Chapter 31.

MadamIn the daytime, the girl was no more than a creakingbedspring, a patter of footsteps overhead. She was watersplashing in the bathroom, or a teaspoon clinking against glassin the bedroom upstairs. Occasionally, there were sightings: ablur of billowing dress in the periphery of Madam's vision,scurrying up the steps, arms folded across the chest, sandalsslapping the heels.
But it was inevitable that they would run into each other.
Madam passed the girl on the stairs, in the narrow hallway, inthe kitchen, or by the door as she was coming in from theyard. When they met like this, an awkward tension rushed intothe space between them. The girl gathered her skirt andbreathed out a word or two of apology, and, as she hurriedpast, Madam would chance a sidelong glance and catch ablush. Sometimes she could smell Rasheed on her. She couldsmell his sweat on the girl's skin, his tobacco, his appetite. Sex,mercifully, was a closed chapter in her own life. It had beenfor some time, and now even the thought of those laborioussessions of lying beneath Rasheed made Madam queasy in thegut.
At night, however, this mutually orchestrated dance ofavoidance between her and the girl was not possible. Rasheedsaid they were a family. He insisted they were, and familieshad to eat together, he said.
"What is this?" he said, his fingers working the meat off abone-the spoon-and-fork charade was abandoned a week afterhe married the girl. "Have I married a pair of statues? Go on,Madam,gap bezan, say something to her. Where are yourmanners?"Sucking marrow from a bone, he said to the girl, "But youmustn't blame her. She is quiet. A blessing, really,because,wallah, if a person hasn't got much to say she mightas well be stingy with words. We are city people, you and I,but she isdehati. A village girl. Not even a village girl. No. Shegrew up in akolba made of mudoutside the village. Her fatherput her there. Have you told her, Mariam, have you told herthat you are aharami1? Well, she is. But she is not withoutqualities, all things considered. You will see for yourself, Lailajan. She is sturdy, for one thing, a good worker, and withoutpretensions. I'll say it this way: If she were a car, she wouldbe a Volga."Mariam was a thirty-three-year-old woman now, but thatword,harami, still had sting. Hearing it still made her feel likeshe was a pest, a cockroach. She remembered Nana pullingher wrists.You are a clumsy Utile harami.This is my reward foreverything I've endured. An heirloom-breaking clumsy Utileharami.
"You," Rasheed said to the girl, "you, on the other hand,would be a Benz. A brand-new, first-class, shiny Benz.Wahwah. But. But." He raised one greasy index finger. "One musttake certain…cares…with a Benz. As a matter of respect for itsbeauty and craftsmanship, you see. Oh, you must be thinkingthat I am crazy,diwana, with all this talk of automobiles. I amnot saying you are cars. I am merely making a point."For what came next, Rasheed put down the ball of rice he'dmade back on the plate. His hands dangled idly over his meal,as he looked down with a sober, thoughtful expression.
"One mustn't speak ill of the dead much less the,shaheed.AndI intend no disrespect when I say this, I want you to know,but I have certain… reservations…about the way yourparents-Allah, forgive them and grant them a place inparadise-about their, well, their leniency with you. I'm sorry."The cold, hateful look the girl flashed Rasheed at this did notescape Mariam, but he was looking down and did not notice.
"No matter. The point is, I am your husband now, and it fallson me to guard not onlyyour honor butours, yes, ournangandnamoos. That is the husband's burden. You let me worryabout that. Please. As for you, you are the queen, themalika,and this house is your palace. Anything you need done youask Mariam and she will do it for you. Won't you, Mariam?
And if you fancy something, I will get itforyou. You see, that isthe sort of husband I am.
"All I ask in return, well, it is a simple thing. I ask that youavoid leaving this house without my company. That's all. Simple,no? If I am away and you need something urgently, Imeanabsolutely need it and it cannot wait for me, then youcan send Mariam and she will go out and get it for you.
