“You’re very idealistic,” Parvaneh said. “No one can carry other people’s burdens. It’s impossible.”
Nadereh nibbled her muffin, sipped her coffee, and said, “So, maybe it’s better to be in another profession. I think a social worker is like a doctor who has a pill for everything.”
“I do my best, but…”
“When I first arrived here, what you did for me was special, and I’ll never forget it. Not everyone gets that chance.”
MOTHER AND FARNAZ HAD COME TO VISIT Parvaneh. It was a few months after Nadereh had arrived in Canada. Nadareh was still living in a women’s shelter, but she visited Parvaneh often and sometimes stayed overnight. She wore a mustard-coloured shirt of Parvaneh’s that was too big for her tiny figure, and her old, discoloured jeans were worn out at the knees. It was Saturday, and Mahan was at the hospital.
Parvaneh introduced Nadereh to her mother and Farnaz. Nadereh had Mahasti on her knee and was playing with her fingers, singing children’s songs to her. A few minutes later, Mahasti took Nadereh’s hand and said, “Auntie Nadereh, let’s go to my room. I want to show you my white bear.”
Nadereh took Mahasti by the hand and they ambled out of the kitchen together.
“Who is this little waif?” Farnaz asked. “Your home is turning into a homeless shelter.”
“What beautiful eyes she has!” Mother said. “How innocent she seems!”
“She’s only twenty-two,” Parvaneh said. “She’s suffered a lot. Many of her family members were killed in the war. Her husband, I guess, was a political activist. He was killed too.”
Farnaz peeled an apple, cut it into pieces, and offered it to her mother and Parvaneh. She said, “All of them were political activists and had painful stories—just look at us or Soraya and Siamak. If we hadn’t been involved in politics, they wouldn’t have accepted us.” She smiled contemptuously.
“We have to believe whatever they say,” Parvaneh said. “Even if we don’t, we shouldn’t show it.”
“I know,” Farnaz said. “Just like our lawyer. But tell me, why do you bring the homeless into your home?”
Parvaneh took an orange from the fruit bowl and started to peel it. “Her parents and her sister were killed in the war,” she said. “And her husband was killed in the street fighting. She was left abandoned in the street with nowhere to stay. She turned to a smuggler to get out of the country.”
Farnaz shook her head scornfully. “Be careful, my dear. She might bring diseases into your household.”
Mother looked at Farnaz, frowning. “The king has pardoned the victim, but his minister hasn’t. Mahan is the one who should be against her. He’s not, so why should you be?”
“I’m saying this because of Mahan,” Farnaz said. “I’m afraid Parvaneh is going to make trouble for herself.”
“You think everyone is like your husband, always chasing after women?” Mother said, pursing her lips in annoyance.
Farnaz leaned back in her chair. “Since when has my husband been chasing other women? I’m just worried about Parvaneh.”
Parvaneh wanted to add, Mahan isn’t a lecherous man, either, but when she looked up and saw Nadereh and Mahasti standing by the kitchen door, she stopped talking.
“IT’S AN EASY VOLUNTEER JOB,” Parvaneh had said some weeks later. “You don’t need to know English very well, and you don’t need any Canadian experience. I’ll entrust Ferdous to you. And you’ll get your TTC pass for free. You told me you want to get some more experience in social work. This is a chance to get some hands-on training. After you pass your English test you can enroll in college and continue your education.”
“Who’s Ferdous anyway?” Nadereh asked.
“She is a devastated Iranian woman,” Parvaneh said. As she searched through the scattered papers on her desk, she continued. “Her husband betrayed her and took her child away from her. The poor woman ended up in an institution. She has nobody here. Once in a while I go and visit her. They say she was a political prisoner for a while, but she denies it. Some people say she was a tavab. You know what a tavab is? A collaborator! They say she betrayed her own brother and her close friends, and today she feels guilty and miserable. But we shouldn’t judge her because of her past. We need to help her. Help her if you can, Nadareh. She is so unhappy.”
PARVANEH RUNS INTO LOBLAWS to do her shopping. The line to pay is long, and it’s close to one o’clock in the afternoon when she finally gets to put her shopping in the car. She is supposed to be home before three and she still has to pick Mahasti up from school. Nervously, she thinks, if something happens, it will be her fault. She wishes she hadn’t invited Nadereh to her home. What does Nadereh want from her, anyway? Why won’t she leave her alone? Farnaz was right when she said, “Don’t let Nadereh get to you. You’re giving her too much credit for helping Ferdous.”
It is her mother who thinks a lot of Nadereh. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have let her get so close to me, Parvaneh says to herself.” Then she justifies it to herself, “She isn’t really such a bad girl.”
When she goes to pick Mahasti up, she can’t stay more than a few minutes to talk to her teacher. Hurriedly, she gets Mahasti into the car and drives to Richmond Hill. She parks in front of Farnaz’s house and rings the bell. Hassan opens the door wearing gardening gloves; his pants are worn out at the knees. Mahasti is sitting in the car and doesn’t want to get out. On the way, she told her mother that she doesn’t like to stay with Auntie Farnaz because they don’t have any children to play with. Parvaneh replied she has no other choice because the people coming to the house might be speaking about things that she shouldn’t hear. Parvaneh has put a few computer games and a drawing book in Mahasti’s knapsack so she can amuse herself.
Parvaneh greets Hassan with a hug and asks, “Isn’t Farnaz home?”
