27 #2
Marjan was determined to prove to the Rasulis that they had not made a mistake in hiring her.
Marjan woke the following morning praying Agha Rasuli or Zargul would bring up Hawa so she wouldn’t have to ask. She washed
up, dressed, and rapped on the door to the house. When no one answered, she knocked a bit harder. Agha Rasuli let her in.
“Today will be your first full day and a chance to see if this is the right job for you,” he said.
Marjan bit her tongue. Were they just testing her out? She supposed they had a right to be wary. She walked into the kitchen
and found the breakfast dishes in the sink, along with a greasy frying pan and cracked eggshells. She busied herself once
again. She found a broom tucked behind the refrigerator. She found that she could sweep with her right hand if she planted
her left hand on the kitchen counter.
With her crutch under one arm, she went down the hallway and tapped lightly on the bedroom door. There was no answer. She
raised her hand to try once more but instead put her ear to the door. She heard nothing.
Marjan remembered how exhausted she’d been in those first few months with Hawa and decided not to wake Zargul.
She thought about sweeping the living room, but hunger distracted her.
She listened for sounds in the hallway, then slowly opened the fridge, cringing at the loud sucking sound the door made as it opened.
There was one glass container with meat stew, another with sliced red onions and herbs, a tub of yogurt, a half dozen eggs, uncooked ground beef, and a liter of juice.
What could she eat that they would not miss?
Her stomach growled, embarrassing her.
She found a paper bag with a few squares of day-old flatbread, dry but satisfying.
Zargul emerged from the bedroom halfway through the day, a pink-faced infant in her arms. Marjan offered to feed or change
Leeda, but Zargul demurred. Marjan didn’t blame her for it. She remembered the velvety feel of her babies at this age.
“I think it would be best if you focus on the housework,” Zargul said, eyeing Marjan for a reaction.
Marjan had learned much about people from being a wife to her husband and being under the thumb of his other wives and his
hawkish mother. A man expected obedience from all the women in his life and, depending on his station, obedience from a few
men too. Women also wanted deference, but they had to look for it in dark corners. If they found themselves standing over
the right woman, they too could experience that heady high.
Marjan didn’t flinch or recoil. She reacted with muscle memory.
“Yes, Khanum. I’ll get started on the clothing first so it has time to dry on the line. I think I saw some detergent in the
closet.”
Zargul nodded—satisfied, but not sated. No one ever was.
For the next two days, Marjan worked as hard as she ever had in her life.
She washed and cleaned and dusted and peeled and pushed away the feeling that she was again a thirteen-year-old drudge in Abdul Khaliq’s house.
She was not that girl, she told herself.
She was a mother fortunate enough to have found employment with a well-to-do family.
No one had raised a hand to her. They hadn’t even raised their voices.
On top of that, Zargul had let Marjan know that she could set aside portions of food for herself when she cooked their meals.
This should have been obvious, she insisted, when Marjan had gently asked if she could step out to get some food.
Marjan only needed to be patient. She could feel their eyes on her, following her movements and checking on her work. She
needed this couple to realize she was worthy of their trust and goodwill before she asked when she could bring Hawa to the
house.
If she hadn’t been so certain that she’d been fulfilling her duties and then some, she would not have dared rap her knuckles
on the doorframe of Agha Rasuli’s office.
Agha Rasuli sat behind his desk in the small upstairs office. He was looking intently at a computer screen. On the shelves
of the lacquered bookcase behind him sat a printer, a few books, and so much paper, some in folders and some in small piles.
“Yes?” He was squinting at his screen and tapping at the keyboard.
“I am sorry to interrupt your work but I need to ask you something. I have been away from my daughter for so long,” Marjan
said, trying a slanted approach to her request.
“Mm-hm,” he said without looking up.
“And I need to see her,” Marjan said softly. “I need to see her today.”
“Oh? Has something happened to her?” Agha Rasuli asked, looking up.
“No, well, I mean, I don’t know. I have no way of being in touch with the . . . the school.” She hated calling it an orphanage.
An orphanage was for orphans.
“Don’t you have a phone?”
“I do not,” Marjan said. Didn’t he remember that she had used Zarmina’s phone to speak with him? “It was crushed by the ambulance
the day I was injured.”
“You could use Khanum Zargul’s phone to call the orphanage,” he offered. “You should think about getting yourself a phone,
though,” he said. “There’s a mobile store not far from here, next to the flower shop.”
“I do want to replace my phone, but I can’t afford one at the moment.
That’s why I was so grateful for this job,” Marjan said, seizing the opportunity to talk about something they had yet to discuss—her wages.
“When I’m able to bring Hawa here, I will be paying for our food and anything else we need. ”
“When you bring . . .” Agha Rasuli said, then let out a huff, his hands steepled. “Marjan, I think you have misunderstood.
We brought you here to help with Leeda. This is a place of employment for you.”
Marjan felt her insides tighten, bracing for impact.
“But Zarmina-jan had told you about my daughter,” she said.
“Of course she did. She told us that your daughter was being cared for elsewhere and that you needed a job and a place to
live. We thought this would be the ideal situation for you.”
“But . . . but my daughter needs me.”
Agha Rasuli pushed himself away from his desk, folded his arms across his chest, and looked at Marjan in utter disbelief.
“Surely, you understand that a child needs more than just the presence of a parent. If you’re not able to purchase a phone,
how do you imagine supporting her right now?” he asked.
“Well, we have not yet discussed my wages.” Her voice trembled. She took slow breaths, trying to steady herself.
“Your wages,” Agha Rasuli repeated. He pivoted in his chair, turning to stare at the name of God written in calligraphy on
parchment and displayed on the wall in an ornate gilded frame. “Marjan, we have promised you room and board here. Surely,
you’re aware of the value of these benefits?”
Marjan realized she had been blind, so inexplicably blind. Her heart pounding, she tried to formulate a response. He wasn’t
wrong. Room and board was valuable, and she had no other options.
“With all due respect, sahib, I appreciate that you have given me a place to stay. I’m .
. .” Marjan faltered. “Maybe there is additional work I could do to earn money. And I promise you, my daughter is quiet and well-mannered. I would never allow her presence here to interfere with caring for Leeda-jan. Leeda-jan will always be my priority, along with all the other household tasks. You have seen that I am capable. I promise I am capable of even more.”
Agha Rasuli paused to consider her offer, then tilted his head to the side and pressed his hands to his chest.
“The last thing I want to do is get between a mother and her child,” he said, and Marjan felt a bubble of hope in her chest.
“So you’ll have to decide if you want to keep this job or find another way to work and be with your daughter. But we simply
cannot have another child in the house.”