Cherished One. It was always the baby, or, when he was really exasperated, that thing.
Some nights, Mariam overheard them arguing. She tiptoed to their door, listened to him
complain about the baby always the baby the insistent crying, the smells, the toys that made
him trip, the way the baby had hijacked Laila's attentions from him with constant demands
to be fed, burped, changed, walked, held. The girl, in turn, scolded him for smoking in the
room, for not letting the baby sleep with them.
There were other arguments waged in voices pitched low.
"The doctor said six weeks."
"Not yet, Rasheed. No. Let go. Come on. Don't do that."
"It's been two months."
"Ssht. There. You woke up the baby." Then more sharply, "Khosh shodi? Happy now?"
Mariam would sneak back to her room.
"Can't you help?" Rasheed said now. "There must be something you can do."
"What do I know about babies?" Mariam said.
"Rasheed! Can you bring the bottle? It's sitting on the almari. She won't feed. I want to try
the bottle again."
The baby's screeching rose and fell like a cleaver on meat.
Rasheed closed his eyes. "That thing is a warlord. Hekmatyar. I'm telling you, Laila's
given birth to Gulbuddin Hekmatyar."
Mariam watched as the girl's days became consumed with cycles of feeding, rocking,
bouncing, walking. Even when the baby napped, there were soiled diapers to scrub and
leave to soak in a pail of the disinfectant that the girl had insisted Rasheed buy for her.
There were fingernails to trim with sandpaper, coveralls and pajamas to wash and hang to
dry. These clothes, like other things about the baby, became a point of contention.
"What's the matter with them?" Rasheed said
"They're boys' clothes. For a bacha"
"You think she knows the difference? I paid good money for those clothes. And another
thing, I don't care for that tone. Consider that a warning."
Every week, without fail, the girl heated a black metal brazier over a flame, tossed a pinch
of wild rue seeds in it, and wafted the espandi smoke in her baby's direction to ward off
evil.
Mariam found it exhausting to watch the girl's lolloping enthusiasm and had to admit, if
only privately, to a degree of admiration. She marveled at how the girl's eyes shone with
worship, even in the mornings when her face drooped and her complexion was waxy from a
night's worth of walking the baby. The girl had fits of laughter when the baby passed gas.
The tiniest changes in the baby enchanted her, and everything it did was declared
spectacular.
"Look! She's reaching for the rattle. How clever she is."
"I'll call the newspapers," said Rasheed.
Every night, there were demonstrations. When the girl insisted he witness something,
Rasheed tipped his chin upward and cast an impatient, sidelong glance down the blue
veined hook of his nose.