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Marjan held Zargul’s phone to her ear, aware she was being watched. Zargul insisted Marjan stay nearby in case she received
an important call. After seven rings, Atefa answered. Marjan introduced herself, humiliated by the necessity of calling her
daughter at an orphanage in front of a mother who was, at that same moment, nursing her baby.
“Oh, hello!” Atefa said. “While we bring her to the phone, let me update you. She was ill last week with a sore throat. We
took her to the clinic and the doctor saw an ear infection along with very large tonsils. I remember you told us she’d been
sick frequently as a child. The doctor said it’s possible she’ll need surgery to have her tonsils removed.”
“Surgery?”
“Not now. Just a warning in case it happens often. And before you worry too much, please know that we have funds set aside
for these kinds of emergencies, and we will of course keep you updated.”
Marjan looked up and saw Zargul had stopped rocking the baby. She turned her back away from her employer, her face flushed.
“Is she coming to take me home?” she heard Hawa ask.
Marjan’s head fell to her chest, heavy. She heard Atefa’s muffled voice telling Hawa that was not yet possible.
“I don’t want to talk to her. No, no, no!”
Marjan closed her eyes, tried not to fall apart. Atefa tried again to put Hawa on the phone but to no avail. She returned to the line, and in a low, gentle voice suggested it would be best to connect another time.
“Of course,” Marjan said, quashing her devastation. She could feel Zargul’s eyes on the back of her neck.
Marjan thanked Zargul and placed her phone on a side table near her without meeting her eyes. It felt hard to breathe, so
she mumbled something about seeing to the laundry and left.
All around her were reminders of the life a child was meant to have. The Rasulis had been married less than two years and
looked nothing like any marriage Marjan had ever seen. Her own marriage had been an assault. Abdul Khaliq’s other wives had
also cowered under him. The women she had met in the shelter were there because they’d been beaten by their husbands.
It wasn’t that Marjan hadn’t met good men. She’d met plenty. The restaurant owner. The customers. The man at the bakery and
so many of the doctors and staff at the hospital had all been gentle, respectful people who most certainly treated their spouses
with kindness and respect. Her father had been an affectionate family man before opium transformed him. Marjan had always
wondered how different marriage could be if a woman were married to a decent man.
Agha Rasuli seemed to be a decent man. He was tender with his wife. He loved their daughter and often held her in his arms,
asking her again and again in a wistful voice if she’d missed him while he was away.
I missed you too, my darling, he would say when the corners of Leeda’s tiny mouth turned up.
Marjan would have to remind herself not to stare.
Both parents cooed over Leeda, marveled at how fast she was growing and every new, miraculous feat. She saw Agha Rasuli run
his hands playfully over his wife’s backside when he didn’t know Marjan was in the room. She caught Zargul smiling at their
wedding picture, framed and displayed on the shelf of a glass curio.
But she also sensed Agha Rasuli was easily frustrated by Zargul. If she asked more than three questions, he would huff with exasperation. And Zargul was a woman with a lot of questions.
What time are we invited to your sister’s home this Saturday? Look at this spot on Leeda’s leg. What do you think it is? How much did that suit cost? When will you show me the designs for the restaurant?
What should I make for dinner tomorrow? Don’t you think this material is too rough for Leeda’s skin?
Marjan saw the way husband and wife would sometimes cut their eyes at each other, the tight smiles. She sensed the words held
back because she was on the other side of a wall. She tried to make her work visible and herself invisible. The sooner she
could earn enough money to afford some choices, the better.
Three weeks into her employment, Marjan once again knocked on her employer’s door while he sat at his desk.
“I’m sorry to disturb,” she said softly. She could hardly recall when she’d last spoken in her full voice.
“Yes?” he said, looking up.
Marjan took a deep breath, emboldened only by the depth of her desperation.
“Agha Rasuli, I am very glad for this position and hope that even in my short time here, I have proven that I am willing to
work hard.”
“Yes, I have noticed.”
“I wanted to ask if you’ve given thought to the salary for this job. I do not mean to ask for anything more than what is fair,
and I realize that having my own room is generous and the pocket money has helped a lot. But I do have other general expenses.”
Agha Rasuli looked directly at her. “That’s quite forward of you.”
She lowered her gaze. Was there another way to go about this? Would he have preferred her to speak in hints and signals? She
waited for him to go on.
“I hope you don’t think me an unfair man. I’m certainly not. The type of business I’m in, I’ve met all kinds of people.”
“Of course,” Marjan said, only because she felt obligated to say something.
He rapped his knuckles on his desk.
“I was going to speak to you about this,” he said. Marjan wanted to believe him. She really did. “I’ve just been tied up with
so many meetings. I’m doing the work of three men right now. Launching a business is quite consuming.”
