The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

There should have been a word for what she felt, the way her stomach jumped with anticipation to be somewhere she missed so much, to be around people who missed her as much as she missed them. It was a feeling that started sweet and finished bitter, when she realized that she stood in the ashes of those perfect times, as short as they’d been.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. I realized what my mother knew as well. Men could do what they wanted with women. There would be no stopping what Padar had set in motion.

“Please, Hakim-sahib, I have nothing else. I have no one else. This land is my only—” A blow to the side of her head. Shekiba reeled. “Goddamn you, girl!” A second blow knocked Shekiba off her feet. She lay on her side, curled. Her hands instinctively rose to cover her head beneath the burqa. She looked at Hakim-sahib. He was shaking his head. “Azizullah-jan, what is going on with this girl?”

“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. My father looked at me as if he saw a new person. No longer his son, I was someone he preferred to ignore. After all, I wouldn’t be his for much longer.

And then Shekib realized how she could change her fate. How she could stop being gifted from one stranger to another. But to do so she needed to belong to someone, to a man. And if she had sons, she would seal her fate. A mother of sons would not be passed from hand to hand like livestock.

The dress didn’t hold her back as it did me. I felt restless. I thought how much more comfortable I would be if I could just button my shirt and walk into the street. If I could just slip into my old clothes . . . how much more capable I would be. Zamarud might have disagreed but the clothes meant something different to me because I’d lived in them.