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thinking there would be no one left to do so when her turn came.
Some things were difficult. Without her father around, Shekiba had no connection with the village or its resources.
She again contemplated digging her own plot, beside her father, and lying down in it.
Shekiba wondered if she would see her mother again. If she did, she prayed it would be the mother who sang while she cooked their meals, not the bald, glassy-eyed woman Shekiba had buried.
But along with spring came a visitor, and the first hint that Shekiba would not be allowed to live like this for long.
At the edge of the field. Did you see the tree? The one that should be growing apples but grows nothing at all? That’s where he is. You walked right past him, along with my mother, my sister and my two brothers. If you have anything to tell him, you can tell him as you make your way back to the house with all the food.
A girl, by herself! What dishonor this could bring to their family if anyone in the village were to find out!
She had some scabs, while other areas stayed red and chafed, her body too malnourished to repair minor damage.
Look at what you’ve done! Clean this up or you will be sleeping with Shekiba tonight! There was no end. God has punished Shekiba. That is why she has no mother or father. Now go wash for prayers or else God will do the same to you.
Each had given her husband at least two sons to carry on the family name. They didn’t need to make any of their daughters a bacha posh.
“We needed a son in the house, Khala-jan.” “Hmmph. Would be better if you could just have one as the others did.”
“Fifteen thousand afghanis,” he said, barely looking up. Not too long ago, a kilo of flour had cost forty afghanis. But money was worthless now that everyone had bags of it.
“His son is ten.”
Wth
“We will offer Shekiba.”
Your name means “gift,” my daughter. You are a gift from Allah.
That is the problem with gifts, Madar-jan. They are always given away.
Because she was Shekiba, the gift that could be given away as easily as it had been accepted.
“Yes, Madar-jan, but sometimes I just don’t want to. They . . . they push each other a lot.” “Then push back.”
“Their father can eat shit.”
Shekiba gritted her teeth. I have lived alone. I have no need for anyone.
I cannot go on like this forever. I must find a way to make a life for myself.
A clap as the back of his hand swung across her face. She reeled from the blow. My stomach dropped.
nooo
That night I thought of Bibi Shekiba. I liked to compare myself to her, to feel like I was as bold and strong and honorable as her, but in my most honest moments I knew I wasn’t.
He thinks I have done something wrong. Already, he would love to punish me.
He thinks I regret how I left. He’s even dumber than his wife.
Bobo Shahgul’s walking stick came crashing down on her shoulder. She is weaker than a few months ago, Shekiba realized.
“What did she say?” I asked quietly. “She said she was taking care of all of us. She said it was a house full of dokhtar-ha-jawan and it wasn’t easy. All of a sudden, he got quiet. Then he started pacing the floor, saying his house was full of young women and that it wasn’t right.”
You’re supposed to marry them off. That’s what’s in his head now. And it’s all because you don’t know what to do with yourself.
“Madar-jan . . . I . . . I’m sorry, Madar-jan.” “It’s all right, bachem. It’s as much my fault as it is yours. Look at what I’ve done to you. I should have put a stop to this long ago.”
Men were, after all, unpredictable creatures.
“I would like to offer King Habibullah a gift of a servant.”
poor shekiba omg no
Shekiba, the gesture. Shekiba, the gift.
Shekiba, the half face. The girl-boy who walks like a man. Shekiba was not a whole anything, she realized.
“Is it any business of yours? Just tell him what I’ve asked.”
Madar-jan knew what the topic was. Maybe this time her husband would be more interested in bringing another wife home.
“Bachem, it’s high time. You’ve given her plenty of opportunity to give you a son and she’s failed. Now, let’s bring a second wife for you so that you can finally expand this family.”
Padar-jan was about to shake up our home.
“We are not here for your eldest daughter, Arif-jan. I’m speaking of your middle daughter. The bacha posh. My son has expressed an interest in her.” “The bacha posh . . .”
“Arif, please, Rahim’s only thirteen!”
It’s time to undo Rahim.”
He wants this, I realized. My father wants to marry us off.
Men could do what they wanted with women. There would be no stopping what Padar had set in motion.
CHAPTER 18
I love how both rahimas and shekibas stories are becoming similar now
“Allah has chosen this as your naseeb,” they each called out in turn. “This is your naseeb, Rahima.”
bro.....
“You are Rahima. You are a girl and you need to remember to carry yourself like one. Watch how you walk and how you sit. Don’t look people, men, in the eye and keep your voice low.” She looked like she wanted to say more but stopped short, her voice breaking.
“Oh, the hell with naseeb! Naseeb is what people blame for everything they can’t fix.” I wondered if Khala Shaima was right.
“My girls, let me tell you a little more about Bibi Shekiba. As much as I hate to think it, her story is your story.” She sighed and shook her head. “I suppose we all carry the story of our ancestors in us. Where did we leave off?”
TWO DAYS PASSED BEFORE SHEKIBA COULD STAND. Her lip was swollen and scabbed, her legs and back bore multiple bruises and each breath yanked her ribs in different directions. It wasn’t her naseeb to claim her father’s land. Instead, Azizullah had dragged her back to the house and beaten her for an hour. Every time his strikes slowed, he would yell and huff about the humiliation she had caused him. His momentum would pick up again and he’d toss her left and right with each blow.
this is so so so horrible
Shekiba wished Azizullah would have killed her. She wondered why he hadn’t.
Today was the day she would be gifted again.
