The Pearl that Broke Its Shell (37 page)

Down a tree-lined street, a building came into view.

It had a gated entrance flanked by porticos with stone pillars, Through the main entrance, a wide path led to and encircled an imposing tower with a flag flapping from its summit. I craned my neck to get a good view.

That tower reaches the sky!
I thought
.

The palace’s façade was embellished with carvings and arches, dull and chipped, but it surely once looked very majestic. A woman walked past the front gate, her green-yellow head scarf pulled across her face, hiding everything below her nose and cascading down her shoulders. As we drove past, she turned slightly and looked directly at my tinted window, her eyes meeting mine as if she could see through it. This first glimpse of a Kabuli woman was exciting for me, a girl from a village.

“What’s that building?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“That’s Arg-e-Shahi, the presidential palace.”

“Bibi Shekiba… ,” I whispered. I got a chill thinking of how my great-great-grandmother must have felt when she first saw those gates. And to think of what she had seen on the other side. As usual, Khala Shaima had left her story unfinished. The turn of events in her life was unpredictable. I wanted to know what became of her almost as much as I wanted to know what would become of me.

“God have mercy, what the hell are you mumbling about?”

Badriya’s question went unanswered. I stared at the palace, where my legacy began.

What happened to you here?
I wondered.

Maroof turned left, then right and left again, weaving through the crowded streets and cursing every car in his path. There were tanks and soldiers in fatigues and helmets. They didn’t look Afghan. These were the foreign soldiers Badriya had told us about. Just like my husband’s guards, they had large guns hanging at their sides. Little boys stood in front of them, looking curious. The soldiers laughed and chatted casually.

“Are they American?” I asked Badriya.

“They’re from everywhere. Some are American, some European or whatever they are.” She pointed to a building coming up on our left. “We’re here,” she announced.

“Is this where you always stay?”

“Yes, it’s a nice place. You’ll see.”

Badriya was right. We pulled up to a metal gate on a small street, tucked away from the busy market.

Our driver rolled down his window when we pulled up to the blue-uniformed guard at the gate. He mentioned Abdul Khaliq’s name. I thought the men were shaking hands but I realized Hassan’s fingers held a folded stack of bills that the man slipped into his pocket.

I looked over at Badriya but she either hadn’t noticed the exchange or didn’t care.

Hassan opened the gate and our driver, Maroof, pulled into a circular drive that looped in front of the largest building I’d ever seen. It was three stories tall with rows of windows lined up like a hundred eyes. Two columns framed the glass, double-door entrance.

“And this is where the meetings are?”

“No, you fool. The
parliament
meets in the
parliament
building.” I was too excited to be annoyed with her condescending tone.

We were led into an elegant lobby with a reception desk. A man wearing a crisp dress shirt and slim pants was talking on the phone, but he nodded when he saw our driver and the other guard. He cradled the receiver and looked up at our guards. I stood behind Badriya, not wanting to make an inappropriate move. Three women walked in from outside dressed in fitted tunic tops and denim pants. Their head scarves were demurely tied under their chins but wisps of hair framed their faces and their delicately arched brows. Their shoes got my attention most. Black leather pumps broke the silence in the room.

Looking at their clothes, I was thankful the
burqas
hid our faded, baggy dresses. I felt suddenly unsophisticated and awkward. I tried to hide my feet behind Badriya. The women were busy talking and hardly noticed us.

The conversation between Abdul Khaliq’s bodyguards and the man at the reception desk went back and forth until finally there was another handshake. Another wad of bills slipped into the receptionist’s palm and from there was quickly tucked into his jacket pocket, while he made a quick glance around the room to make sure no one else was watching, not that anyone would have cared.

We were led to a room on the third floor with two single beds and a bathroom with a western toilet. The window looked out on the courtyard behind the hotel, a small stone area surrounded by flowering plants and shrubs. I saw a pigeon waddling in the shade of a tree.

Like the palace gardens where Bibi Shekiba used to stand guard,
I thought.

“I can’t believe this is where you stay in Kabul! No wonder you like coming here so much!”

“Don’t get used to this,” she said, opening her duffel bag and pulling out a sweater.

“Why not?”

“Because we’ll be in an apartment soon. Abdul Khaliq is only using this place temporarily. He’s been looking to find a place in Kabul where we can stay with more privacy, only his guards outside.”

“Has he found a place yet?” I asked.

“How the hell should I know?” she replied. She sat on the bed and took her sandals off. Her heels were cracked and yellow. She rubbed one of her soles and sighed. “Look, Rahima, I know why you’re doing this. Don’t think I’m stupid.”

I looked at her but said nothing. I thought it best I let her explain.

“But as long as you help me with what I need to read and write for these meetings, then I don’t care much. Just don’t expect to see much of Kabul.”

Badriya was right. Our personal guards kept to themselves but were never more than twenty feet away. Most of the time they stayed in the small seating area on the third floor, just two doors away from our room. I hated knowing that Abdul Khaliq was keeping tabs on us at all times, but Jameela had told me about the threats against parliament members, especially the women, so there was something comforting about knowing Abdul Khaliq’s trusted bodyguards were watching over us in this new, busy town. I felt safer because of them.

Work started the following day. Our guards drove us to the parliament building in the morning. We wore our
burqas
until we got there. Badriya slipped hers off and instructed me to do the same. I looked over at the guards to see their reaction. They had turned away but watched peripherally while we entered a long and stately building with a row of columns before it.

