The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (22 page)

“Well, let’s take a look at you.” She lifted Shekiba’s
burqa
and took a step back. “Well, well. That’s quite a face. I suppose that’s why you were sent here. Ladies, this is our newest guard.”

S
hekiba’s surprise grew when she learned all of the guards in this house were actually women dressed in men’s clothing. Ghafoor seemed to be in charge of the five guards. It was evening and she could see the exhaustion in Shekiba’s face. Ghafoor had her rest for the night and told her work would begin in the morning. For the first time in a long time, Shekiba slept soundly, surrounded by women pretending to be men.

Her transformation started at daybreak. Ghafoor led Shekiba to the wash area and cut her thick, knotted hair. She was instructed to bathe and given a set of clothing identical to what Ghafoor wore. Shekiba stared in wonder at the pants and could scarcely believe she should walk about in them. She slipped one leg in and then the other, fastening the buttons at the waist. She was given a corseted undergarment that pushed her modest bosom flat against her chest. She slipped her arms into the shirt and buttoned it closed. The boots felt heavy. Shekiba stood and stared down. Then she reached up and ran her fingers through her short hair.

She took two steps and turned. Her legs felt loose and she blushed when she looked down and saw the crotch of her pants. Her hands ran over her backside and she shuddered to think the shape of her limbs would be so visible in these ballooned pants. She had only ever seen women in skirts, draped enough to disguise the curves and crevices that hid underneath.

And yet there was something liberating about her new clothes. She lifted her right leg and then her left. She thought of her brothers and how they would run about the fields in their flowing pants.

Ghafoor understood.

“It is awkward at first, but you’ll adjust quickly. The uniform is comfortable enough with time.”

“What are we guarding?”

Ghafoor laughed. “They’ve told you nothing? We are guards for King Habibullah’s women.”

“His wives?”

“Not exactly. His women. These are women he spends time with, women he takes when he is struck by the mood.” Shekiba must have looked confused. “Men can take more than just their wives, dear girl. Sometimes wives are not enough.”

Shekiba was certain she did not understand but kept her mouth shut for the time being.

Ghafoor looked at her thoughtfully.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

Shekiba looked down instinctively. “I was burned as a child.”

“Hmm. And where is your family?”

“My village is one day’s travel from here. My mother and father are dead. My brothers and sister are dead.”

Ghafoor’s brow furrowed. “You have no other family?”

“They gave me away to repay a debt. And that man gave me away to the king.”

“And now you are one of us. Welcome, Shekiba. But here you will be Shekib, understand? Now let me introduce you to the others.”

F
our women-men guarded the king’s harem. Shekiba found herself staring at their faces as so many others had stared at hers. But with good reason. Ghafoor was actually Guljaan. She was the leader of the group, not only because she was tallest and loudest but also because she had been in the palace longer than the others. She was the most content with her role and seemed to take pride in doing a good job. Her face was smooth, but a fine, downy rim on her upper lip and untamed brows gave her the appearance of a young man, fresh with enthusiasm for his important post.

Ghafoor came from a modest family in a nearby village and had been given to the palace in exchange for a cow. It was midafternoon and her mother had been busy with her younger siblings. Ghafoor’s father had interrupted her needlework.
We are going to visit your grandmother,
he had said. Ghafoor wondered why the others were not coming but shrugged her shoulders and followed her father two kilometers down the road, where she was delivered to a man dressed in a gray tunic and pants. Her father warned her sternly to follow the man’s directions and turned to walk the two kilometers back to their family. She cried and screamed when she realized she would not see her mother or siblings again.

Ghafoor was brought to the palace and watched as a guard brought out a cow for the man in gray. It was a decent cow, not too sickly looking and plenty to satisfy her family’s needs. She realized immediately what her father had done and wondered if her mother had been privy to the plan. She cursed him for his deceit and feared what would become of her, an adolescent girl, in the hands of strangers.

It did not take long, however, for Ghafoor to appreciate her father’s barter. She missed her mother and siblings terribly but life behind the palace walls, even for a servant, was easier than life at home. The beatings were fewer, the food more plentiful, and she had taken on some authority.

The king needed guards to watch over his harem, but he believed no man to be above temptation. For months he paced and debated, the dilemma as perplexing as the tribal disputes in Kurram Valley. When an adviser came up with a plan to dress women as male guards, the king rewarded him for his stroke of genius and had him fill the positions as quickly as possible.

Ghafoor enjoyed the comfort of palace life. All she had to do was give up being a woman, an easy trade. Two other girls were recruited along with her, but they lasted only two or three months. One had argued with a woman of the harem and Benafsha, the other, had been so beautiful that the king took an immediate liking to her and decided she should be guarded as well. She was made to grow her hair long again and reassigned to her new position as a concubine.

Then came two sisters, Karima, who would become Karim, and Khatol, who would be renamed Qasim. This time the king’s representatives chose more wisely, recruiting girls who were tall enough to pass for men but homely enough that they would not tantalize the king. Karim and Qasim came from a family of four girls. Their mother cried violently as she told the girls they could not afford to feed all four and that their father had arranged for them to be taken to the king’s palace, where they would have a much better life. The obedient girls had tearfully accepted their parents’ decision and left home hand in hand.

Karim was two years older and looked after her sister. She quickly overcame her timidity and became second in command, arguing with Ghafoor so that she would not dominate them completely. Qasim was quieter and missed the family. She was taller than her sister by an inch but hunched her shoulders, prompting Ghafoor to poke her repeatedly in the back until she learned to stand as a guard should.

