Lipstick in Afghanistan

by Roberta Gately

  Parween stared at her mother with astonishment.

  “You would protect me from this?”

  Rahima reached out and stroked Parween’s hair. “Yes, child. I remember well the angry little girl who protested her role as a useless female. You did as you were told once. There is no need to force you again.” She pulled Parween to her and held her close. “I will tell him. Do not worry. I will keep you safe, my child.”

  28

  Though she was a wife now, Amina still worked for Elsa three or four days a week. She cooked, cleaned, washed clothes, and chatted about her new life. She exuded happiness, cherished all the more, she said, because she had never expected Allah to bless her like this.

  She giggled when she spoke of Sidiq, his large nose and his high-pitched voice.

  “Oh, Elsa, sometimes I cannot help myself, and I laugh when his voice rises so that I almost think it is a rooster speaking.” She paused and put her hand to her mouth. “But I should not speak like that. He is so good, and in spite of my shortcomings, Sidiq is very kind to me. He has told me that he loves me. Can you imagine that, Elsa? He loves me.”

  Amina bent smiling as she worked. Elsa couldn’t remember the last time her friend had fidgeted with her extra finger. What the surgeon wouldn’t do, Sidiq’s love had done instead, and the digit fluttered freely about as she cooked or cleaned or sat to share tea.

  Amina did not keep to a set schedule, and she came and went to Elsa’s house as she pleased. When she failed to show up for several days, Elsa wasn’t worried; she assumed the new bride was still enjoying her time with her husband.

  But when Amina finally appeared early one morning after an absence of several days, she looked gray and wan. Elsa touched her friend’s cheek.

  “Che’ ast? What is it?” she asked.

  “Mariz,” Amina moaned as she fanned herself with a piece of fresh naan. The scent of the bread wafted into her nostrils and she suddenly covered her mouth and raced outside to vomit. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and started to cry.

  “Che taklif? What is wrong, Elsa? Why am I so sick?”

  Elsa smiled and asked Amina when she’d last had her period. It was a few moments before she replied.

  “Well, not for a while. Not since I married anyway.”

  “My friend, you have the classic signs. We won’t be certain for perhaps another month or so, but I think you’re pregnant.”

  “Sai’est?” Amina asked incredulously. “I might be with child?” She looked toward the heavens. “Allah, the Most Merciful, thank you for your kindness.” And she retched again, but this time she smiled between heaves. Elsa waited quietly until she was done, and then she spoke.

  “I think that you should tell Sidiq this evening. And take care of yourself. No need to work so hard here. Go home and rest. I’ll see you when your retching has stopped.”

  Amina held up the laundry. “But I have washing to do, Elsa. I cannot go.”

  “You must. I had planned to go with Parween to the washing stream today. I’ve wanted to go for a while. Now at least I have laundry to bring. Go home.” She tried to sound firm.

  Amina placed the laundry back into Elsa’s basket and put her veil back on her head.

  “Thank you, Elsa.” Amina’s smile lit up her whole face.

  Elsa piled her remaining laundry into the basket and set off for Parween’s house. It was Friday, and she’d finally learned to enjoy her free time in Bamiyan. But there’d be no picnic today. Mike was in Bagram, and she planned to spend the day with Parween. The day was warm, the sky clear, the fields lush with sprouting wheat and potatoes as she walked with a spring to her step. It was September. It was hard to believe she’d already been there for six months.

  The neighborhood children saw Elsa and followed. Seema, Bouman, Noori, Hussein, Syed, and Assadullah shouted all at once.

  “Salaam alaikum. Chetore asti? Khoob asti? Jona jurast?” They giggled and ran to keep up. “Elsa, Amina is married, yes?” She smiled and nodded. The children giggled. “Then, you are next?”

  Elsa laughed. “Mumkin, maybe,” she replied. They ran off through the fields, pocketing dung as they went.

  The compound was quiet when Elsa arrived at her friend’s house. Parween greeted her and held her finger to her lips.

