Chapter 8.

In the morning, Mariam was given a long-sleeved, dark greendress to wear over white cotton trousers. Afsoon gave her agreen hijab and a pair of matching sandals.
She was taken to the room with the long, brown table, exceptnow there was a bowl of sugar-coated almond candy in themiddle of the table, a Koran, a green veil, and a mirror. Twomen Mariam had never seen before- witnesses, shepresumed-and a mullah she did not recognize were alreadyseated at the table.
Jalil showed her to a chair. He was wearing a light brownsuit and a red tie. His hair was washed. When he pulled outthe chair for her, he tried to smile encouragingly. Khadija andAfsoon sat on Mariam's side of the table this time.
The mullah motioned toward the veil, and Nargis arranged iton Mariam's head before taking a seat. Mariam looked downat her hands.
"You can call him in now," Jalil said to someone.
Mariam smelled him before she saw him. Cigarette smoke andthick, sweet cologne, not faint like Jalil's. The scent of it floodedMariam's nostrils. Through the veil, from the corner of her eye,Mariam saw a tall man, thick-bellied and broad-shouldered,stooping in the doorway. The size of him almost made hergasp, and she had to drop her gaze, her heart hammeringaway. She sensed him lingering in the doorway. Then his slow,heavy-footed movement across the room. The candy bowl onthe table clinked in tune with his steps. With a thick grunt, hedropped on a chair beside her. He breathed noisily.
The mullah welcomed them. He said this would not be atraditional nikka"I understand that Rasheedagha has tickets for the bus toKabul that leaves shortly. So, in the interest of time, we willbypass some of the traditional steps to speed up theproceedings."The mullah gave a few blessings, said a few words about theimportance of marriage. He asked Jalil if he had any objectionsto this union, and Jalil shook his head. Then the mullah askedRasheed if he indeed wished to enter into a marriage contractwith Mariam. Rasheed said, "Yes." His harsh, raspy voicereminded Mariam of the sound of dry autumn leaves crushedunderfoot.
"And do you, Mariam jan, accept this man as your husband?"Mariam stayed quiet. Throats were cleared.
"She does," a female voice said from down the table.
"Actually," the mullah said, "she herself has to answer. Andshe should wait until I ask three times. The point is, he'sseeking her, not the other way around."He asked the question two more times. When Mariam didn'tanswer, he asked it once more, this time moreforcefully- Mariam could feel Jalil beside her shifting on hisseat, could sense feet crossing and uncrossing beneath thetable. There was more throat clearing. A small, white handreached out and flicked a bit of dust off the table.
"Mariam," Jalil whispered.
"Yes," she said shakily.
A mirror was passed beneath the veil. In it, Mariam saw herown face first, the archless, unshapely eyebrows, the flat hair,the eyes, mirthless green and set so closely together that onemight mistake her for being cross-eyed. Her skin was coarseand had a dull, spotty appearance. She thought her brow toowide, the chin too narrow, the lips too thin. The overallimpression was of a long face, a triangular face, a bithoundlike. And yet Mariam saw that, oddly enough, the wholeof these unmemorable parts made for a face that was notpretty but, somehow, not unpleasant to look at either.
In the mirror, Mariam had her first glimpse of Rasheed: thebig, square, ruddy face; the hooked nose; the flushed cheeksthat gave the impression of sly cheerfulness; the watery,bloodshot eyes; the crowded teeth, the front two pushedtogether like a gabled roof; the impossibly low hairline, barelytwo finger widths above the bushy eyebrows; the wall of thick,coarse, salt-and-pepper hair.
Their gazes met briefly in the glass and slid away.
This is the face of my husband,Mariam thought.
They exchanged the thin gold bands that Rasheed fished fromhis coat pocket. His nails were yellow-brown, like the inside ofa rotting apple, and some of the tips were curling, lifting.
Mariam's hands shook when she tried to slip the band ontohis finger, and Rasheed had to help her. Her own band was alittle tight, but Rasheed had no trouble forcing it over herknuckles.
"There," he said.
"It's a pretty ring," one of the wives said. "It's lovely, Mariam.""All that remains now is the signing of the contract," themullah said.
Mariam signed her name-themeem, thereh, the 3^ andthemeem again-conscious of all the eyes on her hand. The nexttime Mariam signed her name to a document, twenty-sevenyears later, a mullah would again be present.
"You are now husband and wife," the mullah said."Tabreek.
Congratulations."* * *Rasheed waited in the multicolored bus. Mariam could not seehim from where she stood with Jalil, by the rear bumper, onlythe smoke of his cigarette curling up from the open window.
Around them, hands shook and farewells were said. Koranswere kissed, passed under. Barefoot boys bounced betweentravelers, their faces invisible behind their trays of chewing gumand cigarettes.
Jalil was busy telling her that Kabul was so beautiful, theMoghul emperor Babur had asked that he be buried there.
Next, Mariam knew, he'd go on about Kabul's gardens, and itsshops, its trees, and its air, and, before long, she would be onthe bus and he would walk alongside it, waving cheerfully,unscathed, spared.
Mariam could not bring herself to allow it.
"I used to worship you," she said.
Jalil stopped in midsentence. He crossed and uncrossed hisarms. A young Hindi couple, the wife cradling a boy, thehusband dragging a suitcase, passed between them. Jalilseemed grateful for the interruption. They excused themselves,and he smiled back politely.
"On Thursdays, I sat for hours waiting for you. I worriedmyself sick that you wouldn't show up.""It's a long trip. You should eat something." He said he couldbuy her some bread and goat cheese.
"I thought about you all the time. I used to pray that you'dlive to be a hundred years old. I didn't know. I didn't knowthat you were ashamed of me."Jalil looked down, and, like an overgrown child, dug atsomething with the toe of his shoe.
"You were ashamed of me.""I'll visit you," he muttered "I'll come to Kabul and see you.
We'll-""No. No," she said. "Don't come. I won't see you. Don't youcome. I don't want to hear from you. Ever.Ever. "He gave her a wounded look.
"It ends here for you and me. Say your good-byes.""Don't leave like this," he said in a thin voice.
"You didn't even have the decency to give me the time to saygood-bye to Mullah Faizullah."She turned and walked around to the side of the bus. Shecould hear him following her. When she reached the hydraulicdoors, she heard him behind her.
"Mariamjo."She climbed the stairs, and though she could spot Jalil out ofthe corner of her eye walking parallel to her she did not lookout the window. She made her way down the aisle to theback, where Rasheed sat with her suitcase between his feet.
She did not turn to look when Jalil's palms pressed on theglass, when his knuckles rapped and rapped on it. When thebus jerked forward, she did not turn to see him trottingalongside it. And when the bus pulled away, she did not lookback to see him receding, to see him disappear in the cloud ofexhaust and dust.
Rasheed, who took up the window and middle seat, put histhick hand on hers.
"There now, girl There. There," he said. He was squinting outthe window as he said this, as though something moreinteresting had caught his eye.