A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini [76]
He coughed.
“I should say that Mariam will be my eyes and ears when I am away.” Here, he shot Mariam a fleeting look that was as hard as a steel-toed kick to the temple. “Not that I am mistrusting. Quite the contrary. Frankly, you strike me as far wiser than your years. But you are still a young woman, Laila jan, a dokhtar e jawan, and young women can make unfortunate choices. They can be prone to mischief. Anyway, Mariam will be accountable. And if there is a slipup . . .”
On and on he went. Mariam sat watching the girl out of the corner of her eye as Rasheed’s demands and judgments rained down on them like the rockets on Kabul.
ONE DAY, Mariam was in the living room folding some shirts of Rasheed’s that she had plucked from the clothesline in the yard. She didn’t know how long the girl had been standing there, but, when she picked up a shirt and turned around, she found her standing by the doorway, hands cupped around a glassful of tea.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the girl said. “I’m sorry.”
Mariam only looked at her.
The sun fell on the girl’s face, on her large green eyes and her smooth brow, on her high cheekbones and the appealing, thick eyebrows, which were nothing like Mariam’s own, thin and featureless. Her yellow hair, uncombed this morning, was middle-parted.
Mariam could see in the stiff way the girl clutched the cup, the tightened shoulders, that she was nervous. She imagined her sitting on the bed working up the nerve.
“The leaves are turning,” the girl said companionably. “Have you seen? Autumn is my favorite. I like the smell of it, when people burn leaves in their gardens. My mother, she liked springtime the best. You knew my mother?”
“Not really.”
The girl cupped a hand behind her ear. “I’m sorry?”
Mariam raised her voice. “I said no. I didn’t know your mother.”
“Oh.”
“Is there something you want?”
“Mariam jan, I want to . . . About the things he said the other night—”
“I have been meaning to talk to you about it.” Mariam broke in.
“Yes, please,” the girl said earnestly, almost eagerly. She took a step forward. She looked relieved.
Outside, an oriole was warbling. Someone was pulling a cart; Mariam could hear the creaking of its hinges, the bouncing and rattling of its iron wheels. There was the sound of gunfire not so far away, a single shot followed by three more, then nothing.
“I won’t be your servant,” Mariam said. “I won’t.”
The girl flinched. “No. Of course not!”
“You may be the palace malika and me a dehati, but I won’t take orders from you. You can complain to him and he can slit my throat, but I won’t do it. Do you hear me? I won’t be your servant.”
“No! I don’t expect—”
“And if you think you can use your looks to get rid of me, you’re wrong. I was here first. I won’t be thrown out. I won’t have you cast me out.”
“It’s not what I want,” the girl said weakly.
“And I see your wounds are healed up now. So you can start doing your share of the work in this house—”
The girl was nodding quickly. Some of her tea spilled, but she didn’t notice. “Yes, that’s the other reason I came down, to thank you for taking care of me—”
“Well, I wouldn’t have,” Mariam snapped. “I wouldn’t have fed you and washed you and nursed you if I’d known you were going to turn around and steal my husband.”
“Steal—”
“I will still cook and wash the dishes. You will do the laundry and the sweeping. The rest we will alternate daily. And one more thing. I have no use for your company. I don’t want it. What I want is to be alone. You will leave me be, and I will return the favor. That’s how we will get on. Those are the rules.”
When she was done speaking, her heart was hammering and her mouth felt parched. Mariam