  “The children and my mother are sleeping, so it is just you and I today,” she said. She gathered up her own laundry, and they headed up the dirt road to the stream.

  “I think Amina is with child,” Elsa said, almost whispering. “She has the signs, at least.”

  “It is true? How wonderful for her. I remember how happy I was each time that I was pregnant. These are good days for Amina.”

  They turned from the road through a cluster of trees, and there Elsa saw women scattered about the bank of a swiftly moving stream. She walked to the water’s edge and squatted down, placing her basket on the ground. Parween bent next to her and pulled out her own laundry. There was a smattering of greetings as they joined the women.

  “Salaam alaikum,” Parween called out. “This is my friend Elsa, the nurse at the clinic.”

  The women turned and smiled, some looking curiously at Elsa, while others recognized her and greeted her warmly.

  “Salaam alaikum.” Elsa smiled as she looked at the women in turn.

  “She does her own laundry?” a weathered old woman asked Parween.

  “Balay, she is like us.” Parween raised her brows and looked directly at the woman who had asked the question.

  “Tell her we are happy to meet her.” The words from a smiling young woman broke through the sudden chill in the air.

  “Ask her if she’ll do my wash,” the old woman cackled as she patted Elsa’s hand and smiled.

  Elsa, chuckling, bent to the icy water and removed the small bar of soap from her pocket. She pulled out her first bit of laundry and splashed it into the frigid current, scrubbing as she moved it up and down. It wasn’t long before her fingers ached from the cold and the wet, and she leaned back on her feet and sighed.

  “This is hard work, really hard. My fingers are frostbitten.” She shook the water from her hands and dried them on her dress.

  The old woman nudged her and motioned with her own hands, blowing on them and rubbing them together. Elsa followed suit and then plunged them right back into the stream, shivering at the cold.

  Before long, Parween laughed. “You are almost finished. So little laundry you have you are lucky not to have to do washing for an entire family. Just hang it on the trees to dry, and then we will sit.”

  Elsa hurried, and when she was done with her own clothes, she helped Parween finish as well. This was why she had come, after all, to spend the day with the women, to listen to their stories and their gossip. She squeezed the water from the last of the laundry and draped it through the trees. Rubbing the warmth back into her hands, she sat down with her friend.

  The warm sun shone on Elsa’s dress and seeped straight through to her skin.

  “Do you ever just fall asleep here?” she asked Parween lazily.

  “Ahh, yes. You will see more than one of the women today with her eyes closed. This is the place where we find friendship and laughter and sometimes rest.”

  But Elsa didn’t want to sleep; she wanted to hear the gossip. She sat up straight as the chatter began.

  “Noma gave birth to a three-eyed baby,” a sweet-faced young woman sitting nearby declared. The women chuckled in disbelief and her eyes shone with anger. “It’s true,” she said petulantly as she folded her arms and pouted.

  Elsa reached out and touched her hand and she smiled.

  Another young woman, with a tiny baby wiggling in her arms, giggled. “My cousin just gave birth to her twelfth child—another girl! Can you imagine? She would take a three-eyed one if it were a boy!”

  A ripple of laughter passed through the women—even the one who had been pouting. Another tiny woman, bent and withered from years at the stream, almost crowed as she spoke.

&n
bsp; “Waleed’s wife ran off with the tinker. She’s selling his wares and her own now.”

  They all laughed to think that anyone would run away with a tinker, the shriveled old men who sold trinkets from great metal trunks they lugged on their backs from village to village.

  “Ah well,” Parween added, “maybe she’s looking for adventure.”

  They hooted in reply.

  The bent old woman, determined to have their attention, spoke again. “My son has seen the lady rebel. She was riding across that mountaintop.” She pointed to the distant Hindu Kush range. “Even now she fights against the Taliban who remain in hiding.”

  “Sai’est? It is true?” Parween asked with rapt attention. They’d all heard the stories, legends really, of the lady rebel, and they all believed that she was a Hazara. “What does she look like?”

