This is troublesome—like,verytroublesome. I’ve guarded my modesty, too, though it hangs by a precarious thread, its former weave diligently unraveled by Kurt, my last quasi-boyfriend. Mati’s friendship is a banana split on a hot day—perfection—but the realization that romance is off the table sends my heart into the most terrible nosedive. Even considering his impending departure, the tentative circling we’ve done over the last couple of weeks was all sorts of thrilling, before, when making good on our flirtation was a possibility. To know that wecan’t—I can’t kiss him or hug him or hold his hand; he’ll never make a move on me—is a crushing disappointment.
“So there’s no such thing as a casual Muslim?” I ask.
“Is there such a thing as a casual Christian?”
“Uh, yeah. You’re looking at one.”
He laughs, adjusting his hat.
“Seriously,” I go on, in case he thinks I’m kidding. “I go to church with my mom on Christmas Eve, and that’s it. When I was little, she read me stories from the Bible, but more for their moral lessons than their religious implications. I pray, but mostly just when I want something. I believe in a higher power, but I don’t picture the traditional white-bearded God sitting among clouds, dictating our fates, moving us around like pawns. And I doubted Him—hatedHim—when He took my brother away.”
“That’s understandable,” Mati says charitably. His elbow comes to rest on the console that separates us, but when it brushes mine, he pulls back. Shifting in his seat, he creates a chasm between us.
I fill it with a question: “What you said about guarding your modesty… What if you don’t?”
“Well, if there was proof of an indiscretion, that would be a punishable offense. More than that, though, I would have to live with myself knowing that I willfully defied Allah.”
“But you’re human. You can’t be expected to be perfect.”
“No, of course not. Muslims are not immune to sin—I’mnot immune to sin. But I do my best to honor Allah. There’s an Islamic concept,niyyah, which has to do with the intention in a person’s heart. It reminds us to pray with purpose, to act with forethought. To conduct ourselves with Allah in mind. It’s not always easy, but I try.”
“That’s because you’re a good person.”
He shrugs. “Thanks to the way I was raised—my family and my faith.”
“And because the laws in Afghanistan are strict?”
He spends a few seconds thinking on that, then says, “Maybe. These days, the Afghan government is more lenient—more liberal-minded. But it’s still establishing itself, which means it operates sluggishly. In more rural areas, especially in the south, Taliban forces are strong—” He cuts himself off, sending a remorseful glance my way. I haven’t told him outright that the Taliban is to blame for my brother’s death, but it’s clear he’s inferred. It’s obvious he feels sorry for even speaking the word.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Learning about thewhys… It’s helpful.”
He lifts a brow, likeYou’re sure?I nod and, after a moment, he goes on. “The Taliban exacts swift justice, but seeking their help can be risky. Where the Afghan government functions under a combination of Sharia law and more democratic principles, the Taliban believes exclusively in Sharia law. Do you know what that means?”
I mentally sift through my recent readings on Afghanistan and Islam. “I remember coming across something about it—Sharia law and Pashtunwali. Is there a difference?”
“They’re similar. Pashtunwali is an ethical code—principles by which Pashtuns should live their lives. It encourages loyalty, righteousness, hospitality, self-respect, and forgiveness. It also advocates for justice, and revenge for wrongdoers. It’s a Pashtun’s responsibility to live by the morals Pashtunwali establishes.”
“Okay. That doesn’t sound unreasonable.”
He shrugs. “In many cases, it’s not. Sharia law is a legal systempracticed not just by Pashtuns, but by Muslims in many countries. It dictates behavior. Commands order. It’s broad, and it can be interpreted in many different ways. It can also be severe.”
My stomach clenches. “Severe, how?”
“It says theft is punishable by cutting off the right hand, for example.”
I turn to gape at him.“Seriously?”
“And denouncing any part of the Quran is punishable by death.”
“Oh my God. Mati!”
“Hey,” he says, as calm as I was shrill. “I’m not telling you this to scare you, or to make you feel sorry for me, or bad about asking questions. I just want you to understand how different our worlds are. You can hate God when he disappoints you, then reclaim your conviction the next day. I… cannot.”
“But you’re so…” So, what?So much like me, is what I want to say.
“Progressive?” he supplies, his tone relaying how little stock he puts in the word. “If that’s true, it’s because of my baba. He’s like many educated Afghan men in that he reads extensively and thinks critically. But while he is deeply faithful, he also believes there are many ways to be Muslim, and he realizes that texts can be deciphered subjectively—even religious texts. Even the Quran.”
“And you agree?”
