Amal Unbound(12)

“You’re my eldest, but you’re still a child,” she said to me. “I don’t know—it’s like I’d fallen into some kind of well the last month. Everything was so dark. It happens for a while each time I have a child.”

“Because we’re girls,” I whispered.

“What? That’s not true.” She gripped my hand in hers.

“I was there. You were crying. You wanted a son.”

“Yes, we did want a son,” she sighed. “But it doesn’t mean we don’t love our daughters. You’re part of me; how can I not love you?”

“Why is having a boy all anyone can talk about?”

“Who else will care for us in our old age? Who will run the farm and keep your grandfather’s dream alive?”

“I could,” I told her. “Seema and I both would.”

“You will get married one day. Then you’ll belong to a new family.”

“But I’m part of this family!”

“I wish it wasn’t this way, but this is how the world works. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my daughters. I love each and every one of you.”

“What are we going to do, Amma?” I whispered. “I made such a huge mistake.”

“Don’t you worry. We’ll fix it. We will.”

I used to sit with my mother most mornings as she made breakfast in the early hours while everyone slept—it was the only chance I ever had to be alone with her. I would tell her what I learned in school, the latest drama I might have had with my friends. If anyone could come up with a way to fix this, she could. She always knew how to make things right.



* * *



? ? ?

When Omar and Seema returned from school, we gathered by the wire chicken coop in the backyard, obscured from view.

“I’ve been running it over and over in my head,” I told them. “I still can’t figure out what he’s going to do tomorrow.”

“He’s not going to do anything,” Seema said. “If he wanted to do something, he’d have done it by now. Everyone knows he doesn’t think—he acts.”

“The things he’s done, though . . .”

“Rumors,” she said. “They’re just rumors.”

I looked at Omar, but he twisted the heel of his sandal in the dirt. He didn’t meet my eyes.

I didn’t want to tell Seema about Munira’s blackened fields. I couldn’t bring myself to correct her.

Afraid if I said it out loud, it might come true.

“Don’t worry.” She put her arm around me. “By this time tomorrow, this will all be behind us.”





Chapter 13





The hard-knuckled knock on our front door sent a chill through our household early the next morning.

Seema and I sat up in bed. Safa and Rabia had slept with us last night. Safa began to speak but, upon seeing our faces, stayed silent.

The front door creaked open. Footsteps echoed through the house.

I pressed my ear against the bedroom door.

“Welcome to our home. It’s an honor,” my father said. “I’ll call my wife to prepare tea.”

“I’m not here for tea. I’m here about your daughter.” That voice, the same cold voice from the day at the market. His voice was ice water poured down my spine.

“Sahib, we are beside ourselves over what happened. Please. Forgive her foolish mistake.”

“Forgive? How can I forgive when the harm is done? I take some of the blame for this disrespect. I haven’t been as involved with matters around here as I used to be. People forget what they don’t see.”

“We haven’t forgotten. We are forever in your debt.”

“Yes,” he replied. “You are. And given the circumstances, I’m left with no choice but to collect.”

Collect? What was he talking about?

“Please, Sahib. I have no means to pay you back yet. You know how little we have.”

No. This couldn’t be right. It was the one thing our mother always said: Never take on more than you could bear. And never be indebted to anyone—especially someone like this.

“If I had the money, I would lay it at your feet, but I don’t have it.”

“Then she will do.”

There was a long silence.

“I don’t understand,” my father finally said.

“She will live on my estate and work for me. She will pay off your debts.”

“She—she’s practically a child,” my father stammered.

“I would like to let it go, but if I let this pass, who will disrespect me next?”

“Sending my daughter away like this. I can’t, Sahib.”

“She will be treated like all my servants, no better, no worse. I’ll even let her visit twice a year like the others.”

I backed away from the door. I heard wrong. I must have. But why, then, did Seema stare at me like she saw a jinn? She motioned me back to the door.

“I’ll give you a few days to discuss, but I promise you will like the alternatives far less.”

The door opened and shut. A car engine sprang to life. Tires rumbled against dirt and gravel.

The room was shrinking.