“Nadereh, just think about what you’re saying,” Ferdous said, suddenly angry. “I told you a thousand times that Ibrahim didn’t behave badly. Yes, he might not have been in love with me, but that wasn’t his fault. Anyone in his place would have done the same thing. Look at me…”
She stopped talking abruptly, as if she couldn’t find the words to explain how she felt.
“He still shouldn’t have abandoned you,” said Nadereh, more gently this time. “I think that if he hadn’t left you, you wouldn’t be depressed today.”
Ferdous glared at Nedereh, holding the corn in her hand as though she were brandishing a weapon. When she finally spoke, there was a peculiar sadness in her voice, along with a trace of anger. “My depression has nothing to do with Ibrahim. He helped me get out of Turkey. Yes, my father gave us money. But if Ibrahim hadn’t helped, I wouldn’t have dared to come to Canada all by myself. I didn’t know anything about Canada and you don’t know anything about my life.”
“You’ve left behind a harsh life. I know that. Anyone in your situation would be depressed. Ibrahim should have understood that. He knew that you had been a political prisoner, didn’t he?”
Ferdous had only taken one bite from her corn. She stopped walking, and staring at Nadereh, tossed the corn angrily into the lake. Her voice was shrill. “Who told you I was a prisoner? For a period of time, I was in hiding. Then I fled across the border into Turkey. That’s when my father came to Turkey with Ibrahim.”
Nadereh placed her hand on Ferdous’s arm and said, “Yes, I know. You’ve told me the story several times. I haven’t told anyone that you were a prisoner. I didn’t really know anything about it until Parvaneh told me. It’s none of my business.”
FERDOUS BANISHES THE DISTURBING MEMORIES from her head, dresses hastily, and stands in front of the desk, looking into the mirror. The crack that cuts the mirror in half cuts Ferdous in half too. When she brought the table home, she had planned to change the mirror, but she hasn’t gotten to it yet. Her complexion is sallow, and there are dark shadows around her eyes. She powders her face, dusts some rouge onto her cheeks, and green eye shadow on her eyelids, then adds some red lipstick. She smiles at the reflection of herself in the mirror and mumbles aloud, “That’s much better.”
She remembers Frida’s words. “Have you really decided to give me your kidney? That’s so wonderful. I’ll be in your debt as long as I live.” When she said this, Ferdous felt a sense of pride and happiness she had never experienced before.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, she tries to revive those feelings. When she is ready to leave, she glances at herself one more time in the mirror in the hallway and smiles. By the time she steps into the street and looks at her watch, it is almost four. She has to run to catch the bus and makes it in the nick of time, her heart beating rapidly. She smiles, satisfied. “I made it,” she whispers to herself.
Sitting in the bus and staring blankly out the window, she thinks again of Nadereh’s earlier admonitions. “They should be looking after you. Why do you want to give something to them? You don’t owe them anything.”
Does she? She doesn’t know. Yes, she does. No, she doesn’t, yes, she does, no, she doesn’t.
If Ghobad and Frida abandon her, Anis and her family will do the same, as they have done for many years. When she was in the psychiatric hospital, they didn’t even come to visit her. Ibrahim had his own reasons—he wasn’t her husband anymore. But Anis was a close relative, her daughter’s aunt. She didn’t even bring Ladan to see her mother in the hospital. If only for Ladan’s sake, Anis should have at least asked about her, Ferdous thought.
Ferdous doesn’t say any of this to Nadereh. She doesn’t want to portray her ex-husband’s family as evil; she doesn’t want to think of them that way. However, Nadereh can read her mind. She is the only person who has stayed by her. “You can behave the same way,” Nadereh says. “If they don’t care about you, you don’t have to care about them. You don’t really need them.”
Everyone who knew that Anis had raised Ladan said, “What a good sister-in-law! Imagine, raising your ex-sister-in-law’s child. It’s really too much to ask.”
By adding the words “too much,” they were insinuating that helping Ferdous out wasn’t worth the effort.
