Madam
In the daytime, the girl was no more than a creaking bedspring, a patter of footsteps overhead. She
was water splashing in the bathroom, or a teaspoon clinking against glass in the bedroom upstairs.
Occasionally, there were sightings: a blur of billowing dress in the periphery of Madam's vision,
scurrying up the steps, arms folded across the chest, sandals slapping the heels.
But it was inevitable that they would run into each other. Madam passed the girl on the stairs, in the
narrow hallway, in the kitchen, or by the door as she was coming in from the yard. When they met like
this, an awkward tension rushed into the space between them. The girl gathered her skirt and breathed
out a word or two of apology, and, as she hurried past, Madam would chance a sidelong glance and
catch a blush. Sometimes she could smell Rasheed on her. She could smell his sweat on the girl's
skin, his tobacco, his appetite. Sex, mercifully, was a closed chapter in her own life. It had been for
some time, and now even the thought of those laborious sessions of lying beneath Rasheed made
Madam queasy in the gut.
At night, however, this mutually orchestrated dance of avoidance between her and the girl was not
possible. Rasheed said they were a family. He insisted they were, and families had to eat together, he
said.
"What is this?" he said, his fingers working the meat off a bone-the spoon-and-fork charade was
abandoned a week after he married the girl. "Have I married a pair of statues? Go on, Madam,gap
bezan, say something to her. Where are your manners?"
Sucking marrow from a bone, he said to the girl, "But you mustn't blame her. She is quiet. A
blessing, really, because,wallah, if a person hasn't got much to say she might as well be stingy with
words. We are city people, you and I, but she isdehati. A village girl. Not even a village girl. No. She
grew up in akolba made of mudoutside the village. Her father put her there. Have you told her,
Mariam, have you told her that you are aharami1? Well, she is. But she is not without qualities, all
things considered. You will see for yourself, Laila jan. She is sturdy, for one thing, a good worker,
and without pretensions. I'll say it this way: If she were a car, she would be a Volga."
Mariam was a thirty-three-year-old woman now, but that word,harami, still had sting. Hearing it
still made her feel like she was a pest, a cockroach. She remembered Nana pulling her wrists.You are
a clumsy Utile harami.This is my reward for everything I've endured. An heirloom-breaking clumsy
Utile harami.
"You," Rasheed said to the girl, "you, on the other hand, would be a Benz. A brand-new, first-class,
shiny Benz.Wah wah. But. But." He raised one greasy index finger. "One must take certain…cares…
with a Benz. As a matter of respect for its beauty and craftsmanship, you see. Oh, you must be thinking that I am crazy,diwana, with all this talk of automobiles. I am not saying you are cars. I am merely
making a point."
For what came next, Rasheed put down the ball of rice he'd made back on the plate. His hands
dangled idly over his meal, as he looked down with a sober, thoughtful expression.
"One mustn't speak ill of the dead much less the,shaheed.And I intend no disrespect when I say this, I
want you to know, but I have certain… reservations…about the way your parents-Allah, forgive them
and grant them a place in paradise-about their, well, their leniency with you. I'm sorry."
The cold, hateful look the girl flashed Rasheed at this did not escape Mariam, but he was looking
down and did not notice.
"No matter. The point is, I am your husband now, and it falls on me to guard not onlyyour honor
butours, yes, ournang andnamoos. That is the husband's burden. You let me worry about that. Please.
As for you, you are the queen, themalika, and this house is your palace. Anything you need done you
ask Mariam and she will do it for you. Won't you, Mariam? And if you fancy something, I will get
itforyou. You see, that is the sort of husband I am.
"All I ask in return, well, it is a simple thing. I ask that you avoid leaving this house without my
company. That's all. Simple, no? If I am away and you need something urgently, I meanabsolutely
need it and it cannot wait for me, then you can send Mariam and she will go out and get it for you.
You've noticed a discrepancy, surely. Well, one does not drive a Volga and a Benz in the same
manner. That would be foolish, wouldn't it? Oh, I also ask that when we are out together, that you
wear a burqa. For your own protection, naturally. It is best. So many lewd men in this town now.
