Laila
aila remembered a gathering once, years before at the house, on one of Mammy's good
days. The women had been sitting in the garden, eating from a platter of fresh
mulberries that Wajma had picked from the tree in her yard. The plump mulberries had
been white and pink, and some the same dark purple as the bursts of tiny veins on Wajma's
nose.
"You heard how his son died?" Wajma had said, energetically shoveling another handful
of mulberries into her sunken mouth.
"He drowned, didn't he?" Nila, Giti's mother, said. "At Ghargha Lake, wasn't it?"
"But did you know, did you know that Rasheed..." Wajma raised a finger, made a show of
nodding and chewing and making them wait for her to swallow. "Did you know that he
used to drink sharab back then, that he was crying drunk that day? It's true. Crying drunk,
is what I heard. And that was midmorning. By noon, he had passed out on a lounge chair.
You could have fired the noon cannon next to his ear and he wouldn't have batted an
eyelash."
Laila remembered how Wajma had covered her mouth, burped; how her tongue had gone
exploring between her few remaining teeth.
"You can imagine the rest. The boy went into the water unnoticed. They spotted him a
while later, floating face down. People rushed to help, half trying to wake up the boy, the
other half the father. Someone bent over the boy, did the...the mouth to mouth thing you're
supposed to do. It was pointless. They could all see that. The boy was gone."
Laila remembered Wajma raising a finger and her voice quivering with piety. "This is why
the Holy Koran forbids sharab. Because it always falls on the sober to pay for the sins of
the drunk. So it does."
It was this story that was circling in Laila's head after she gave Rasheed the news about
the baby. He had immediately hopped on his bicycle, ridden to a mosque, and prayed for a
boy.
That night, all during the meal, Laila watched Mariam push a cube of meat around her
plate. Laila was there when Rasheed sprang the news on Mariam in a high, dramatic voice
Laila had never before witnessed such cheerful cruelty. Mariam's lashes fluttered when she
heard. A flush spread across her face. She sat sulking, looking desolate.
After, Rasheed went upstairs to listen to his radio, and Laila helped Mariam clear the
sojrah.
"I can't imagine what you are now," Mariam said, picking grains of rice and bread crumbs,
"if you were a Benz before."
Laila tried a more lightheaded tactic. "A train? Maybe a big jumbo jet."
Mariam straightened up. "I hope you don't think this excuses you from chores."
Laila opened her mouth, thought better of it. She reminded herself that Mariam was the
only innocent party in this arrangement. Mariam and the baby Later, in bed, Laila burst into
tears.
What was the matter? Rasheed wanted to know, lifting her chin. Was she ill? Was it the