  “Why, she looks like you, Parween,” the old woman replied, her eyes twinkling. “My son says that her dark hair was flying free and her eyes shone like bright emeralds. Her bandolier was strung across her chest and she outrode the men in her little band. He said he never believed in beauty until he saw her ride.”

  They all sighed and sat back.

  “How lucky he was to have seen her,” Parween said.

  “Lady rebel?” Elsa asked. “Tell me about her.”

  Parween parted her lips to speak but just then, Soraya appeared, and she jumped to her feet to greet her, kissing her friend’s cheeks.

  Elsa turned and exclaimed, “Soraya, salaam alaikum. We have missed you. How is Meena? She is well?”

  “Meena is very well, in school even, and her wounds are healed. She is a little girl again. My family and I are so grateful to you both for your kindness.”

  Soraya squatted down to embrace her friends. She rested her arms across her chest and heaved a sigh. “But even that happy news does not hide the sadness I feel for you, Parween. I have heard about your beloved uncle Abdullah. I am sorry for your loss, my friend.”

  Parween, a tinge of sadness in her eyes, sighed and gazed up at the bright blue sky. “Uncle’s death is a cloud, a cloud filled with tears and sadness, but behind every cloud, the sun still waits. Today we have had a glimpse of that sun. Meena is safe, and Amina is with child. That happy news reminds me that though a cloud hides the sun, it does not dim its glow.”

  Elsa smiled and patted Parween’s hand. Then she closed her eyes and leaned back, soaking up the sun.

  29

  “No, Mama, no!”

  Zahra shrieked and squirmed and tried to wriggle free of her mother’s arms, but she was no match for Parween’s determination. Elsa approached with the injection.

  “Be still, little one. I’ll be quick.”

  Parween held Zahra tightly as Elsa vaccinated her.

  “Hush, child, this will keep you healthy.” Parween’s voice grew soft.

  Zahra’s sobs faded as Elsa withdrew the needle. She rubbed her arm and buried her face in her mother’s veil. Parween stroked her daughter’s forehead and rocked her as they sat in the clinic.

  Elsa disposed of the syringe and cleaned the room as she spoke.

  “I forgot to tell you, Mike gave me his camera. We can get your pictures done.”

  “Oh, yes.” Parween could hardly contain herself. “A picture like Dave’s to carry with me.”

  Elsa stopped cleaning and turned to Parween.

  “Have you seen the signs that the UN has posted?” she asked. “There are finally plans to open a school here.”

  Parween smiled, and she felt a rush of excitement.

  “I did. I wanted to ask you about it. They are looking for teachers. Do you think that I might be able to teach?”

  “Inshallah,” Elsa said. Parween marveled at how easily that word slipped from her friend’s lips these days. “I think that we should speak to Johann. It will surely be his decision. I can ask, if you’d like.”

  Parween felt the first stirrings of joy at the possibility of her own children attending school.

  School. The very word was magical.

  That afternoon, a beautiful late September day, Elsa visited Johann at the UN office. She’d asked him more than once about opening a school, and she’d told him about Parween’s desire to teach. She rapped her knuckles against the UN’s metal gate and heard Johann’s footsteps as he hurried to open it.

  “Hello, hello, Elsa. How are you? Come in, come in.” He pushed his eyeglasses up and squinted through them.

  “Johann, it’s good to see you. I was excited to hear the news and had to come ask about it.” She waved one of the notices at him to emphasize her words.

  “Ahh, the school. It is good, yes?”

  “It is wonderful! Just what the children need. Do you still need teachers? Have you hired any yet?”

  She followed him into his office, where he pulled out his ledger and searched the pages.

  “Ahh, there was one young man, but he is no longer available, so yes, I need teachers.”

  “That’s why I’ve come today. I’ve told you about my friend Parween—I’m sure you’ve seen her with me—she can count and read and write. She even speaks English. She would be an ideal candidate, and she would love to teach the children.” Elsa paused to catch her breath. “Do you think there might be a place for her? Do you want to meet her? I could bring her tomorrow.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, bring her here.” Johann scribbled something in his book and closed it. “Please ask her to come tomorrow.”

