One Half from the East (13 page)

“W
here have you been? Why are you wet? You're going to get sick walking around like that! Have you lost your mind?”

My mother is mad. Not the kind of mad that goes away quickly. She's the kind of mad that boils over onto my sisters, too, which means the whole house is going to be mad at me. She's the kind of mad that can't even decide how to punish me. She's the kind of mad that I never want to see, and I expected her to be like this. So why did I do it?

Because I had to.

I knew she would be mad because it took me forever to get back. My clothes were sopping when I left the waterfall. I climbed back onto the mountain path to a small
clearing and fell asleep with my head on a rock. When I woke up, the sun had sank low in the sky, and I was still a long way from home.

“I'm very sorry, Madar
-jan
.” I hang my head low, but my voice stays steady. Usually when I'm in trouble, I get so nervous that I start to cry. I don't mean that I bawl my eyes out, but I do get teary-eyed. Not this time.

“Sorry? What is that supposed to mean? I asked you where you've been and you just say sorry?”

My sisters have come out of the bedroom. I see them in the shadowy hallway, timid in their pajamas. They are probably glad I'm here so they don't have to be yelled at for my behavior. I hope her shouting doesn't wake my father. I really don't want him upset with me. When he gets mad, I always feel really bad, like I did something to hurt him worse than he's already been hurt.

“I was outside playing, and I fell asleep.”

“You fell asleep. That's it?”

Her eyes are wide. She's got one hand on her hip and one on her forehead. Her mouth is half-open. Maybe she's not that mad, after all? Maybe she's just surprised.

“Yes, Madar
-jan
. We ran a lot playing soccer, and it must have tired me out more than I thought. I was just going to sit down for a few minutes. I don't know what happened. When I woke up, I was really surprised it was so dark.”

“You fell asleep,” she repeats. Her voice is lower. I haven't heard my father stirring yet. His hearing seems to be a lot worse than I thought it was. That man could sleep through a thunderstorm. At this particular moment, I'm grateful for that.

“Yes. I promise I'll never do it again. I'll change and go to bed now.”

“Have you lost your mind?” she says at full volume. My stomach drops. My father is going to holler from his bed. Any second now.

“Look at these clothes!” My mother's got her hands on my shirt. My jeans are dark and damp. If the sun had been out, they might have had a chance to dry before I came home.

“Mother!” I snap, pulling away from her. My voice is deeper than I remember it. I guess that's part of the changing process. I'm guessing it's something that happens slowly, since I still feel like I've got a girl's body. “I said I was sorry. I'll go change. Let everyone get to sleep.”

“What's gotten into you? You've been missing for hours. I've been going crazy worrying, thinking you might be dead, and you show up wet and acting like . . . like . . . like some spoiled prince?”

I'm definitely not spoiled, I want to tell her.

“You're going to tell me right now where you've been or you're going to spend the next few years without seeing
daylight.” She means every word of it. The lamp flickers nervously—it doesn't doubt her threat.

I take a deep breath. Why not tell her? I might as well let her know that I've finished what she started. Six months ago, she made me into a
bacha posh
, but in that time I've made myself into a boy. She won't have to worry about not having a son anymore. I can start doing the things my two-legged father used to do for us, like earning money or nailing a leg back onto a chair. All the things people say about our family not having a boy won't be true anymore. The more I think about it, the more I want to tell her. She'll be so grateful!

“I went to the waterfall up on the mountain.”

My mother crumples to the cushion on the floor. Her hands are on her belly.

“The mountain? For God's sake, Obayd, what were you doing on the mountain?”

“Have you ever tried finding a rainbow? No, not just finding it but actually reaching it? It's so strange. They're always a little farther away. You go and go and then somehow it's to your left instead of in front of you or it's gone but you can never look up and pass right under it.”

My sisters are in the everything room now. This is too good to miss.

“But I found the waterfall. I found it on my own! I mean, Padar told me where it was, but I went there by myself.”

Alia's got a strange look on her face like I'm speaking a language she doesn't understand. Then I look over and see, by the moonlight, that Neela and Meena have the same look on their faces. I feel the divide between my sisters and me widening. They're girls. They couldn't possibly imagine how I did this. I can't help but smile just a little. That look on their faces, that distance between them and me, is proof my plan is working.

