I heard someone pounding on the door, which made me look away from the blackened mud wall of the kitchen. My mother, while coming down the dilapidated stairs and panting heavily, said, “Yaser! Open the door.”
I pulled open the small wooden gate and stepped aside. They were my cousins’ family. I greeted them and invited them in. Their young daughters, with red cheeks and their heads lowered, passed by me without a word. They filed into the house in their traditional Afghan clothes, while the girls kept their heads lowered and avoided my gaze.
I closed the door and went towards the kitchen, from which smoke was coming out.
Zahra was wearing a green dress that was special for the occasion. She bent down to rekindle the extinguished fire. The smoke had filled the entire kitchen.
I approached Zahra and said, “Let me help. I’ll light it.” Zahra stepped aside. Her face was red from repeatedly blowing on the dying fire. Her eyes were filled with tears. I turned my head and looked at the soot-blackened wall. I took a deep breath and started blowing on the fire.
My sister was young, but my father had already made his decision. The shirbaha¹ money was the only way he believed he could manage his debt. Poor families saw it as a way to earn some money by marrying off their daughters.
Many girls were married off before they were old enough to make their own choices. No one asked them what they wanted. I sat down on the same stool again, staring into the fire and fighting the battle inside my mind. Seeing that family reminded me of last night’s argument, and I sighed deeply.
My mother turned to my father and said, “Go get some black tea. Your nephew’s family is coming tomorrow for the nikah.”
My father nodded silently.
I looked at my father, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. “Father, there’s still time. Please call it off. Tell them not to come tomorrow. Tell them we’re not giving Zahra away.”
My father suddenly raised his voice. “Girls are born to become wives and bear children. Zahra is old enough. It’s time for her to get married.”
My mother looked at me with worried eyes and said, “Yaser, you know how difficult our financial situation is. We owe money to so many people. Once Zahra gets married, the shirbaha will help us pay our debts. This is the best solution. She’s old enough.”
I could no longer stay silent. “Mother, you’re a woman yourself. Zahra hasn’t even had a childhood. She never had the chance to study or make her own choice. And now you want to marry her off to a thirty-two-year-old man?
“In the city, girls her age are still children. They’re in school, choosing pink dresses, dreaming about their futures. They study, they have freedom, and they have the right to choose whom they marry. Why shouldn’t my sister have those same rights?”
My father’s face turned red with rage. He shot to his feet and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned.
“From now on, you’re not going to the city anymore,” he shouted. “The fact that you can read and write is more than enough.”
As he stormed out of the house, he muttered under his breath, “I’m going to have to do it.” He left the house and sat outside. He lit a cigarette and began to smoke.
The water boiled. Zahra, small and slight, prepared tea. She cleaned the cups, arranged them on the tray, and poured tea for everyone.
Zahra worked without a word while I watched. My cousin had two other wives who had not had children. That’s why he had come to propose to my sister. He hadn’t even taken his wives to the doctor to find out why they had not been able to have children and was constantly blaming them for the infertility. I was afraid he would do the same to Zahra.
Now they had come to formally propose. Zahra sat silently because she was afraid for her family, and she knew that their financial situation was not good and they had no choice.
I was lost in those thoughts when my mother shook my shoulder.
I said, “Yes, Mother.”
She said, “I’ve been calling you for a few minutes. Come to the room. It’s your sister’s ceremony.”
I gently removed my mother’s hand from my shoulder and said, “Mother, Zahra can’t lift the large tray of tea. Let me help her.”
My mother, ignoring me, pulled my hand and said, “Girls her age are already giving birth.”
She led me towards the living room. They were sitting around the room.
A few minutes later, my sister entered the room carrying the tea tray. Her hands were trembling, and her face had turned pale.
She moved from one guest to another, offering them tea. When she took a step forward, she would wait for the other person to take a cup until my aunt’s husband said loudly, “It’s better to talk about the marriage of these two kids.”
My father looked at my uncle with a cold, unwavering expression.
“We’ve already agreed on the marriage between these two,” he said. “But you came empty-handed. You know the shirbaha must be paid before the wedding.”
My uncle cleared his throat.
“I brought half of what we agreed on. I’ll pay the rest when I take my daughter-in-law to my son’s house.”
Mom forced a smile.
“That won’t do. You know how difficult our financial situation is. We owe money to many people. We need the full amount.”
My uncle sighed.
“All right, sister. Take half today so we can perform the nikah. I’ll bring the remaining half tomorrow night.”
The younger aunt, Salma, whispered to the older aunt, “See? I told you they wouldn’t reject it. Look, they agreed to give their daughter. And Zahra isn’t opposing it either; she’s fine with it.”
The older aunt, Sodaba, frowned at her sister and replied in a quieter tone, “Since when does Zahra’s opinion matter? Just look at her; she’s not well. And if she refuses and goes against them, everyone will ruin her reputation and call her a whore.”
Zahra’s hands trembled even more, causing the tray to shake. Then a tear fell on her hand.
I could not bear it any longer. This wasn’t fair. I got up, took the tray, and told Zahra to sit.
My cousin smirked when he saw what I did.
I offered everyone tea and sat next to Zahra. I took her small, shaky hands, lifted my head, and spoke loudly: “I won’t let this happen. My sister is only a child. Selling our land would be far better than marrying Zahra off to a man like him.”
I raised my voice and said to the whole group, in a tone that tried to sound strong, “We will marry Zahra to Mr. Mortaza, but we have a few conditions.”
Salma laughed in a mocking tone. “Have you grown up enough to make a condition for Zahra’s marriage? You are a child.”
