deserved. After this surgery, you’ll be even prettier. One day, you’ll be a wonderful wife for your husband.”

  I wished I could be fixed right now. Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself once again to be patient. To have faith. And I said a silent prayer, thanking Allah for this wonderful chance at this surgery, not to make me pretty like Zeynab, but to ease Baba and Malehkah’s worries about finding me a husband. To finally end my days as Donkeyface.

  We heard the heavy breathing that could only be Malehkah working her way up the stairs. Zeynab and I stood up. When Malehkah reached the roof, she leaned back against the door to the steps.

  “Madar, you didn’t have to come all the way up here. We would have come down if you’d called,” said Zeynab.

  Malehkah nodded and wiped her brow. “Are you okay?” she asked me.

  My mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. What did you say, Madar?”

  “Are you okay? The soldiers and everything.”

  “Bale, Madar.” I really could not remember the last time Malehkah had asked about my well-being.

  She looked down at her fingers, interlaced over her belly. Then she nodded. “Good, because we have a lot of work to do before the guests arrive. You can start with the sitting room.”

  Zeynab shrugged and took my hand. Together we followed Malehkah downstairs.

  I swept the floor of the sitting room as slowly and with as much control as I could, trying to push the dust out of the room without stirring up a sandstorm. The sitting room was a small chamber set apart from the house, next to the front compound wall. It had its own entrance, so that guests would not intrude in our private space. The room was meant to impress, but no matter how we tried to keep it sealed, the dust always found a way in. When I turned around to examine my work after more than an hour, the dust swirled in a column of light, settling back down to make all my efforts pointless.

  “Why bother trying?” I slapped at the dirt with the broom.

  The broom had brushed a swoop in the dust that reminded me of the letter alif. I peeked out the sitting room door to be sure I was alone. Then I sat down and used my finger to trace out letters in the dust.

  I loved the way the lines, swoops, hooks, and dots of the letters took shape. The sounds they could make. The feeling of making something all my own. I didn’t know many words still, but I smiled when I thought of all Meena could teach me and of the way she had recited the beautiful poetry. The ancient wonder that I had felt in the back of the sewing shop, that magic that floated in on the wind across the years. A connection to Madar-jan, maybe? I looked at my letters. They were getting better, but they were still clumsy. I needed to get back to Meena soon.

  “What are you doing?”

  I swept my hand over the floor, wiping out my writing, and spun around. Zeynab stood at the door, holding two rolled toshaks under each arm.

  “I was just finishing.”

  She looked at me the same strange way she had that night after I’d met Meena. “Malehkah will want help inside.” She came in and placed the toshaks around the room for the men to lean against. Then we went back across the courtyard and into the house.

  “Sort rice.” Malehkah pointed to a large tub. “And hurry. There’s more to do after that’s done.” Zeynab and I went to the large rice bowl. “Not you,” she shouted at Zeynab. “You go wash yourself. You’re filthy after dusting the cushions.”

  Zeynab looked at me and shrugged, then went to wash up. I was filthy too. Grit clung to me, mixed with little runs of sweat. Why was Malehkah acting so crazy? We had prepared for Baba’s business dinners with Hajji Abdullah in the past. They meant a little more work, mostly extra cleaning and more food to prepare, but they had never made Malehkah act like she was in such a hurry. She certainly never bothered with making sure any of us were clean before guests arrived. After all, the visitors would be in the sitting room. We would never even see them.

  I glared at Malehkah, watching her frying the chicken and seasoning the mutton and beans. Then I wiped the sweat from my forehead and went back to work.

  Hours later, while Zeynab put on her good dress, Malehkah called Khalid and me to the kitchen. She pointed out the order in which the various dishes should be served. “Leave the food in here and covered to keep the flies off. I will send Khalid out to get whatever we need.”

  “But Madar,” I said. “Baba i
sn’t even home yet.”

  “Zulaikha, just do as you’re told!” She dipped a rag in a basin of water and then wiped her brow. She walked past me and headed out to the front porch. “Come with me,” she said. “We have to get your sister’s hair fixed up.”

  “Bale, Madar,” I said. What was happening? Something was very wrong.

  When Zeynab joined us on the porch, Malehkah motioned her closer and then handed me two smooth green ribbons. I ran them through my fingers. Were they new? Malehkah dragged a brush through my sister’s hair.

