with screaming, telling her “God will deliver!”
But is Qurvonbibi not human? Patience can be exhausted.
One day she broke out, saying, “God will deliver, of course! If his servant moves and desires, He will deliver! Don’t they say, after all, that God created the means to ensure that deliverance? Your eshon’s wife read to us from Sufi Olloyor’s book;8 a profession, he says, is a religious duty!”
Razzoq-sufi didn’t give an answer to his wife’s jabbering. Without a word, he turned away from her. Qurvonbibi didn’t relent; she raised her voice further still. Razzoq-sufi almost let out one of his laconicisms, but decided it would be better to deal with it all at once—angrily he barked at her: “Enough, you bitch!”
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The anxiety and nervousness playing lightly in Zebi’s heart gained in strength with her father’s pronouncement “What is this hell?!” Under the gaze of the cold sufi, who had interrupted her frolic, she felt like a bird whose cage, just at the moment that it expected the door to be opened, is put under a lock as big as its head.9
The anxiety of both girls, particularly Zebi, hit its peak as the sufi slammed the door. Had they not become absorbed in their game and forgotten everything around them? Had the misery left over from the black winter days, the congealed torment of living inside four walls for months, the suffering endured from their fathers, the troubles brought on by the matchmakers not reached an end? Had the powerful waves of youth not washed over and purified them like a spring rain? Confronted with her friend’s sweet manner, had Zebi not forgotten about her strict, stubborn, backward father? Had Saltanat, when she took the fraying broom, not forgotten her parents, her home, and the promise she made upon leaving the house to return quickly?
They say the stick shames the most those whose heads it catches unaware. These two girls, caught up in their mischievous game, were certainly unaware. They came to after the sufi’s club-like blow of a voice; he stood in front of them like a big mountain, and they were struck dumb despite themselves. The mountain would have to be climbed, but it wasn’t one that young girls could ascend. The two read the great burden of their fear in one another’s eyes.
After Razzoq’s yell, the two of them ran hurriedly into the house, took cover behind the window, and started to observe Razzoq-sufi. Though their eyes were on him, their ears were trained on Qurvonbibi. Her words would either untie the tightly secured knot in their hearts or tighten it into a noose, and the two young things would be separated from one another for months.
Before coming into the house, Razzoq-sufi stopped by the door and turned starkly pale. He handed his turban to Qurvonbibi, took his yellow robe off and threw it on the table across the room. He said in his normal voice, that is, he screamed, “Bitches!”
“If young things play, what is the problem? Are you really that bothered by them?” said Qurvonbibi.
“Don’t speak, ass!”
Qurvonbibi fell silent. Razzoq-sufi looked over towards the table. The table was set for breakfast, and a dish with bread and a teacup with jam sat upon it. He sat down at the table, while Qurvonbibi brought him tea from the hearth.
Seeing the expression on Razzoq-sufi’s face, what little optimism the two girls had disappeared. Zebi couldn’t hide her hopelessness.
“We should just die now and forget fun. Now father will never let me go. …”
Saltanat too expressed her worry.
“What can we do now? If you don’t go, I won’t go either. … Enaxon will be upset!”
“If we had sat quietly, do you think he would have been lenient?” asked Zebi.
Saltanat said nothing. After a moment Zebi added:
“Damn him. I have never seen him be lenient. They say demons throw big stones into rivers. They must have thrown the biggest one on my father’s chest. ‘This is your heart,’ they must have told him, wretched things!”
That last comparison affected Saltanat; she let out a chortle. Zebi quickly covered her friend’s mouth.
“Voy, be careful now! You’ll only make it worse!” she said.
Saltanat controlled herself only with difficulty. The two of them unblinkingly stared at the old man and woman.
The sudden laugh of the old woman, who had for some time been sitting silently and looking at her husband, returned some hope to the girls. “Did you see?” they mimed at one another.
Truthfully, Qurvonbibi, as if she was looking for a word her husband would approve of, kept smiling bravely and calmly. She started speaking.
“I want to send Zebi somewhere. …”
Though Razzoq-sufi didn’t yell this time, he asked coarsely and angrily:
“Where? Why?”
“Xalfa eshon’s young daughters at Oydin lake invited a few friends to a ‘spring welcoming’ party. She invited Zebi and her friend Saltanat. Saltanat has a cart ready, she came here to tell Zebi. How can we say no?”
Razzoq-sufi, who normally said no, this time didn’t say no but fell into thought. The girls were elated with Qurvonbibi’s efforts and became hopeful.
“Qurvonbibi did it!” said Saltanat.
“My mother is a master of words. Look how she mentioned an eshon. You need only say ‘eshon,’ and my father wouldn’t notice if he died. God made him for the eshons.”
After Saltanat heard these words of Zebi’s, she suddenly believed that Razzoq-sufi had said “ok.” She threw her arms around Zebi and embraced her.
“That’s it, friend, that’s it! We’re going!” she said.
“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched! My father is not a person to so easily agree to anything. Look at how silent he is: he still hasn’t said a word.”
After a lengthy silence Qurvonbibi made a serious face.
“Why don’t you say something? Just say ok! You’re a grown man. It’s shameful. Some good women and some proper girls are there. If it’s them you’re worried about, you know them,” she said.
Razzoq-sufi for some reason said, “I know, Fitna, I know,” and became silent again.
Qurvonbibi took on a serious countenance once again.
“Then say no. Let me tell Saltanat so she can leave!” She’s been here since morning. Suddenly her husband’s tongue twitched.
“Wait, Fitna, don’t tell her no—she should go. When will she come back?”
“The day after tomorrow in the morning or evening.”
“Have her do as the eshon’s wife wishes.”
Razzoq-sufi got up from his place and put on his shoes.
“She shouldn’t be singing while there,” he said, “if nomahram people hear her voice, I am not agreed to it.”
After his few words, Razzoq-sufi, who spoke like a real person this time to Qurvonbibi’s joy, returned to his usual silence. A little later he donned his turban and took his robe in his hand.
“Bring me the farm bag, Fitna! If you can’t find it, bring me two bags!” he yelled.
Just as Qurvonbibi handed him the bag, she sensed that her husband had come into some money and that his pleasant mood was due to thoughts of whatever he was going to buy.
Razzoq-sufi cleared his throat and left. The two mischievous girls in the house embraced each other once again.
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