Words in the Dust by Trent Reedy

voice sounded pleasant and cheerful for a change. But the familiar impatience was still there behind her words.
    Inside, the women had already removed their chadris and taken their seats. Zeynab sat on her couch at one end of the narrow sitting room. Malehkah perched near the door to the front of the compound. Women of all ages sat on the floor and leaned on the cushions against the wall, forming a large circle. I sat down in the space reserved for me, near Malehkah and her mother and sister.
    “So, this is the little angel. The one the Americans took such an interest in.” A very large woman sat at the end of the oval of women, directly across from my sister. She leaned forward and peered at my mouth, then ran her hand back to smooth down her long gray hair. She had to be almost as old as Meena. “There certainly is some work to do. You poor thing. Do you really think the Americans can fix it?”
    I didn’t know how to respond, but remembering Malehkah’s instructions, I simply nodded and then looked at the floor. Another woman, not much younger, but quite a bit smaller, reached over to touch the big one. “My dear, I think you’re frightening the little one, examining her mouth the way you are.”
    “Of course.” The woman smiled. “I’m Gulzoma, first wife to Hajji Abdullah. This is my husband’s older sister Jamila.”
    “Salaam,” I said quietly.
    “This is my mother Farida,” said Malehkah.
    “Salaam alaikum,” Gulzoma bowed in greeting.
    “Walaikum salaam,” Farida replied.
    “And my sister Tayereh,” Malehkah continued the introductions.
    Jamila nodded toward a woman who was clearly missing a leg and who must have walked with the crutch that she propped against the wall next to her. “This is my daughter Isma.”
    Then Gulzoma shifted the mountain of her body back and pointed at all the other women, naming off Hajji Abdullah’s second and third wives as well as several daughters and nieces. She had forgotten some of the names, bringing scowls from the faces of their mothers, who then had to help her. Malehkah greeted each woman in turn. Zeynab lookedlike she was trying to follow everything Gulzoma said. When I caught Zeynab’s attention, I raised my eyebrows. She turned her eyes toward one woman after another and then shrugged with the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. I covered my mouth and tried to look serious. Zeynab must have been thinking what I was thinking. There were many names to remember!
    Gulzoma leaned forward. “Tahir’s wives, Leena and Belquis, send their apologies. They simply cannot make it tonight. The trip from Farah is over an hour. I’m afraid they don’t travel well, the poor things.” She shook her head.
    This was unexpected. The shirnee-khoree was important enough for Malehkah’s family to travel here from Shindand, so surely the rest of Tahir’s household could have made the shorter trip to An Daral. But Gulzoma laughed. “They’re busy preparing for Zeynab’s arrival. I’ve hired servants to get my house ready for the wedding, but everyone is needed to get my brother-in-law’s house ready for the wedding night!”
    Malehkah’s breath was warm at the back of my neck. “Come with me. We need to start bringing out the meal,” she growled quietly.
    Gulzoma clapped her hands. “Yes, let’s eat. I’m hungry and I’m sure Zeynab has prepared a wonderful meal.”
    “Of course,” Malehkah’s nod seemed to pump freshness back into her smile as she gently pushed me out of the sitting room.
    We went across the courtyard and inside the house to get the food from where it stayed warm on the cook stove. Malehkah said nothing, but quickly handed me a large platteron which she placed bowls and plates of food. Under my arm she crammed the dastarkhan before she nodded toward the sitting room. I hurried back, set down the platter, and unrolled the long dastarkhan in the middle of the circle of women. It was good that we had moved quickly because the conversation