I sat up straight, suddenly very self-conscious. I closed my book and straightened my skirt, looking all around me for the source of the sneeze. There was not even a bird in sight. I was walking around the trees when I heard a rustle of leaves from just beyond the perimeter wall and a thump, followed by the sound of running feet. Someone had been watching me!
In the following days, I wasn’t sure if I should return to that corner of the orchard. But, in my heart, I knew the mulberry tree had always brought me good fortune, so I wandered through the brush again, walking quietly and listening closely. A week later, I crept along the wall and looked up into the neighbor’s trees. I was surprised to see a pair of legs dangling from a heavy branch.
It was him, I was certain. I tried to get a better view of the rest of him but I could only see his pant legs. Leather sandals hung loosely from his swaying feet.
This had to be the son of the neighboring family. He was a few years older than me, but I had never seen him before. Had my academics not been so delayed, we might have met in school. What was a boy, a young man, of his age doing perched in a tree?
Feeling a bit brazen, I stepped purposefully on small branches and kicked at a rock as I made my way over to the mulberry tree, taking my usual place in its generous shade. With an upward glance, I noticed the legs had disappeared from view. He was hiding! I took out my book and stared at the page, the words blurred together as I asked myself why I’d come out here. After an interminable period of silence, I got up and walked back into the house, hoping I didn’t look as panicked as I felt.
Nothing is foolish to the adolescent. The adolescent acts, without questioning the wisdom of the action. I returned every day after that, slinking through the trees, spying the familiar leather sandals, and taking my place under the mulberry tree. It became routine: school, housework, and orchard. I would stay awake late into the night to work on homework since I couldn’t concentrate in the orchard. After two silent weeks, I decided to let the stranger know I was aware of his presence. The stalemate was driving me mad.
I spent the walk home from school working up my nerve. By the time I snuck into the orchard that afternoon, I was feeling so bold I barely recognized myself. I walked loudly and approached the wall. When I was sure I was within earshot, I said loudly, but not too loudly, “It’s not polite to stare. It would be more respectful to say salaam.”
I heard nothing in reply. Not a single word. Had I imagined the whole thing or was he not here today? Worse yet, perhaps he thought me shameless to speak this way to a stranger. I spent all my time either in a classroom of girls or at home. The only boys of my age that I knew were my cousins. To have any interaction with a boy outside was taboo and I knew it. I was at that age where I needed to be mindful of my comportment, but it was the orchard and I was invisible. I allowed myself some latitude.
That he ignored when I had crossed a line to interact with him disappointed and angered me. I stormed off.
I returned the following day, curiosity getting the best of me. Defiant, I sat beneath the tree for a few moments when I heard a voice.
“Salaam.”
My back straightened and my face reddened with the affirmation that I’d overstepped my limits. I was suddenly ashamed and scared. I stood up, blurted salaam in reply without looking up, and scampered back into the house.
THESE WERE AWKWARD DAYS FOR ME. FOR TWO WEEKS, KOKOGUL had hinted cheerfully that a well-to-do family wanted to pay us a visit. They had a son, a handsome young man who was likely to follow in his father’s accomplished footsteps. My father had met the young man’s father, Agha Firooz, in the course of official business, here and there. Agha Firooz now saw potential in forming a union with my father, who had inherited Boba-jan’s influence in the community. Aspirations of local prosperity and influence brought Agha Firooz’s wife to our door.