Tariq, the newest addition, was different from the others. She carried out her duties well enough but fantasized that she would be noticed by the king and recruited to his court of women. She was the shortest of the group and plumper in the face, with chestnut hair that she had been told no man could resist. She would not say where the compliment had come from but she refused to let the defeminizing uniform spoil her chances. She made sure her hips swayed when she walked and batted her eyes when the king neared. Of all the women in the harem, she guarded Benafsha most, feeling kinship with the former guard who had enticed the king.

Ghafoor and Karim rolled their eyes at her often but tolerated her occasional fantasies. Every guard had her own way of coping.

Ghafoor introduced Shekiba to a few of the king’s concubines, the women who kept the king satisfied. Benafsha was the youngest of the group. She knew why Tariq favored her over the others but refused to indulge any details of the king. Whenever Tariq asked her about the monarch, she would shake her head and adjust her skirt. She was lightest in complexion and her eyes were light brown with speckled irises. Tariq could see why she had attracted the king’s attention. She was the most beautiful, now that Halima’s face had begun to show her years.

Halima, the eldest of the group, had borne the king two daughters over the years. The girls were two and four years old and bore a striking resemblance to their mother. Halima stroked their hair and sighed wistfully, realizing the king beckoned to her less often and wondering what that would mean for her and her daughters. Halima was kind and motherly and tempered the bickering of the others.

Benazir, the darkest, had ebony eyes that teared easily these days. She was with child and terrified. Her belly had just started to swell but she had been ill for weeks, unable to keep down more than a few mouthfuls of rice at a time. She would stare at the walls and started when Halima put a hand on her shoulder.

Sakina and Fatima were feistier girls, but less beautiful than the others. Fatima had borne a son, which gave her an edge over the others. They were friendly enough, but unlike good-natured Halima, they were usually the instigators of any turbulence in the harem. Sakina in particular despised Benafsha, knowing that her ranking in the harem had dropped notches with the temptress’s arrival. And Benafsha knew how to throw that fact in Sakina’s face when she needed. Shekiba knew to keep her distance from these two, her instincts telling her they would be unforgiving in their comments about her face.

There were others, she was told. She would see more tomorrow.

Harem life was relatively simple. Shekiba listened in amazement to hear what the women did. And, more important, what they did not do. They did not cook, nor did they carry buckets of water from a well. They did not tend to animals or spend hours peeling vegetables.

“Who does all the housework then?” Shekiba asked Ghafoor as they watched Sakina and Benazir rouge their cheeks and stain their lips with crushed cherries.

“The people for the housework. Everyone has a purpose here in the palace. The guards, the servants, the women, and us. We all do our part in Arg.” Ghafoor sat with her right ankle crossed over her left knee. She was comfortable as a man.

“Arg?”

“Arg-e-Shahi. You do not know what Arg is?” Ghafoor laughed with the self-satisfaction of someone who had once been as ignorant. “This is Arg-e-Shahi, the palace! Arg is your new home, Shekib-
jan
!”

CHAPTER 23

“T
ake off your
chador
.”

I kept my face to the wall and pulled my legs in under me. The room was small enough that I could hear each raspy breath.

Abdul Khaliq stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. From this angle, he looked larger than life. He took two steps in and shut the door behind him.

“I said, take off your
chador
.”

I lowered my head and told myself to breathe. I prayed he would be frustrated and walk away, as he had yesterday.

“I will not tolerate insolence. Yesterday, I let you be. That was my gift to you, to show you I can be kind. Today, things are different. You are in your husband’s home, my home. You will behave as a wife should.”

I was sharing a house with Abdul Khaliq’s third wife. I was his fourth. The other wives lived in separate homes within the same compound, all interconnected. It had been nearly dark when we got to the compound and I hadn’t seen much. Bibi Gulalai, his mother, had insisted on using me as a cane to get to the car. She was old and I was not rude enough to refuse, though I only answered her questions with one-or-two-word responses. She was sizing me up.

Bibi Gulalai led me to a small room at the end of a hallway. This was to be my room, she said. There was a bathroom just outside my door, the likes of which I had never before seen. It was modern, with running water and a toilet.

Wife number three was Shahnaz. I saw her for just a moment before I was ushered into my room. She turned her back to me and walked away, uninterested in introductions.

“That’s Shahnaz. You’ll meet her in the morning when she shows you around.”

My room had a cushion in the corner, a pillow and a small table.

“We’ll send you a plate of food for tonight. Tomorrow you become part of your new home,” Bibi Gulalai said smugly.

I doubted it.

I had nearly screamed yesterday when Abdul Khaliq entered the room. I was crouched in the corner. He wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. He had just finished eating. My plate was untouched.

“You haven’t eaten? My wife is not hungry, eh?” He chuckled.

I said nothing.

He squatted next to me and lifted my chin with two fingers. His touch was rough. I kept my gaze averted. He pulled my
chador
off my head and felt the back of my head.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, and walked back out of the room. I shook with fright.

Night came and went and I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned on the mattress, listening for the sound of footsteps, a hand on the doorknob, a knock. I thought of my mother, my sisters. I wondered if Shahla and Parwin were close by. I prayed we were all in the same compound and I would see them in the morning, every morning. I wondered what Rohila was telling Sitara, who every day had been asking more questions that we couldn’t answer. I wished I could be laid out at Khala Shaima’s feet, listening to her tell another chapter of Bibi Shekiba’s story.