  “I’ll tell her to come in the afternoon then. Thank you, Johann. You won’t be sorry.” Elsa waved to him as she passed through the gate and hurried to share the news with her best friend.

  * * *

  “It is true? He wants to speak with me?”

  “Yes, tomorrow. I’ll go with you if you’d like.”

  Gratitude glimmered in Parween’s eyes. “Oh yes, please.” She was full of excited energy and didn’t know what to do next. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll wait for you at the hospital in the afternoon.”

  But she’d still have to be hired by the man from the UN, she knew, and eager to make a good impression, Parween set out for the bazaar to purchase a new veil. She chose a drab brown one, a color that would surely prove she was serious, the type of woman who would be a good teacher. At least that was what she hoped it would say.

  “Ooh, beautiful,” Rahima said when Parween returned home.

  Parween held up one of the UN flyers. “They’re going to open schools here, Mama. Schools! Elsa has arranged it so that I can apply for a teaching position, and tomorrow, I have an appointment to speak with the UN. The UN, Mama. Can you believe it?”

  “A teacher.” Rahima smiled and kissed Parween’s cheek.

  The following day, with her new veil covering her hair and Elsa at her side, Parween presented herself at the UN office. Elsa knocked at the gate, and once they were inside, she made the introductions.

  Johann reached out his hand absentmindedly, before he remembered that tradition and custom prevented him from touching Parween.

  “Oh, miss, I’m sorry,” he said as he held his right hand over his heart.

  Parween smiled. The man seemed more nervous than she was.

  “Not to worry, sir,” she said in her best English. “It is good to meet you.”

  “Your English is very good,” Johann said, looking pleased. He invited them into his office and pulled out his ledger, writing as he spoke.

  “Do you have a second name?” he asked, his pen poised over a page.

  Parween hesitated. She’d never really used her own second name, Saleh—she could hardly remember it. But she wanted Raziq to be with her and so she said softly, “Khalid. Khalid, my husband’s second name.”

  “Well, Miss Parween Khalid, can you read and write?”

  Parween nodded and then asked for a pen and paper. Johann passed her his ledger book and a pen.

  “Write your full name there, if you will be so kind.”

  Parween’s fingers drew the pen along the
paper and scrolled out her name in Persian script, and then again in English letters.

  “Shall I write your name?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.” When she had done so, he looked at the results appreciatively. “Can you do numbers?”

  Parween wrote numbers in both English and Persian. “Shall I add them for you?”

  “No, there’s no need.” Johann removed his eyeglasses and wiped them on his shirt. After a moment, he asked her the question she hadn’t dared to hope for.

  “Would you like to teach for us?”

  “Oh, yes!” Parween clasped her hands together, and Johann wrote her name in his ledger. Her heart started to beat faster. A teacher, she would be a teacher.

  Oh, if only Raziq were here.

  “Very good, very good. But, well…” He paused and pushed his eyeglasses back on his nose. “You know how these things go; there is a small delay.”

  Parween’s heart sank.

  Johann continued. “I was just informed this morning that we shan’t be opening the school just yet, but perhaps you can help us in the meantime. We will also be opening a school in Sattar, just north of Bamiyan. Perhaps you know it?” he asked.

  Parween shook her head. It was a familiar name, but she didn’t think she had ever been there. Johann continued.

  “We need someone to have a look around, see if there is a place for a school. Would you be interested in having a look for us?”

  “Of course,” Parween replied. She would be a teacher; she had to be optimistic.

  “But”—Johann’s voice dropped—“I must check first with Kabul. There is a monthly report that tells me if there are any problems. I don’t think that Sattar has been listed on that report, but I can’t be sure. So, I don’t need you to go just yet, but perhaps in the next week or so, once I’ve had a chance to check the information. Could you go then?”