The Secret Sky: A Novel of Forbidden Love in Afghanistan by Atia Abawi Page A

time my family finds out he isn’t as pure as they think he is. I know it, and God knows it. Soon they will know it too.
    “Oh, wonderful,” Ismail Aaka responds and heads out of the shop. “
Asalaam aleykum,
my brothers!” I can hear him greet the scum.
    “
Walaykum asalaam!
” they chirp back.
    I hear mumbling until my uncle shouts out to me, “
Zoya,
Rashid,
chai rawra!
” I roll my eyes. He is ordering me to serve the peasants. I am tempted to tell him about my time with the local Taliban, but I am waiting for just the right moment, so I bring out the thermos with green tea and place it on the small metal table we sit around. They nod their heads at me, and I look away; they don’t deserve my attention.
    “
Zoya,
where is the candy?” Ismail Aaka asks.
    “Really, there’s no need for candy,” Mohammad, the father of the whore, says. “We just came to drop off the wheat.”
    “Don’t be silly . . . Rashid, bring us some candy,” my uncle orders again. I nod. If I speak, I will scream at him for making me serve these people. I head into the shop, grab the candy and drop it on their table.
    “Be careful!” Ismail Aaka barks. “Is something wrong?”
    “No, uncle, I’m sorry. It slipped out of my hands,” I respond.
    “Okay, thank you for the tea.” Ismail Aaka turns his attention back to the men and shakes his head. I walk back into the shop and wait out their visit. I can hear them talking about their sons and the land. It’s all quite boring. I lean back on my plastic chair and decide to take a nap when I think I hear . . . is that . . . it is! Is this my lucky day? Sami, Mohammad and my uncle all here at the same time?
    “I went to go visit Mullah Sarwar a couple of villages over. He’s getting frail, and I wanted to check up on him,” I hear Samiullah tell the men.
    “How was the mullah
saib
?” Ismail Aaka asks. “I hope you passed on our
salaam
s.”
    “I did, Father. He was very grateful and also sends his good wishes,” Samiullah says.
    I step outside, trying to keep the grin off my face. Now is the time. “Did you speak of anything else?” I ask, walking into the open air. “You’ve been gone all day. Surely you had lots to talk about.”
    Samiullah looks up. I see the fear in his eyes at the sight of me before he turns and looks at Mohammad. The look on Sami’s face is priceless. And now it’s time to expose him for the slime that he is.
    “Well, my dear cousin, what else did you talk about?” I ask.
    “Samiullah, are you okay?” Ismail Aaka asks his pathetic son.
    “Yes, is something bothering you?” I ask.
    “No, no. I’m fine. I’m sorry, I’m just very tired,” Samiullah says.
    There is silence again. And the peasants now look uncomfortable too. They glance at each other, as if practicing mind reading. Fatima’s father speaks up. “I think we should start heading back. It’s getting late; we’ve stayed far longer than we should have.”
    “That’s true, you have stayed too long, but I think you should stay a little longer,” I say. “I think you would be very interested in what has been going on in Samiullah’s mind lately.”
    “Rashid!” my uncle yells.
    “What do you mean?” Mohammad asks. I can see that question in the eyes of the rest of the men as well. Except for Sami. He knows exactly what I am talking about.
    “I think it is better if it comes from Sami,” I say. His eyes are pleading with me to stop. “It would be quite improper for me to say anything. Right, dear cousin?”
    “Why are you doing this?” Sami asks.
    “What is going on?” Ismail Aaka demands.
    “Will you tell him, or should I?” I ask Sami.
    “I really think we should leave,” Mohammad the peasant says.
    “No!” I respond. “This involves your daughter.”
    There is sudden silence. Mohammad looks as if he has just been slapped. I almost feel sorry for him, at least for a moment. No one wants to be put to shame by a dirty daughter. Karim looks away.