Marjan nodded.
“I suppose a weekly salary is reasonable,” he said. He rose halfway from his chair and extracted his wallet from his back
pocket. He counted out a few bills, counted them a second time, then stuck his hand out. Marjan did not want to seem overly
eager, so she crossed the room in two slow steps and accepted the bills from him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will continue to do my best. It is a pleasure to care for Leeda-jan.”
She turned to take her leave, but Agha Rasuli called her back.
“I want to speak to you about something. Marjan, my wife comes from a very . . . respected family,” he said, choosing his
words carefully. “They are accustomed to certain standards and reputation. They’re concerned about . . . chatter. I am not,
of course. I told them that you had experience working in very refined restaurants and came highly recommended.”
Marjan tried to keep her expression neutral.
“And it’s important that they understand you are here as an employee, nothing more,” Agha Rasuli said. “I’m sure you can appreciate
how sensitive these situations are for me, her husband. Anyway, I’ll have a salary for you on a weekly basis. Thank you.”
She nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment, though she’d done nothing wrong. She could be ruined by a whisper, a finger
pointed in her direction. The best way to protect herself, she knew, was to make sure Zargul felt more beautiful, more powerful,
more capable than her at every turn.
Each day, Marjan tried to achieve the unachievable, to please Zargul without irritating Zargul.
“Leeda’s asleep finally. I don’t think she’ll wake again until much later,” Zargul said a week after Agha Rasuli’s vague warning to Marjan. She was standing in the doorway of the square kitchen, watching Marjan dry her hands on a faded kitchen towel.
“I noticed the yogurt was almost finished. I could make some more,” Marjan offered. “I know you like to have some with your
dinner.”
“That’s not necessary at this hour,” Zargul replied.
“It’s still early. And it would be no trouble,” Marjan insisted. She should not have.
Zargul shifted her weight on her feet. Her expression soured.
“I do not like yogurt and I do not want yogurt,” she said flatly.
“Of course,” Marjan agreed, though she knew this was a lie. Earlier today Marjan had watched Zargul drag a piece of bread
around the inside of her yogurt bowl to get every last bit.
Marjan folded the kitchen towel and hung it from a metal hook to dry.
She slipped by Zargul, felt her eyes on her back as she walked down the stairs. She pulled the door closed behind her and
ran through their exchanges that day, trying to recall if she had done anything especially troublesome. Early in the mornings,
Zargul seemed relieved to turn Leeda over to Marjan. She would retire to her room and then emerge midmorning having changed
her clothes, tamed her hair, and dabbed a spot of color on her cheeks. This morning was no different. Marjan had changed Leeda
out of her soiled diapers, washed the baby bottles, and swaddled and rocked her when Leeda began to whine sleepily. Marjan
sometimes felt ashamed when she found herself enjoying a moment with Leeda. What kind of mother could smile while she was
away from her own child?
Marjan looked around her room and realized she’d forgotten to bring anything to eat for dinner. She’d not eaten anything all
day and was too hungry to wait until morning. She decided it was best to return now rather than disturb the couple in the
evening.
Marjan entered the main house and was halfway up the stairs when she overheard Zargul speaking to someone. She spent most
of her time on the phone, so this wasn’t surprising, but Marjan froze when she realized she was the subject of Zargul’s conversation.
“He keeps telling me he’s hired her so I can get rest, but I know that’s not the whole truth. He’s having a hard time getting
investors for his restaurant. He hired this girl just to make it look like he’s so successful, that he’s got money for servants
and hoping that will get people to believe in him. I feel like a fool, Mariam. He made himself out to be this hotshot businessman
like our father and uncle but I don’t think he can even afford the tablecloths for a restaurant in Dubai. And now I’m stuck
with a . . . a ghost walking around my house.”
Zargul let out a groan. Marjan closed her eyes. Mariam was Zargul’s sister. This was a conversation no one was meant to hear.
“I’m not exaggerating! She is like a ghost. No living person is this quiet. She even whispers when she’s talking to the baby.
I swear she’s trying to haunt us. I need my privacy, my space. And I know my darling husband will turn this around on me one
day. He’ll probably complain that he had to hire her because I’m not able to manage a home and a baby. Just be sure you know
if Ali’s money is real before you make big decisions. Trust me, not all boyfriends should be husbands.”
Zargul giggled. Marjan retreated, stepping quietly down the stairs and out the door.
In her dim room, Marjan sat on her floor cushion and stared at the wall. Maybe Zargul was right. Maybe she was an apparition.
She had no family. She had no bright future ahead. She might as well not have a single bone in her body or a drop of blood
in her veins. No wonder this life did not feel like life.
Marjan lay down and rolled onto her side. She pulled her knees to her chest. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes and darkened
the fabric of her pillowcase.