The announcement stunned Moni and Salma. They had not seen it coming. It made no sense. Yet Iman continued to talk, and they followed her peculiar logic, an argument connected to uniforms and costumes, roles and camouflage.
‘If I’m not dressed for a role, then who am I?’ she said. ‘If I don’t know who I am, then how can I know what I want? The hijab wasn’t forced on me against my will, but I wasn’t given a choice to wear it or not, either. It was what the other older girls in my family were wearing. It felt natural that at a certain age I would wear it too. But if I were free to choose, I might not have chosen it. I might have chosen something else. Maybe I would have dressed like Mulan or like a cowgirl. We think we are the ones wearing an outfit, but it’s imprinting itself on us.’ Iman could not believe her own fluency, how she was talking and the other two were listening. It had never happened before. Not one stutter, not one fumble for words. She went on. ‘Maybe no one in the world really has a choice. Even men. If you’re born in a certain place or a certain century, you just fall in line and dress like everyone is dressing. The kind of clothes you would find in the shops. It’s artificial. And I want what is natural, what is true to myself, the self I was born to be . . .’
‘Go naked,’ said Moni, half sarcastic, half challenging. ‘Nudity is the natural state. That’s how we’re born. That is who we really are without the dignity of clothes.’
‘I tried it.’
Moni and Salma gasped. ‘No, you did not,’ said Salma. ‘Lunatic.’
‘I did it once in the forest.’
‘Do it again and if Mullin rapes you, don’t come to me crying,’ said Moni.
‘Oh Moni,’ said Iman. ‘I got cold and had to crawl in the ground. I covered myself with leaves and branches. It was like being buried. And I thought to myself, like you just said, that’s what I was wearing when I was born, nothing. And that’s what I will be wearing when I’m buried – a shroud over nothing. I learnt from that. Clothes are about living, not hiding away. Clothes are protection from the cold and wind. I felt vulnerable without them. The pebbles on the ground cut my feet, there were thorns, dirt and insects and little animals. Let alone the cold.’
Moni rolled her eyes. Salma was aghast. She was losing Iman; little by little, her special friend, the younger sister, was slipping away. This was not the Iman she had always known. Not with this fluency, this waywardness. Salma could not reply. It was left to Moni to talk and argue. She went over the basics, tried different tactics, but Iman would not budge. She was not going to wear her hijab any more.
‘Lady Evelyn didn’t wear the hijab.’
‘She did when she went on pilgrimage,’ said Moni.
‘But not here,’ insisted Iman.
‘We went over this,’ said Salma. ‘She was restricted by her social position. And the times she was living in. She couldn’t go around dressing up as a foreigner!’
‘She could if she wanted to,’ said Iman. ‘She was brave enough.’
‘It’s not about courage,’ said Moni.
‘Besides, you of all women, shouldn’t do this,’ said Salma. ‘You’re so attractive. Already men are all over you. What will it be like when there is more of you to admire, have you thought of this?’
Iman shrugged. ‘I never cared for all that.’
‘Liar,’ said Salma.
‘Look who’s calling who a liar,’ said Moni.
Salma turned on her, ‘You think you’re better than us both.’
Moni made a face. ‘I’m not the one cheating on my husband or taking off my hijab.’
‘You’re an oppressor,’ said Iman.
Moni was shocked. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, acting as if no one in the world has more troubles than you do. You’re full of it.’
‘That’s completely unfair,’ said Moni. ‘You two are free to do what you like, but my duty as a friend is to caution you.’
‘So why don’t you accept caution from me?’ said Iman.
‘Because I’m not doing anything wrong.’
‘Pushing your husband away is wrong.’
‘I am fighting for my son’s well-being. I should be applauded, not told off!’
‘You need to do both. Care for your son as well as your husband. Teach your husband to care for his son.’
‘You need to stop phoning Amir.’
‘You need to dress like you’ve always dressed.’
Outside, the rain continued to lash down, the wind rattled the windows. It was difficult to believe that this was summer.
‘Punishment,’ the Hoopoe later said to Iman, ‘can sneak up on you. Justice can take many forms and the one who administers it might not necessarily be aware of his role. This is the oddest story I will tell you, the one that is the most difficult to understand, its message the hardest to accept. Remember it, though, when things become too difficult and your instinct is to scream out, that’s not fair, that’s not fair. Because more likely it is fair, even though by all accounts and appearances, it looks like nothing of the sort.
‘A travelling knight came across a waterfall. He got off his horse and decided to have a wash and a drink. He took off his clothes, bathed and refreshed himself. When he got dressed, he forgot to put on his belt and galloped off. That belt was a money belt full of gold coins. It was later found by a young boy who went to the waterfall for a swim. The young boy could not believe his luck. He grabbed the money belt and ran off. Meanwhile,