I turned my head to my father and said with a faint smile, “I’m not a child. I’m seventeen years old, and as her older brother, I have the right to speak about my sister’s future.”
Mortaza said in a carefree tone, “What’s your condition?”
I looked at Mortaza seriously and said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but before you get married, you should go to the doctor in the city with my father and me.”
Mortaza smiled broadly and said, “Do I have some kind of disease that I need to see a doctor for?”
He continued, “Yaser is joking. Please don’t continue, Yaser.”
But this was the only way to save Zahra.
I said again loudly, “No, no, I’m not joking. I’m serious, Mr. Mortaza. You have two young wives; why do you want to get married to a third one?”
Mortaza’s face turned red, and he said in a loud voice, “First of all, this has nothing to do with you. And you all know they haven’t been able to have children. The problem is with them.”
Both of his wives had their heads down. His younger wife squeezed her clothes between her hands, and his older wife pulled at a knot in her clothing.
I smiled and said, “And how do you know they have problems?”
Mortaza fell silent. The whole house was focused on our conversation. His silence was in my favor.
I said again, “Please understand, Mr. Mortaza. Yes, in this group, I am young, as you mentioned, and I have no right to say these things.”
I looked at Mortaza’s mother and said, “Your mother should have told you this, but let me make it clear. Before you blame your wives for not having children, remember this: your first wife has been married to you for two years. Your second wife has been married for six months, and now you are planning to get married again. How do you know it’s their fault? Have you ever gone to a doctor yourself?”
As I spoke, I noticed my mother glancing at my father. The worry in her eyes had faded, replaced by a small, thoughtful smile. My father remained silent, but his expression had changed. He looked at Mortaza, then at his two wives, who were still sitting with their heads lowered.
Mortaza’s mother, Salma, wanted to speak. I raised my hand and lowered my voice. I said, “Before you blame your wives for not having children, you will all be examined. If the doctors find no reason to blame them, Zahra will not marry you.”
Salma looked at my father and said in a dry tone, “Brother, what do you say about this shameless son of yours? Why are you silent?”
I thought my father would be anxious, but he looked at me with a hard expression.
“Yaser, you have no place in this conversation. Sit down,” he said coldly.
“I’m not trying to interfere, Father. I am worried about Zahra.”
My uncle frowned. “She will be fine. This is a family matter, and the elders have already made the decision.”
Salma gave a mocking laugh. “Exactly. Since when does a boy decide the conditions of a marriage?”
Mortaza’s expression darkened. “You’ve already insulted me enough. Don’t make this worse. This has nothing to do with you,” he snapped.
“It has everything to do with Zahra,” I replied. “You want to marry my sister because you believe your wives are the reason you have no children. But you haven’t even been examined yourself.”
My mother glanced at my father. My father looked at Mortaza, then at his two wives. Both sat with their heads lowered.
My uncle, Afiz, cleared his throat. “There is no need to make such accusations. My son may have a problem, or he may not. Either way, you are in debt, and you need the money. You will marry your daughter to my son. That is why we are here.”
My father stared at him for several seconds. His jaw tightened. He looked at Zahra, then at the money lying on the floor.
“Do you even hear yourself?” he said sharply. “Do you really think I would ruin my only daughter’s life for a little money?”
The room went completely silent. My father took a breath, his voice trembling with anger.
“You all know that I would do anything for my two children. I would sell my land if I had to. I would sell everything I own and pay my debts.
“Even if you had never made this proposal, I would have found another way to pay my debts.” He looked directly at Afiz. “So don’t ever think that I would sacrifice my daughter’s life just because I need your money.”
I glanced at Zahra. There was a faint light in her eyes, and a smile appeared on her lips.
Afiz stared at my father for a moment but said nothing.
I took a breath and looked at Mortaza. I said, “Then there should be no problem proving it.”
Salma shook her head. “This is ridiculous. You are letting a child humiliate our family.”
My father finally raised his hand, silencing her. “Enough.”
Everyone looked at him. He remained silent for a moment, then looked at Mortaza.
“Yaser may be young, but he has raised a question that should have been answered before we arranged this marriage.”
Mortaza stared at him in disbelief.
My father continued, “Tomorrow, we will go to the city. You, your two wives, and Yaser will go with me. You will all be examined by a doctor.”
Salma opened her mouth to argue, but my father stopped her with a look.
“If everything is as you say, there will be nothing to worry about. But if the problem is not with your wives, then my daughter will not be given to you.”
My heart began to beat faster.
My father looked at me. “And Yaser,” he added firmly, “this does not mean you are in charge of this marriage. You will come because you raised the question. Nothing more.”
I nodded silently.
Mortaza picked up his scarf from the floor. His face was still red with anger.
“I know there is nothing wrong with me,” he said. “But tomorrow, I will prove it.”
As they prepared to leave, I looked at Zahra. She was still trembling beside my mother, but for the first time that evening, I saw a small spark of hope in her eyes.
We said goodbye to each of them at the door. When it was Mortaza’s turn, he ignored me and said goodbye to my father.
Zahra was standing next to my mother. Mortaza looked at her and said, “Goodbye, Zahra.”
I could feel Zahra trembling beside me. I stepped forward and said goodbye to him anyway.
After Mortaza slammed the door behind him, I went to my room with a restless mind. That night, I prayed that tomorrow would reveal the truth and that the truth would save Zahra.
¹ Shirbaha: A sum of money traditionally given to the bride’s family as part of a marriage arrangement.
