Worrying about a safe exit, Saddiq hesitated to pick up the baby. And babies could be particular. She could cry out at a strange touch.
Glancing around the room, he wondered if his niece would someday resent growing up in Laashekoh, where luxuries were few. Girls prized fine clothes, furnishings, jewelry, books, and servants. Possessions were linked with security and routines, and as Thara pointed out, that was why girls worked so hard for a good marriage.
A clanging noise came from the other side of the house. Panicked, Saddiq stretched out along the floor next to the bed. Using the brass vase, he shoved a few boxes aside and squirmed his way underneath the bed. He tugged on the bedcover with one hand, trying to smooth his entry point.
Just in time. The bird cackled, calling out “Kee!” Ducking its head low, the bird poked its way underneath the bed, too.
“Kee?” he whispered back. He could not turn his head in the tight space and had to stare at the bird and the base of the baby’s basket.
Moments later, someone entered the room. Old slippers shuffled toward the child. “Ah, she left the door open, but you are still sleeping.”
The soft whisper was from an old woman. Saddiq loosened his grip on the vase. The feet stepped backward, away from the baby, moving about the room before pausing again near the basket. A smaller set of feet padded behind the woman.
A yellow kitten was curious about what waited underneath the bed. The bird pecked at the intruder, and the kitten yelped.
Suddenly, the stiff cover was jerked away. Terrified, Saddiq held his breath, scrambling to think of an excuse for hiding underneath a strange woman’s bed. His mind was blank.
“Ne!” The bird screeched and jabbed its beak toward the slippers. “Ne!”
Another scream, this one from the woman. Hands swooped down and latched onto the bird’s neck, pulling it out from underneath the bed. Flapping its wings, the myna shrieked.
“What are you doing in this room?” The question was vicious. “Why, I should let the cats take care of you!”
A cracking noise, and the myna’s wailing went silent.
Saddiq’s lungs hurt, and he had to breathe, as slowly and quietly as possible. He waited, but the woman did not kneel. Only the kitten peered at Saddiq, purring and sliding against his shoulder before heading back to pounce on the slippers. “Sleep, Shareen. Sleep. You deserve better.” A gnarled hand dipped down, pinching the back of the kitten’s neck.
The light went out, the door closed, and the woman left the room.
Saddiq felt safe in the darkness, but that was foolish. He wanted to run, not just out of the house, but away from his stupid ideas. Thara had warned him. His plan was a disaster—entering a woman’s room, picking up a baby, keeping her asleep and quiet, traveling late at night, and expecting his parents to express more joy than fury. Taking another few breaths, he tried to calm down before squirming away from the tight space. He decided to leave the brass vase behind and stood.
Amazingly, the baby still slept, and her mouth opened with each soft breath.
Saddiq could run off and leave his niece at the compound. The home wasn’t terrible. He could return to Laashekoh and tell his father all he had learned—everything except the parts about entering a woman’s bedroom and hiding underneath her bed. His father did not tell his family much about his activities outside of Laashekoh and might already know about the child. For all Saddiq knew, the man could already be arranging the transfer.
The baby would only hinder Saddiq’s escape.
But Saddiq’s arms moved faster than his reasoning. He stretched the piece of old blanket on the floor and turned to the basket. He pulled back the soft cover and gathered the baby with her blanket, placing both on top of the rag. He folded the gray blanket in half, tying the two ends around his neck and arranging the child like a pack on his back. The girl whimpered softly, but she was covered, and that muffled the noise. Before leaving the room, he bunched another one of her blankets underneath her bedcover. The lump in the basket might deceive anyone who entered the room for a quick check.
His biggest danger was leaving the house, aiming for the soft glow of the living areas at the far end of the hall, and Saddiq was at a disadvantage against any woman or man as long as he held the child. Every step took him away from the bedroom, the house, the mysterious compound—away from being challenged to give an excuse he did not have. He edged out of the room and moved swiftly along the narrow hallway. Near the living areas, Saddiq heard scratching noises on the carpet. Crouching, he slowed his pace to check. Three kittens cavorted about the space. Keeping one hand on the tie around his neck that secured the pack, Saddiq opened the door and stepped outside.
The chilly night air beckoned, offering freedom and promise. Once on the trail, Saddiq and the child would be safe.
The baby squirmed, probably because of the cold, before settling against his back—still sleeping by some miracle. Overwhelmed with relief, he reached back and gave her a reassuring pat.
No one was near. The whirling wind masked the sound of footsteps. He crept among the shadows of the dark building, scanning all directions for any sign of movement. Shouting came from nearby, and Saddiq hurried toward the stand of trees. Turning the corner, he stumbled against a person crouched low in the shadows. Gasping, he clutched the ends of the blanket and barely kept his balance.
He expected a cry of alarm and prepared for an awkward run.
Instead, a familiar voice whispered a scolding. “Be still! Or you will get us both in trouble!” Najwa, the orphan girl. “And do as I say.” Saddiq complied, though he dearly wanted nothing more than to flee the compound. There would be an outcry any moment over the missing child, and Najwa would guess the culprit.
