luxuries.
She dressed them back in their outfits after she had shaken as much of the dust from them as possible, and was just in time to hear the knock on the door. She let Linda in again. She came with a tray bearing foods Marsha had only dreamed of. “Oh, thank you,” she said in a most heartfelt way. The smells emanating from the tray made her mouth water in anticipation.
“I’ll put it down here,” Linda indicated the small couch in the room with a coffee table before it.
“Do you know when they will want to question me again?” Marsha asked.
“No, they’ll let you know,” Linda said, her glance taking in the woman who had removed her burqa, revealing a richer, enveloping outfit of gray with black patterns on the material. She looked rich and not at all like the prisoner she claimed she had been. Marsha noticed her looking at her garb.
“We were celebrating when the opportunity to escape came up. These were our best clothes,” she explained, gesturing at her own outfit and then the children’s. The children looked fresh and clean after their baths. They were staring intently at the strange, but delicious-smelling food on the tray.
“You don’t have to explain to me,” Linda assured her, although she had wondered. She smiled cheerfully, “If you need anything, just pick up the phone and dial zero.”
“Thank you,” Marsha said warmly, feeling so tired. She too wanted a bath…a real bath after all this time. The food, however, was not only smelling good, but was a necessity after days going without.
Linda left them and Marsha sat down wearily on the couch. She filled two plates for her children, watching as they used their fingers to eat. She smiled. They would learn. She herself picked up a fork and delved in. The food proved as delicious as it smelled. Perhaps it was the hunger they were all experiencing or perhaps it really was the food. Marsha was careful not to let any of them eat too much. Days without food, while common where they came from, meant that their stomachs had shrunken. She didn’t want either of the children to eat and get sick. So, despite their protests that they wanted more, she cut them off at one point.
“No, it’s time for bed,” she assured them. They were both drooping from fatigue. She herself was ready to sleep too. The food had made them all even more tired. She did, however, want that bath before she slipped between the sheets.
She stripped them down to their underwear and put them to bed, telling them a story she made up as she went, until they both fell to sleep. She then stripped and bathed, washing out her underwear in the bath with her, then hanging it to dry. She looked at it thoughtfully, wondering, not for the first time, what other Afghan women wore. She also wondered, again, not for the first time, where Zabi had obtained an American bra. The chemise many women wore, but the rest of the underwear was sexy, alluring, and surprisingly comfortable. She knew Zabi had liked seeing her in these fine clothes, the best she owned. It showed off his status. It showed he could provide for her better than any other man of the tribe and showed he had deserved to take her as his wife. His first wife, much older than both of them, hadn’t been pleased, especially when Marsha had proved fertile. She had instigated the beating that caused Marsha to lose a child. Zabi had sworn never to touch her again when she was pregnant and she was grateful for that consideration at least. She had detested his touch from the beginning.
As she laid back in the tub, her hair longer than she could ever remember having it, she luxuriated in the feel of the warm water. The heat of the water sank into her bones, relaxing her. She nearly fell asleep, but pulled herself up with a jerk. She quickly washed her hair using the little bottle of sweet-smelling shampoo that was provided, just like a hotel. It
Longarm, the Bandit Queen