Ferdous doesn’t tell Nadereh that she needs Ibrahim’s family. Even if she doesn’t need their money and even if she doesn’t take anything from them, she still needs them. They are like large shade trees under which she is able to rest. She doesn’t need to pick their fruit; she needs their attention and their acceptance. Anis, her husband, Ghobad, and his family are respected members of the Iranian community. To be respected and have a good reputation is very important to Ferdous, Nadereh, on the other hand, doesn’t care.
“They accept you grudgingly,” Nadereh tells Ferdous. “Do they ever invite you to their home when they invite ‘respected people,’ as you call them? They maintain their relationship with you just to boast about how kind they are to you. They’re using you.”
Ferdous secretly agrees with Nadereh, but she doesn’t say anything. She listens, but continues to defend her in-laws. “I owe Gobad and Frida something. Ghobad gave me a job. Frida took Ladan into her home. My poor little Ladan had no family in this country. Her mother is mentally ill, confined to a psychiatric hospital off and on, and her father doesn’t want her. He gave her away to his sister, Anis. God bless her husband, who was like a father to my baby, and Anis, who took my daughter to Ghobad and Frida’s home. Ladan became friends with Ghobad’s children. My child….”
Ferdous stops. She swallows the lump in her throat and wipes tears from her eyes. After a bitter silence she continues, “You don’t know how painful it is to lose everything. You haven’t experienced this. Remember, your father was a factory worker and you were an orphan child, raised by your sister’s family. But before I left Tehran, I was living in my father’s house. Even when I was in hiding, I lived in my father’s house. My father made a tiny passage behind the shelves in the library and I hid in there. Whenever I heard the doorbell I would hide in that tiny space. The revolutionary guards came to search our place once. They were looking for my brother, Keyvan, who was with me, but they couldn’t find us. It didn’t cross their mind to look behind the bookcases. Yes, I believed in the Quran. I read Dr. Shariati’s books. I learned the verses of the Quran by heart. But I was nobody, not important. My father wouldn’t let me join political groups, but while I was in school, he had no control. The students forced you to mix with them and become politically active. I don’t know who reported me, but when the revolutionary guards came looking for me, they were really after Keyvan. He was the one who was politically active. But, after everything, they couldn’t arrest me, nor could they arrest Keyvan.” She stared at something far away, and her words trailed off. She doesn’t want Nadereh to know the truth, about her brother, about herself. She is silent.
“Don’t talk about it anymore,” Nadereh tells her. “Think only about yourself. No one cares about you. You need to take care of yourself.”
Nadereh’s remarks—No one cares about you, no one cares about you, no one. No one, no one—become a drumbeat in Ferdous’s mind.
CHAPTER 2
WHEN PARVANEH OPENS HER EYES, the morning light is filtering through the white blinds, giving the bedroom a delicate cast. She turns to Mahan, whose back is to her; a muted buzzing sound issues from his half-opened lips. Automatically, she stretches her arm to embrace her husband, but then she remembers that Ferdous, Nadereh, and Goodarz are coming to visit that afternoon. She has to get up early and prepare. She is filled with despair and mild anger; she’s annoyed with herself and the visitors who have already spoiled her Saturday. Mahasti has ballet class today, and it’s Parvaneh’s turn to take her. She forces herself to get out of bed. Mahan wakes up and rolls over. In a sleepy voice, he asks, “Where are you going this early in the morning?”
Smiling, Parvaneh puts her hand on Mahan’s shoulder and says, “I have lots of things to do. You know that.”
Mahan opens his eyes. “What? It’s Saturday. Have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t,” says Parvaneh. “You have to be at the hospital too. I have to take Mahasti to dance class and then go shopping. Remember, Ferdous, Nadereh, and Goodarz are coming over. Frida is going to be hospitalized today, and then tomorrow…”
“But I’m not going to the hospital today,” Mahan says. “Kim swapped his shift with me. He’s going on vacation next week. So I can take Mahasti to her dance class.” He closes his eyes again.“Don’t worry about it,” says Parvaneh. “It’s my turn. I’ll take her myself. But I have some other things you can do.”
Mahan opens his eyes. “What? To tell you the truth, I don’t know why they have to come over here today. If Ferdous is going to donate her kidney tomorrow, she shouldn’t be eating anything tonight anyway. That’s a major surgery. It’s not a joke.”