“You won’t tell anyone that I was here?” he pleaded.
She pointed toward the trees. “Never. Unless you rush before prying eyes.” The old woman had backed away from the large building and waited near the trailhead. In his hurry, Saddiq would have crossed her path. Najwa explained that the woman waited for her husband to return and that Zahira tolerated no interference from servants when she had visitors. “She pretends that her visitors do not exist and banishes us when they arrive. Both of them would punish us.” The girl paused. “Why are you here? For your father?”
Saddiq shook his head, puzzled that she brought up his father. Then she asked if Saddiq spied on his father. Her smile was sly, and he shook his head, deciding it was better not to talk. Najwa didn’t seem to notice the baby, and he wanted to get away before someone checked the basket. But Najwa wanted to talk.
“You should be careful here.” Najwa tossed her head in a superior way, displaying more confidence than she had in Laashekoh. Her hair looked smooth under a headscarf, and her skin smelled clean. She kept talking about his father. “Do you realize how often your father visits this place? How Zahira looks forward to his arrival? Zahira once loved him, but now hates him, too. Her husband told me this, because he despises your father, too, but Arhaan does not hide his feelings. Maybe because Arhaan cannot see. He teases Zahira that she wants a man who does not know how she feels.”
“Why do they care about my father?” Saddiq wondered aloud.
Najwa admitted she didn’t know. “Arhaan says he controls all the land around here, including Laashekoh, since he married Zahira . . .” She paused. “If he hates your father and controls the land, then why does he not remove Parsaa? Yes, that is strange.”
Saddiq felt uncomfortable discussing his father. So he asked if Najwa was happy, and she smiled. “Most of the time, and that is good enough for me,” she said. “Zahira is unhappy, but not how other women are unhappy.” Najwa pointed to the home. “She has so much but does not know how to enjoy it.”
Saddiq asked about the visitor, and Najwa stared into his eyes. “You know him. Paul Reichart. The foreign man who helped your father return the orphans?”
She turned her attention back to the building. “Your father likes Paul, but your father also think
s that every village is quiet like Laashekoh. Paul Reichart knows how to find people who hate themselves and pretends he can fix their hatred.”
She cocked her head toward the arguing, and they paused to listen though Saddiq still could not understand the specific words. The older woman approached the door as if to intervene. After listening a few moments, she disappeared around the corner.
Saddiq was anxious to return to Laashekoh, but not before expressing gratitude to Najwa. “Thank you for not telling my parents about me that night in our house back in Laashekoh,” he murmured softly. “My parents were so rough with you.”
She waved her hand to dismiss his worry. “I don’t blame your parents,” she said. “And I am grateful to you, too.”
He didn’t understand, and she explained. “You told me about the book in your house. I had to destroy it. Nothing else mattered that night.”
He remembered talking with her about the large book full of photographs and maps of Afghanistan villages and countryside. He had described the book and wondered aloud if the images might help Najwa remember the location of her village. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said.
She leaned back against the wall. “It was upsetting. You thought I could look at the pictures and find a familiar place?”
He nodded. Her short laugh was sharp.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I know exactly where I’m from and have no desire to return. Laashekoh is far better than the place where I was raised. And I am happier here working with Arhaan and the birds.” Najwa took his hand. “I will keep your secrets if you keep mine?”
She then explained how she knew Leila and Jahangir, the husband who led the trafficking ring. “Jahangir is my oldest brother. My father despised his children and complained more than once that we had ruined his life. We were under constant threat when he was near. So my brother decided to leave our village, stealing money my father had hidden away and a favorite knife he used to get his way with us. I went along. My brother had an idea for making money off of other parents who resented their children by promising to find jobs. Jahangir said it would help if I pretended to be one of the children searching for jobs.”
She studied Saddiq, who could not hide his disgust. He would never forget the terrible night, the worst of his life. The traffickers had caught Saddiq, and he had seen children bound to the wagon, carted like animals, destined to work as laborers in Pakistan. Leila had tied Saddiq alongside the other children, for delivery and sale, and promised he would not see his parents again. Najwa sighed.
“Jahangir wanted me to spy on the other children, report to him if the other children were plotting against him. So, yes, I rode along in the wagon, listening to the crying and curses, their secret plotting to run away from my brother or even kill him.” She looked down. “I’m ashamed. Early on, I told him about their transgressions.”
She took a deep breath and looked out onto the darkness leading to the canyon wall and the start of the trail to Laashekoh. “Jahangir punished them brutally. He was like my father, cuffing them about the heads, twisting their arms, taunting and humiliating them. And I was not spared. He pinched our breasts and forced us to perform before we received our meals.”
Her voice broke. Saddiq had spent only a few hours with the group. For her, such abuse was routine.
“I stopped telling him about the other children. The fool eventually realized I was holding back and took me aside to explain that he had to treat me badly or the other children would turn on me. But I no longer trusted him.” Her brother was arrested with Leila and Leila’s mother, neither of whom knew that Najwa was Jahangir’s sister.
