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Behind the curtain  

CHARLOTTE BAILEY  

  Atiq Rahimi    

  THE PATIENCE STONE 

  Translated by Polly McLean

  136pp. Chatto and Windus. £12.99.

  9780701184162    

 

The nameless woman at the centre of Atiq Rahimi's novel The Patience Stone, which won the Goncourt Prize in 2008, does not provide a straightforward account of life in an Afghanistan under Taliban rule. That appears as a backdrop to her personal experience of Muslim society as she describes her life for the first time and discovers her true voice.

The woman is in her home at the bedside of her husband, "the man", who is lying in a coma after being shot in the neck by a fellow soldier. She is reciting prayers for his recovery, mesmerized by the twisting of her beads. Consumed by her vigil, she is desperate for the man to show a sign of life. As she sits, the passing of time is measured by the man's breathing, the slow drip of the salt water keeping him alive and the calls to prayer in the street outside. Looking back on her marriage, she gradually finds the words to express herself uncensored.

Her husband becomes her sang-e saboor, the mythical black patience stone to which you can tell your sins until it explodes, delivering you of pain and suffering. The routine with which the woman replaces the saline drip and moistens the man's eyes, replenishing him with life, gives her control over something that once controlled her.

The water is suggestive of the fertility her husband lacked; along with her fascination with pure and impure blood and with her own desires, it seems to give her power over the essence of life. She uses it to her own advantage, pouring out her love, hate, desire and hope, but this is only a precursor to the revelation of her great secret. While outside "They shoot awhile / Pray awhile / Are silent awhile", the woman fights her own mission within her home, determined to find justice. She begins to break out from traditional restrictions, coming and going between her house and her aunt's, where she has placed her two daughters away from the city's fighting, and offering sanctuary to a young boy in need of affection.

Polly McLean's translation captures the novel's use of linguistic experiment to convey self-exploration. The woman's voice is distant, yet trusting and candid. Her frugal, fragmented monologue winds in and around the calls to prayer and the sound of gunfire, twisting the conventions of a linear narrative to allow for an exploration of a new, freer voice. The text is rich in symbolism: indoor colors oscillate between serene green and fiery red,; outside, the world has a grey, smoky hue. Windows and curtains conceal and reveal, marking the frontier between public and private life, truth and lies. At the end of the novel, the birds, which are frozen in a pattern on the curtain, take flight as the woman is delivered from her shackled life. All secrets have been told and the patience stone finally explodes.