Allure of Deceit (12 page)

Saddiq hurried with his assigned tasks—helping other young men in tying and moving bundles of late-harvest grain for winter storage— and waited for his father to leave the village. He had his own plans for later, to find Thara and remind her that she was not despised by all.

The children in Laashekoh had played with the sisters all their lives. Leila, as the oldest, had watched Saddiq and his younger brothers for years. Overnight, the villagers suddenly despised the girls as if their parents and sister were the only influences, and evil was more powerful than goodness.

Saddiq thought about the many influences over his life—his parents, his brothers, the men of the village, the vendors at the market in the city, especially the ones who were generous in handing out samples or telling stories about distant places. He wondered how good transformed into evil and couldn't think of many points of disagreement with Leila over the years, no sign that her father or mother or the sisters might be dangerous. All he knew was that he missed the gatherings in the girls' home and long talks with friends. The family had to bear Leila's shame, but Saddiq couldn't overlook his own shame for ignoring his friends. Maybe the evil influence of Leila was stronger than he realized. Maybe that was behind the urge to disregard his parents' dictates.

He couldn't ask his parents about his feelings. They would take more steps to separate Thara and the other girls.

And so he kept his many questions to himself. Could dear friends turn into evildoers overnight—and could the same happen to any member of his family?

It was painful to think of Thara watching the children enter his mother's small library, imagining them by the fire, listening to the stories. He no longer attended his mother's reading program and tried to convince other children not to go, too.

If he and others stayed away, then maybe Thara would feel less hurt.

Herding goats and sheep were no longer part of his duties. Early on, while his mother was reading, he found excuses to climb the hills and offer reminders to his brothers who took over the task, or to search for new stands of dry wood. He returned only after the sessions had ended as his mother hurried about the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. She tried questioning him about his absences, but his father interrupted. “Let the boy take the lessons at his own pace.”

Saddiq liked the sound of that—taking lessons at one's own pace. He did not have to hurry with an activity from which dear friends were excluded, and there was less pressure to sort out why he disagreed so vehemently with his parents on what was moral and good. It was terrifying to think that his parents could be so wrong.

Not that he always agreed with them, and this was especially true with his mother. Both parents monitored his tasks and those of his brothers. His mother could be fierce about working hard and driving her children to do the same.

He could not argue with his parents, though. His father would lose all respect for Saddiq and that would be unbearable. His parents were raising the youngest of the four ostracized sisters in their home and might eventually agree with Saddiq someday. His mother adored the baby, holding and playing with Komal, talking with her throughout the day, yet she was careful not to let anyone outside the family witness her fondness for the child. Sofi had already warned her sons to hide the family's joy in caring for Komal, insisting that a life of shame in ­Laashekoh was better than an early marriage with a terrible man.

If his mother could break rules and be kind to Komal, then he would do the same. His parents acted as if shedding a friendship was easy, part of being an adult. True friendships could not vanish overnight. Komal would have questions in only a few years, and Saddiq wondered if his parents sensed the discrepancy in what they asked their sons to do.

If his parents had secrets, so could he.

Saddiq no longer had to make excuses to miss the lessons, and he bided his time trying to meet Thara. He spent long hours outside with his father and the other men, ensuring that others saw him tending the fields, collecting firewood, reinforcing the rock walls that surrounded the village. And all the while he watched for a girl working alone.

Over time, Saddiq detected patterns.

He would find her once his father left the village with Najwa. He had no idea when his father might return, but asked no questions. As Saddiq watched the donkey plod away, he realized that no one in the village had asked questions. They didn't care where Najwa was going.

He hiked a distance away from the village toward a stand of black locust trees battered by a violent windstorm. The wind had taken care of so much work, with the ruined trees and broken limbs. He had scouted the site earlier in a hunt for an easy source of wood and then applied extra work to the stand each day, trimming away branches and preparing the logs for transport.

He dragged a stripped log toward the village. His mother would ask no questions about how Saddiq had spent time that day.

Passing along the edge of a nearby meadow, he heard eerie moaning and stopped to listen. He determined the direction but couldn't make out the words or the voice. He stepped among the soft grasses and paused behind each tree to conceal his approach.

Even as he advanced, the chanting faded. The girl's voice had become softer, less frantic, and he could almost make out the words. A painful recitation from the Koran, one verse, over and over: “. . . and I turned to him soon. Repentance is for those who do evil in ignorance, and I turned to him soon. Repentance is for those who do evil in ignorance and . . .”

Holding his breath, Saddiq waited.

He had to move gently, not frighten her. He had not spoken with Thara in months and couldn't bear the thought of her running away before he had a chance to assure her that their friendship was still strong. The entire village had not abandoned her.

At last, the girl was in his sight, the voice dropping to a whisper as she methodically circled a tree, gently tugging at a clinging vine and letting it fall into a neat coil on the ground. Eventually, the vine caught against the tree's ragged bark. Lifting her arms, the girl jumped and hefted herself onto a lower branch to climb among the branches. She wanted to preserve the wild grapevine in one long and unbroken piece.

From behind his tree, Saddiq watched Thara climb higher and stretch out along one limb to release the snag. As she descended, her headscarf slipped away. Thara's gray eyes and soft lips looked so serious, as if she had forgotten how to smile.