“I passed under a rainbow, Madar
-jan
. Can't you tell? Can't you see there's something different about me? The rocks were slippery and the water was cold, but the rainbow was there—close enough to touch.”

“Obayd, I've told you how important it is to always tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth!”

My mother is hunched forward, her fingers pressing on her temples. She's upset, but not the way she was a few minutes ago.

“Please tell me a better truth than that.”

“A better truth? This is what you wanted, isn't it? Didn't you want me to be a boy? Mother, that's the only way we knew to make it real. We had to pass under the rainbow so the change would be forever.”

I said
we
. As if Rahima hadn't disappeared from my life. As if she'd been there with me, toeing over rocks and feeling the spray of cold, mountain water.

“Obayd, Obayd, Obayd,” she moans. “That's a legend. It's a story we tell children, but it's not true. Why would you believe such a thing? Nothing happens when you pass under a rainbow.”

I am furious with her and wonder if she remembers that she's the one who thinks always telling the truth is so important. She
should
remember. She said that only a few seconds ago.

My sisters are sullen but for different reasons. Neela is picking at imaginary lint on her skirt. She feels responsible for everything we do because, as the oldest, she's been told so often that she is. I can tell Meena feels guilty for hiding from Mother that I'd gone to the warlord's compound and is waiting for that bombshell to explode. Alia is on the brink of tears because she can't stand to see me in trouble or to see Mother so enraged.

I don't want them to look the way they do. The sooner I prove my point, the sooner we can get back to normal.

“How do you know, Mother? Have you ever passed under a rainbow? Why would everyone keep telling the legend if it weren't at least a little true? And besides, I know it worked. I can already feel it.”

My mother looks at me like I've grown a second head.

“Obayd, the only thing that's different about you is that you're soaked and probably going to wake up with pneumonia. We thought something terrible had
happened to you. Do you have any idea how worried we were?” She leans back and shakes her head. “What have I done? I didn't think you would ever . . . I thought you knew this dressing as a boy was just for a while. It was never meant to be forever. Why would you want to be a boy forever?”

“Why would you want me to be a boy only for now? If being a boy now is good, isn't being a boy forever even better?”

She says nothing, but her lips pull together and nearly disappear, so I know I've said something touchy. I just can't tell if it's good or bad.

“Mother, can we just go to bed? I promise not to go anywhere without telling you again.”

“Just go to bed? As if nothing happened?” My mother's voice is loud and shrill. I look toward the hallway and wait for my father to yell at us for waking him. I'm pretty sure my mother hasn't told him I've been missing. She's been hiding things from him lately—things that might upset him.

“Mother, please,” I whisper, hoping she'll take the hint and lower her voice. “I'm really, really sorry.”

Just then the front door bursts open. I look up and my mouth falls open stupidly. I'm scared and shocked and confused all at once. How could this be? I blink and think, for a split second, that tonight is surely a night of magic
and my mother must be a fool not to see it. There, with one foot on the ground and his stump on the wooden crutch I made for him, stands my breathless, sweating father.

“O
bayd!” My name comes out in an exhausted bellow. Right after he says it, my father wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

I just stare at him, watching him balance his weight on his crutch. I'd almost forgotten how tall my father is.

“Father, you're using it! You're walking!” I'm on my feet and clapping. “It works, doesn't it? How far did you go?”

“Obayd!” my mother snaps. “Look how exhausted you've made your father, and you're going on and on as if . . .”

“Mother,” I huff, thinking how hard it is to explain things to parents sometimes. “Are you seeing him? He's walking.”

My father takes a few steps into the room. He gets himself to the floor cushions and Neela stands up. He drops the walking stick to the floor and supports himself with a hand on Neela's arm. He slides down the wall and sits with his leg and stump stretched out in front of him.

“Ask him where he went,” my mother dares. “Go ahead and ask this child of yours where he was today.”

“Obayd, I've been out looking for you for hours. Your mother was convinced you were dead! Do you have any idea what you've put us through?”

