by Trent Reedy
Malehkah rose to go get cake. “Here,” she said when she returned. She handed me a plate with a piece of cake and the sweet bread powder called maleeda. “The cake is a bit too dry, but you should try to enjoy yourself.”
“Bale, Madar,” I whispered. She was right — the cake was the worst I’d ever had. I nodded to my father’s wife. “Tashakor,” I said, happy to have something to do besides sit and watch.
Later, Tahir went inside to the men’s celebration, and my sister sat alone on the cushioned wooden couch, not allowed to join in the festivities at her own wedding. She nodded her thanks to each guest who congratulated her in turn. I waited for my chance to talk to her, but it never came. The line was too long. She sat right in front of me, and I already missed her.
Eventually, Gulzoma emerged through the glass double doors from the room where Zeynab had prepared for the arusi. Several women and girls, all of whom carried large platters piled with gifts, followed her. When she reached Zeynab’s side, she clapped her hands and nodded for the band to quiet down. “Everyone, thank you for joining us for this wonderful occasion.” She slid her arm around Zeynab’s shoulders. “Tahir is simply overjoyed to have such a pretty young woman for his wife. It is time to see just how much he loves her by presenting the dowry!” She held up a dark blue dress, then draped it over her arm. “Look at this dress! Such a beautiful deep blue! It almost matches mine. What’s next?” She looked at another platter and smiled. “Ooooh, what a necklace! Let’s just put this majestic gold on the lucky bride. In fact, there’s so much jewelry, let’s just put it all on this perfect doll right now!” She went on like that, showing off all the gifts, giving special attention to a chadri from Hajji Abdullah. There were at least three complete sets of new clothes and two chadris. My sister glittered with two gold bracelets and a pair of dangling gold earrings. Her sparkling gold necklace must have been heavy, thanks to the deep blue lapis lazuli pendant that hung from it.
When Gulzoma had finished revealing the gifts, Malehkah spoke quietly close to my ear. “It’s tradition to offer a gift from the dowry to repay the hostess for her kindness.” She groaned and stood up. When she reached Zeynab she bent down and reached around to the back of Zeynab’s neck, whispering something in my sister’s ear. Then she removed the lapis lazuli necklace and offered it to Gulzoma.
“What?” With a look of openmouthed surprise on her face, Gulzoma held her hand to her chest.
“Tashakor, Gulzoma-jan, for such a beautiful wedding,” Malehkah said.
“I just couldn’t accept such a lovely necklace. I mean, I already have so many….” She put a finger to her lips. Then she shook her head and reached out to take the offering. “Zeynab is just so generous. How can I refuse such a kind gift?” She held the necklace up and people clapped. Then she nodded to the band and the music started up again.
“So much attention on gifts,” I whispered when Malehkah returned.
My father’s wife looked at me and spoke quietly. “Now, you are beginning to understand.”
After the sun had gone down and the stars sparkled brightly, Tahir returned and whispered something to Zeynab. They stood up together, her small delicate hand wrapped in his big, strong fingers. At once, all the women began clapping and whooping.
“Time to go,” said Malehkah. I stood up with her and helped her into her chadri. We followed the couple to the front of the house, where we met Baba, my brothers, and the other men. My family walked close together, all of us except Zeynab, who would never walk with us again. If I could feel her absence this much here among this great crowd, how empty would life be at home without her? I shook my head and tried not to think of it. It was wrong to feel sad on such a happy occasion.
At the car, Malehkah’s family said their good-byes and offered to drive Uncle Ramin and his family to our house for the night. Then they’d drive home to Shindand. As for us, we would go to Tahir’s house in Farah to say good-bye to Zeynab and to wish her well in her new home. Tahir and my sister climbed into his long white Toyota, which had been decorated in green, orange, and white ribbons and flowers.
In our Toyota, nobody spoke until my father started the engine. “HA! A wonderful day! Tahir Abdullah is a good man.” Baba clapped his hands before shifting and swerving to get a good position close to the marriage car. “He’s rich and getting richer! He will take good care of Zeynab, and he’ll make a wonderful husband!”
