Her father hadn’t yet returned from the morning prayer, her mother was busy milking the cow, and she was sweeping their small courtyard. The sudden opening of the outside door set her heart aflutter. In one hand she held her broom, the other hand was on her knee, she stared intently at the open door. It couldn’t have been her father since not much time had passed since he had left for the prayer, having closed the big door on a heavy chain while coughing and clearing his throat as usual. This man, who couldn’t tell haram from halal, had the habit of sitting for a long time at prayer, staying to put out the candles in the mosque long after others had left.
Through the door hurried in a young girl Zebi’s age. This girl, still not yet a woman, wore a paranji that older women had wrapped over her to protect her from wandering eyes. The long hems of the paranji enclosed her girlish arms like a well-kept secret.
The tightly covered girl, entering the female side of the house almost jumping, threw off her paranji, and, full of youthful energy, ran up to Zebi and embraced her. The two of them looked at each other rejoicing. Zebi laid her broom on the ground without returning it to its place. Their cheeks bright, hearts bursting, they took one another by the hand and headed towards the porch to sit together in Zebi’s father’s place.
Saltanat still hadn’t explained why she had arrived at Zebi’s home panting and exhausted so early. They were engrossed in each other, in sharing mahram secrets, in advising one another how best to sew designs and stuff skull caps with paper. Saltanat suddenly opened up regarding her arrival:
“I didn’t rush here so early without a reason. …”
“I sensed it. … My heart fluttered.”
“Why, friend?”
“Those terrible matchmakers, you know. … They came without end all winter.”
“I am sick of them too, they’re exhausting. That’s why I came to invite you to the village.”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea! The water in the canals has already peeped out from under the ice.”
Zebi’s face was filled with all the signs of her winter fatigue. Her tired eyes, which stared so intently at the stitches in the blankets underneath her, were cloudy like glass under warm breath. Saltanat’s face, on the other hand, like a shining star, was full of contentment and happiness, far from any worry, and reflected the waves of joy escaping from the deepest corners of her heart. She couldn’t sense the heavy despair in Zebi’s words. Although her eyes were on Zebi, her thoughts were in another place altogether.
“Do you know Enaxon? My friend in Yoyilmasoy?”
Zebi lifted her head and looked at her friend. That look showed that she couldn’t remember Enaxon. Saltanat added, “Last fall, do you remember, she came to us with her sister-in-law? At that time, I invited several guests, but you didn’t come, your father didn’t reply to my invitation. …”
Zebi shook her head.
“Yes, yes … I know, I know. I didn’t see her myself, but I heard.”
“When she came that fall, her sister-in-law invited me to visit her in return. I’ve been planning to go as soon as spring came. She just recently reminded me. I’m going there with some other girls soon. I’ll take you with me.”
“When?”
Saltanat understood a good deal from Zebi’s short question. That question alone showed that, if she could, Zebi would that very day take her paranji (without putting it on!) and rush as far away from her home as possible. Realizing this, Saltanat said, “I want to take you with me, dear friend!”
And the two young girls once again embraced each other in their boundless happiness.
..............................................................................................................................................
A mother’s heart is usually tender. Zebi’s mother, as soon as she heard Saltanat’s invitation, gave her consent.
“Very well, go be free and frolic. Winter has made your hearts tense. … Young things. But …”
Zebi knew her mother’s answer well ahead of time. Qurvonbibi was a mother who wanted nothing but her daughter’s happiness. She wished and truly desired everything good and beneficial in the world for her only daughter. “But …”
The poor girls didn’t have a chance to bring to crest again their waves of joy when Zebi’s mother added that “but” to her words of agreement.
They all fell silent. Each of them saw a singular impediment before their eyes: Zebi—her father, Qurvonbibi—her husband, and Saltanat from beneath her eyelids saw the old man as cold as snow.
Only a mother can clear such cloudy weather.
“When your father comes from his morning prayers,” she said looking at Saltanat, “let me try to reason with him. He won’t refuse me.” Then she looked at Zebi: “You, dear, prepare the house, see your friend in, and set the table. I’ll speak with your father over tea and tell him what you told me.”
The girls remained silent because both knew Razzoq-sufi’s character well. To get him to accept even the most agreeable of things one had either to be his master or be wealthy. The man had never listened to a single word of advice from his equals. For Razzoq to accept advice from women, or, to be precise, one little suggestion from his wife, he would have had to be remade from head to toe.
For that reason, Zebi’s eyes grew wide with worry as she stood silently in the house. She began to cry.
After she prepared the table for breakfast, she stuffed tea leaves into the pot by the hearth.
“No word of father?” she asked her mother. Qurvonbibi, after looking first at the door to the street, at the sun rising up between the trees next to the door, and then at her daughter by the hearth, answered.
“I don’t know. Could prayers have gone late? Put the tea down quickly, finish sweeping the spots you missed, and come here.”
Though she had no desire to take up the broom again, she dreaded that her friend might think that she wasn’t an obedient daughter. She silently took the broom in one hand, put her other hand on her knee, and started to sweep the ground. Having waited for Zebi to start the tea, Saltanat got up from her place behind the table in the house and went out to check on her friend. Zebi ran up to meet her and apologized.
“Friend,” she said, “Father is still at prayers. That’s his way. He should come any minute. Don’t be upset.”
The sincerity with which Zebi uttered her request could only be expressed between young girls in a close friendship. One had to see Zebi’s face as she said that “don’t be upset” with the broom in one hand and the other hand on her knee, never lifting the broom from the ground and only holding her head up to know that her whole being was submitted to Saltanat’s will. Her soul, her aspirations, her love, her joy. All of these flew towards Saltanat; they were shot at her, they wrapped her up, moved her, embraced her! Zebi’s face, clear as the moon and bright as the sun, openly revealed the truth of her being.
Saltanat didn’t see her friend’s sincerity with her eyes, but understood it through her heart. She understood so well that she didn’t bother to answer Zebi, but suddenly grabbed the broom in her friend’s hands. She knew that if she could take the broom and sweep some for her friend, then that would be a sufficient response to Zebi’s sincerity. Zebi released the broom, but quickly said, “Voy, what are you doing! Put it down, I’ll do it myself!” and seized the broom. Saltanat didn’t give it back; Saltanat ran, she chased; lost in themselves, instead of sweeping the courtyard the two friends turned Zebi’s home on its head, their noise and shouting disturbing their whole world as they chased one another.
Razzoq-sufi, who preferred the quiet of a graveyard, the silence