Jahangir said nothing about his sister, and Najwa was left behind in Laashekoh. “He had his reasons—probably to spy for him or visit him in jail,” she said. “The other children never guessed that I was related to him. He didn’t care for me, and I think he planned to sell me off in Pakistan, too, if it had meant more money for his pockets. But that was fine. Anyplace was better than living with him or my father. I am happy to leave Laashekoh, so Jahangir cannot find where I live, and I am happy to stay with Arhaan. I never want to see my family again.”
She thanked Saddiq again. “I had to destroy the book. I was afraid your father might find my family village.” Saddiq could understand her fear in admitting that she was Jahangir’s sister. His parents would have turned her over to the authorities or worse. She both did wrong and was wronged. He could not despise her, and that bothered him. For too many, truth was defiance and dangerous. Lying and secrecy were a means of self-defense. He did not enjoy telling or hearing lies, but he understood the reasons. Some truths meant the loss of love and respect—with others never looking at him in the same way.
He wanted her to trust him and confided why he was at the compound. “The baby is my niece, and sleeping in my pack,” he whispered. “I cannot risk that she ever goes back to Leila.”
Najwa solemnly agreed and promised not to tell. “You were the only one who was good to me in Laashekoh. It may not seem like much, but you smiled. You worked when your mother taught the other children lessons.” She looked up at the night sky, and it was as if she could read his uncertain mind. “Do not be angry with your parents. You learned these values from them. They may make mistakes, but they are better parents than Leila or Zahira ever could be.”
So many argued over what was proper or wrong. No parent could be sure about how to shape a child’s ways, and even Saddiq’s own parents could be unpredictable. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you are safe.”
She nodded. “Arhaan is a kind man, a smart man. Zahira and the others think that I have slept in his bed, but I have not. But is that wrong if she hates him so? Arhaan drops hints about liking me, and I do not mind. Understand that he resents that his wife meets with men alone, including Paul and your father.”
He asked if she was sure about his father. But then, Saddiq knew the man had secrets.
“Your father has done nothing wrong.” She was adamant. “Maybe you can convince him that Arhaan means well. The man has shown me how to care for the birds, and I do feel safe here. He is more timid than cruel and is only hurt because his wife loves another man. Your father doesn’t even know . . .”
A stick cracked, and Saddiq turned.
“What foolishness is this?” the older woman scolded. “Are you spying on us for your father?” She was furious and raised her hand to confront Najwa: “Is that why he sent you here, too?”
“No . . .” Saddiq sputtered, frantic that the woman might notice the child.
But she was more concerned about defending Zahira to Najwa. “Zahira is good to you. She allows you to stay here, and you gossip about her? How long have you two been meeting?”
Najwa shook her head, insisting the meeting was their first and unplanned. “I was directing him to see Mohan. Then we heard the arguing and thought he should wait . . .”
The woman interrupted. “Hah! Arhaan will hear about this! He complains about his wife and won’t like hearing that you sneak about at night, meeting with Parsaa’s son and talking about the compound.”
She turned back to Saddiq. “Such a big pack . . . Does your father expect us to keep every child from Laashekoh? You look just like the Parsaa of years ago. Zahira will like that. Which of his sons are you?”
Confused, Saddiq gave his name. Brusque and efficient, the woman pointed to a group of huts and ordered Najwa to take the boy’s pack to the largest one. The boy protested, but Najwa gave a slight shake of her head, and the woman explained that Najwa would be beaten if Saddiq reported the contents were disturbed. He removed the pack with care, hoping the baby would not let loose with a scream. Najwa’s face was expressionless as she extended her hands.
“I’ll deal with you later,” the woman warned.
Najwa hurried off, cradling the bundle like the baby it was, and Saddiq observed which hut she had entered.
The old woman scolded him for dawdling and explained how Saddiq
must first meet Zahira, who would then decide if the boy could stay at the compound. She rambled on about great history and important work, with words that could only describe other times and places.
“It’s an honor to stay here,” she said gruffly. “Plenty of work will keep you busy, but it is a good life. A quiet one, Allah willing.”
The words were troubling, and Saddiq wondered what promise his father had made to the compound. What did his father owe this group of strangers? Was his father sending him to the strange place because Saddiq had refused to attend school?
The compound seemed to have some hold over his father. Najwa had mentioned that someone named Arhaan owned the land surrounding Laashekoh. Saddiq learned how little he knew about his own future—in one night and only by leaving Laashekoh.
The woman warned him not to gossip about the compound. “No one in the village needs to know what goes on here—not even your father.” She asked about his father and Mohan. “What is taking them so long?”
He could not answer and did not mention that he had been away from Laashekoh. Perhaps his father had figured out why Saddiq went away, and this was his punishment. He was hurt and exhausted. Parents who practiced keeping secrets must expect their children to do the same.
The woman directed Saddiq to the largest building of the compound. The arguing had subsided. With his father expected soon, a meeting must be planned. Najwa would not want to be caught hiding the child and could return her to the basket.
He understood and didn’t want the girl punished for his deed. The night was strange, and most troubling was how much he might learn about his father. The woman claimed the compound had a great history, but Saddiq wondered how that could be true in a desolate place with too many secrets.
Allure of Deceit Page 24
