A Cup of Friendship (20 page)

“S
unnyjan,
besyar
, I have made something for you,” Yazmina said.

Sunny looked up from her laptop, where she was placing a new order from her meat guy in Dubai. Bashir Hadi’s burgers had become famous, and it was sometimes difficult for Sunny to keep ground beef in stock. The higher wall had worked its magic and the foreigners, bored with the same old places, were happy to try a new menu and drink a real latte.

Yazmina stood on the other side of the counter, with a garment of the loveliest lavender fabric folded over her arm.

She held it out to Sunny. “As my
tashakur
for all you have done for me.”

Sunny looked into Yazmina’s eyes and knew not to argue. “It’s very beautiful,” she said as she gently touched the silky material.

“I made it myself, Sunnyjan. I made it by hand. For you. Please,” she said, holding it out again, shyly. “
Loftan
, put it on. I want to see if it fits.”

So Sunny took it and lovingly touched the handmade embroidery. It was such a personal, beautiful gift. She kissed Yazmina three times. “
Tashakur
, Yazmina. I’ll go put it on now.”

“
Bali, loftan,
” Yazmina answered, lowering her eyes. Her face was flushed.

Sunny went to her room, took off her boots, jeans, and sweater, and put on the pants that were meant to be worn under the dress and then slipped the dress over her head. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. The dress fit her perfectly. The pants under it did as well. It was not like any other dress in all of Kabul, with its liquid folds and sculpted neckline, its beadwork and simply perfect structure. She smoothed the dress down over her hips, adjusted the collar at her neck, slipped on her dressy shoes, and returned to the café.

Yazmina was waiting for her, anxiously pacing. When she saw Sunny, she stopped and stared at her.

“What do you think?” asked Sunny.

“
Wah, wah, wah
, Sunnyjan very
beautiful
,” Yazmina whispered.

Sunny twirled and posed and the two women laughed. Yazmina pulled on the wrists to straighten the garment over Sunny’s arms and checked the hem at the knee to be sure it was straight. She fussed over the unusual neckline so that it sat as she must have envisioned it.

“Yazmina, how did you learn to sew like this? To design such a dress would take much training for even an experienced seamstress.”

“My
madar
taught me how to sew a regular dress. But this, I don’t know. It is something from my heart, something that Allah has given me. I have only needed someone to sew for. So I
tashakur
for giving me the opportunity.”

“I will wear it tonight and show it off to everyone who comes to the coffeehouse. What do you say to that, Yazmina?”

“
Az shuma tashakur.
” Then Yazmina turned and went back to setting the tables.

Later that evening, when the March winds freshened the dusty Kabul air, the coffeehouse was bubbling with talk and good smells from the kitchen. Bashir Hadi stood at the counter, lording over his domain, grinning ear to ear, proud of what he’d accomplished.

“Miss Sunny, in only another week we can buy the film for the windows and start construction on the safe room. We’re cooking with gas!”

Sunny laughed at the expression. “And look—we only had to rebuild the wall twice. It could’ve been worse.”

Then Candace walked in. She handed her coat to Ahmet, who was working inside tonight because of the crowd. His friend Khalid was once again handling the outside gate.

But when Candace asked for a “good table, away from the front door and the kitchen—I mean, it’s just so hot and loud, and I can’t think,” Halajan, for whom the expression “suffer no fools” had been coined, had absolutely no patience for Princess Candace’s attitude.

“This is the only table available,” Halajan said as she leaned on the back of one of its chairs. It was right at the front door.

“Then I’ll wait for another,” answered Candace, crossing her arms as she looked around the room calculating which table might be paying its check and leaving shortly.

“Wait until Jesus returns if you want,” said Halajan as she walked away.

“Trust me, for me, he’ll be here before you know it.” Candace laughed, as if fully aware of her own self-centeredness.

Sunny watched this scene with much bemusement. That Candace would be treated by Halajan with the same disdain with which she treated others was perfect justice.

“Come on, Halajan,” pleaded Candace at Halajan’s back.

Halajan turned to her and said, “Listen, American woman, if you’d like a good table and good service, all you have to do is be nice. Sunny likes you. Otherwise, I’d—”

“She does? You think she likes me? I adore Sunny!” Candace responded, walking over to Sunny and giving her a kiss on each cheek. “How are you? Have I had a week!”

Of course she has
, Sunny thought. And yet, she was glad to see her.

Then Candace held Sunny’s wrist, took a step back, and looked at Sunny from head to toe. Her voice rose nine decibels. “What are you wearing? Where did you get that? Stand still. Let me see that.” Candace walked around Sunny as if she were an alabaster statue in a museum.

“It’s to die for,” declared Candace.

“It is, isn’t it? Made by our very own Yazmina.”

Candace looked at Yazmina, whose face had turned red with embarrassment.

Ahmet turned to look at Yazmina as well. Then he looked at Sunny’s dress and back at Yazmina.

She smiled at him, then bowed her head.

He looked away.

When Candace saw Ahmet look at Yazmina and Yazmina smile, she raised her brows and said, “Interesting. Wouldn’t those two be perfect together?”

Halajan said, “Mind your own business.”

“Well, look at them. Both are young, single, and gorgeous,” said Candace.

“They’re fine. Just leave them alone,” said Halajan.

“Oh, really? Well, they don’t look so fine to me,” she continued. “Maybe they’re
not
so fine. Maybe they need
you
to help them figure out a way. Why don’t you help this along?”

“Candace, please stop,” Sunny intervened.

And then Isabel walked in, and after handing her parka to Ahmet, sat at the table available by the door.

Sunny said, “Now, take your busybody body over there and sit with Isabel and be quiet.”

So Candace did just that, and the two women kissed hello, and then Candace nodded toward Ahmet near the front door and said to her, “Ahmet likes Yazmina.”