  “Tie them,” said Malehkah when she was finished brushing. While I tied the ribbons into bows in Zeynab’s hair, Malehkah went to the kitchen and returned with a small sweet cake in hand. “Here,” she said to Zeynab. “There was enough batter for me to make an extra cake. You should eat something.”

  A cake? Just for Zeynab? My sister looked at me and I shook my head. I didn’t know what it meant either.

  “Can Zulaikha have some?” Zeynab asked.

  Malehkah shrugged and dropped her eyes. She rubbed her belly.

  “Madar, are you okay?” Zeynab handed the cake to me and then reached out to take Malehkah’s hand.

  Malehkah pulled her hand away, but when she finally answered, her voice sounded changed. Smaller. Her usual abruptness and anger were gone. “When you are asked questions tonight, do not answer. Do not even look up. I will answer all the questions for you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Zeynab frowned. “Why would —”

  “Come.” Malehkah motioned toward the sitting room. She spotted Khalid in the doorway to the house. “Come along, both of you. The guests will arrive soon.”

  Zeynab looked at Malehkah, her eyes wide. Malehkah’s eyes were shiny. She wiped them and nodded.

  My sister hesitated. Then she took Khalid by the hand and both of them went with Malehkah across the front courtyard to the sitting room, leaving me to wait by myself. On my way back into the house, I ground the back of my hand against my teeth. What was happening?

  Finally, after a long wait in the hot kitchen, Khalid returned with the cloth, pitcher, and water basin. Everyone in the sitting room had washed their hands and prayed. It was time for the meal.

  “Madar wants me to bring the food,” Khalid said. “I hope there’s some left over for us. There are two women in there with Madar and Zeynab. One of them is really fat!”

  I knew I should have scolded my brother for speaking badly about a guest, but I felt such a strange mix of relief and surprise that I had to steady myself against the shelves. Baba and Najib still hadn’t come home, and I had been worried that Malehkah and my sister were alone in the sitting room with Hajji Abdullah. Instead they were talking with two women. Why?

  I handed my brother a tray with the large bowl of rice, the plate of chicken, the mutton and beans, and lots of naan. “What are they talking about in there?”

  Khalid shrugged. “The fat woman is asking a lot of questions.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “I don’t know. Things about cleaning and cooking.” Khalid turned for the door. “Madar said I should hurry with the food.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath that whistled through my teeth.

  “If there’s food left, I’ll bring some out so we can eat,” Khalid shouted as he rushed out of the house.

  But with Zeynab inside the sitting room and no answers out here, food didn’t sound as good as it usually did. It was one of the longest evenings of my life. I watched to make sure Habib stayed out of trouble. I waited. I washed a few of the pots in the kitchen. I waited. Out in the front courtyard, I paced back and forth in the dust as the evening light began to fade.

  Finally, the sitting room door opened. Zeynab came out and closed the door behind her. Her hands shook, and though she smiled, a tear ran down her smooth cheek.

  “Zeynab!” I whispered. “What happened? What did they want?” I reached my arm around her back and pulled her toward the house.

  When we reached the middle of the courtyard, she finally spoke. “Zulaikha,” she said. “I think … I’m … I think I’m going … going to be married.”

  A shudder went through me. My legs shook so much that I thought I would fall down. Zeynab was unsteady too. She turned toward me and we leaned our foreheads together as we held each other.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  My sweet sister would soon be married. Soon she’d wear the dress that she and I had spent so long sewing. She’d have a great husband in a beautiful house where she could start a wonderful family.

  “That’s …” I wiped a tear from my eye and pushed away any bad thoughts about how lonely I’d be once she left. She was my sister and I had a duty to be happy for her. I was happy for her. “Oh, Zeynab!” I hugged her. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “Of course I am,” said Zeynab. “I’m just … shocked, I guess. I didn’t expect this so soon. When I overheard Baba talking about a bride-price, I just assumed he was talking about Najib’s wedding. I never dreamed he was talking about me.”

  I couldn’t wait. “Who is he? Baba-jan must have found you the perfect husband.”

  “He’s a very good man. Wealthy. Respected.” Zeynab fanned her face and blew out an exhausted breath. I guided her to the porch where we sat down together, my arm around her, holding her close. Finally, Zeynab went on. “He’s Hajji Abdullah’s brother. His name is Tahir.”

  My eyes went wide. Hajji Abdullah was old. Baba said he had a long white beard.

  Zeynab must have seen my shocked expression. “Relax. Tahir is the hajji’s youngest brother. He is only maybe forty-five or so.”