Such vile intentions, so eager to dishonor even a married woman. So. That's all."
He coughed.
"I should say that Mariam will be my eyes and ears when I am away." Here, he shot Mariam a
fleeting look that was as hard as a steel-toed kick to the temple. "Not that I am mistrusting. Quite the
contrary. Frankly, you strike me as far wiser than your years. But you are still a young woman, Laila
jan, adokhtar ejawan, and young women can make unfortunate choices. They can be prone to mischief.
Anyway, Mariam will be accountable. And if there is a slipup…"
On and on he went. Mariam sat watching the girl out of the corner of her eye as Rasheed's demands
and judgments rained down on them like the rockets on Kabul.
* * *
One day, Mariam was in the living room folding some shirts of Rasheed's that she had plucked from
the clothesline in the yard. She didn't know how long the girl had been standing there, but, when she
picked up a shirt and turned around, she found her standing by the doorway, hands cupped around a
glassful of tea.
"I didn't mean to startle you," the girl said. "I'm sorry."Mariam only looked at her.
The sun fell on the girl's face, on her large green eyes and her smooth brow, on her high cheekbones
and the appealing, thick eyebrows, which were nothing like Mariam's own, thin and featureless. Her
yellow hair, uncombed this morning, was middle-parted.
Mariam could see in the stiff way the girl clutched the cup, the tightened shoulders, that she was
nervous. She imagined her sitting on the bed working up the nerve.
"The leaves are turning," the girl said companionably. "Have you seen? Autumn is my favorite. I like
the smell of it, when people burn leaves in their gardens. My mother, she liked springtime the best.
You knew my mother?"
"Not really."
The girl cupped a hand behind her ear. "I'm sorry?"
Mariam raised her voice. "I said no. I didn't know your mother."
"Oh."
"Is there something you want?"
"Mariam jan, I want to…About the things he said the other night-"
"I have been meaning to talk to you about it." Mariam broke in.
"Yes, please," the girl said earnestly, almost eagerly. She took a step forward. She looked relieved.
Outside, an oriole was warbling. Someone was pulling a cart; Mariam could hear the creaking of its
hinges, the bouncing and rattling of its iron wheels. There was the sound of gunfire not so far away, a
single shot followed by three more, then nothing.
"I won't be your servant," Mariam said. "I won't."
The girl flinched "No. Of course not!"
"You may be the palacemalika and me adehati, but I won't take orders from you. You can complain
to him and he can slit my throat, but I won't do it. Do you hear me? I won't be your servant."
"No! I don't expect-"
"And if you think you can use your looks to get rid of me, you're wrong. I was here first. I won't be
thrown out. I won't have you cast me out."
"It's not what I want," the girl said weakly.
"And I see your wounds are healed up now. So you can start doing your share of the work in this
house-"
The girl was nodding quickly. Some of her tea spilled, but she didn't notice. "Yes, that's the other
reason I came down, to thank you for taking care of me-"
"Well, I wouldn't have," Mariam snapped. "I wouldn't have fed you and washed you and nursed you
if I'd known you were going to turn around and steal my husband."
"Steal-"
"I will still cook and wash the dishes. You will do the laundry and the sweeping- The rest we will
alternate daily. And one more thing. I have no use for your company. I don't want it. What I want is to
be alone. You will leave me be, and I will return the favor. That's how we will get on. Those are the
rules."
When she was done speaking, her heart was hammering and her mouth felt parched. Mariam had
never before spoken in this manner, had never stated her will so forcefully. It ought to have felt
exhilarating, but the girl's eyes had teared up and her face was drooping, and what satisfaction
Mariam found from this outburst felt meager, somehow illicit.
She extended the shirts toward the girl.
"Put them in thealmari, not the closet. He likes the whites in the top drawer, the rest in the middle,
with the socks."
The girl set the cup on the floor and put her hands out for the shirts, palms up. "I'm sorry about all of
this," she croaked.
"You should be," Mariam said. "You should be sorry."