KARIM'S RELATIVES AND HOME
ONE day Karim's mother, whom he was now learning to call "Nana," said
to father Abdullah, "Master, your boy--may his eyes have light!--is now
five months old, and ought to come out of his cradle. Buy some calico,
and I will make another shirt for him. Do not buy red or any bright
colour, so that the Evil Eye may not think him too pretty and so become
jealous and strike him."
She made the shirt so short that his fat brown legs were bare to the
knee.
When he could crawl around in the house sister Almas watched him. It
was too dark for him to see much, for all the light came from the
door, when that was open, and from the hole, about a foot square, in
the middle of the ceiling, where the smoke at last went out. The door
was so low that Nana had to stoop every time she went through it. The
walls were black from the smoke, which Karim now found poured out each
morning from a hole in the floor about as big as a large barrel. Nana
did the cooking with the fire which she kept burning in this hole.
One afternoon Karim looked down, and found that its bottom was all
bright with light which came from glowing red lumps. It was the
prettiest thing he had ever seen, and he grasped the edge and leaned
away over to see still better. Just then Almas screamed and jerked him
back by his foot so suddenly that the skin of his hands was scratched
by the rough edge. Of course he cried.
Nana came running in, and snatching him up exclaimed between her sobs,
"Awý! my precious! he might have fallen in!" Then she struck Almas, so
that she, too, cried.
After this Karim had to be satisfied with the bright light shining in
through the hole above his head, and with the two round trays which,
leaning against the wall, shone like polished silver until at last the
smoke darkened them. They remained so until the next year, when a man
came from the city and polished them over again.
In the daytime there were large piles of bedclothes tightly rolled
up near the cradle. A few rugs lay folded beside them. There were no
tables or chairs or bedsteads, and the floor was simply the hard earth.
In the corner were a few green bowls, and some wooden spoons and
copper plates. These were the dishes for the meals. Just across from
the door stood a wooden chest, half as high as the room. This was where
all the flour was put in the autumn, when Abdullah had packed it down
carefully by stamping upon it with his bare feet. Near it was a door
opening into darkness, through which Karim was afraid to crawl.
When he tired of these things, he looked at the chickens,--an old
rooster dressed in red and black, but without any tail (he had never
had any), and two or three clucking old biddies in sober gray, besides
a half dozen others, hungry looking, half grown, with long legs. Like
the flies, they came into the house whenever the door was open. If Nana
left any food standing even for a minute she had to cover it. They came
at meal time as regularly as if they had been invited, and fought with
each other for the scraps of bread or bits of gristle that Abdullah
threw away. Several times the rooster snatched the piece of bread which
Karim was eating right out of his hand; but when he laid the bread down
to crow for the biddies, one of the half grown chickens caught it up
and ran around the room with it, chased by all of his hungry brothers.
The family got up every morning when it was just beginning to become
light. All but Karim were busy nearly the whole of the day. When the
sun was two or three hours high--no one had a clock--Abdullah came in
for breakfast.
At meal time Nana brought the large tray that took the place of a
table, and Abdullah set it upon the floor and laid upon it two or three
sheets of bread which looked a good deal like brown paper, and was as
thick as heavy pasteboard. It was made of whole wheat flour and tasted
very good. Nana poured the soup out of a small kettle into one of the
green bowls. Sometimes the soup was mixed with pieces of meat and
onions, and was red with pepper; sometimes it was made of curded milk
and greens. There were also onions and salted cheese and red peppers
for side dishes, with cucumbers and melons and other fruits in summer.
Abdullah sat down on the floor upon his heels and ate alone, until
Karim was old enough, when he always ate with "Dada," as he called his
father, while Nana and Almas waited upon them. They never dreamed of
eating with Dada, for that would have been very impolite, but when he
had finished they sat down and ate what was left.
There were no knives and forks--what were fingers made for?--and no
plates or tumblers, for all ate out of the same bowl and drank from
the same water jug.
Between meals Nana was very busy. First came the milking of the cow;
then the bedclothes must be rolled up and the stable cleaned out, and
there was sweeping and churning to be done. The water must be brought
upon her back in a heavy jar from the spring. In winter the cotton and
wool was spun into yarn and knit into bright coloured socks, and in
summer she helped Abdullah gather the cotton or the tobacco, and worked
in the orchard or wheat-field. In the fall she swept up the leaves
which fell from the trees growing on the edges of the streams and
carried them home on her back to be stored for kindling.
While Nana was working she usually went barefoot. She had large black
eyes, and she made them bright by putting a powder into them. She
painted a black streak across her eyebrows to make them darker. Her
black hair, hanging in long braids down her back, was banged in front,
and was covered by a large handkerchief which she wore all the time.
Very carefully, once a month, she dyed her hair and coloured with red
the tips of her finger and toe nails.
Because she was careful about all these things and was somewhat fleshy
and had red cheeks, her neighbours thought her beautiful; that is, the
women thought so. The men hardly ever saw her face, because she always
drew something over it whenever any man except Dada came near.
The men never asked him, "How is your wife and little girl?" which
would have insulted him, but always said, "How is your boy?" and
sometimes, perhaps, "How is the mother of your boy?"
Still Dada was really proud of her, but of course he was careful not
to let her see it, "for," he said, "she is a woman, and must be kept
under." He seldom called her by any sweet name, but when he wanted to
praise her called her simply "the mother of Karim," and thought that,
alone, was enough.