When the Moon Is Low(15)

People loved her. I loved her.

Since Boba-jan’s passing, my father had grown ever more distant. I’d once placed a bowl of dried apricots and walnuts at his side while he was reading. He’d looked up from his newspaper startled. A quiet mumble and a shake of his head told me it wasn’t me he’d seen when he looked up. He still grieved my mother, as did I. He wouldn’t say a word about her, but his melancholy eyes hid nothing. He barely bothered to ask about my classes. We exchanged but a few words in the course of the day.

I wanted to ask him to forgo this suitor.

My father would see things KokoGul’s way. He always did. Not so much because she was looking out for his financial interests, but because it greased the cogs of our home. Life was easier on him when he agreed with KokoGul.

I spent more and more time in the orchard. Being in a house full of people betrayed the solitude I felt. KokoGul was exceptionally cheerful. She spent mornings in the fabric store and afternoons with the seamstress. Her closet celebrated with new lacy hems, a delicate head scarf, and a white wool shawl brilliantly embroidered in gold and emerald stitching.

The courtship continued, the ladies now expressing frankly that they were seeking a wife for Agha Firooz’s son. They did not want to be kept waiting. He was an educated young man who was in line to inherit his father’s business. KokoGul was not pleased that they would ask for an answer so quickly. For her, the dance had only begun.

“Fereiba-jan is a very hardworking girl, you know. My husband has offered time and time again to bring servants to help with the housework, but Fereiba and I, we manage everything together. And I’d rather not have strangers in my home, so I’ve refused.”

I shook my head. It was hard to keep straight truth from lie with KokoGul. I doubted she knew the difference herself.

“Good for you that you’ve been able to raise a hardworking daughter. I’ve never had my daughters do any of the chores around the house. I was afraid they would end up as servants in the homes of others if I did. But to have an aroos, a bride, who can run a household—that would be a welcome change!”

“Yes, indeed. My other daughters are not as involved for the same reason.”

KokoGul danced on, her lapis-ringed finger twirling in the air as she choreographed their exchange.

“FEREI, ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO GET MARRIED?” A GIDDY SULTANA whispered as I tried to focus on my literature assignment.

I ignored the curiosity of my younger sisters. I spoke, ate, and slept very little. Schoolwork was the only effective distraction. When I had time, I returned to the orchard to sulk in privacy.

KokoGul was quietly gathering what she needed to make my shirnee, a symbolic tray of sweets to 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 the room, 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.”