‘My wife, Zahra,’ Jabril had said proudly. Sofia guessed that Zahra was as tall as her, but in her heels she stood at least two inches taller than Sofia and six inches taller than her husband.
‘Welcome, Dr Raso,’ Zahra had said warmly, taking Sofia’s hand as she leaned in to kiss her three times. ‘May I call you Sofia and you can call me Zahra?’
‘Perfect.’
‘I can’t tell you how much we’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I hope you enjoy your time here with us in Shaahir Square.’
5
AFTER HER SHOWER, Sofia was in her bedroom getting ready for work when her phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, she felt a familiar rush of guilt.
‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I, Dad? I’m sorry. I should’ve rung.’
They had an agreement: whenever there was a bombing in Kabul, Sofia would make contact to let him know she was safe.
‘Well, you’re obviously okay. That’s all I need to know.’
Sometimes she wished he wouldn’t be so understanding. It only made her feel worse.
‘So did you hear the news about Michelle? She’s getting married.’
Sofia searched for the right response. Why the hell would Michelle, who went through life blowing up social norms, bother getting married? ‘That’s wonderful news, Dad,’ she said, summoning up an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.
When Sofia was twelve years old she had watched her mother’s body wasting away and the light in her father’s eyes fading. Michelle had been eight at the time, and it seemed to Sofia that when they lost their mother they had lost her too. From a vivacious child, Michelle had grown into a girl without a smile. At ten years old she was truanting from school; at fourteen she had a pierced nose, an eyebrow ring and tattoos and was snorting cocaine; by sixteen she had left school, and at eighteen she was dealing and living on the streets. As Sofia’s sister’s behaviour tore holes in her father’s battered heart, she tried to mend them by becoming a more perfect daughter, which only seemed to infuriate Michelle further until the two sisters found themselves caught in a vicious cycle that neither of them knew how to stop.
‘What’s he like?’
‘I haven’t met him yet.’
That didn’t surprise her. As far as she knew, her father hadn’t seen Michelle for two years, although her sister would ring him if she needed money. ‘Well, I hope he’s a good influence, Dad.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping too. I’m also hoping he might be a good father.’
Sofia could barely breathe. How was Michelle going to look after a child when she couldn’t even look after herself? She had no idea how to respond to this.
‘You might want to ring her,’ her father offered, breaking the silence.
‘I will.’ No point in reminding him that Michelle didn’t take her calls. ‘But in case I can’t get through, can you tell her how happy I am for her? Hard to imagine Michelle pregnant.’
Her dad cleared his throat. ‘Apparently, she’s already had him, a little boy called Jack.’
‘Oh god, Dad.’ There was no possibility of pretence now.
‘I know.’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No, but she’s gonna bring him around tomorrow, and the boy’s father too – at least, I assume the man she’s marrying is the bub’s father.’
‘Oh god, Dad …’ Silence down the phone again. ‘Sorry, I’m sounding like a broken record. How about you ring me after you’ve seen them and we can talk?’
When Sofia hung up she sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a familiar sense of hopelessness. The little baby would be just one more worry her father added to the mountain he already carried around in his heart about both his daughters. My poor father, she thought. He didn’t deserve all this heartache.
All he had ever wanted for his daughters was a better life than he had been able to give them: a ‘normal life’, he used to say, where they found steady jobs, met nice young men to marry, produced one or two beautiful, well-adjusted kids and lived happily ever after. She understood why this was so important to him but he couldn’t understand why it wasn’t to her. Sofia wanted to experience more of life than ‘normal’, and now that she had there was no way she could ever step back into the ‘normal’ of Sydney. And yet, she often thought that if her father could see her days he would be shocked, not because they were extraordinary but because they were so ordinary – normal even – if you ignored the fact that it was Afghanistan.
When Sofia applied for the job in Kabul, Jabril had warned her things didn’t happen quickly, and he had been right. It had taken five months to clear her visa with the Afghan authorities, during which time she hired the Afghan refugee to give her conversation lessons. Most of these centred around him asking her in English why she wanted to go to Afghanistan when he had risked his life to get out of the place, followed by her halting replies in Dari about doing something exciting with her life, none of which impressed the refugee or was going to help her converse with her new patients. With the refugee spending much of his time telling her in English she was crazy, she eventually told him that it was okay to say that, but could he please at least say it in Dari. ‘It might be a sentence I have some use for in the future.’
The night before Sofia was to leave she had been
