With a deep sigh, he joins his wife in her room.
Zunaira is sitting stiff-backed on a straw mattress. He can tell that she’s as compressed as a spring, ready to bound to her feet. Mohsen has never seen her in such a state. Her silence is fraught, like a cloud full of storms. Zunaira’s lips are sealed; she’s impossible to fathom, and Mohsen senses that any approach to her would be risky — not to say dangerous. Mohsen is afraid, terribly afraid. He’s like a munitions expert defusing a bomb, fully aware that his future is hanging by a thread. Zunaira has always been difficult. She’s raw, like an open wound; she hates to suffer, and she rarely forgives. Perhaps that’s the reason why he fears her, why he loses his composure as soon as she frowns. His awareness of the moment’s supreme importance makes Mohsen tremble, but he has no choice. He looks for a sign, some little clue that might give him a modicum of confidence. Nothing. Zunaira doesn’t flinch. He senses something welling up in her behind her sphinxlike facade, as if a pool of lava were seething deep inside her, ready to spew forth as suddenly and violently as a volcano. Although her expression is hidden by her veil, Mohsen is convinced that the look she’s giving him is charged with hatred.
“What exactly are you holding against me?” he exclaims in a harassed voice. “Are you angry because I didn’t put that Taliban imbecile in his place? What could I do against him? He and his kind are the ones who make the laws. They have the power of life and death over everything that moves. Do you think I’m not bothered by the things they do? An animal, a beast of burden, would find them appalling! When I think about that militiaman, a cur unworthy to lick your footprints in the dust! My actions were abject— I’m perfectly aware of that — and I know I should have shown more pride, but by the souls of our loved ones — peace be upon them — tell me, Zunaira, what could I have done?”
Nervous and distraught, he kneels down before her and tries to take her hand. She leaps backward and gathers her shroud around her.
“This is ridiculous,” Mohsen mutters. “Completely ridiculous. You treat me as though I had the plague. . Don’t turn your back on me, Zunaira. I feel as though the whole world has a grudge against me. You’re all I have. Look at my hands imploring you; see how totally lost I am without you. You’re my only lifeline. You’re my only connection to the world.”
His eyes swell with tears. He doesn’t understand how they’ve managed to escape his vigilance, but there they are, rolling down his cheeks, and in front of Zunaira — Zunaira, who hates to see men cry.
“I feel really bad,” he says apologetically. “All of a sudden, I’m afraid of my own thoughts. I have to get a grip on myself, Zunaira. Your rejection is my worst nightmare. I don’t know what to do with my days, I don’t know what to do with my nights. You’re my only reason for living, if living still makes any sense in this country of ours.”
Once again, he tries to seize her wrist.
Zunaira cries out and rises to her feet. Panting, she says, “I’ve told you a hundred times not to touch me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m your husband.”
“Prove it.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. What do you mean?”
Zunaira springs away from the wall and stands very close to him, thrusting her head forward so that her nose practically grazes his face. Her anger is so intense that her veil trembles before her agitated breathing. “I don’t ever want to see you again, Mohsen Ramat!”
A detonation would not have shaken him so hard. Mohsen is stunned by his wife’s words. At first, he’s incredulous — it takes him a few seconds to absorb what he’s just heard. His Adam’s apple jumps up and down in his throat. The sounds of their breathing, his and Zunaira’s, blend together, filling the room with an eerie humming sound. Suddenly, Mohsen gives a strange moan and punches one of the shutters so hard that his wrist cracks.
Pain distorts his features as he turns to face his wife, threatening her: “I forbid you to speak to me like that, Zunaira. You don’t have the right. Are you listening to me?” he shouts, grabbing her by the throat and shaking her. “I forbid you to say that! I forbid it!”
Zunaira imperturbably loosens the fingers that are crushing her throat. “I don’t ever want to see you again, Mohsen Ramat!” she repeats, hammering the words home, stressing every one.
In a panic, Mohsen wipes his damp hands on his sides, as if seeking to erase all traces of his brutality. He looks around, aware that the situation is getting out of hand. Pressing his palms against his temples, he tries to calm himself.
“All right,” he concedes. “I think I came home too early this evening. I’ll go back where I came from. If you want me to, I can spend the night out. But we absolutely must give ourselves a chance to get over this and make up. . I love you, Zunaira. There, that’s as reasonable as I can be. I’ve never heard any words more terrible than the ones you just said to me. Coming from your mouth, they sound like a monstrous blasphemy. I realize now exactly how imperative it is for me to leave you alone. I’ll come back tomorrow — or rather, the day after tomorrow. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to hold out that long, but I’ll do it. I’m prepared to do anything to save our marriage. Try to do your part, too. I love you. Whatever happens, I insist, you have to know that. It’s very important. There’s nothing more important.”
Zunaira doesn’t relent. Her lips start to move dangerously under her veil. Mohsen puts his hand over her mouth. “Not another word. You’ve said enough for now. Let me hope that this has just been a bad day and tomorrow everything will be the way it was before.”
Zunaira steps back, away from her husband’s grasping hand. “I don’t think you understand,” she says. “I don’t ever want to see you again, Mohsen. Those aren’t just empty words, and the passing days won’t mellow them. I want you out of my life, I don’t want you back in this house. And if you stay here, I’ll go away.”
“But why?” Mohsen protests, ripping his shirt in one violent motion and revealing his emaciated sickly white chest. “Tell me what I’ve done. What mistake was so grave that I deserve this fate? I feel it snapping at me, like a pack of dogs.”
“It’s over, Mohsen. Look, it’s simple: Nothing can ever be right between us again. The only thing I want now is for you to go away and never come back.”
Mohsen shakes his head. “That’s not true. I refuse to accept it.”
“I’m sorry.”
She starts to withdraw to her room. He snatches her back by her arm, violently yanking her toward him. “I’m still your husband, Zunaira Ramat! I didn’t think it would be necessary to remind you of that, but since you insist, there it is. I’m the one in charge here. It’s against our traditions for a wife to repudiate her husband. It’s unheard of. And I won’t permit it. I’ve been putting up with this for ten days, hoping that you’d come to your senses. Apparently, you’re not interested in coming to your senses, and I’ve had it up to here!”
With a jerk, she wrenches her arm out of his grip. He catches her again, twists her wrist, and forces her to face him. “For a start, you’re going to take off this fucking burqa.”