‘Who have you offended?’
Sofia shrugged.
‘So what’s going to happen now?’ Iman asked, grabbing her ponytail and pulling it over one shoulder.
‘I’ve got an appointment next week. Dr Jabril says he’s working on something, and if both of those fail I might need to take an unscheduled holiday back to Australia and sort it out from there.’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were right the other day,’ she said, changing the subject as she changed her position on the chair. ‘I did have a fight with Khalif. His mother wants him to break up with me.’
Sofia grimaced. ‘That’s not good. What does Khalif say?’
‘He says he takes no notice of her, but you know what Afghan mothers and their sons are like.’
‘All mothers care about their children.’
‘Care about their children! Are you kidding me? They’re like leeches. While Afrooz was waiting for you she was complaining to me about her daughter working in the beauty salon. Complaining to me!’ Iman gave a look of disgust. ‘Sometimes I hate how polite I have to be in this job. Smiling and telling Afrooz that I understand how upsetting it must be for her when all I really want to do is tell her to get a life. She’s not good to her daughter.’
‘I guess she’s looking after her interests in the only way she knows how.’
Iman frowned. ‘Why do you always stick up for these women? Why don’t you tell them they’re wrong?’
Sofia sighed. ‘We’ve been through this a dozen times. It’s not my place to tell them they’re wrong. You don’t tell them they’re wrong when they tell you their problems.’
‘Of course not! I’m just a receptionist. I’d get fired. Anyway, they won’t listen to me, but they’ll listen to you. You’re in a position of power. They come to you for advice and you can say these things and they’ll take notice of you. If I were in your position I’d tell them. I think you’re wasting your power.’
Iman’s words hit a nerve. It was always a struggle for Sofia, weighing up how much she should and could say and what right she had to say it. Sometimes she did say things, but then she would worry she had gone too far and some irate father or husband would be on her doorstep. Other times she didn’t say anything at all and she disappointed herself. Often it depended on what sort of mood she was in and how receptive she thought the woman might be. In Afrooz’s case she knew her words, whatever they might be, would fall on deaf ears. Besides, the change Afghan women sought wouldn’t come through a foreigner. Its roots had to be homegrown. It had to come from people like Iman. As far as Sofia was concerned, Iman had far more power than she did, she just wouldn’t recognise it. Ninety per cent of being powerless was believing you were.
‘Or maybe you think I have more power than I do,’ Sofia said. ‘You’ve got power, Iman.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘No, I mean it, you do. As an Afghan woman you’ve got the greatest power to change things for Afghan women.’ Iman shrugged. The topic was closed. ‘Did Dr Jabril come in this afternoon?’
‘For a little bit. He came to see you but you were with Afrooz. Oh yeah,’ she said, ‘I forgot. He told me to tell you that he would speak with you but he had some important business to do. Sounds suspicious to me. What’s going on?’
It was Sofia’s turn to shrug.
‘Okay,’ Iman said, standing. ‘Something’s going on but I don’t care anymore. I’m going home and I still think you’ve got more power than me and you’re wasting it.’
* * *
AS HE WAS closing up, Omar was aware of Behnaz hanging around her gate watching him. This was not good. He had put the night letter back on her gate that morning, and while he had been feeling relieved, he was also more worried than ever because he had come to the conclusion that the person in danger was indeed Dr Sofia. Why had she been wearing a coat and where had she gone in such a hurry with Tawfiq? When he’d questioned Tawfiq about this he had been suspiciously quiet. Something was wrong, but he had no idea what it was or how was he going to save her. When he saw Behnaz walking over to his shop he locked the door and stood behind it.
‘Open this door,’ Behnaz said, banging on the glass. ‘I want to talk to you. It’s important.’
Even Omar could see it really was a bit absurd, standing either side of a locked glass door looking at each other. Perhaps Behnaz knew how to fix this. Opening the door slightly, Omar looked out. ‘You didn’t want to talk to me yesterday.’
‘That was not yesterday.’
‘Then what day was it?’
‘The day before yesterday.’
Omar was confused. What had happened to the day in between? ‘Is Dr Sofia safe?’ he asked, watching the frown on Behnaz’s forehead deepen.
‘What do you know, Omar?’
‘I think we have been through this question before, Behnaz. I know nothing.’
‘That’s what you said before.’
‘Exactly.’
Behnaz glared at him. ‘Hadi told me you got shabnamah.’
‘No, I don’t think that’s right.’
‘Ahmad told me you got shabnamah.’
‘No, I –’ Omar was trying to remember what he’d said.
‘Babur, Rashid and Tawfiq told me you got shabnamah.’
‘Maybe I got shabnamah. I don’t know. Maybe I just got a letter.’
Behnaz planted her hands on her ample hips. ‘And what did your letter say?’
‘It didn’t say anything.’
Behnaz’s eyes narrowed. ‘It must have said something.’
‘No, it really didn’t say anything. In fact, I forget what it said.’ He wished she’d go away.
‘Then it did say something.’
Omar felt his body slumping. He had to concede defeat. Behnaz was far too clever, just like his second wife.
‘I was told it said one of your friends had to be careful and stop what they were doing,’ Behnaz offered.
‘It might have said something like that.’ He couldn’t even remember what it
