The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

People who are beset by tragedy once and twice are sure to grieve again. Fate finds it easier to retrace its treads.

The person who doesn’t appreciate the apple doesn’t appreciate the orchard.

That is the problem with gifts, Madar-jan. They are always given away.

She was by now used to the idea that she was not truly part of any home, not truly part of any family. She would be sheltered by these walls only as long as she scrubbed them until her hands bled.

I dreamed of girls in green veils, hundreds of them, climbing up the mountain to the north of our town. A stream of emerald on the trail to the summit, where, one by one, they fell off the other side, their arms outstretched like wings that should have known how to fly.

I was pretty sure everyone was praying for different things. I wondered how Allah would sort it all out.

“The human spirit, you know what they say about the human spirit? It is harder than a rock and more delicate than a flower petal.”

People thought she was out of line, and the punishment for being out of line was severe in our world. It always had been.

There is some kiss we want with our whole lives, The touch of Spirit on the body. Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell. And the lily, how passionately it needs some wild Darling! At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come And press its face against mine. Breathe into me.

As foolish and illogical as it was, I prayed my next child would be a girl.

All the right prayers were said. All the wrong people came to pay their respects.

But I can pray for small things, like fertile fields, a mother’s love, a child’s smile—a life that’s less bitter than sweet.