“And that’s my business because?” Isabel answered.

“Because, we have to help! Come on, let’s be matchmakers. Ahmet has no father. Yazmina has no one at all.”

“Candace, really,” Sunny said, joining them. “Foreigners shouldn’t butt in to their affairs. They will find a way.”

Bashir Hadi brought over coffees on an etched metal tray.

“What about you, Bashir Hadi? Don’t you see what’s going on here?” Candace said. “I think Ahmet and Yazmina like each other.”

He looked surprised. “You think that could be true?” He smiled, then caught himself, and said, “Even if so, that is a very personal thing. Very private. Something we don’t discuss.”

“What do you mean? This is the twenty-first century! Can’t a man and a woman like each other?”

Bashir Hadi looked at Sunny and sighed. “It is not for me to talk about.”

“Come on, Candace,” Sunny said. “You’re aware this is another culture. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“That’s for certain,” said Isabel. “But it’s bloody time this country changes.”

“Change is right!” said Candace. “Come on, Bashir Hadi. Tell me you don’t want your country to be more modern, more tolerant, more—”

“Of course I do,” he said, “but from the inside out. I want Afghans to change Afghanistan.”

“Oh.” Candace laughed. “So you’re a snob! Nobody else’s opinion matters.”

“Candace, please,” said Sunny.

“What? Bashir Hadi knows I’m kidding.” She laughed again.

“I’m just tired of everyone treating us as if we’re like babies in our mothers’ arms. We can figure this out ourselves,” he said.

“That makes sense,” said Isabel.

“Not so far,” Candace said, shaking her head.

“Candace, please,” Sunny said, putting a hand on her arm.

Bashir Hadi then put the tray down on the table. “It’s okay. Let me explain. I think you forget who I am,” he said calmly to Candace. “I am not American, you who have no obligations to your family or to your own history or destiny. And I am not British,” he said, looking at Isabel, “you who are so hypocritical to hold on to the worst of your past—your classes, your place in society based only on your family’s history—and then, at the same time, say you’re modern?” He looked away.

Everyone sat in silence, stunned by Bashir Hadi’s seriousness.

He continued, “At least I know my duty as an Afghan and a Muslim. I honor the ancient traditions and my family’s wishes.”

“Don’t you see,” argued Candace, “they cannot love. They—”

“Who’s ‘they’?” demanded Bashir Hadi. “Who do you mean by ‘they’?”

“You, that’s who! And Wakil, and all the other men who were raised in this culture that debases women and glorifies the worst aspects of men.”

“Candace,” said Isabel softly, putting her hand on her other arm, as if Candace needed both women to hold her down.

Sunny realized that something must be wrong. This had gotten way out of line; Candace was taking all this too personally.

Bashir Hadi lowered his voice and hissed, “Do not put me in the same classification with your Wakil and ‘all the other men.’ I am Hazara. I am hated by all those other men. But you might be right about one thing: The parents have always chosen for the children. Halajan would have to make this happen. Even now.” He stopped and finally smiled. “But I’m certainly not going to push her. How about anybody else?”

Finally the people at the table relaxed—except Candace, who was clearly upset.

And then Isabel cut through the awkwardness in that spot-on direct way she had and said to Candace, “What’s going on with you? Are you saying that you and Wakil aren’t together anymore? Is that what this is about?”

Candace looked straight at Isabel while her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t know what happened, what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Sunny soothingly. She couldn’t believe it, but seeing Candace’s tears, she felt, like Isabel, sorry for her.

“I raised the money he wanted, I got commitments for supplies from an NGO, I even got Dr. Malik to come. She wrote a letter of recommendation to the consulate and …”

Sunny looked at Isabel and they understood then and there what the relationship had been about.

“…  and still it wasn’t enough.” She shook her head.

“What happened?” Sunny asked.

“What happened?” Candace sniffed, wiped her tears. “He dumped me! That’s what happened.”

Sunny reached over and put her hand on Candace’s.

“He told me he appreciated everything I had done for him and his orphanage, but that it could never work. He could never marry a woman who wasn’t Muslim. But I know the truth. He never really loved me. He used me.”

“What’s love got to do with it?” said Isabel. “As the song says. In Afghanistan, love is for everybody else. Here it’s a horse trade. You got what I need? Then I got something for you. Ask me sometime about my general Stewart and his swag. Met him in Africa. But he’s stationed here now, if my sources are correct. He was very upright and tweed, and nothing to talk about in bed, but he could get you anything you might want or need, straightaway.”

And Sunny thought of Jack, whom she wanted nothing from—except
him
. She missed him and thought she might even be in love with him, and yet he was thousands of miles away. And she thought of Tommy, whom she used to love and now was here and she didn’t think, she wasn’t sure, she didn’t know. She hadn’t heard from Jack once since he left weeks ago. She could understand. He had his life to work out, without distraction. But it made her feel as if what happened between them—not only their kiss in the closet, but their growing closeness—was a fantasy and had never actually happened at all. Sometimes, she knew from past experience, she had a great ability to believe in her own bullshit.

By then the coffeehouse had grown quiet. The people, except
her
people, were gone for the night. Tommy sauntered through the door as if he came every day, knew everyone, and maybe even owned the place. In his jeans, his white rumpled shirt, and his leather jacket, he looked excellent. This was a sexy guy, and as he talked his hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it back with his hand, a hand Sunny could imagine on her. She couldn’t help it. It was always about sexual attraction with him. And, he was
here
. But she hadn’t mentioned him to her friends, and now, there’d be some explaining to do.

“Hey, everybody.” He kissed each woman on the cheek as they were introduced, and when he got to Sunny, he said, “Look at you, gorgeous.”

She smiled and twirled around like a little girl. “Yazmina made it for me.”