It’s in the Qur’an, she realized. What were the chances her uncles had not yet found it? Unlikely — but maybe there was a possibility those bullheaded men had not bothered looking for it. Surely they had no inkling that Shekiba would even think to assert any claim over the land.
Which meant Shekiba was thinking of returning to her home — not a small undertaking.
And if she were to find the deed, what would she do with it? She couldn’t expect to show it to her uncles and have a rational discussion with them. No, she needed to bring the deed to an official, the local judge, so that she could argue her case.
It was just like Azizullah and his brother had discussed. A disagreement like this needed to be settled by an official, which meant Shekiba’s plan became even more complex. How would she find this person?
And how would she get to all these places? She needed to be out of the house for a day. Shekiba wondered if Marjan would let her venture out on her own. After their conversation, it was hard to imagine Marjan would be supportive of her idea. Shekiba would have to come up with something.
Two days later, Shekiba approached Marjan as she was knitting a sweater for Haris. She rehearsed her question in her mind before clearing her throat.
“Salaam, Khanum Marjan,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Salaam, Shekiba,” Marjan said, barely lifting her eyes from the needles as they crossed, uncrossed and crossed again in her hands.
“Khanum Marjan, I wanted to ask you something.”
“What is it, Shekiba?”
“I was wondering if I could take a day to visit my family. I have not seen my family in several months and I was hoping to visit them. Next week is Eid and I know it will be a busy time here, so perhaps this week?” She folded her hands behind her to stop from wringing them.
Marjan stopped her knitting and set the needles on her lap. She looked puzzled.
“Your family? Dear girl, since coming here you have never once mentioned your family. I was beginning to think you were so cold as to not have any affection for them! How is it that you now want to pay them a visit?”
“Oh, I’ve missed them dearly,” she said, trying her best to make her voice sound genuine. “But in my first days here, I did not think it was proper to make such a request.”
“And now?”
“Well, now I have been here for some months and with the holiday coming… I wanted to pay a visit to my grandmother, out of respect.” Shekiba wondered if she was giving omniscient Allah a good laugh or if she’d be damned for her lies.
“Your grandmother.” Marjan sighed heavily and pressed her fingers to her temples.
Shekiba braced herself.
“We have much to do to prepare for the holiday. We need to bake some cookies, there will be many meals to prepare, the house needs to be spotless…,” she said, listing the tasks ahead. “But I suppose it is only proper that you should pay a visit to Bobo Shahgul. She is your grandmother, after all. I will speak to Azizullah and present your request.”
Shekiba tried not to smile. She bowed her head in gratitude.
“Thank you, Khanum Marjan,” she said. “I would really appreciate that.”
Every once in a while, Shekiba became aware of how painfully naïve she was. The following day was one such occasion.
Marjan walked into the kitchen area as Shekiba sat on the floor, with a heap of potatoes before her. She stopped peeling when she heard her name being called.
“Shekiba, Azizullah agrees… hey, girl! What is wrong with you?” Marjan took one look at Shekiba and froze. Her hands flew to her hips and her eyes narrowed.
“Huh? What is it, Khanum Marjan?” Shekiba looked down at the pile before her, wondering what had offended the mistress of the house so.
“Is that how a girl sits?” she said, waving an arm at Shekiba’s sprawled legs.
Shekiba turned to look at herself. She was leaning against the wall and had her knees bent, the pile of potatoes in the valley her skirt formed between her legs.
“In the name of God, have some decency! Fix yourself before the children see you! Were you never taught how to sit?”
Shekiba got up and fixed her skirt, tucking her legs under her, and looked up at Khanum Marjan for approval.
“That’s better. I heard you had become your father’s son but I did not think it had gone this far.”
“Yes, Khanum Marjan.” Shekiba felt half her face flush.
“Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. Azizullah agrees that you should be allowed to pay respects to your grandmother for the holidays. You are to accompany him this Friday when he goes into the village for Jumaa prayers.”
Azizullah would take her there?
“Khanum Marjan, a world of thanks, but I do not wish to trouble your husband. I can find my own way and I will not bring him out of his way.”
Marjan looked at her incredulously. Shekiba never ceased to amaze her. The girl was quite handy and efficient in the house but when it came to common sense, she was seriously lacking.
“You expect to go wandering around the village by yourself? Have you lost your mind?”
Shekiba remained silent. Her mind raced.
“He will take you, as you requested, and join you to pay a visit to your family, although your uncles usually come by on the holidays. Azizullah will accompany you back home. You cannot expect to be wandering around the village like a street dog!”
Shekiba had done too much on her own while she lived with her father and before her uncles had claimed her. It had not occurred to her that she would have to be accompanied by someone. Her chest tightened with panic. She had not anticipated this stipulation.
“I… I had not meant to trouble…”
“Well, if you do not want to trouble him then you should not have raised the question.” Marjan walked out in exasperation. Shekiba’s bizarre questions were getting on her nerves.
Shekiba was left to wonder. She could tell Marjan she no longer wanted to go. It would seem strange but it could work. Or maybe once she was there she could ask permission to collect some belongings from her father’s home. But what about taking the deed to a hakim, the local official?
Maybe on another day. But even if she were granted another day, she would still need to be accompanied. And she had no idea where to find the hakim.
Shekiba would have to ponder that one. One bridge at a time, she thought.
Jumaa came and Shekiba steeled herself. It would take all her resolve to face her family again, especially her grandmother. But this was her only hope at getting her hands on the deed.
Marjan had instructed her to be ready in the morning, as Azizullah would not wait on her. He nodded in acknowledgment when he saw her waiting by the outside door, her burqa donned and her head bowed.
“Salaam,” she said quietly.
“Let’s go,” he said, then opened the door and led the way.
They did not speak on the way to the masjid. Shekiba walked a few steps behind but paid close attention to the road. She tried to memorize everything on the way there. The road was wide and dusty but lined with tall trees. There were a handful of homes scattered on either side, about two acres apart. The homes were uniformly surrounded by six-foot-high clay privacy walls. Shekiba could see rows of plantings in their yards and could spot the potatoes, carrots and onion plants even from this distance. The weather was dry and crops were suffering, which meant the families were probably suffering too.
A masjid, three shops and a bread baker constituted the village center. The storefronts were modest, with dull glass windows and handwritten signs. The bread baker didn’t really have a store. He sat against a wall of another shop and pulled hot, golden round breads from his tandoor, buried in the ground. The smell of fresh bread coming from the open circle in the ground made Shekiba’s mouth water. Two women stood waiting for their naan to bake. Shekiba recalled walking through the area when her uncle had taken her to Azizullah’s as a means of repaying his debt.