As they were entering Daniel had touched her hand to pull her back. ‘We need to wait to be invited to take a seat. Oh, and I need to warn you that if you eat everything on your plate they’ll keep piling more on. They need to see that you can’t eat everything to know you’re full.’
After being invited to take the seats of honoured guests furthest from the door, Mafuz’s wife had lit a kerosene lamp and laid a brightly patterned piece of floral vinyl on the floor before presenting them with mounds of naan bread, a watery soup with rice and vegetables, and cups of salty tea. As they ate and drank, Sofia had answered the headman’s questions about her homeland, but it had been a long day and she could feel her eyes growing heavy. After Daniel had made their excuses and was walking her back to her hut, he pulled a battered old English–Dari dictionary out of his pocket. ‘Here,’ he said.
She looked at the dictionary and pulled a face. ‘Am I that bad?’
‘No,’ he laughed, ‘but you’re still learning and it might help while you’re here, although this dialect has its differences.’
When they stopped outside her hut Sofia realised she didn’t want him to leave but had no idea how to say that.
‘I think your dad was right,’ his voice soft as he reached out to thread her hair back behind her ears.
‘About what?’
‘Your hair.’
‘That a man will fall in love with me because of it?’
‘No, that it’s beautiful. That you’re beautiful.’
They had become lovers that night.
* * *
OUT IN THE square, Sofia could see Behnaz holding the empty bucket, the donkey droppings now spread further out across the cobblestones. She was trying to see what the foreigner was doing in Ahmad’s shop but the UN car was in the way and she soon gave up to disappear behind the gate.
Further out in the square, Babur and his cook were out the front of the chaikhana watching the foreigner while Jabril had quickly finished his second cup of tea and was now making his way across the square to Ahmad’s shop.
Sofia shook her head. Soon everyone would know the stranger from the UN was there to see her and they’d want to know why. She could almost hear the rumour mill shifting up a gear.
This man from the UN is here to take Dr Sofia away. They don’t like that she does good work for us.
This man is here because he loves Dr Sofia and has come to take her away.
Sofia suspected the last might be the most popular with the women because her unattached state had become a serious concern: thirty-two years old and not married, not widowed and no children. The problem needed fixing. Regrettably for Sofia, Zahra had recently joined the ranks of concerned females, although Sofia suspected Zahra’s concern was more for her own amusement. The previous week they had been having lunch in one of the Western cafés when Sofia had complained to Zahra about the lack of romance in her life.
‘Don’t worry,’ Zahra had said, reaching across the table to pat Sofia’s hand. ‘I’ll find you a good husband.’
‘I don’t want a good husband. I want a good lover.’ Sofia’s last boyfriend had been an American marine. The romance had lasted two months, the relationship six. When his tour was finished they’d made promises to keep in touch, knowing they never would.
‘Phhh,’ Zahra had said, blowing away Sofia’s comment. ‘These soldiers and fly-in-fly-out NGO types you keep company with are not good long-term prospects for marriage. I’m watching out for you, don’t worry.’
‘That’s exactly what does worry me.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said, signalling the waiter for the bill. ‘I’ll find a good man for you.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘Maybe an Afghan politician?’ Zahra said, mischief in her eyes. No one wanted an Afghan politician. ‘Don’t worry.’ Zahra had waved the idea away. ‘Not an Afghan politician.’
From Iman and Zahra, Sofia had learned that some of her patients thought she was too educated to attract a husband, while others argued it was because she didn’t have a family to find her one. There were also those who were sure it was because of the exotic nature of her skin and hair: no man wanted a wife who attracted so much attention. No, it was because she was too tall – a man didn’t like to look up at his wife. Definitely it was because of the way she walked (too purposefully), talked (too frankly), laughed (too immodestly). The young, educated women like Iman dismissed all of these claims as ignorant old women’s chatter. Dr Sofia didn’t have a husband because she didn’t want one.
As Sofia waited for Daniel to reappear she realised what had been wrong. She had only ever seen him in the loose-fitting perahan tunban and the thick woollen coat and scarf of the people from the village. In all her imaginings he had never been any other way. This Daniel was in Western dress – jeans, a white open-necked shirt, a coat – and he was clean-shaven with short hair.
‘He’s here!’ Jabril said breathlessly, rushing into the surgery to join Sofia by the window.
She looked at him. ‘For goodness sake, Jabril. Did you just run up the stairs? You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.’
He ignored her. ‘He’s very tall. A very handsome man, I think.’
Sofia was aware of Jabril’s insecurity about his height. ‘Men aren’t necessarily handsome just because they’re tall, Jabril. Besides, I’m not really sure men are the best judges of the handsomeness of other men.’ Sofia turned back to the window. ‘Although I agree he’s not bad looking.’
‘You’ve seen him already?’
Sofia had not told Jabril or Zahra that she had met Daniel before. ‘I saw him get out of the car.’
Jabril looked back out of the window to the awning. ‘You’ve ascertained a great deal from the top of his head.’
‘I also saw his photo in the newspaper.’
‘Ah yes.’ Jabril was obviously satisfied with this answer. ‘Zahra tells me that black hair and blue eyes are very attractive to women.’
‘How does Zahra know his eyes are blue? You can’t see that in a black and white photo.’
‘My dear Sofia, I came to the conclusion a long time ago that my wife has supernatural powers. Look,’ he said, pointing to Babur’s cook, who was now making his way over to Ahmad’s shop. ‘Our friend’s customers are multiplying before our eyes.’
‘And no doubt my reputation will be ruined before my eyes.’
‘No, no, not at all! Your mystique will only grow with this mysterious visitor.’
‘Ha, I wish!’
‘My dear Sofia,’ Jabril said, more earnestly this time, ‘it’s obvious to me that you underestimate your attraction.’
‘And it’s obvious to me that we don’t have enough excitement here in the square. Look at that,’ she said, pointing to the people standing around looking into Ahmad’s shop.
‘Perhaps we should’ve asked Mustafa to announce your guest’s arrival in the mosque this morning and saved our friends the indignity of eavesdropping.’
Sofia smiled. A few minutes ago Jabril had been one of those eavesdroppers. ‘Well, what did he say to Ahmad?’