MadamI was upstairs, playing with Mariam," Zalmai said.
"And your mother?""She was…She was downstairs, talking to that man.""I see," said Rasheed. "Teamwork."Mariam watched his face relax, loosen. She watched the foldsclear from his brow. Suspicion and misgiving winked out of hiseyes. He sat up straight, and, for a few brief moments, heappeared merely thoughtful, like a captain informed of imminentmutiny taking his time to ponder his next move.
He looked up.
Mariam began to say something, but he raised a hand, and,without looking at her, said, "It's too late, Mariam."To Zalmai he said coldly, "You're going upstairs, boy."On Zalmai's face, Mariam saw alarm. Nervously, he lookedaround at the three of them. He sensed now that his tattletalegame had let something serious-adult serious-into the room. Hecast a despondent, contrite glance toward Mariam, then hismother.
In a challenging voice, Rasheed said,"Now!"He took Zalmai by the elbow. Zalmai meekly let himself be ledupstairs.
They stood frozen, Mariam and Laila, eyes to the ground, asthough looking at each other would give credence to the wayRasheed saw things, that while he was opening doors andlugging baggage for people who wouldn't spare him a glance alewd conspiracy was shaping behind his back, in his home, inhis beloved son's presence. Neither one of them said a word.
They listened to the footsteps in the hallway above, one heavyand foreboding, the other the pattering of a skittish little animal.
They listened to muted words passed, a squeaky plea, a curtretort, a door shut, the rattle of a key as it turned. Then oneset of footsteps returning, more impatiently now.
Mariam saw his feet pounding the steps as he came down.
She saw him pocketing the key, saw his belt, the perforatedend wrapped tightly around his knuckles. The fake brass buckledragged behind him, bouncing on the steps.
She went to stop him, but he shoved her back and blew byher. Without saying a word, he swung the belt at Laila. He didit with such speed that she had no time to retreat or duck, oreven raise a protective arm. Laila touched her fingers to hertemple, looked at the blood, looked at Rasheed, withastonishment. It lasted only a moment or two, this look ofdisbelief, before it was replaced by something hateful.
Rasheed swung the belt again.
This time, Laila shielded herself with a forearm and made agrab at the belt. She missed, and Rasheed brought the beltdown again. Laila caught it briefly before Rasheed yanked itfree and lashed at her again. Then Laila was dashing aroundthe room, and Mariam was screaming words that ran togetherand imploring Rasheed, as he chased Laila, as he blocked herway and cracked his belt at her. At one point, Laila duckedand managed to land a punch across his ear, which made himspit a curse and pursue her even more relentlessly. He caughther, threw her up against the wall, and struck her with thebelt again and again, the buckle slamming against her chest,her shoulder, her raised arms, her fingers, drawing bloodwherever it struck.
Mariam lost count of how many times the belt cracked, howmany pleading words she cried out to Rasheed, how manytimes she circled around the incoherent tangle of teeth and fistsand belt, before she saw fingers clawing at Rasheed's face,chipped nails digging into his jowls and pulling at his hair andscratching his forehead. How long before she realized, with bothshock and relish, that the fingers were hers.
He let go of Laila and turned on her. At first, he looked ather without seeing her, then his eyes narrowed, appraisedMariam with interest. The look in them shifted from puzzlementto shock, then disapproval, disappointment even, lingering therea moment.
Mariam remembered the first time she had seen his eyes,under the wedding veil, in the mirror, with Jalil looking on,how their gazes had slid across the glass and met, hisindifferent, hers docile, conceding, almost apologetic.
Apologetic.
Mariam saw now in those same eyes what a fool she hadbeen.
Had she been a deceitful wife? she asked herself. Acomplacent wife? A dishonorable woman? Discreditable? Vulgar?
What harmful thing had she willfully done to this man towarrant his malice, his continual assaults, the relish with whichhe tormented her? Had she not looked after him when he wasill? Fed him, and his friends, cleaned up after him dutifully?
Had she not given this man her youth?
Had she ever justly deserved his meanness?
The belt made a thump when Rasheed dropped it to theground and came for her. Some jobs, thatthump said, weremeant to be done with bare hands.
But just as he was bearing down on her, Mariam saw Lailabehind him pick something up from the ground. She watchedLaila's hand rise overhead, hold, then come swooping downagainst the side of his face. Glass shattered. The jaggedremains of the drinking glass rained down to the ground.
There was blood on Laila's hands, blood flowing from the opengash on Rasheed's cheek, blood down his neck, on his shirt.
He turned around, all snarling teeth and blazing eyes.
They crashed to the ground, Rasheed and Laila, thrashingabout. He ended up on top, his hands already wrappedaround Laila's neck.
Mariam clawed at him. She beat at his chest. She hurledherself against him. She struggled to uncurl his fingers fromLaila's neck. She bit them. But they remained tightly clampedaround Laila's wind-pipe, and Mariam saw that he meant tocarry this through.
He meant to suffocate her, and there was nothing either ofthem could do about it.
Mariam backed away and left the room. She was aware of athumping sound from upstairs, aware that tiny palms wereslapping against a locked door. She ran down the hallway. Sheburst through the front door. Crossed the yard.
In the toolshed, Mariam grabbed the shovel.
Rasheed didn't notice her coming back into the room. He wasstill on top of Laila, his eyes wide and crazy, his handswrapped around her neck. Laila's face was turning blue now,and her eyes had rolled back. Mariam saw that she was nolonger struggling.He's going to kill her, she thought.He reallymeans to. And Mariam could not, would not, allow that tohappen. He'd taken so much from her in twenty-seven yearsof marriage. She would not watch him take Laila too.
Mariam steadied her feet and tightened her grip around theshovel's handle. She raised it. She said his name. She wantedhim to see.
"Rasheed."He looked up.
Mariam swung.
She hit him across the temple. The blow knocked him offLaila.
Rasheed touched his head with the palm of his hand. Helooked at the blood on his fingertips, then at Mariam. Shethought she saw his face soften. She imagined that somethinghad passed between them, that maybe she had quite literallyknocked some understanding into his head. Maybe he sawsomething in her face too, Mariam thought, something thatmade him hedge. Maybe he saw some trace of all theself-denial, all the sacrifice, all the sheer exertion it had takenher to live with him for all these years, live with his continualcondescension and violence, his faultfinding and meanness. Wasthat respect she saw in his eyes? Regret?
But then his upper lip curled back into a spiteful sneer, andMariam knew then the futility, maybe even the irresponsibility,of not finishing this. If she let him walk now, how long beforehe fetched the key from his pocket and went for that gun ofhis upstairs in the room where he'd locked Zalmai? HadMariam been certain that he would be satisfied with shootingonly her, that there was a chance he would spare Laila, shemight have dropped the shovel. But in Rasheed's eyes she sawmurder for them both.
And so Mariam raised the shovel high, raised it as high asshe could, arching it so it touched the small of her back. Sheturned it so the sharp edge was vertical, and, as she did, itoccurred to her that this was the first time thatshe wasdeciding the course of her own life.
And, with that, Mariam brought down the shovel This time,she gave it everything she had.