Leila's sister had once been his closest friend. But since her mother and oldest sister were sent away to prison, the family's home was quiet and empty, used for storage of belongings no longer wanted. The villagers prohibited contact with other children, and assigned them lonely tasks. The sisters worked nonstop every day, taking their meals alone, sleeping in corners of back rooms, kept away from other family members. The other children of Laashekoh whispered about the sisters. The gossip was cruel, and he listened because it was the only way he heard about Thara. He understood why his mother had cautioned him and his brothers not to tell anyone that Komal slept in their parents' bedroom.

Saddiq studied Thara's face, searching for evil intent. But then he had not observed evil in the oldest sister. He wondered if Thara had known about Leila's crimes beforehand. That question should wait.

He edged closer, whispering her name. She did not turn, and he called out louder. Thara jerked with fear, before scrambling down and reaching for her scarf, ready to run. “I'm not allowed to talk with others,” she cried.

Holding out his hands, Saddiq tried to explain he meant no harm. He waited for her response, but she stared like a wild animal. He pulled her underneath a canopy of low-hanging branches, out of sight from anyone passing through the meadow, and then he stood back.

The sun was going down, and a night chill took over the meadow. Every breath they exhaled was visible. Thara was wary, studying his face, before releasing a happy smile.

Saddiq had so much to say, but did not rush. Like a hunted animal, she might dart away. “You are working so hard.”

She proudly explained how she collected reeds, vines, bark, and other materials to soak, dye, beat, and shape before weaving them along with cloth and wires into baskets that would be sold at the market. “The baskets pay my way to live with Ahmed and Karimah, and I also save for my dowry,” Thara pointed out. “If I weave more, Karimah says that I'll have a better marriage.” She looked down with embarrassment. “I'm the oldest and don't have as much time to work as my sisters. Karimah warns if I don't work hard, then the best I can hope for is to be third or fourth wife to a very old man.”

The thought made Saddiq feel sick. That couldn't happen to Thara, he thought to himself. He wouldn't let it happen. He tried guiding her to a nearby fallen tree, but she reached for the strand still connected to the branches overhead. “I cannot sit,” she protested. “Karimah checks how much I collect every day.”

“Just a moment,” he pleaded. “Then I'll help you retrieve the vines.” She glanced around the meadow before retrieving her bundle of vines and sitting beside him. Even as they talked, she stripped the leaves away from a long strand.

He picked up the other end to help.

“How is baby Komal?” she asked.

Her first thoughts were of her youngest sister, and the question made him sad. Saddiq couldn't imagine having to ask others for news about his brothers. His parents refused to talk about the sisters, and he had not realized how intent the village women would be on segregating the sisters.

“Komal is healthy. She loves my mother, and my mother is kind.” He hoped she didn't think of his family as cruel like the others, but he couldn't tell. Thara kept her head down.

“You don't see your sisters at all?” he questioned.

Thara shook her head. A tear fell down her cheek. “Our parents brought shame to this village. The others want to forget us as quickly as they can. We are fortunate that we can still live here. Karimah says that other villages would banish us to the city and force us to fend on our own.”

He nodded, but was less sure that she was fortunate—not if she couldn't see her sisters.

She pinched away leaves with her fingernails, and wrapped the strand into a tight coil around her arm. “Have you heard anyone speak of my sister and mother?” Thara asked.

“Nothing,” he admitted. It was as if the family had never existed. “What Leila did was wrong. I can never forgive her for pushing my brother from a cliff. But it doesn't explain why they are so angry with you.”

She was skeptical. “Don't you know?” He shook his head slowly.

“You know why they are angry,” she retorted, cringing. “You can't fool me, and you are here for the same reason Ali met Leila.”

But Saddiq didn't know and demanded to know what she meant. She ordered him to leave her alone.

“If we are caught, I will be punished,” Thara scolded as she stood. “It's painful to have you near.”

Saddiq was crushed. “I don't understand,” he pleaded.

“You really don't know,” she mused. “If I tell you, you must promise not to be angry.”

The promise was easy. What could have been worse than Leila murdering his brother or helping her father and mother in luring children away from their homes with false promises of jobs? “Tell me,” he urged.

“You cannot tell anyone.” She held her arms out as if to hold him back and refused to look into his eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper, as though she feared a pummeling. “Leila was with child when she left Laashekoh.”

Saddiq tried to think. Leila was arrested the night of her marriage. “Her husband's?” he asked.

Thara shook her head. “Then whose?” he pressed.

Ashamed, she tugged at her headscarf and hid her mouth. “Leila said it belonged to your brother. She told my mother that his fall was an accident as they argued. She was upset about Ali leaving for school, and he was upset, too. That is why my parents hurried to marry her to Jahangir.”

Saddiq was still. The explanation hit his brain as if he had fallen into an icy river. He should have been angry, but his heart ached for his brother. He missed Ali, but he missed Thara, too. “Do my parents know?” he asked.

“About the pregnancy? Perhaps. I've heard Karimah whispering with others.” She took a deep breath. “But about the child belonging to Ali, I do not think so. The adults do not speak about this.” She reached for another vine to strip. “Then, I am alone and do not hear much. I'm not like my oldest sister. Do you understand that?”

He nodded slowly.

“So you should leave if that is why you are here.” Thara took a dignified pose, and pressed. “Did you plan on using me as Ali used Leila?”

“No,” he said softly. So much more made sense, especially why the adults kept Thara and the other girls away from the other children. Why his brother had crept away from the bedroom in the middle of the night. He could not understand why Ali was at fault or why Thara thought he was ready to use her.