I smiled at Baba’s enthusiasm. Malehkah sat stiffly in the backseat with me, probably frowning under her chadri like she always did. Habib squirmed in my lap, trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep.
“And you, Zulaikha. Tahir tells me you did a marvelous job at the wedding. Tashakor. It’s all so good! Tahir is lucky to have a nice, young wife instead of just those two old crones.” My father laughed. Even quiet Najib smiled and chuckled a bit. Baba loosened his tie. “And thanks to some of the arrangements I’ve made with the Abdullahs, we’re going to be making a lot of money!”
Malehkah turned to look at me. She patted Khalid, who was sitting between us, resisting sleep. She seemed to watch me for a long time through the mesh window in her chadri before she turned away and stared out the window. Our car rolled on through the dark desert, following the red tail-lights of the car in which my sister rode with her new husband.
“See?” My father’s shout jolted me awake. He ducked down so he could see Tahir’s house past Najib on the passenger side. “What a fine big house. What did I tell you? Cement block walls. A second story being built even now. A fine match we’ve made for Zeynab.”
We left the boys sleeping in the car and followed Tahir, Zeynab and Tahir’s family … Zeynab’s new family … up to the compound. Baba stopped and admired the house for just a moment, smiling and nodding before he led us inside. Feeling half asleep, I pulled my chador over my mouth as I entered the compound. Then the band started playing. Tahir had hired a band! A man smiled while he played a rubab. Another slapped out the rhythm on the tabla drums. A third squeezed and worked the keys of a sparkling harmonium as he sang about the greatness of Allah and the wonder of marriage. The cement pathway led across the courtyard to the cement front porch. Both the path and porch were lit by rows of candles on each side. After the women had removed their chadris, Tahir took my sister by the hand and walked her toward the house.
An older woman emerged from the front door. Her silver dress complemented her long gray hair. She grinned as a younger woman with shorter hair and a bluish green dress joined her. The first kept her smile as my sister climbed the two steps to the porch. “I’m Leena,” said the older woman. “Welcome to our home.”
“My name is Belquis.” The second woman stepped aside from the door. “Please come inside. We have tea ready. And food if you’re hungry.”
Tahir’s wives showed us in, where a beautiful woven rug covered the floor and a platter stacked high with some naan, oranges, bananas, and pomegranates sat next to a teapot and about a dozen cups on a polished wooden table. A small electric light hung from the ceiling, and back in the shadows the family watched us. There were at least six small boys and girls. I also saw a girl my age and a couple boys who looked a little younger. A young woman, maybe one of Leena’s daughters, held a small baby of her own. I made sure to keep my mouth out of sight behind my chador.
Introductions were exchanged and most of the adults drank tea. Baba had an orange, but when none of the other adults ate, the children quickly took care of the food. I might have enjoyed some naan, but I didn’t want to embarrass Zeynab in her new home by making everyone watch me eat. The music floated in from the courtyard outside and the conversation slowed.
Finally, Tahir slipped his hand around Zeynab’s back. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.” He led the way to what must have been his bedroom, and we all followed. “These are new blankets,” said Tahir. He patted his incredibly big bed. It would be the first time my sister had ever slept on anything but a toshak.
I held the end of my
chador up higher to cover my hot cheeks and tried not to think about my sister and Tahir. This was the way it was supposed to be, but it felt different seeing Tahir’s bed. I turned and looked at Zeynab, trying to focus on something else.
Belquis stepped forward. She held out a hammer and nail to Zeynab, who was still smiling but shaking — nearly trembling. Malehkah had prepared her for this tradition before the shahba-henna. Standing up on her toes, she was just able to hold the nail to the top of the wooden door frame. With a number of timid taps at first, and then some harder hits, she drove her nail in beside two others. Zeynab’s destiny was now fixed to this house, and to the man who owned it.
Baba smiled and shook Tahir’s hand, pulling him closer and clapping him on the back with his other hand. “I’m very happy,” said Baba. “These are good times.”
Tahir nodded. “Bale, the very best.”
