In many ways Sultan was a liberal. When he was in Iran he had bought Sonya western clothes. He often referred to the burka as an oppressive cage, and he was pleased that the new Government included female ministers. In his heart he wanted Afghanistan to be a modern country, and he talked warmly about the emancipation of women. But within the family he remained the authoritarian patriarch. When it came to ruling his family, Sultan had only one model: his own father.

When at last Karim arrives Leila is standing in front of the mirror, wrapped in her shawl, with a light in her eyes that has never been there before. Sharifa walks out in front of her. Leila is nervous and her head is bowed. Sharifa sits in front, Leila behind. She greets him quickly. It is going well, she is still anxious but some of the nervousness has gone. He seems completely harmless, looks kind and rather funny.

Karim talks to Sharifa about this and that: her sons, the job, the weather. She asks about his family, his work. Sharifa would also like to take up her old job as a teacher. In contrast to Leila her papers are in order and she only needs to re-register. Leila has a multi-coloured collection of papers, some from the school in Pakistan, some from English classes she has attended. She has no teacher training and did not even complete high school, but there are no other candidates – if Leila doesn’t go and teach, the school will have no English teacher.

Once at the Ministry they have to wait for several hours for their moment with the Minister. Around them are numerous women. They sit in the corners, along the walls, with burkas, without burkas. They queue up in front of the many counters. Forms are thrown at them and they throw them back, completed. Employees hit them when they don’t move fast enough. They scream at people behind the counters, and they are screamed at in turn from behind the counters. A sort of equal rights reigns: men bawl at men and women yell at women. Some men, obviously employed by the Ministry, run around with piles of papers. It looks as though they are running in circles. Everyone shouts.

An ancient, wizened woman roves around; she is clearly lost but no one helps her. Exhausted, she sits down in a corner and falls asleep. Another old woman is crying.

Karim uses the waiting period to his advantage. At one stage, when Sharifa disappears to enquire about something at a counter with a long queue, he even catches Leila alone.

‘What is your answer?’ he asks.

‘You know I cannot answer you,’ she says.

‘But what do you want?’

‘You know I cannot have a desire.’

‘But do you like me?’

‘You know I cannot answer that.’

‘Will you say yes when I propose?’

‘You know it is not me who answers.’

‘Will you meet me again?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you be a bit nicer? Don’t you like me?’

‘My family will decide whether I like you or not.’

Leila is irritated that he dares ask about these things. Anyhow, it is Sultan or her mother who decides. But of course she likes him. She likes him because he is her saviour. But she has no feelings towards him. How can she answer Karim’s questions?

They wait for hours. At last they are called in. The Minister sits behind a curtain. He greets them briefly. He takes the papers Leila hands him and affixes his signature to them without even glancing at them. He signs seven pieces of paper, then they are hustled away.

That is how Afghan society functions. You must know someone to get on in life: a paralysing system. Nothing happens without the correct signatures and sanctions. Leila got to the Minister; someone else must make do with the signature of a less prominent person. But because the ministers spend large parts of the day signing the papers of people who have bribed their way in, their signatures become progressively less valuable.

Leila thinks that having procured the Minister’s signature, the road to the world of teaching will be child’s play. But she must visit a host of new offices, counters and booths. On the whole Sharifa talks while Leila sits and looks at the floor. Why should it be so difficult to register as a teacher when Afghanistan is crying out for teachers? In many places there are buildings and books, but no one to teach, the Minister said. When Leila reaches the office where new teachers are examined, her papers are all crumpled, they have been handled by so many.

It is an oral examination, to test her suitability as a teacher. In a room two men and two women sit behind a counter. When name, age and education have been recorded, questions are asked.

‘Do you know the Islam creed?’

‘There is no god but God and Muhammad is his prophet,’ Leila rattles off.

‘How many times a day must a Muslim pray?’

‘Five.’

‘Isn’t it six?’ the woman behind the counter asks. But Leila doesn’t allow herself to be knocked off her perch.

‘It might be for you, but for me it is five.’

‘And how many times do you pray?’

‘Five times a day,’ Leila lies.

Then there are mathematical questions, which she solves. Then a physics formula she has never heard of.

‘Aren’t you going to test my English?’

They shake their heads. ‘You can say whatever you want,’ they laugh sarcastically. None of them can speak English. Leila feels that they would rather neither she nor any of the other candidate teachers got a job. The exam is over and after long discussions between themselves they realise that one piece of paper is missing. ‘Come back when you’ve got that paper,’ they say.

Having spent eight hours in the Ministry they return home, despondent. Confronted with such bureaucrats not even the Minister’s signature was enough.

‘I give up. Maybe I don’t really want to be a teacher,’ says Leila.

‘I’ll help you,’ Karim smiles. ‘Now that I’ve started, I’m going to complete it,’ he promises. Leila’s heart softens a tiny bit.

The next day Karim goes to Jalalabad to confer with his family. He tells them about Leila, what sort of family she comes from and that he wants to propose to her. They agree, and now all that remains is to dispatch his sister. It drags on. Karim is frightened of being rejected, and he needs a lot of money for the wedding, for furniture, for a house. Besides, his relationship with Mansur starts to cool. Mansur has ignored him the last few days and greets him curtly with a toss of his head when they meet. One day Karim asks him if he has done something wrong.

‘I must tell you something about Leila,’ Mansur answers.

‘What?’ Karim asks.

‘No, I can’t say anything after all,’ says Mansur. ‘Sorry.’

‘What is it?’ Karim remains standing, open-mouthed. ‘Is she sick? Is there something wrong with her?’

‘I can’t say what it is, but if you knew you’d never want to marry her,’ Mansur says. ‘I have to go now.’

Every day Karim pesters Mansur about what is wrong with Leila. Mansur only draws away. Karim begs and implores, he’s angry, he’s sour, but Mansur never answers.

Aimal had told Mansur about the letters. In reality he would not have minded Karim marrying Leila, on the contrary, but Wakil too had got wind of Karim’s courtship. He asked Mansur to keep Karim away from Leila. Mansur had to do what his aunt’s husband asked. Wakil was family, Karim was not.

Wakil even threatened Karim. ‘I have chosen her for my son,’ he said. ‘Leila belongs to our family, and my wife wants her to marry my son. I want that too, and Sultan and her mother will approve. For your own sake, keep away.’

Karim could say little to the older Wakil. His only chance would be if Leila fought to get him. But was there something wrong with Leila? Was it true, what Mansur said?

Karim started to doubt the whole courtship.

In the meantime Wakil and Shakila visit Mikrorayon. Leila disappears into the kitchen to make food. After the couple have gone Bibi Gul says: ‘They have asked for you for Said.’