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

He must be embarrassed that we are speaking of the other peasant’s female family member. Ismail Aaka looks shocked; his mouth is open, and he is staring at his son.
    But Sami’s face is the best. He seems on the verge of tears. I think I might be smiling, so I try to control my facial muscles. I have to pretend I’m not enjoying this.
    “What is going on?” Ismail Aaka finally says. He looks back and forth between Sami and me. His voice is quiet, but I can hear the anger. He then comes to me. “What are you saying? How dare you speak of your uncle’s female family members!”
    “He’s not my uncle! And they are not our family!” I find myself yelling. But I cannot believe Ismail Aaka is directing his anger at me and not his filthy son.
    “You are forbidden from disrespecting Mohammad and his family!” Ismail Aaka says. “Do you hear me?”
    “I’m not the one disrespecting them,” I say. “It’s your son who is disrespecting him, his daughter and
our
entire family!”
    That’s when I feel it. The sting sends a rush of blood to my face. I can’t believe Ismail Aaka just slapped me.
    “Shut your mouth right now! Or I will show you how I punish my
own
family!” Ismail Aaka says. I can see the fury in his eyes. It scares me for a second before I realize that I am the one who should be furious. I didn’t do anything wrong!
    “I’m not the one who you should want to punish. Your son is the one who needs discipline!” I say.
    I give Sami a snicker and start clucking my tongue before leaving them to drown in the mess I have exposed. I walk straight toward the orange skyline. This is not the last they will see of me.

Twelve

    SAMIULLAH
    I can’t look the men in their eyes. Not my father, not Fatima’s father and not even Karim. I have shamed us all, and I have humiliated Fatima the most. She is blissfully unaware of the hell that is about to hit her, and I feel so guilty because of it.
    “I-I-I’m sorry for all of this,” I finally find the courage to say. My father and Karim turn to look at me, but Fatima’s father is still looking down with an expression that I cannot read. “I don’t know what to say. But you can’t believe Rashid. He is not right in the head.”
    “What does he mean about my daughter?” Mohammad says. His voice is quiet, but there is no ignoring its forcefulness. He finally looks up at me. His stare sends a shiver down my spine. “What involves my daughter?” His anger seems to be building.
    I’m frozen. All I can do is look into his stern eyes. I want to bring back the gentleness that I am so used to. I don’t know how to respond to this ferocity.
    “Tell me!” he yells, making me jump. I think it makes all of us jump.
    “Kaka—” I say before being interrupted.
    “Don’t call me uncle,” he snaps.
    “I’m sorry. I really am sorry. Rashid is just causing trouble,” I plead. “He wants you to be angry with me. He wants my family to be angry with me. And he wants to use my friendship with Fatima Jaan as a tool in doing just that. He wants to rip our relationship apart.”
    “What do you mean by friendship and relationship? What relationship?” Fatima’s father retorts.
    “Please don’t misunderstand me,” I say. “There is no relationship except that of mutual trust and admiration between our families. And Fatima has been my dearest friend since we were children. You all know that.” I look around for affirmation, but everyone stays quiet. “That is the relationship I speak of. I would never disrespect you, your family or my family. We are all one family. I grew up with you as much as I grew up with my father. You are like a
baba
to me. I listened to your advice and even to your scolding when I did something wrong. You knew me before I took my first steps or said my first words. You know me as well as my family does. Please don’t listen to the words of a raging lunatic. Something has happened to my cousin at that
madrassa.
He has become an unforgiving