“Frida isn’t having the surgery tomorrow,” says Parvaneh. “They’ve postponed it till the day after tomorrow. I’m supposed to make a light dinner and serve it around four or five. It is better for Ferdous not to be left by herself. I asked Nadereh to come over, too. She’s her only friend, and Goodarz might come with Nadereh.”
Completely awake now, Mahan asks, “Nadereh? What’s Nadereh got to do with this business? It’s Ferdous who is going to donate her kidney. Why did you invite Nadereh?”
“I told you,” Parvaneh says, “I thought it wouldn’t do any harm if Nadereh accompanied her to the hospital. Besides, she needs someone to look after her. I can’t do that all by myself.”
Mahan says, “You said that Nadereh was against Ferdous donating her kidney. You said…”
Parvaneh kisses Mahan’s cheek and gets out of bed. She draws the curtains and lets the morning sunlight flow across the carpet and the bed. “Yes, she’s against it,” she says. “But for Ferdous, it’s already a done deal.”
The sky is clear except for a few bits of cloud, and the bright fall sunshine lights up the courtyard and the lawn. Mahan rests his head on his arm and watches Parvaneh move around the bedroom.
“Thank God,” Parvaneh says. “Hurricane Juan blew over. It really didn’t do as much damage as they expected it to. It probably lost its strength.”
As she turns to smile at Mahan, he asks, “Who’s Goodarz, anyway? What’s his relationship with Nadereh?”
“How should I know?” Parvaneh replies. “She says he’s her roommate. A homeless man she found in the street.” Parvaneh stands by the door and adds, “This is Nadereh we’re talking about, remember? Don’t you know her?”
Mahan says, “You’re only making things difficult for yourself.”
“It’s my job,” Parvaneh sighs. “I have no choice.”
Brushing her teeth, Parvaneh acknowledges that Mahan might be right. She is simply making trouble for herself. But, she thinks, “It’s what I do. I have no choice. If I had a choice I wouldn’t do it, but with Nadereh it’s different.”
Standing under the shower, she lets the water run over her head and drain off her body—it’s as if she wants to wash away any troublesome thoughts from her consciousness. She is a social worker. It’s her job to get involved in other people’s problems. Applying solutions from the books she has read or from her own life experiences, she provides gentle suggestions while allowing the person seeking a solution to take ownership of their problems and their ultimate resolution. The comfort and pleasure she gains from helping others are far greater than any payment she could ever earn.
When she steps out of the tub, her image appears ghostly in the steam-covered mirror. She brushes her hair back. Her face has a healthy flush, and her big brown eyes sparkle. Her prominent cheekbones have taken on a glow, and her smooth skin belies her age, making her appear much younger than she really is. “If only I were a little taller,” she thinks, looking at herself. This has been her only complaint about her appearance since her teenage years.
Parvaneh isn’t as tall as her brother and sisters. “You made me from the leftovers of all your other children,” she used to say to her mother. “When you conceived me, it wasn’t out of love but rather dismay. Maybe you just didn’t have the energy for me; that’s why I am so short. You produced your best for your other three children—they are all tall—but when it was my turn you didn’t have anything left.”
Barely tall enough to reach Mahan’s shoulders, she has to wear high heels when they’re out together. Because she lacks height, she also needs to be careful about how much she eats. She says even a tiny bit of food causes her to gain a few kilos. Her prominent breasts are another problem; they make her look heavier than she is. But her curly hair, short and dyed a light brown, is always lustrous and silky to the touch.
Parvaneh pulls on her robe and goes back to the bedroom. Mahan has gotten up. She opens her closet and searches through her clothing, finally settling upon a pair of white pants and a colourful shirt. She dresses and afterwward applies some moisturizing cream to her face. The delicate scent of the cream fills her nostrils. Then she goes to Mahasti’s room. Quietly opening the door, she enters the room where her daughter is still sleeping, her long dark hair spread across the pillow. Parvaneh sits on the edge of her bed and silently gazes at her. Then she takes the girl’s hand in hers and leans down, kissing the little girl’s fingers one by one. Mahasti moves a little but doesn’t wake up. Parvaneh plants a loud kiss on her forehead. Awakened, Mahasti half rises and hugs her mother, wrapping her arms around her neck.
