Aziza and Mariam's relationship
The relationship between Aziza and Mariam begins in mutual wariness but deepens into a profound, transformative bond that becomes the emotional core of Mariam's later life, offering both characters a love that redeems years of isolation and suffering.
First Encounters and the Breaking of Hostility
Mariam first truly notices Aziza on a hot summer night when she finds Laila and the baby sleeping on a quilt in the living room. The baby, awake and alert, examines Mariam with a mixture of amusement, confusion, and suspicion. When Aziza squeals happily, Mariam knows a favorable judgment has been passed. Mariam pulls off the extra blankets wrapped around the baby in the heat, and Aziza giggles with relief, flapping her arms like a bird. As Mariam pulls back, the baby grabs her pinkie, tiny fingers curling tightly, warm and soft and moist with drool. Mariam tries to free her finger, but the baby hangs on, kicking her legs. "What are you so happy about? Huh? What are you smiling at?" Mariam murmurs. "You're not so clever as your mother says. You have a brute for a father and a fool for a mother. You wouldn't smile so much if you knew." When Mariam rises to leave, the baby begins making the sounds that signal the onset of a hearty cry, and Mariam retraces her steps, sighing, and sits down again, letting her finger be grabbed once more. She stays until the baby stops moving and begins snoring softly, despite her own parched throat and burning feet.
The Growth of Mutual Devotion
As the months pass, Mariam grows accustomed to this tentative but pleasant companionship. She becomes eager for the three cups of tea she and Laila share nightly in the yard, and in the mornings she finds herself looking forward to the sound of Laila's slippers on the steps and the tinkle of Aziza's shrill laugh. When Aziza first spots Mariam in the morning, her eyes spring open and she begins mewling and squirming in her mother's grip, thrusting her arms toward Mariam, demanding to be held, her tiny hands opening and closing urgently, her face a look of both adoration and quivering anxiety. As soon as she is in Mariam's arms, Aziza's thumb shoots into her mouth and she buries her face in Mariam's neck. Mariam bounces her stiffly, a half-bewildered, half-grateful smile on her lips. She has never before been wanted like this; love has never been declared to her so guilelessly, so unreservedly. Aziza makes Mariam want to weep. "Why have you pinned your little heart to an old, ugly hag like me?" Mariam murmurs into Aziza's hair. "Huh? I am nobody, don't you see? A dehati. What have I got to give you?" But Aziza only mutters contentedly and digs her face in deeper, and when she does that, Mariam swoons, her eyes water, her heart takes flight. She marvels at how, after all these years of rattling loose, she has found in this little creature the first true connection in her life of false, failed connections.
The Bond Tested by Separation
When hunger forces the family to send Aziza to the orphanage, the separation is devastating for both. On the morning of the departure, Mariam packs Aziza a small lunch of bread and dried figs, and some cookies shaped like animals. She kisses Aziza for Laila to deliver, telling her to say that Aziza is the noor of her eyes and the sultan of her heart. When Laila and Aziza leave, Mariam stands at the door, wearing a white scarf over her head, a dark blue sweater buttoned in the front, and white cotton trousers, a crest of gray hair fallen loose over her brow, bars of sunlight slashing across her face and shoulders. She waves amiably as they turn the corner, and Laila never sees Mariam again. In prison, Mariam's final thoughts are of Aziza: she mourns that she will never see Aziza grow up, will not see the beautiful young woman she will become, will not get to paint her hands with henna and toss noqul candy at her wedding, will never play with Aziza's children. She would have liked that very much, to be old and play with Aziza's children.
The Legacy of Love
In her last moments, Mariam reflects that she is leaving the world as a woman who has loved and been loved back, as a friend, a companion, a guardian, a mother—a person of consequence at last. She thinks it is not so bad to die this way, a legitimate end to a life of illegitimate beginnings. After Mariam's execution, Laila finds that Aziza clings to Mariam through the prayers she recites each morning, her way of keeping Mariam close awhile yet before time has its way. The doll Mariam stitched for Aziza, stuffed with beans and dressed in tea-dyed fabric with a necklace of empty thread spools, is never far from where Aziza works. Laila comes to understand that Mariam is never very far: she is in the walls they have repainted, in the trees they have planted, in the blankets that keep the children warm, in the pillows and books and pencils, in the children's laughter, in the verses Aziza recites and in the prayers she mutters when she bows westward. But mostly, Mariam is in Laila's own heart, where she shines with the bursting radiance of a thousand suns.