Hours? Hours? This is incredible! I hop from foot to foot in a small celebration. If only I could share this good news with Rahima. She would be so happy!

“You were out there for hours? Padar
-jan
, that's wonderful! Was the ledge okay? I wasn't sure if I'd put enough padding on it, but I guess if you—”

“Padding? How can you be talking about padding? Do you not hear what I'm saying?” My father's head thumps against the wall.

My mother pours my father a glass of water from a metal pitcher. She's shaking her head.

“Obayd, you've lost your mind.”

“The height is just right. I can't believe it. You know, we did that without measuring. I just tried to picture you standing next to me and guessed . . .”

My parents look at each other. My sisters drop their
heads in one synchronized motion. I stop bouncing around from foot to foot. When I see their eyes sneaking glances from lowered eyelids, it occurs to me I might actually be in more trouble than I've realized.

I stiffen. The air in the room is tense. My stomach drops, as it probably should have a long time ago.

“Obayd, this has to end,” my mother says grimly. “This has gone too far.”

My breath catches.
What has to end?

My father rubs at his thigh and grimaces.

“Right now. As of this moment, Obayda. There will be no discussion about it. No questions. No complaints.”

Obayda? It takes me a moment to realize she's talking to me. She can't be serious. I barely recognize that name anymore.

“Mother . . .” I start, but she cuts me off with a sharp look.

She wants to stand up, which takes a good amount of effort. Her belly has gotten big in the last month. Rising is not a quick process, and involves lots of knees and elbows and huffing.

“I will take care of this right now. To have you walking in here talking about rainbows and crazy legends and . . . and . . . and padding! Of all things . . . padding!” My mother storms off down the hallway as fast as two people packaged in one can possibly move. While I should
be wondering what my mother is going to do, I'm stuck thinking how much of this is happening because of that baby.

My sisters are staring down the short hallway. Three curious necks crane after her. My father's eyes are closed. Today has taken a year's worth of energy out of him. This is my doing, and I feel mostly bad about that. I have to admit, though, that part of me is thrilled that I got him out of the house.

I refuse to stand still. I follow my mother. She said I couldn't ask any questions or complain, but she didn't say I couldn't tag along to see what she was going to do.

She goes into the room I share with my sisters. She sidesteps the floor cushions and opens the cardboard box in the corner of the room. She pulls out a green plastic bag I thought we'd never open again.

“Mother, no!”

She whips her head around and glares at me.

“You've got to listen to me, Obayda.” She reaches into the bag and pulls out one of my three dresses. We packed these away the day she'd made me into a
bacha posh
. She's dead serious. “I'm doing this for your own good. We love you, and it's our responsibility to do the right thing for you. You'll be wearing a dress tomorrow morning.”

The dress is a gloomy dark blue with spots where the detergent's done more than it should and leached the
pigment out. It's wrinkled and probably too short, but I don't dare say that to my mother right at this moment. She takes my Obayd clothes, the pants I play
ghursai
in, the shirts I wear in the boys' classroom. She rolls them into a lumpy ball and tucks them under her arm.

“I thought you could have more time this way, but it's clear you can't handle it. The rest of the family will see you in a dress tomorrow, and all of . . .
this
. . . will be behind us. You'll behave respectably and come home straight after school. You'll be with your sisters in the afternoon and nowhere else. God, I wish there were a way to make your hair grow out this instant!”

She flings the dress on my sleeping cushion and raises one meaningful eyebrow.

“There's nothing else to discuss, Obayd. No, not Obayd!” My mother catches herself, but it's too late. She gapes at me, the wind knocked out of her angry outburst. She tries to recover but can't even do that gracefully. I stare at her. I can feel my chin trembling. The little voice inside me argues back with my mother.

“Don't answer to that name.”

I didn't.

“You're Obayda.”

Are you telling me or yourself?

“I know you're mad, but I thought . . . I thought you were dead. You don't know what you did to me.”

I could say the same.

“Forget this boy stuff. It's all over now. By tomorrow, you'll be a new person. Or back to your old self. Whichever it is.” She turns to leave.

It's finally too much for me. I burst into embarrassing girl tears.