“Khuda hafiz, Najib,” said Zeynab. She hugged him. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Khuda hafiz,” Najib said.
Baba hugged her next. “My beautiful daughter. I’m so happy for you. Everything has turned out perfect!”
Zeynab blushed and spoke quietly. “Tashakor, Baba-jan.”
I wanted to make sure I was the last to say good-bye to my sister. I waited for Malehkah to say something, but she only pinched my elbow to remind me of what I must do.
I walked up to my sister in that dimly lit bedroom and quietly slipped her the wedding cloth. Before it became too awkward, I threw my arms around her. “I love you so much!” I blinked my eyes to try to hold back the tears. “I’m so happy for you.” Even with my disfigured lips, I kissed Zeynab’s cheek.
“I love you, too,” Zeynab said. When I stepped back, she smiled. “Tashakor.”
We went back to Baba’s Toyota and then to An Daral, leaving my sister in her new home.
Late the next morning, Jamila arrived at our compound carrying a cloth sack. She smiled at Malehkah and me and then pulled from the bag Zeynab’s wedding cloth, stained with my sister’s blood. Malehkah smiled, accepted the cloth, and thanked Jamila. Once she left, Malehkah’s smile vanished.
“There,” she said. “It is finished. Your sister is married.” She handed me the cloth. “Now go burn this thing.”
All my life, whenever I needed to talk about anything, I would go to Zeynab. When I had a question, I would ask her. When I was scared or worried, she would comfort me. When I needed someone to laugh or celebrate with, she was right with me. She was a line of protection against Malehkah and she was my best friend. My sister. We shared the same life, never separated.
Did she miss me like I missed her?
I couldn’t ask her. I had seen her only three times since the wedding two weeks earlier — once at a party where we brought gifts to her in her new home, then at another party at Hajji Abdullah’s, then at one more party in our house. All of these gatherings were supposed to unite our two families into one. I guess they did this, and I was excited to see my sister again, but with everyone else around, I didn’t get the chance to talk to her. Not really. Not the way we used to talk.
When Zeynab and her new family had come to An Daral, I found one moment to talk to her alone in the kitchen. “Well, what’s married life like? Is Tahir nice? What is it like to live with his other wives? I’ve missed you —”
“It’s wonderful!” Zeynab’s smile and the sound of her voice reminded me of the way she had tried to sweet-talk Khalid when we were watering the garden. She watched the door. “Everything I’ve ever hoped for and more!”
“Zeynab?” Tahir called from the main room.
My sister quickly snatched up the teapot she’d come to get and rushed out of the kitchen. That was my only chance to talk to her, and she hadn’t even looked at me.
No matter how much I told myself that being married and having a family was what she had always dreamed about, no matter how much I tried to force the sad thoughts from my mind, I could not get past my loneliness.
Baba and Najib had their work and could talk to each other. Khalid and Habib played together. Malehkah never liked to say much to anyone. My unhappiness wasn’t just doing the extra work that Zeynab used to do. I would have happily done twice as much work if it meant I could have someone to be with. Someone who understood me.
Now, after having taken Baba and Najib’s midday meal to the construction site, I approached Meena’s sewing shop. After what I had said to the muallem during my last visit, I doubted if she would even say more than a few words to me. But that was just it. I needed to hear something besides Malehkah’s grumpy orders, my father’s constant stream of business, and the whining of my little brothers.
I neared the shop door, reached out, and then dropped my hand and walked past. I couldn’t go in there. Why should Meena talk to me after I’d been so mean to her?
“Change your mind, child?” Her voice came from behind me.
I stopped and faced her. She was standing on the packed-dirt walkway just outside her door. “What?”
“Did you change your mind about reading?”
“I don’t know.” I hesitated. At first I loved the poems, and I wanted to keep my promise to my mother. Then it all seemed like a waste…. Now … “I really don’t know.”
“Ah, last time you were so certain,” said Meena kindly. “Now it seems you need a cup of tea more than ever.”