You've noticed a discrepancy, surely. Well, one does not drive aVolga and a Benz in the same manner. That would be foolish,wouldn't it? Oh, I also ask that when we are out together, thatyou wear a burqa. For your own protection, naturally. It isbest. So many lewd men in this town now. Such vile intentions,so eager to dishonor even a married woman. So. That's all."He coughed.
"I should say that Mariam will be my eyes and ears when Iam away." Here, he shot Mariam a fleeting look that was ashard as a steel-toed kick to the temple. "Not that I ammistrusting. Quite the contrary. Frankly, you strike me as farwiser than your years. But you are still a young woman, Lailajan, adokhtar ejawan, and young women can make unfortunatechoices. They can be prone to mischief. Anyway, Mariam willbe accountable. And if there is a slipup…"On and on he went. Mariam sat watching the girl out of thecorner of her eye as Rasheed's demands and judgments raineddown on them like the rockets on Kabul.
* * *One day, Mariam was in the living room folding some shirtsof Rasheed's that she had plucked from the clothesline in theyard. She didn't know how long the girl had been standingthere, but, when she picked up a shirt and turned around, shefound her standing by the doorway, hands cupped around aglassful of tea.
"I didn't mean to startle you," the girl said. "I'm sorry."Mariam only looked at her.
The sun fell on the girl's face, on her large green eyes andher smooth brow, on her high cheekbones and the appealing,thick eyebrows, which were nothing like Mariam's own, thinand featureless. Her yellow hair, uncombed this morning, wasmiddle-parted.
Mariam could see in the stiff way the girl clutched the cup,the tightened shoulders, that she was nervous. She imaginedher sitting on the bed working up the nerve.
"The leaves are turning," the girl said companionably. "Haveyou seen? Autumn is my favorite. I like the smell of it, whenpeople burn leaves in their gardens. My mother, she likedspringtime the best. You knew my mother?""Not really."The girl cupped a hand behind her ear. "I'm sorry?"Mariam raised her voice. "I said no. I didn't know yourmother.""Oh.""Is there something you want?""Mariam jan, I want to…About the things he said the othernight-""I have been meaning to talk to you about it." Mariam brokein.
"Yes, please," the girl said earnestly, almost eagerly. She took astep forward. She looked relieved.
Outside, an oriole was warbling. Someone was pulling a cart;Mariam could hear the creaking of its hinges, the bouncing andrattling of its iron wheels. There was the sound of gunfire notso far away, a single shot followed by three more, thennothing.
"I won't be your servant," Mariam said. "I won't."The girl flinched "No. Of course not!""You may be the palacemalika and me adehati, but I won'ttake orders from you. You can complain to him and he canslit my throat, but I won't do it. Do you hear me? I won't beyour servant.""No! I don't expect-""And if you think you can use your looks to get rid of me,you're wrong. I was here first. I won't be thrown out. I won'thave you cast me out.""It's not what I want," the girl said weakly.
"And I see your wounds are healed up now. So you canstart doing your share of the work in this house-"The girl was nodding quickly. Some of her tea spilled, but shedidn't notice. "Yes, that's the other reason I came down, tothank you for taking care of me-""Well, I wouldn't have," Mariam snapped. "I wouldn't have fedyou and washed you and nursed you if I'd known you weregoing to turn around and steal my husband.""Steal-""I will still cook and wash the dishes. You will do the laundryand the sweeping- The rest we will alternate daily. And onemore thing. I have no use for your company. I don't want it.
What I want is to be alone. You will leave me be, and I willreturn the favor. That's how we will get on. Those are therules."When she was done speaking, her heart was hammering andher mouth felt parched. Mariam had never before spoken inthis manner, had never stated her will so forcefully. It ought tohave felt exhilarating, but the girl's eyes had teared up and herface was drooping, and what satisfaction Mariam found fromthis outburst felt meager, somehow illicit.
She extended the shirts toward the girl.
"Put them in thealmari, not the closet. He likes the whites inthe top drawer, the rest in the middle, with the socks."The girl set the cup on the floor and put her hands out forthe shirts, palms up. "I'm sorry about all of this," she croaked.
"You should be," Mariam said. "You should be sorry."