A House Without Windows by Nadia Hashimi Page B

he’d kill me for being a whore.”
    Latifa then paused, her eyes closed. She wagged her finger in the air as if it were receiving a signal.
    â€œI’ve got one! I’ve got one!
    â€œIf a man’s honor is his highest prize
    Why then stash it between a woman’s thighs?
    â€œIsn’t it brilliant?” Latifa exclaimed. Zeba was too distracted to appreciate the couplet or the fact that she’d inspired a bit of creativity in her cellmate.
    â€œDo they examine everyone?” Zeba asked nervously.
    â€œNo,” Latifa said as she stood up and shook out her legs. “Only if you’re here for adultery or zina . And something tells me that’s not what you’re here for.”
    Latifa was right. Zeba had hardly desired to have sex within her marriage, much less outside of her marriage.
    â€œSo, Zeba, are you going to tell us what happened or are we going to have to guess?”
    Zeba met Latifa’s stare. She shook her head and took a deep breath.
    It was shocking how quickly the smell of blood had filled the air. Ghastly shadows appeared on her husband’s face. Was it pain? He’d looked shocked, as if he were staring the devil in the face. He had crumpled, his arms outstretched, half expecting Zeba to catch him. The ground had quaked beneath Zeba and she’d let out a sharp gasp. Darkness, seeping from her husband’s head, stained the earth around him and inched toward her. Zeba had stumbled to get back on her feet, never turning her back on him. She’d hobbled backward until her back hit the outhouse wall, then she’d slid to the ground. Zeba lifted her eyes for a second, just long enough to cry out a single word.
    Go.
    â€œI have nothing to say.” Zeba returned to her cot and buttoned the cuff of her sleeve. The others saw her fingers fumbling, her lips quivering. These moments came from time to time, sudden flashes from that day. It was difficult to have a conversation in those moments. It was sometimes even hard to breathe.
    Latifa recognized it but pressed on.
    â€œNothing at all? Did I get it wrong? Or maybe he just wasn’t very handsome. Or,” she continued with a doubtful tone, “maybe you are just as lovesick as these girls. Maybe you did find a new man, someone a little less wrinkled. Or with deeper pockets. Please tell me that’s it. That would be a story I’d want to hear!”
    Kamal’s face again. His eyes wild and glaring.
    Latifa searched her pockets and took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She poked a thick finger inside and felt around, disappointed. She tossed the empty pack on her bed.
    Zeba’s breaths were shallow. Her fingers tingled.
    Go!
    Had it come out as a scream or a whisper? It was hard to remember.
    â€œEnough,” Nafisa shouted. “Latifa, you’re a jackass.”
    Zeba had melted away by then, her breathing even and her mind empty. This was the third time she’d fainted since she’d arrived. Mezhgan was unnerved by it. She brushed at her skirt nervously and swore she would never let herself be alone in a room with Zeba.
    Nafisa put aside her anxieties about her upcoming exam. She would endure it in the name of love. She was a believer in romance, in star-crossed lovers and passion destined by God. How else could she survive the fact that her widower, despite his lusty promises, had not yet approached her family for her hand in marriage? She knew romance well enough to recognize the absence of it in Zeba’s face. The prison of Chil Mahtab, Forty Moons, was home to women who’d committed crimes far darker than lust.
    â€œFor God’s sake, Latifa, are you blind? This isn’t love,” Nafisa whispered, her eyes on Zeba’s trembling hands. “This is something unholy.”

CHAPTER 11
    ZEBA’S EYELIDS LIFTED SLOWLY, HER VISION FOCUSING ON A metal grid. Her head felt heavy. She lifted a finger. Then a hand. She shifted and felt a bedsheet