People walked in and out, men and women who looked to be from all different regions. Some of the men were dressed in the flowing caftans and pants common to our village, their heads wrapped in turbans, one end cascading over a shoulder. But it was the women who made my jaw drop. Some were dressed as we were, in simple flowing calf-length dresses with loose pants underneath. But others wore button-down shirts and long flowing skirts. Some even wore jackets and slacks. They wore their colorful head scarves smartly. As we got nearer, I could see that a few women wore lipstick or rouge, while others had outlined their eyes with kohl. I wondered what their husbands thought of them walking uncovered, with painted faces.

We came to a security station. Four uniformed guards stood at the entrance, two men and two women. The mass of people slowly melded into three lines. Badriya took me by the elbow and led me past the others. She paused briefly when she came to the security guard, dressed in the same khaki color as her male counterparts but in a long skirt.

A woman guard. Just like Bibi Shekiba,
I thought. I couldn’t help but stare at her face, wondering if she looked anything like the woman I’d heard so much about.

Badriya muttered a quick greeting and waved at her. The guard nodded and turned her attention back to the woman in front of her. She pulled her behind a partition.

“What are they doing?”

“They’re here for security. They’re checking people for weapons. That room back there is where the female guards check the women. We’re not supposed to bring anything into this building. And we’re not supposed to take anything out of it either.”

“We don’t have to go through the checkpoint?”

“Well, we’re supposed to but I don’t. The guards know me. And no one else from the parliament goes through either. We are the parliamentarians, after all! How ridiculous if we were to be patted down every time we walked in! I wouldn’t stand for it!”

I bit my tongue, knowing she would stand for it if she were ordered to.

Badriya smiled politely to a few people she knew. Two women, wearing dresses and longer head scarves, approached with bright and cheerful faces.

“Badriya-
jan
! Good to see you again! How are you? How’s the family doing?” They were of similar height and build and even face structures. But their ages differed by about ten years, the older woman’s face with more lines, her hair with more wisps of gray.

Cheeks pressed to one another, kisses in the air, an arm around a shoulder. The women greeted each other.

“Sufia-
jan, qandem, salaam
!” My eyes widened to hear Badriya greet her with such syrupy sweetness. “Thanks be to God, everyone is well. How are you and your family doing? And you, Hamida-
jan
? How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. Ready for another busy session?” Hamida replied. Her face was plain, unpainted and serious.

“Yes, I am. When do you think it will start?”

“They said we should be starting in half an hour,” Sufia said, scanning the entryway. She was the older of the two. There was gentleness in her eyes that put me at ease. “But my guess is that we don’t have enough people here. We’ll probably begin in about an hour. Maybe two. You know how it is.”

Badriya nodded politely and was silent.

She doesn’t know what else to say to them,
I thought.

“And who do you have here with you? Is this your daughter?”

Hamida and Sufia were looking at me expectantly and smiling. I looked at Badriya and felt the urge to step away. I didn’t like the idea of her being mistaken for my mother. She didn’t like it either, but for different reasons.

“Her? Oh, no, she’s not my daughter. She’s my husband’s wife.”

“Your husband’s wife? Oh!” Hamida’s smile tightened. She disapproved.

“Have you brought her to see how the parliament runs?” Sufia asked, trying to distract us from Hamida’s reaction.

“Yes, er… she wanted to see for herself what it is that I do. That we do. So I’ve decided to hire her as my assistant.”

“Oh, she’s going to be your assistant! What’s your name?”

“Rahima,” I said. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“And we’re pleased to meet you as well,” Sufia said, looking impressed with my manners. “I think it’s a great idea for you to come see what the parliament does. Maybe you would want to join your… er… Badriya-
jan
and take a seat in the
jirga
. We need women to get involved in our government.”

Badriya nodded but looked uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you both come to the resource center tonight? After the session is over.”

Badriya shook her head. “No, we can’t make it. Some other time.”

“Why not, Badriya-
jan
? They have some instructors there who have helped us very much. Tonight we’re going to work on the computers. It’s not easy. You really have to spend some time to figure those machines out. It would be good to get familiar with it.”

“I know that. I’ve seen computers. It’s not that hard,” she said, her eyes shifting nervously.

The look on my face confirmed for Hamida and Sufia that Badriya was not in the least familiar with computers. Hamida decided to ignore the obvious lie.

“What else do they teach there?” I asked. I had been away from school for so long. The idea of instructors and lessons excited a part of me that Abdul Khaliq’s compound had buried.

“They teach lots of things,” Sufia said, happy to hear my curiosity. “How to speak English, how to do research, how the parliament is supposed to function…”

“It’s a school? Can anyone go?”

Hamida nodded. “You could come, as her assistant. It’s only for women parliamentarians. It’s run by a foreign organization and it’s open after the sessions end for the day. Maybe you can convince Badriya-
jan
to come along. There are too many people doing nothing in this building. We all need to do something more.”

“Excuse us, ladies. I want to show Rahima-
jan
around the building and then we’re going to get to our seats,” Badriya said, her fingers wrapped around my elbow firmly. She wanted out of this conversation.

I followed her lead but my heart lightened at the talk of classes. I was starting to taste the possibility of change here.

CHAPTER 40

S
hekib stood frozen.

“Don’t just stand there! She needs the doctor. Go and get Khanum Behrowen!” Halima threw her hands up in frustration. Shekib nodded and turned around but stopped short, realizing she had no way of summoning the doctor without walking right into the palace in the middle of the night. She turned back to the guards’ quarters.