be presented to the suitor’s family as formal acceptance of their proposal. A silver-plated serving tray, gold tulle, and a box from Kabul’s confectionery store had been tucked into her dresser drawer. Despite the beguiling dance she did with Agha Firooz’s wife, KokoGul was eager to dress me up with ribbons and send me off to a new home. I stared at the things she’d bought. I put her freshly laundered undergarments in her drawer and fought the urge to rip the tulle to shreds, to smash the sweets and leave KokoGul nothing but a tragic pile of gold foil wrappers.
“WHY ARE YOU UNHAPPY?”
Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed the sound of leaves crunching under my neighbor’s approaching feet. So long as my splotchy face remained hidden, I didn’t mind the anonymous company. I touched the wall. As my fingers traced its roughness, a slip of clay lifted. I rubbed a bit harder and more crumbled to the ground. I turned and leaned against it. The khaki dust lingered on my fingertips.
“There is a family . . . with a boy.” I tried different combinations of words but choked on a real explanation.
“Your suitor?”
Though he could not see me, I nodded.
“You know?” I asked.
“My mother and sisters were talking about it. They’ve seen the family come and go, and KokoGul mentioned something when she stopped by this week.”
“She stopped by your home?” I’d paid no attention to KokoGul’s whereabouts in the last two weeks.
“Yes.” The voice spoke quietly. “I can’t say I think much of that boy.”
“You know him?” He confirmed my judgment.
“Not very well. Here and there and from a distance. But we attended the same high school.”
“And even from a distance you have this opinion of him.”
“Some things are clearer from a distance. I don’t know if I should say more.”
“Whatever it is, you should say it. No one else is saying anything worth hearing.”
He told me about the boy’s mischief. Teasing girls, fighting with classmates, poor marks in school. Rumors circulated about him, things that my orchard confidante refused to disclose. Since the Firooz boy had graduated from high school, his parents were hoping marriage would mature him in a way age hadn’t.
I sank to the ground, pulled my knees close to me, and let out a defeated moan.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you, but I thought you should know. Your family should know.”
How could I tell my family? It wasn’t as though I could repeat things I’d heard from a strange boy I’d been meeting in the orchard.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “My mother thinks their family is a good match for us. And my father . . . even when he’s in theroom, he’s not around. He’s happy to leave things to my mother. I tried to tell her I didn’t want to be married now, but she’s not interested in what I want. She won’t believe anything I tell her about this boy. She’ll just tell me not to listen to rumors.”
“I see.”
My behavior was unforgivable. I’d revealed my private thoughts and our family affairs to our neighbor’s son, a faceless voice behind a wall. Where was my honor? And how could I trust him to keep our conversations to himself? I was suddenly flustered.
“Please excuse me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know why I troubled you with this. Please forget everything,” I said, straightening my shoulders and trying to shake the emotion from my voice.
“You are upset. You haven’t done anything wrong . . .”
“But I have. Please do not repeat any of this. I wasn’t expecting to . . . to be so . . .”
“You have my word. I will not say anything to anyone. But I will tell you something as well. I’m as troubled as you are with the news of this suitor.”
The orchard held its breath. His words hung in the air above the wall between us, lingered there far enough out of reach that he could not pull them back and I could not claim them. I didn’t want his words to
“WHY ARE YOU UNHAPPY?”
Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed the sound of leaves crunching under my neighbor’s approaching feet. So long as my splotchy face remained hidden, I didn’t mind the anonymous company. I touched the wall. As my fingers traced its roughness, a slip of clay lifted. I rubbed a bit harder and more crumbled to the ground. I turned and leaned against it. The khaki dust lingered on my fingertips.
“There is a family . . . with a boy.” I tried different combinations of words but choked on a real explanation.
“Your suitor?”
Though he could not see me, I nodded.
“You know?” I asked.
“My mother and sisters were talking about it. They’ve seen the family come and go, and KokoGul mentioned something when she stopped by this week.”
“She stopped by your home?” I’d paid no attention to KokoGul’s whereabouts in the last two weeks.
“Yes.” The voice spoke quietly. “I can’t say I think much of that boy.”
“You know him?” He confirmed my judgment.
“Not very well. Here and there and from a distance. But we attended the same high school.”
“And even from a distance you have this opinion of him.”
“Some things are clearer from a distance. I don’t know if I should say more.”
“Whatever it is, you should say it. No one else is saying anything worth hearing.”
He told me about the boy’s mischief. Teasing girls, fighting with classmates, poor marks in school. Rumors circulated about him, things that my orchard confidante refused to disclose. Since the Firooz boy had graduated from high school, his parents were hoping marriage would mature him in a way age hadn’t.
I sank to the ground, pulled my knees close to me, and let out a defeated moan.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you, but I thought you should know. Your family should know.”
How could I tell my family? It wasn’t as though I could repeat things I’d heard from a strange boy I’d been meeting in the orchard.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “My mother thinks their family is a good match for us. And my father . . . even when he’s in theroom, he’s not around. He’s happy to leave things to my mother. I tried to tell her I didn’t want to be married now, but she’s not interested in what I want. She won’t believe anything I tell her about this boy. She’ll just tell me not to listen to rumors.”
“I see.”
My behavior was unforgivable. I’d revealed my private thoughts and our family affairs to our neighbor’s son, a faceless voice behind a wall. Where was my honor? And how could I trust him to keep our conversations to himself? I was suddenly flustered.
“Please excuse me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know why I troubled you with this. Please forget everything,” I said, straightening my shoulders and trying to shake the emotion from my voice.
“You are upset. You haven’t done anything wrong . . .”
“But I have. Please do not repeat any of this. I wasn’t expecting to . . . to be so . . .”
“You have my word. I will not say anything to anyone. But I will tell you something as well. I’m as troubled as you are with the news of this suitor.”
The orchard held its breath. His words hung in the air above the wall between us, lingered there far enough out of reach that he could not pull them back and I could not claim them. I didn’t want his words to
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