I followed her through her shop, past the faded curtain to the small space where she lived. She said nothing, but motioned for me to take my old seat in the green plastic chair. The faded black-and-white photograph of Meena’s husband remained on the little table near her bed. The crack in the glass over the picture made it hard to see.
“How did you meet your husband?” I asked.
“What do you mean, child? I met Masoud at our wedding.” She looked at me while she waited for the kettle to boil. “My second cousin’s mother came to our house one day seeking a wife for her son. My parents thought it would be a suitable match.”
“Were you happy?”
Meena smiled. “At first, I was nervous. Married for life to a man I’d never met! But my parents chose wisely. My years with Masoud were the happiest of my life. We loved each other. Had fun together. He even helped me through my studies so that I could become a professor at the university in Herat.” The kettle began to whistle. She turned down the heat and poured the steaming hot water into the teapot. Then she took a book from a shelf and sat down on her bed, leafing through the pages. “Is that what this visit is about? Are you worried about your sister?”
I stared at the tiny wisp of steam rising from the spout of the teapot. The only sound was Meena flipping the old pages, one after another. “I don’t know,” I said. “She … I mean all she ever dreamed about was being a good wife for a good man. Having a family.” I shrugged. “She is happy. I should be happy for her.”
“Are you?”
“I miss her.”
Meena set the book aside, open to whatever point she had turned to. She stood up, poured two cups of tea, and handed one to me. I took it and dipped my head back to drink. She sat down and picked up her book. “Why are you here?”
I looked at her nearly white hair. Her aged face. Her deep, clear, sharp eyes. “I don’t know,” I said.
She nodded and lifted the book up to read.
“Oh, if Zulaikha only knew
A single wall kept her love from view!
A secret longing, a restless desire,
Burned through her blood and set her afire.
She tried to contain it, but she couldn’t name
The light that had sparked this consuming flame.”
“More from Yusuf and Zulaikha?” I asked. She nodded. “I feel like the poet is writing about me.” Meena smiled. I shook my head. “I’m not just talking about him using my name. I mean, this part is about Zulaikha missing someone. And it’s about …”
“Missing something else?”
“Yes. A secret longing. A restless desire.” I searc
hed for the right words, grateful that Meena was patient enough to wait for them. “Zeynab is married. That’s a wonderful thing.” I touched my split lip. “I was supposed to have this fixed. Only I didn’t get my surgery, and somehow my sister’s marriage hasn’t made me happy.” I took a drink, hoping that Muallem would say just the right thing. Instead, she still waited for me to speak. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about what I said the last time I was here. I didn’t mean it.” I wanted to explain everything. “I’m sorry” was all I could say.
Muallem held up her hand. “No apologies, child. You are learning.”
I took a drink. “I think I want to keep learning.” I wanted it if only for the pleasure of having someone to talk to, that much I understood. “I want to be able to read and write on my own. The poems were important to my mother. To you too.” I looked up at Muallem. “I want to learn more about them.”
“What’s more,” Meena smiled, “the words, the old poems, are a great comfort to us when we are lonely. Now, let us look at this bit of Yusuf and Zulaikha that I just read from. We’ll explore the sounds the letters make and examine in particular some of the simpler words.” She looked up from the page. “Ready?”
“Bale, Muallem-sahib.”
“This lamb,” my father said later that night, sucking the juice from his fingers as we all sat around the dastarkhan to eat, “is really good, Zulaikha.”
“Tashakor,” I said, trying to remember the last time he’d complimented Malehkah’s cooking. Or Zeynab’s. I looked at the empty space next to me.
“You keep cooking like this, and you’ll make your husband really happy someday.” He picked up a bone and gnawed on the little bit of meat left on it. “Mmm. So good.” Malehkah stared at Baba for a moment. When Habib reached for more naan, she tore off a strip for him. Baba dropped the bone in front of him. “Kind of quiet without Zeynab around. If she’s cooking half this good, then Tahir must be a very happy man! Ah, speaking of Tahir …” Baba pointed at Najib. “I still need you to take the Toyota to the bazaar tonight and pick up the steel I ordered. Tahir wants that second block press machine finished by the end of the week.”
