For the Love of a Son: One Afghan Woman's Quest for Her Stolen Child

had suffered with his
father were temporarily forgotten. My love for my son was greater
than I had ever dreamed it might be. For the first time since my
disastrous marriage, I was in a good place. I held my son Duran in
my arms and looked upon his sweet face, perfect eyes and tiny
limbs. One bouncing baby boy had cleared the pain out of my life
and I was overwhelmed with sheer joy.
    I even praised my husband at whatever cost to
the truth, desperate to keep him from bursting out in his customary
thunderous rages that might frighten my little son. All was good,
at first. Kaiss was over the moon to be the father of a son,
although he didn’t feel he had to spend much time with Duran. His
lackadaisical fatherly attitude suited Papa and me, for without the
tension of Kaiss’s presence, we had the opportunity to truly share
the joys of Duran’s babyhood.
    And as I stared at Papa’s happy face while he
held his first grandchild, I justified my miserable marriage. I had
not seen Papa so joyful since before his cancer struck, before our
country was lost, before Mother died. I had taken a big hit by
marrying Kaiss, but Papa was in a happy place, and that brought me
some comfort. Watching little Duran’s baby face, radiant with
unpolluted happiness, for the first time I better understood the
Afghan women I had known, women who had silently endured their
husband’s cruelties. Nothing mattered but the child.
    Papa was a changed man. He joyfully shopped
for Duran, supplying him with everything my son needed, whether it
was the latest model of baby stroller or a symbolic golden spoon.
Watching Papa spoil his little grandson brought a special ache of
sadness for the joy my mother was missing. How she would have
relished being a grandmother!
    An abyss still divided Kaiss and me, of
course, for I could never love the cruel man who was my husband and
the father of my son. But I reasoned that perhaps I could learn to
endure him, at least long enough to raise our child. But all too
soon Kaiss started to complain about the baby’s cranky moments
disturbing his sleep. He ruled that Duran and I must spend our days
at Papa’s home. Little did my unfeeling husband know that the
result gave special pleasure for Papa, Duran and me.
    But I should have known that the peace could
not last, for Kaiss was a man looking for a fight. My troubles
began anew after I took little Duran swimming at the apartment
communal pool. Careful not to arouse Kaiss’s jealousy, an
irrational jealousy that often sparked angry arguments, I had begun
a habit of leaving detailed notes regarding my exact plans any time
I left our apartment.
    Within the hour Kaiss appeared at the pool. A
shiver went down my spine as I realized that my husband was in a
fury. His voice was low and threatening as he ordered me: ‘Maryam.
Come home. Now.’
    Poor baby Duran whimpered at the tempest he
knew was coming. Already he was familiar with his father’s verbal
explosions. Several swimmers glanced at Kaiss, and noting his angry
expression, climbed out of the pool and settled warily at a
distance. Desperate to avoid a public scene, I bustled to collect
our things and do as he said.
    Kaiss stalked away. I grabbed our wet towels
and picked up Duran in my arms to hurry after my husband. I cringed
in shame at the though that I looked the part of the obedient wife,
only because I was. When Kaiss slammed shut the door to our
apartment, my mind was racing as I hurried to put Duran in his
crib. What had set Kaiss off? I had done nothing I could think of
to inspire his rage. I knew an attack was coming although I did not
know why.
    Kaiss slipped behind me, breathing heavily. I
thought he was only going to rape me, a frequent occurrence in our
marriage. He grabbed my hand and pulled me roughly into the
kitchen, backing me against the counter. Was this some new kind of
sexual assault he was planning? That’s when he opened a kitchen
drawer and pulled out one of our biggest knives.
    I froze. Knives have always struck terror in
my heart.
    Kaiss gripped my throat with one hand while
he started slashing at my swimsuit with the other. Choking, I
gasped as my swimsuit dropped to the floor. I was stripped naked.
He placed the sharp edge of the knife firmly against my neck. I
knew if I moved I would sustain a serious injury even if Kaiss
didn’t slash me. He leaned into my face, whispering in his menacing
voice, ‘The next time my wife wears a swimsuit in front of other
men, I will kill