19
The three-bedroom apartment was on the third floor of a building near Kabul University. Marjan sat in the living room across
from two young women, distant cousins of Elyas, the restaurant owner. Afternoon light fell through the window and nurtured
a pothos plant, its heart-shaped leaves trailing the length of the sill.
Hawa sat on her mother’s lap, eyeing the two women. They had come to Kabul for their studies. Wana had straight black hair,
was taking credits toward a theology degree, and let her cousin do most of the talking. Farrah was studying for an undergraduate
degree in economics. Her dream was to work for the government and maybe even be named head of a ministry.
“My cousin Wana,” Farrah explained, “she will soon be teaching at a university somewhere and will become one of the leading
names among the world’s scholars of Islam.”
Wana blushed at her cousin’s confidence in her.
“God willing,” she said, then turned the attention to Marjan. “Our cousin told us you’re a very hard worker. And your daughter
is precious, mashallah.”
Marjan smiled meekly.
“It is your eyes that are beautiful,” she replied, as was customary for such a compliment. Meanwhile, she was distracted by the miracle that was two young women deep in their studies and choosing careers. What would it be like to be a roommate here? Would she finally find her way back to school?
“Our cousin told us about your . . . your husband,” Farrah said. “May God forgive him and grant his spirit peace.”
Marjan looked down.
“Yes,” she said, accepting Farrah’s condolences.
“And my cousin and I both are so impressed with your strength, raising this daughter on your own,” Farrah added. “We hope
this arrangement can work out. The room is very small and doesn’t have a window, but it’s yours if you’d like it.”
They stood and opened the door to the apartment’s unoccupied bedroom. Wana flipped a switch and a single overhead bulb lit
up. It was much smaller than the rooms at the halfway house but would fit a single mattress and the two bags that held all
their belongings.
Marjan cleared her throat. She tried to imagine herself living here, frying an egg for Hawa in the small kitchen and walking
past textbooks and pencils.
“I would like to say yes this very second but . . .” Marjan began to explain the most difficult part of her decision. Hawa
tugged on her hand and said she wanted to leave. Marjan put a finger to her lips and begged her to be quiet. “I don’t know
if your cousin mentioned, but I will need to find someone to look after Hawa while I’m working. Maybe there’s another mother
in the building. I will have to ask around.”
“Yes,” Wana said. “He told us about your daughter. And maybe we can help here and there until you find someone. Farrah is
the baby of her family and has just learned to fry eggs, but I practically raised my younger siblings.”
Marjan flashed a shy smile. She looked around the apartment again at the irrefutable evidence of freedom within this space—the
cat key chain on the console table by the door, the short stack of books next to the floor cushion, the framed picture of
Wana and Farrah hanging on the wall. All of this and two young women who were willing to help her with Hawa? Marjan could
hardly believe her good fortune.
“Mama, let’s go,” Hawa said, eyeing the two women. “Let’s go outside.”
“And the rent?” Marjan asked.
They were not asking for much, given the size of the room. Marjan did some quick math in her head. With what she earned at
the restaurant, she might just be able to cover her share of the rent as well as food, Hawa’s medications, and a few other
small costs here and there. Even the most austere life was expensive.
She had to make it work. The halfway house was closing down for good. Its location made it too valuable to rent out to a charity
group. She and Hawa risked being out on the street if she didn’t find somewhere to live. She would talk to people in the building
and see if there were small household jobs she could take on while Hawa was with her to help make ends meet.
“I think . . . I think I can do it,” Marjan said, her head still stuck on the numbers.
When her response was met with silence, Marjan was brought back to the moment. She realized she wasn’t exactly making herself
the most appealing roommate.
“So, maybe . . .” Farrah looked like she was trying to figure out how to say something diplomatically. When Marjan saw their
concerned looks, she realized she was on the verge of losing this chance.
“I mean, it’s great. I will take it,” she said with sugary enthusiasm. “I’m so grateful.”
“Wonderful!” Farrah cheered.
“We’ll be glad to have you here,” Wana added.
Two weeks later, Marjan packed up their belongings in luggage that had been given to her by Samia and said goodbye to the
women of the halfway house.
“Husna-jan, I can’t thank you enough for all your help with Hawa,” Marjan said. “You’ve saved us both so many times.”
“Look at me, getting all misty-eyed! I’m going to miss you, by God!” Husna said, laughing at her own emotions. “So tell me
more about these two young women you’re going to be living with. One’s studying religion, you said. And the other? Do they
have boyfriends? Are they pretty? I bet their figures aren’t as nice as yours.”
Marjan laughed. She disappointed Husna with her vague responses, but Husna forgave her.