  “Only forty-five?”

  I felt Zeynab shrug. “So he is not a young boy. That only means he knows what he wants and that he will be better able to take care of me. He’s wise and strong and kind, and I will be the youngest and prettiest of his wives.”

  “He has —”

  “Two other wives.” Zeynab stood up. She spun around so that the skirt of her pretty pink and purple flowered dress fanned out. “But my new husband will love me. His other wives and I will be the best of friends. We’ll all help one another. Anyway, Baba knows what’s best.”

  “He loves you,” I said. “He wouldn’t let you get married to anyone who wasn’t the perfect match.”

  “Exactly!” she said.

  I did not know how I felt. This news was so unexpected. Strange and yet wonderful. “I’m so happy for you, Zeynab.”

  “He lives in Farah.”

  I looked at my sister. The city of Farah was over an hour away. How could I live so far apart from my sister?

  “I know.” Zeynab must have sensed my worry. “But Baba has the car now and he and Tahir and Hajji Abdullah are doing so much work together here and in Farah. We’ll be able to arrange lots of visits.”

  Maybe she was right. “I hope so,” I said.

  “Three weeks and I’ll be married. The shirnee-khoree will be next week already.”

  Such fast progress. It was unheard of to agree to the marriage and the date of the engagement party after only one meeting. “What? Why so soon?”

  Zeynab circled her hand in the air. “Something about the arrangement of American construction contracts. All that bride-price stuff.” She shrugged. “It’s … not what I expected. Baba and Tahir had basically already agreed to everything. The meeting tonight was kind of a formality.” Zeynab pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “But Hajji Abdullah is such a great man that he has offered to help his brother and me have the best wedding celebration.” She smiled.

  I stood up and rushed to my sister, throwing my arms around her. “I love you.”

  “Bale, sister. I love you more.”

  “Zeynab, go inside now and change your clothes. Zulaikha, help me wash the dishes.” Malehkah had come out of the sitting room. The guests must have gone home. It was getting so dark I could hardly see her standing there in the shadows.

  My s
ister turned away from me and looked at our father’s wife. She rubbed her eyes. “Bale, Madar.”

  “Maybe getting married is a bad idea,” Zeynab said. “It takes too much work.” It was a week later. We were sitting on the front porch, taking a moment to relax after working all day to get ready for the shirnee-khoree. In addition to our usual chores, we had to cook more than ever before. It was like making three or four regular meals, but beyond buying naan and cooking rice, chicken, and lamb, we also had to prepare sweets. All day the kitchen blazed hot as we baked cakes, roasted almonds for sugaring, and even made candy brittle. After that, we had to wash up and get dressed. Tahir Abdullah had sent Zeynab a pretty lavender dress to wear for the night, and I tied purple ribbons in her hair.

  Malehkah’s sister Tayereh had arrived late in the afternoon with her husband, Uncle Ghobad, and Malehkah’s mother Farida — too late to help prepare for the party. Now that Baba, Uncle Ghobad, and Najib had taken the boys to Hajji Abdullah’s to celebrate with the men, and everything and everyone was ready for the shirnee-khoree, it felt good to enjoy some simple quiet time with my sister.

  “Tonight will be great.” I patted her back. “Just like we always dreamed about.”

  Zeynab stared straight ahead and nodded, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked beautiful with her makeup and the ribbons, but I could tell she felt nervous. “Anyway, at least we don’t have to cook for the men tonight,” I said.

  “Or watch the boys. There’s enough to worry about without having to look after them all night.”

  I shook my head. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “What if the party doesn’t go well? I mean the Abdullahs are a big, rich family and we’re just … Well, our family isn’t as large. They won’t even all be here tonight.”

  “That’s fine for me,” I said. Given the short notice, Baba’s brother’s family couldn’t travel from Kabul in time for the shirnee-khoree. Uncle Ramin had stayed in the capital when Baba fled the fighting there just before I was born. He and his wife Halima and their daughter Khatira had visited only twice that I remembered, once shortly after Khalid was born and then again for Habib’s birth. Each time Baba and Uncle Ramin had ended up shouting at each other over old arguments and new disagreements. Uncle had sent word through Hajji Abdullah’s satellite phone that they would arrive in An Daral the night before the wedding. “I hate the way they always talk about how much better their precious, modern city life is in Kabul. Then Khatira always stares at my mouth and talks to me like I have some sort of deadly disease.”