Amal Unbound(9)

“Owe him nothing, and he cannot harm you,” my mother replied.

“Except everyone does,” Mariam said. “We need his filthy money. Maybe if we all united against him, something could be done. It’s happening more and more these days—people are banding together and overthrowing their landlords. Read about it in the newspaper all the time.”

“The Khan family would never let that happen here. Remember Hazarabad?” Fozia asked. “The people in that town made a pact. Refused to pay their debts until he stopped with the threats. Forget Munira’s measly acres! He destroyed their entire village. Every last orange grove and cotton field. Jawad Sahib sent quite the message!”

My mother lifted the teacup from the ground and brought it to her lips. She took a sip. “I’m thankful we’re on the other end of the village, far away from him,” she said.

I gathered their empty teacups. I didn’t really care about Jawad Sahib and his acts of vengeance. My mother could have been discussing the devil himself for all it mattered. I was just glad to see my mother drink her tea. It had to be a sign.

I stepped into the kitchen as my father came home. He slipped off his shoes on the woven mat by the front door.

“Fozia and Mariam Auntie are in with Amma right now,” I told him excitedly. “She’s drinking chai and talking. She even smiled.”

“Good!” my father said. “Maybe she’s starting to get better.”

Why didn’t I push her to meet her friends sooner? I went into my bedroom and ran my hand over my uniform hanging in the closet. It was starched and ready. Maybe in a few days I could wear it again.

“Amal,” my father said. He watched me from the doorway. “I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. Drinking a cup of tea is nice, but it’s still going to take time for her to fully recover and be up and running the house again.”

“But maybe—”

“No, Amal. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

But did it really have to be this way? If I were a boy, would I be staying home to fold laundry and iron clothes? If I were a son, would he so casually tell me to forget my dreams?

I rushed outside and sank onto the front steps. My mother was adamant about our education. If only she could get better, everything could go back to normal.

“Look who it is!”

Hafsa pedaled up to me on her younger brother’s bicycle. She dug her sandals into the ground, slowing it to a halt.

“Do your parents know you’re riding a bicycle again?” I asked her. Most people around here frowned upon girls riding bicycles, and Hafsa’s parents had let her know they were one of them.

“If my brothers can ride a bike, then I can, too,” she said. “Besides, maybe I’ll be the next Zenith Irfan and bike across the country.”

“That was a motorcycle,” I reminded her.

“Same difference.”

The voices of children playing cricket in a nearby open field floated over to us.

“How’s Seema as a teacher?” she asked.

“The power’s gone straight to her head.” I let out a small laugh. “She won’t even repeat the questions on the spelling test, no matter how much I beg.”

“Sounds like Seema.” Hafsa smiled.

“How’s Miss Sadia?” I asked. “Ever get her that bell?”

“Ha. I wish. She asks about you every single day, though.” Hafsa rolled her eyes. “If we thought you were her favorite before, we definitely know now.”

“Well, you can become her new favorite.” I swallowed. “My father doesn’t seem like he’ll be letting me go back to school anytime soon.”

“No way! You better be back. We’re going to go to college, remember? I’m not rooming with a total stranger.”

“Let’s hope he changes his mind, then.”

“Hope?” Hafsa’s frowned. “You think my dad doesn’t grumble about all the money my books and uniforms cost him? But he knows it’s less of a headache to send me to school than to keep me home. You can’t just hope, Amal! You have to keep at him, and don’t take no for an answer.”

After Hafsa left, I thought about what she had said. Maybe she was right. I had to come up with some kind of plan—but I also knew no plan could work if my mother wasn’t better.





Chapter 10





The lights flickered off again the next afternoon. The overhead fan slowed to a halt. Another blackout. My forehead trickled with sweat.

Seema was back from school and doing her best to corral Safa and Rabia, whose shouts echoed off the concrete floor, hammering into my brain.

It turned out my father was right about yesterday. The cup of tea with Fozia and Mariam wasn’t any sort of magic cure. As usual, my mother spent the morning with the curtains drawn. She barely spoke a word when I went inside to check on her.

She wasn’t on the mend.

Maybe she never would be.

I had to get out for a little while.

I counted the money I needed for the market.

Seema’s back was turned to me.

“Get your hands out the flour!” she yelled at a powder-white Safa.

I’ll get her, I wanted to say, but the words never left my mouth.