by Suzie True

     Today is our miniskirt day. My friends and their husbands come to visit on a day we call "The Peace." The husbands, as long as they are fed, do not mind what we do. Because as much as we disobey law, they do as well, and all would be punished.

     They drink their liquor and smoke their opium. I make some nice clothes from old burqas. A burqa is made of so much material. I can make at least eight mini-skirts from one. Adornments can be made of various colored stones and bits of sand can be dyed and pasted on with rice starch or raw egg.

     During the day, we may seem closed-off to the world. But I find myself thinking I am much like a sheep, free to roam in my pen, and my body covered so no one can know what I am thinking or feeling, or who I am. I like keeping that part secret. Because I am an amazing woman, and no one has to know but me.

     Western magazines always show women with smooth legs. One of our group likes to keep her legs smooth always. I think to myself it seems too much like a man with no hair on his head, no protection from the wind, the sun, or Allah. Of course, we only reveal our legs inside, so what is the harm? I think I just like the softness of the hairs.

     Why do the men approve of our vanity? Because it is our vanity that can make us bold, no matter what we look like. And it is saved mostly for these few precious nights of "The Peace." And because marital relations don’t have to be boring.

     Do we get jealous of the other women in the group? For only a brief time. There is a hierarchy here. It is by age and power. The prettiest woman rarely has the most power or age. Actually, I have the most power here. That is obvious. I started this business.

     Most of the women attending "The Peace" are not too young, in their thirties. One is fourteen. Westerners are shocked when they hear of a girl so young married. Like she must not have been allowed to grow up. Here, you must grow up fast. Smart mothers prepare their daughters for marriage early. They must teach them not to hope so much, not to want so much.

     I was in such a situation when I was fourteen. I was marrying Jalal, a boy who used to bully me as a child. He would pull my hair or clothes, not letting me go anywhere, and pinch my nose and kick up dust into my mouth so I would choke and have to beg to be let go.

     I was so sad, that after I married, I took a sharp rock up myself and made myself bleed so I would not bring any children into this kind of life. I thought then that Jalal would beat me or kill me, and I wanted to die, but instead, he stayed with me as the doctor made me well. He stayed with me when the doctor said I could have no children. Even then I did not know he loved me and would not pull my hair anymore, but I soon came to understand later when he would make love to me.

     He took a second wife many years later, mostly to show peers he was a true man and also because the woman's husband had been killed. But Jalal did not lie with her very much until I told him he was being mean, her with her young physical passions and a husband who did not show he wanted her. "She's clumsy," he would say while smiling sweetly at me. "You are my whore."

     So then I had to teach her womanly ways. I was jealous, yes. She was young and pretty. But as we came to know each other, we fell in love, more than sisters, but not in an improper way, just close. And although I never told her, there was one thing she did not know. The slits in my burqas were not because I had a skin ailment that required air. It was so Jalal could put his hand inside it and stroke my belly button.

     Although he came to love her too, he never asked for a slit in her burqa. Well, perhaps he did do something special for her, but I don't mind. It's good for business, is it not?

     Sometimes we get good stuff, like real nail polish, not polish made from clay. A few times a year we get a fashion magazine, better than jewels.

     Once we tried to expand our little friendly business outside of the group. It almost turned out badly. But luckily, we caught the man before it was too late, before he could tell the authorities, and our men disposed of the traitor. Yes, it is harsh, but we cannot worry about the stupidity of others. There are so many things to worry about. We must fight for ourselves. We don't make mistakes anymore. The women like their miniskirts and nail polish and the men their liquor and opium.

     Some Westerners may think men dominate women here. But it doesn't have to be. We follow a few simple rules, we let our husbands think they are our masters, and we make them think it is all their idea. That is how we women know we are truly masters of the house.

     One stranger laughed once, saying our men were too poor to afford more wives. But after our men's anger had gone down, we reassured these fragile creatures Allah burdened with responsibility. We know it is not because we are poor, but because we women are so smart that requests for new wives are seldom made. Our skills are so great that we hear the men complain sometimes how tired they are in the morning, and sometimes well into the sunlight and even when the sun sleeps. It is all for business; it is all for "The Peace."

     The opium and liquor men escape detection by blending in with others. There is no pride in being public in that business, so no one knows. There just appear the goods in a special, different place each time. Even some members of the group don't know about one, I call him Dried-Fruit-Nose. I only know he deals in opium because he is my sister's husband and he talks in his sleep. Of course, maybe he is just a field worker with a good imagination.

     Someday, these social gatherings may end. We hear explosions in the distance. They could be destroying opium fields or making drug and liquor routes impassable. We may even die.

     But we can't think that way. So many people live in fear. That is not good for business.

     If the explosions break up our group, I will be upset, yes. But I am smart. I will think of a new business. Maybe blue jean bikinis. That thought makes me laugh, a rare gem, worth more than nail polish, miniskirts, and even marital relations. But all of this together--business is booming.