glass of cold water to calm her down so she could see the nonsense of what she was suggesting. Even if it was doable, even if all the village swore to keep their mouths shut, how could the absence of the bride’s father be justified? The young girl’s life would be doomed forever if her marriage began with such a ruse. Little by little, the sips of water sizzled on the raging flames that burned inside Pooran. Surrounded by women, some of whom had volunteered to weave the very rugs they were sitting on when Khan decided to build the mosque, Pooran despaired. She placed her forehead on the white sheet that covered the body of her husband.
Then Khan got to his feet. “We’ll do as she said,” he announced, fitting his black Astrakhan on his gray hair with three fingers. All they had to do was to surround the groom’s family at all times with people who would not divulge the secret. Once inside the Orchard, they would be isolated from any outsiders. “Who will help my family?” he asked the people in the mosque. A hand went up in the front, then another, and then the rest. Khan sent some of the men to go door to door to the houses that flanked the path from the road to the Orchard. He ordered the women to continue with the preparations. “May God forgive our sins,” Mulla Ali said loudly. “We need ice. Lots of ice to keep the body.” Pooran hugged her husband’s body and cried for a few minutes before she got up and drank the rest of the water in the glass. The ice had melted away.
* * *
—
SOME OF THE FOOD HAD burned over unattended fires. They emptied the cauldrons and washed them before starting anew. Pooran gave quick instructions to the men and women and hurried inside the house to her daughter. Maryam had locked herself in her room. Huddling behind the door, a few women were trying to draw her out. When all attempts failed, Pooran asked a girl to fetch a man from the garden. Mohammad the Carpenter threw some ineffectual kicks first. Then he took a few steps back and slammed his fat body through the door.
Maryam was sitting on the floor cutting her wedding dress into small pieces. White clippings were strewn all around her like snow. Apparently unperturbed by the intrusion, Maryam cut a strip off the skirt of the dress and flung it aside. Pooran closed the broken door and held her in her arms. Maryam said she would not marry with her father’s body above the ground. Her mother reasoned that the wisest thing was not to cancel the wedding, that Khan was taking care of everything and many in the village were busy making sure that things would go well. In the end, she said that this was what Nosser would have wanted her to do. “That’s a lie, that’s just a lie,” Maryam shouted, shaking her head, her cheeks rosy, her small nose red.
“Let me tell you something then.” Pooran petted her daughter’s hand. “Last night, in the middle of the night, I heard noises in my sleep. I opened my eyes. The room was dark and your father was not in the bed. I sat up and then I saw him. He was sitting on a chair in front of the wall where your wedding dress was hanging. When he heard me wake up, he turned around. He said all his life he had been waiting for this night.”
Maryam put the scissors down and buried her face in her hands.
* * *
—
WHEN AHMAD FINALLY STIRRED THAT afternoon, he saw his mother sitting with her back to him, a silhouette against the huge, curtained window with panes of different colors. Ahmad heard his mother’s stifled weeping above the other sounds that came through the half-open window: men and women talking, pots and pans clinking, the cries of children running around. He recognized some of the voices. His mother turned. “You’re up at last!” Her eyes were red and puffy. She crawled to his bed and scooped him into her arms.
“My boy! My life! I was so worried. I’m happy you opened your eyes again.” Tears streamed down her round cheeks. Her shuddering shoulders shook Ahmad’s head. She put him down and wiped her tears with her sleeves. “But we can’t tell anyone,” she lowered her voice. “You have to keep everything to yourself for now.