02_Coyote in Provence by Dianne Harman Page B

my mother gave me a great deal of jewelry that had been in our family for many generations. I was her only daughter. She told she knew I was marrying a wealthy man, but there may come a time when I would need it. That time has arrived.”
    “Husna, I’m sorry to interrupt, but does my father know about your health? He has said nothing to me.”
    “No. Please, just listen to me. You know that Haji is a very wealthy businessman. Do you know where that wealth comes from?”
    Darya took a deep breath and looked fully at her aunt before she answered. “I am sorry to say this, but I have heard rumors that although he has many legitimate businesses, most of his wealth comes from the opium trade.”
    “Yes, the rumors are true. In fact, the opium production is at a record high level this year. I didn’t know about it when I married him and when I found out about it, it was too late for me to do anything, not that I could have anyway. I love Haji very much and he loves me. Our marriage was arranged and I was only fifteen years old when I married him. He treats me well. He has never laid a hand on me, which, is very rare in our country. Haji had college professors come to the house to teach me.
    “And something else. My mother would not allow my clitoris to be removed when I was born, even though it was traditional among the Muslim faithful in this country. Haji accepted that and even supported me when I refused to allow our daughters be victims of female genital mutilation.”
    “I am very much aware of the practice of female genital mutilation in the Afghan society,” Darya responded. In fact, I did my master’s thesis on it and even wrote a book about it, which by the way, was not well received in this country. It’s a barbaric practice that must be stopped.”
    “Yes,” Husna said. “But it’s still done in almost all of the traditional Muslim homes. Our country, as well as our religion, is ruled by men and for centuries, it has been associated with female sexual purity. But that’s not the reason I wanted to talk to you, although I hope it shows you that your uncle is a good man. I have seen what opium does to people and while I can’t do anything about his involvement, I have been doing something that makes me feel a little better about my life.”
    “What is that? It sounds very intriguing, whatever it is.”
    Husna looked around to see if anyone had entered the room while they had been talking. The servants were in the kitchen, cleaning up from the meal. She leaned forward, getting closer to Darya.
    “For the last year I have been paying to support an orphanage on the outskirts of town. My driver’s family finds young girls, usually on the streets of Kabul, and takes them there. He sells my jewelry to pay for their care at the orphanage. No one knows, not even my daughters. These little girls will break your heart. They have been badly abused and some of them have even been tortured. Their parents put them on the streets because they couldn’t feed them, or because they were girls, or they’re orphans because their parents have been killed in the war. It is so sad. Why Allah allows this, I don’t know.”
    “You must have people who live there and take care of the girls. How many of them are there?”
    “Right now there are around fifteen, but it varies. Some of them die from the abuse they have suffered. There is a little graveyard behind the building. No one would claim the bodies anyway. Haji is leaving on a business trip tomorrow and will be gone for several days. I would like you to come back here tomorrow and my driver will take us to the orphanage. Because of my failing health, I won’t be able to go out of the house much longer. The pain is getting very bad. Please Darya, I need your help. Can you come tomorrow?”
    Yes. I will find a way to do this for you, no matter what appointments I have to cancel. What time do you want me here?”
    “The little girls take naps in the afternoon. I’d