For most of the days, Mariam stayed in bed, feeling adrift andforlorn. Sometimes she went downstairs to the kitchen, ran herhands over the sticky, grease-stained counter, the vinyl, floweredcurtains that smelled like burned meals. She looked through theill-fitting drawers, at the mismatched spoons and knives, thecolander and chipped, wooden spatulas1, these would-beinstruments of her new daily life, all of it reminding her of thehavoc that had struck her life, making her feel uprooted,displaced, like an intruder on someone else's life.
At thekolba, her appetite had been predictable. Here, herstomach rarely growled2 for food. Sometimes she took a plate ofleftover white rice and a scrap3 of bread to the living room, bythe window. From there, she could see the roofs of theone-story houses on their street. She could see into their yardstoo, the women working laundry lines and shooing theirchildren, chickens pecking at dirt, the shovels5 and spades, thecows tethered to trees.
She thought longingly6 of all the summer nights that she andNana had slept on the flat roof of thekolba, looking at themoon glowing over Gul Daman, the night so hot their shirtswould cling to their chests like a wet leaf to a window. Shemissed the winter afternoons of reading in thekolba with MullahFaizullah, the clink of icicles falling on her roof from the trees,the crows cawing outside from snow-burdened branches.
Alone in the house, Mariam paced restlessly, from the kitchento the living room, up the steps to her room and down again.
She ended up back in her room, doing her prayers or sittingon the bed, missing her mother, feeling nauseated7 andhomesick.
It was with the sun's westward8 crawl that Mariam's anxietyreally ratcheted up. Her teeth rattled9 when she thought of thenight, the time when Rasheed might at last decide to do to herwhat husbands did to their wives. She lay in bed, wracked withnerves, as he ate alone downstairs.
He always stopped by her room and poked10 his head in.
"You can't be sleeping already. It's only seven. Are youawake? Answer me. Come, now."He pressed on until, from the dark, Mariam said, "I'm here."He slid down and sat in her doorway11. From her bed, shecould see his large-framed body, his long legs, the smokeswirling around his hook-nosed profile, the amber12 tip of hiscigarette brightening and dimming.
He told her about his day. A pair of loafers he hadcustom-made for the deputy foreign minister-who, Rasheed said,bought shoes only from him. An order for sandals from aPolish diplomat13 and his wife. He told her of the superstitionspeople had about shoes: that putting them on a bed inviteddeath into the family, that a quarrel would follow if one put onthe left shoe first.
"Unless it was done unintentionally on a Friday," he said.
"And did you know it's supposed to be a bad omen4 to tieshoes together and hang them from a nail?"Rasheed himself believed none of this. In his opinion,superstitions were largely a female preoccupation.
He passed on to her things he had heard on the streets, likehow the American president Richard Nixon had resigned overa scandal.
Mariam, who had never heard of Nixon, or the scandal thathad forced him to resign, did not say anything back. Shewaited anxiously for Rasheed to finish talking, to crush hiscigarette, and take his leave. Only when she'd heard him crossthe hallway, heard his door open and close, only then wouldthe metal fist gripping her belly14 let go-Then one night hecrushed his cigarette and instead of saying good night leanedagainst the doorway.
"Are you ever going to unpack15 that thing?" he said, motioningwith his head toward her suitcase. He crossed his arms. "Ifigured you might need some time. But this is absurd. Aweek's gone and…Well, then, as of tomorrow morning I expectyou to start behaving like a wife.Fahmidi? Is that understood?"Mariam's teeth began to chatter16.
"I need an answer.""Yes.""Good," he said. "What did you think? That this is a hotel?
That I'm some kind of hotelkeeper? Well, it…Oh. Oh.
La illah u ilillah.What did I say about the crying? Mariam.
What did I say to you about the crying?"* * *The next morning, after Rasheed left for work, Mariamunpacked her clothes and put them in the dresser. She drew apail of water from the well and, with a rag, washed thewindows of her room and the windows to the living roomdownstairs- She swept the floors, beat the cobwebs fluttering inthe corners of the ceiling. She opened the windows to air thehouse.
She set three cups of lentils to soak in a pot, found a knifeand cut some carrots and a pair of potatoes, left them too tosoak. She searched for flour, found it in the back of one ofthe cabinets behind a row of dirty spice jars, and made freshdough, kneading it the way Nana had shown her, pushing thedough with the heel of her hand, folding the outer edge,turning it, and pushing it away again. Once she had flouredthe dough17, she wrapped it in a moist cloth, put on ahijab, andset out for the communal18 tandoor.