“Did you take a bath?” she mutters sleepily.
“Yes, my love, and you should…”
“I have to take a bath too?” Mahasti frowns.
“You know that today you have to go to dance class. I’ll take you to visit your Aunt Farnaz after.”
“With you and Daddy?”
“No, only you. We’re having guests. I told you that last night.”
“But I want you and Daddy to be with me, too.”
Parvaneh is still holding her daughter’s hand in hers. She kisses Mahasti’s palm and then the back of her hand, as if performing a ritual, speaking in between kisses.
“No, sweetheart, no, my love, we can’t come with you. Daddy and I have work to do. We are having people over this afternoon. But we may come later.”
“Why can’t I stay with you?”
“If you get up quickly and get ready for your class, I’ll tell you why on the way. Now, be a good girl….”
Her last kiss proclaims all her unbridled love for her baby. Parvaneh rises from the bed and lifts Mahasti from under the covers, but Mahasti lets herself go and falls back onto the bed again. Parvaneh puts her hand on the girl’s shoulder and says, “Come on, my dear, get up. You have to go to class.”
Her mother’s words, although loving, carry a sense of urgency, so Mahasti grudgingly climbs out of bed. While Parvaneh makes the bed, Mahasti changes into the outfit that her mother laid out for her.
In the kitchen, Mahan has made the toast and set out butter, cheese, and jam on the table. At Mahasti’s place is a bowl for cornflakes and a carton of milk.
The early fall sun casts a delicate light through the window. The lawns are green and petunias and nasturtiums are still blooming in the flowerbeds. Some of the sunflower stalks are bent because of yesterday’s storm, but the morning sun promises to give the flowers a new lease on life. The tall cedar in the front yard resembles a happy young woman with no fear of the coming winter or the loss of any leaves. It casts its long shadow down the wall.
As Mahasti enters the kitchen, Mahan is placing the toasted bread in the basket. Mahasti runs to her father, and he turns to greet her, taking her into his arms and showering her with kisses. Father and daughter remain in this position for a moment. When Parvaneh enters the kitchen, she laughs and say
s, “That’s enough hugs and kisses for now. Let’s eat our breakfast and be on our way. We don’t have much time.”
Mahan promptly deposits Mahasti on her chair, then pours some cereal into her bowl and adds milk. When breakfast is over and Parvaneh is ready to leave, Mahan asks, “Do I have anything else to do besides making the Olivieh salad?”
While searching through her purse for the car keys, Parvaneh looks at Mahan and replies, “Cook some pasta, please. I’ll buy some cold cuts at the deli on my way home.” She takes out the car keys and continues, “You’ll have to tidy up the house a bit, too. Don’t forget.”
Mahan takes the last sip of his coffee, and nods, “That’s my weekly chore, anyway.”
Mahasti runs to kiss her father goodbye. Mahan hugs her and plants a kiss on the top of the head as she snuggles into his neck.
“Come on, sweetheart, that’s enough for now,” Parvaneh says.
Mother and daughter leave the house together. Parvaneh takes her place behind the wheel and Mahasti scrambles into the back seat. Parvaneh starts the car and begins backing down the driveway while Mahan waves goodbye to them from the doorway. Parvaneh waves back and Mahasti blows a kiss to her father with her hand. As the car starts down the street, rounds the turn, and is lost behind the trees, Parvaneh thinks about the busy day she’ll have. She tries to calm herself down, but there’s a flame of anger in her. She tries to ignore it.
IT WAS TUESDAY AFTERNOON. Parvaneh had just finished her telephone conversation with Ferdous when the phone rang again. The rings seemed louder and sharper that time, like a person screaming hysterically in the midst of a nervous breakdown. It was as though an invisible person were shouting, “I know you’re there, so answer the phone.” But Parvaneh didn’t want to answer the phone. There wasn’t that much time left until the end of the workday, and she had to rush to pick Mahasti up from her school. Still, thinking that it might be Ludmina, her supervisor, she reached over and grudgingly picked up the receiver. “Maybe she has something urgent to tell me,” she thought, putting the receiver hesitantly to her ear. But it was Nadereh’s voice at the other end of the line.
A Palace in Paradise Page 2