said.
"God knows ⦠his works," Shafia replied. "That night there was no electricity there, everywhere was pitch darkness. You remember, Tooba?"
"Yes," she said.
"There wasn't the slightest glimmer of light or electricity," Shafia told her. "Even that room's light was off."
These conversations could be interpreted in different ways. But the detailed description Shafia provides Tooba â about the lack of electricity and the pitch darkness â would resonate with jurors at their trial.
"You remember, Tooba?" Shafia asked her directly. This was more than conjecture about what Kingston Mills might look like at night. He was sharing a statement of fact. The three were clearly preoccupied on their ride home to Montreal with the thought of a video camera being at the Mills, right down to discussing whether a device could record through a glass window or not.
Then Hamed had a realization: maybe they were being listened to at that moment.
"Right now, the car was at the police place; it was open," he told his parents. "They can fasten something to record your voice." By now, they saw Kingston Police as adversaries.
"They're keeping the car because they want to render a person's morale weak, do you understand, Tooba?" Mohammad said.
As they near home, Tooba rouses from a nap and tells the other two what she has been dreaming. "I just dozed off," she said. "Their boyfriends and all are wandering about, fit and happy. They've gone under ground."
"Damn on their boyfriends," Shafia replied. "To hell with them and their boyfriends ⦠filthy and rotten children."
The next day, July 19, the three were driving to see the big house Shafia was building in Brossard. They discussed which bedrooms the surviving children would take and where they would go to school. The children, other than Hamed, apparently didn't want to move. Shafia wondered if they would go to the child protection authorities "like [the] others." He said something unintelligible then, "This is so God's curse wouldn't be coming upon them like it did on the others."
They had a discussion about the oldest surviving daughter, who had assured her mother that she had never had a boyfriend.
"Tooba, they said the same thing," Shafia replied. Then he accused his other son of knowing about Ammar Wahid, the "Pakistani boy." "Would a son be like that? God's curse on such a son," said Shafia.
Tooba insisted that Zainab found Ammar of her own accord, without help from her youngest brother.
"No, Tooba, he spoke with the Pakistani just now," Shafia insisted. Then his anger turned toward Zainab. "Whatever she threw in our way, she did," said Shafia. "We lost our honour."
The issue now was how would they prevent the other children from following in the defiant, non-compliant footsteps of Zainab, Sahar, and Geeti. Hamed believed the move to another house and a new school would help.
"The important thing is that they are away from these friends and stay away from such friends," Hamed concluded.
But his father's ire was building. "Even if they come back to life a hundred times, if I have a cleaver in my hand, I will cut him/her in pieces," Shafia said. "Not once but a hundred times as they acted that cruel towards you and me. For the love of God, what had we done? What harm did we do to them? What excess had we committed, that they found to rear up and, as Iranians say, undressed themselves in front of boys? ⦠Every night I used to think of myself as a cuckold â¦
"If we remain alive one night or one year, we have no tension in our hearts [thinking that] our daughter is in the arms of this or that boy, in the arms of this or that man. God curse their graduation! Curse of God on both of them, on their kind. God's curse on them for a generation! ⦠May the devil shit on their graves! Is that what a daughter should be? Would [she] be such a whore?"
At trial, the Crown showed a number of photos taken by Sahar and Zainab on their cellphone cameras of
"God knows ⦠his works," Shafia replied. "That night there was no electricity there, everywhere was pitch darkness. You remember, Tooba?"
"Yes," she said.
"There wasn't the slightest glimmer of light or electricity," Shafia told her. "Even that room's light was off."
These conversations could be interpreted in different ways. But the detailed description Shafia provides Tooba â about the lack of electricity and the pitch darkness â would resonate with jurors at their trial.
"You remember, Tooba?" Shafia asked her directly. This was more than conjecture about what Kingston Mills might look like at night. He was sharing a statement of fact. The three were clearly preoccupied on their ride home to Montreal with the thought of a video camera being at the Mills, right down to discussing whether a device could record through a glass window or not.
Then Hamed had a realization: maybe they were being listened to at that moment.
"Right now, the car was at the police place; it was open," he told his parents. "They can fasten something to record your voice." By now, they saw Kingston Police as adversaries.
"They're keeping the car because they want to render a person's morale weak, do you understand, Tooba?" Mohammad said.
As they near home, Tooba rouses from a nap and tells the other two what she has been dreaming. "I just dozed off," she said. "Their boyfriends and all are wandering about, fit and happy. They've gone under ground."
"Damn on their boyfriends," Shafia replied. "To hell with them and their boyfriends ⦠filthy and rotten children."
The next day, July 19, the three were driving to see the big house Shafia was building in Brossard. They discussed which bedrooms the surviving children would take and where they would go to school. The children, other than Hamed, apparently didn't want to move. Shafia wondered if they would go to the child protection authorities "like [the] others." He said something unintelligible then, "This is so God's curse wouldn't be coming upon them like it did on the others."
They had a discussion about the oldest surviving daughter, who had assured her mother that she had never had a boyfriend.
"Tooba, they said the same thing," Shafia replied. Then he accused his other son of knowing about Ammar Wahid, the "Pakistani boy." "Would a son be like that? God's curse on such a son," said Shafia.
Tooba insisted that Zainab found Ammar of her own accord, without help from her youngest brother.
"No, Tooba, he spoke with the Pakistani just now," Shafia insisted. Then his anger turned toward Zainab. "Whatever she threw in our way, she did," said Shafia. "We lost our honour."
The issue now was how would they prevent the other children from following in the defiant, non-compliant footsteps of Zainab, Sahar, and Geeti. Hamed believed the move to another house and a new school would help.
"The important thing is that they are away from these friends and stay away from such friends," Hamed concluded.
But his father's ire was building. "Even if they come back to life a hundred times, if I have a cleaver in my hand, I will cut him/her in pieces," Shafia said. "Not once but a hundred times as they acted that cruel towards you and me. For the love of God, what had we done? What harm did we do to them? What excess had we committed, that they found to rear up and, as Iranians say, undressed themselves in front of boys? ⦠Every night I used to think of myself as a cuckold â¦
"If we remain alive one night or one year, we have no tension in our hearts [thinking that] our daughter is in the arms of this or that boy, in the arms of this or that man. God curse their graduation! Curse of God on both of them, on their kind. God's curse on them for a generation! ⦠May the devil shit on their graves! Is that what a daughter should be? Would [she] be such a whore?"
At trial, the Crown showed a number of photos taken by Sahar and Zainab on their cellphone cameras of
Similar Books