“Maybe this is a good thing,” Marjan wondered aloud. “Maybe we need to be pushed out of this place so we can get on with our
lives.”
“Ah, yes. Let me get on with my brilliant life,” Husna agreed. She removed her tortoiseshell hair claw and ran her fingers
through her hair, loosening the waves. Then she gathered her hair into a fresh twist and held it in place with the hair claw.
Marjan wanted to tell her she was beautiful. She was still young and had a long life ahead of her. But she had three children
to mother and would forever carry her divorce around her neck like a yoke.
“Things are different now, Husna. My aunt used to tell me stories about one of my ancestors. She had the worst fortune. The
absolute worst. But she refused to give up on herself and made something of her life. She shaped her own naseeb. You can do
that too.”
“I’m not sure why you’re only now telling me about her. It sounds like you’ve inherited her hardheaded genes and I’m glad
for you. I don’t know what I’ve inherited from my ancestors other than these hips. I hope I will not pass on too much of my
shame to my children. And I will pray for both of us. Maybe even more for you. You’re a troublemaker, Marjan, and before you
shoot me one of your looks, know that I mean that as a compliment. Your story is just beginning. One day, later in life, if
I’m lucky enough to see you again, I want you to keep me up all night telling me about the life you made for yourself. Make
it like the movies. A lot of action. Comedic scenes throughout and a bit of drama. Oh, and don’t forget the romance!”
Marjan laughed out loud at that last one.
“Take good care of my little doll,” Husna said, kissing the top of Hawa’s head. “I’ll be praying for you both. Don’t forget
to pray for me and my children too. That’s all we can do for one another.”
Marjan’s first week in the apartment was full of adjustments.
Hawa kept asking to go home, and Marjan tried to find ways to make the apartment feel like home, even as she tried to minimize their presence around her new roommates.
At first, Hawa clung to her mother anytime she was around the two new women in her life.
She was comforted by their easy demeanors but seemed to miss the presence of children.
Farrah and Wana cooed over Hawa, delighted to be around a child but not fully responsible for her.
“Hawa!” Farrah would call out. “Come and share this rice and spinach with me. I made too much. Your mommy can give you a bath
afterward.”
True to their word, Wana and Farrah looked after Hawa while Marjan was at the restaurant. She worked only three evenings that
week, a schedule coordinated around their availability.
“Oh, now, aren’t you putting on a good show!” Farrah exclaimed when Hawa raced to meet her mother at the door. Something between
a run and a waddle, the excitement made Farrah laugh. Even solemn Wana would delight at the way Hawa would sway and clap while
they watched music programs on television.
In the hours Marjan spent at the restaurant, her mind was on her daughter. What if Hawa was being irritable with Farrah? What
if Wana got so caught up with her reading that she lost track of Hawa? What if she put something in her mouth and choked just
as she had in the shelter?
After each shift, Marjan practically ran off the bus, down the street, and up the stairs to return to her daughter. She was
on edge, imagining all the terrible things that could possibly have happened in her absence.
“Marjan, I need to tell you something. But first promise you won’t get angry,” Farrah said one day while Marjan was removing
her shoes at the door. She was breathless as usual and held a bag of leftover food from the restaurant for her and Hawa to
share.
“Why would I get angry?” Marjan asked. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing’s happened,” Farrah said, shaking her head. “That’s exactly what I wanted to tell you. You’re quite panicked, and
really the worst thing that’s happened while you were gone is that I ate an extra slice of this cake and won’t fit into my
pants in the morning. Please, Marjan. Everything is fine.”
Everything is fine. Everything is fine.
She repeated Farrah’s reassurance to herself, let it echo in the cavern of her mind where nightmarish memories hung like stalactites.
Everything is fine. Everything is fine.
She turned the volume up, needing to drown out the tinny, insistent voice that whispered to her while she slept, while she
pulled a brush through Hawa’s hair, and while she stood in the heat and steam of the restaurant’s kitchen plucking chaff and
stones from uncooked rice: Do you feel that little rumble under your feet? Something’s coming. Something’s coming and you won’t be ready for it.
“If Elyas replaced you with a statue, I wouldn’t know the difference,” the chef barked at her. “We’ve got a stew to prepare!”
Marjan blinked herself back into the moment, just as Elyas poked his head into the kitchen to see what his chef was fussing
about this time. She squared herself in front of the wooden cutting board and tightened her grip on the knife.
Everything is fine. Everything is fine, she repeated with gauzy conviction.
Marjan slid the blade through an onion, halved the glistening orb, and waited for the familiar sting of its vapors to draw
tears from her eyes.