Rasheed had told her where it was, down the street, a leftthen a quick right, but all Mariam had to do was follow theflock of women and children who were headed the same way.
The children Mariam saw, chasing after their mothers orrunning ahead of them, wore shirts patched and patched again.
They wore trousers that looked too bigor too small, sandals with ragged19 straps20 that flapped back andforth. They rolled discarded old bicycle tires with sticks.
Their mothers walked in groups of three or four, some inburqas, others not. Mariam could hear their high-pitchedchatter, their spiraling laughs. As she walked with her headdown, she caught bits of their banter21, which seemingly alwayshad to do with sick children or lazy, ungrateful husbands.
As if the meals cook themselves.
Wallah o billah,never a moment's rest!
And he says to me, I swear it, it's true, he actually saystome…This endless conversation, the tone plaintive22 but oddly cheerful,flew around and around in a circle. On it went, down thestreet, around the corner, in line at the tandoor. Husbandswho gambled. Husbands who doted on their mothers andwouldn't spend a rupiah on them, the wives. Mariam wonderedhow so many women could suffer the same miserable23 luck, tohave married, all of them, such dreadful men. Or was this awifely game that she did not know about, a daily ritual, likesoaking rice or making dough? Would they expect her soon tojoin in?
In the tandoor line, Mariam caught sideways glances shot ather, heard whispers. Her hands began to sweat. She imaginedthey all knew that she'd been born aharami, a source ofshame to her father and his family. They all knew that she'dbetrayed her mother and disgraced herself.
With a corner of herhijab, she dabbed24 at the moisture aboveher upper lip and tried to gather her nerves. For a fewminutes, everything went well-Then someone tapped her on theshoulder. Mariam turned around and found a light-skinned,plump woman wearing ahijab, like her. She had short, wiryblack hair and a good-humored, almost perfectly25 round face.
Her lips were much fuller than Mariam's, the lower one slightlydroopy, as though dragged down by the big, dark mole26 justbelow the lip line. She had big greenish eyes that shone atMariam with an inviting27 glint.
"You're Rasheed jan's new wife, aren't you?" the woman said,smiling widely.
"The one from Herat. You're so young! Mariam jan, isn't it?
My name is Fariba. I live on your street, five houses to yourleft, the one with the green door. This is my sonNoor."The boy at her side had a smooth, happy face and wiry hairlike his mother's. There was a patch of black hairs on the lobeof his left ear. His eyes had a mischievous28, reckless light inthem. He raised his hand."Salaam29, Khala Jan.""Noor is ten. I have an older boy too, Ahmad.""He's thirteen," Noor said.
"Thirteen going on forty." The woman Fariba laughed. "Myhusband's name is Hakim," she said. "He's a teacher here inDeh-Mazang. You should come by sometime, we'll have a cup-"And then suddenly, as if emboldened30, the other womenpushed past Fariba and swarmed31 Mariam, forming a circlearound her with alarming speed"So you're Rasheed jan's young bride-""How do you like Kabul?""I've been to Herat. I have a cousin there""Do you want a boy or a girl first?""The minarets32! Oh, what beauty! What a gorgeous city!""Boy is better, Mariam jan, they carry the family name-""Bah! Boys get married and run off. Girls stay behind andtake care of you when you're old""We heard you were coming.""Have twins. One of each! Then everyone's happy."Mariam backed away. She was hyperventilating. Her earsbuzzed, her pulse fluttered, her eyes darted33 from one face toanother. She backed away again, but there was nowhere to goto-she was in the center of a circle. She spotted34 Fariba, whowas frowning, who saw that she was in distress35.
"Let her be!" Fariba was saying. "Move aside, let her be!
You're frightening her!"Mariam clutched the dough close to her chest and pushedthrough the crowd around her.
"Where are you going,hamshira?”
She pushed until somehow she was in the clear and then sheran up the street. It wasn't until she'd reached the intersectionthat she realized she'd run the wrong way. She turned aroundand ran back in the other direction, head down, tripping onceand scraping her knee badly, then up again and running,bolting past the women.
"What's the matter with you?""You're bleeding,hamshiral"Mariam turned one corner, then the other. She found thecorrect street but suddenly could not remember which wasRasheed's house. She ran up then down the street, panting,near tears now, began trying doors blindly. Some were locked,others opened only to reveal unfamiliar36 yards, barking dogs,and startled chickens. She pictured Rasheed coming home tofind her still searching this way, her knee bleeding, lost on herown street. Now she did start crying. She pushed on doors,muttering panicked prayers, her face moist with tears, until oneopened, and she saw, with relief, the outhouse, the well, thetoolshed. She slammed the door behind her and turned thebolt. Then she was on all fours, next to the wall, retching.
When she was done, she crawled away, sat against the wall,with her legs splayed before her. She had never in her life feltso alone.
* * *When Rasheed came home that night, he brought with him abrown paper bag. Mariam was disappointed that he did notnotice the clean windows, the swept floors, the missingcobwebs. But he did look pleased that she had already set hisdinner plate, on a cleansofrah spread on the living-room floor.
"I madedaal" Mariam said.
"Good. I'm starving."She poured water for him from theafiawa to wash his handswith. As he dried with a towel, she put before him a steamingbowlof daal and a plate of fluffy37 white rice. This was the firstmeal she had cooked for him, and Mariam wished she hadbeen in a better state when she made it. She'd still beenshaken from the incident at the tandoor as she'd cooked, andall day she had fretted38 about thedaal'% consistency39, its color,worried that he would think she'd stirred in too much gingeror not enough turmeric.
He dipped his spoon into the gold-coloreddaal.
Mariam swayed a bit. What if he was disappointed or angry?
What if he pushed his plate away in displeasure?
"Careful," she managed to say. "It's hot."Rasheed pursed his lips and blew, then put the spoon into hismouth.
"It's good," he said. "A little undersalted but good. Maybebetter than good, even."Relieved, Mariam looked on as he ate. A flare40 of pride caughther off guard. She had done well -maybe better than good,even- and it surprised her, this thrill she felt over his smallcompliment- The day's earlier unpleasantness receded41 a bit.
"Tomorrow is Friday," Rasheed said. "What do you say Ishow you around?""Around Kabul?""No. Calcutta."Mariam blinked.
"It's a joke. Of course Kabul. Where else?" He reached intothe brown paper bag. "But first, something I have to tell you."He fished a sky blue burqa from the bag. The yards ofpleated cloth spilled over his knees when he lifted it. He rolledup the burqa, looked at Mariam.
"I have customers, Mariam, men, who bring their wives to myshop. The women come uncovered, they talk to me directly,look me in the eye without shame. They wear makeup42 andskirts that show their knees. Sometimes they even put their feetin front of me, the women do, for measurements, and theirhusbands stand there and watch. They allow it. They thinknothing of a stranger touching43 their wives' bare feet! Theythink they're being modern men, intellectuals, on account oftheir education, I suppose. They don't see that they're spoilingtheir ownnang andnamoos, their honor and pride."He shook his head.
"Mostly, they live in the richer parts of Kabul. I'll take youthere. You'll see. But they're here too, Mariam, in this veryneighborhood, these soft men. There's a teacher living downthe street, Hakim is his name, and I see his wife Fariba all thetime walking the streets alone with nothing on her head but ascarf. It embarrasses me, frankly44, to see a man who's lostcontrol of his wife."He fixed45 Mariam with a hard glare.
"But I'm a different breed of man, Mariam. Where I comefrom, one wrong look, one improper46 word, and blood is spilled.
Where I come from, a woman's face is her husband's businessonly. I want you to remember that. Do you understand?"Mariam nodded. When he extended the bag to her, she tookit.
The earlier pleasure over his approval of her cooking hadevaporated. In its stead, a sensation of shrinking. This man'swill felt to Mariam as imposing47 and immovable as the Safid-kohmountains looming48 over Gul Daman.
Rasheed passed the paper bag to her. "We have anunderstanding, then. Now, let me have some more of thatdaal."
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收听单词发音
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1
spatulas
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| n.（搅拌或涂敷用的）铲，漆工抹刀( spatula的名词复数 )；压舌板 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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14
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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21
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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salaam
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| n.额手之礼，问安，敬礼；v.行额手礼 | |
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emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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32
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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33
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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40
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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41
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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42
makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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47
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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48
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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