“Yes, she is, but she’s with a customer.”
Farnaz has made wedding gowns ever since she arrived in Canada and bought the Richmond Hill house. She keeps a few wedding dresses at home for people to rent. She joins them at the front door and shoos them inside. “Why are you standing here? Why don’t you come in?”
Parvaneh kisses Farnaz and says, “It’s late.” She looks at her watch and runs toward the car. Taking Mahasti’s hand, she pulls her out and carries her knapsack to the house. “I have to go. I’ll come get her this evening.”
Farnaz takes Mahasti by the hand and says, “Don’t bother. Behnood and Suzanne are coming over. Mahasti is going to be busy.”
Mahasti jumps up and down and says, “Really? Will Sara be here too?”
“Yes, sweetheart. She’s walking now. You should see how cute she is! She’s learned a few Farsi words like maman, baba, awb.”
Parvaneh says, “I’ve got to go. Sorry for bothering you.”
“Don’t worry about it. When Mahasti wants to go home, I’ll call you. If your guests leave early, come for dinner. Hassan is going to barbecue.”
As Parvaneh drives away, Farnaz and Mahasti stand by the door and wave goodbye to her. She suddenly feels happy to have immigrated to Canada, even though she had to argue with Mahan for months to convince him. When they arrived, it took more than few years until he passed his exam and was able to practise as a physician. She had her sisters here to rely on.
IN MEHRABAD AIRPORT, after Parvaneh’s mother had entered the departure lounge, Parvaneh wiped the tears from her eyes and said to Mahan, “There’s no one left. They’re all gone.”
Tears rolled down her face again when they exited the terminal. Though it was late autumn, some trees still had leaves. A chilly wind was blowing, and the air had a hint of rain to go with the familiar smell of smog. Gloomy clouds were taking over the sky. Together, they walked arm in arm towards Parvaneh’s Renault. She handed the keys to Mahan and said, “I don’t feel like driving.” She wiped her tears with a crumpled tissue.
As
they drove off, Mahan said, “This separation has started to become a regular part of our lives. If it’s not because of death, accident, or execution, then it’s these immigrations, wanted or unwanted. You’ll just have to get used to it, like me.”
Parvaneh said, “My father’s death was easier for me to bear than my mother’s leaving.”
Mahan turned and looked at her. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Death is very hard to bear. It’s worse because it’s irreversible, but with immigration, there’s always the chance of returning. And also you can go and—”
“Yes, death is irreversible, but when my father died, I had other people around me, and I was younger, too. Now, I’m very lonely.”
Mahan was driving very slowly. “Your mother won’t stay away forever,” he said.
“I think she’s gone forever. Farnaz says she’s going to apply for her immigrant status—the facilities for old people are much better over there. Here there would be no one to look after her except me.”
CHAPTER 3
WHEN PARVANEH’S CAR DISAPPEARS around the curve in the street, Mahan goes back into the house. He’s sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper when the telephone rings.
“Good morning. How are you today? Is Parvaneh there?”
Immersed in the article he is reading, it takes him a moment to come back to the present. There is a strange tone to Nadereh’s voice; he isn’t quite sure what it is. Is she going to scold him or appeal to him for support? He hesitates before answering.
“Hello! No, Parvaneh isn’t here. She took Mahasti to her dance class, and then she’s going shopping. She’ll be back around two o’clock. Did you want to speak to her?”
“No, I didn’t necessarily want to talk to her,” Nadereh says. “I wondered if Ferdous is going through with her decision?”
Mahan looks at the kitchen clock over the door; it shows ten-forty. Before he can answer, Nadereh continues. “Is there anything that I can help you with? I’m free today.”
Mahan feels his heart speed up slightly. “No, not really,” he says. “Parvaneh’s got it all arranged.” He wants to say, “You can come by if you want,” but he manages to bite back the words.
“Well, okay then,” Nadereh says, sounding disappointed. “I just wanted…”
“Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“Bye then. See you later.” Feeling hot and sweaty, he puts the receiver down before Nadereh says goodbye then quickly picks it up again, but the line is dead.
He gathers the newspaper from the table and puts it back in the basket. He has completely forgotten what he just read.
PARVANEH CALLED HIM FROM HER OFFICE and said, “I’m going to be a little late today. Can you pick up Mahasti from daycare?”
He had just gotten home and was filling the kettle with water for tea when Parvaneh arrived, accompanied by a slight young woman with curly black hair tied neatly at the back of her head. She had big, dark brown eyes. A strange feeling came over Mahan as he watched the woman sitting at the kitchen table, looking around. She was like an innocent child entering a strange new environment.
During the two hours the girl was with them, he racked his brain trying to figure out whether he had met her before. Nadereh hardly spoke more than a few words to him. When she was not playing with Mahasti, she was quiet and looked around with a strange sadness on her face.
Parvaneh settled the girl in her mother’s room after dinner, then came into their bedroom. Mahan still felt he knew the girl from somewhere, but he couldn’t place exactly where. And if he had met her, was it in Iran or here? Or maybe he knew someone who looked like her? Because of the nature of his job, he was always meeting people, but this girl was different. She conjured up a strangely familiar feeling—not pathos or pity, but a familiar curiosity.
Parvaneh slipped into the bed beside Mahan and said, “That poor girl has lived a horrible life. If I told you only part of it, you wouldn’t believe it. I don’t know how much of it is true, but if one tenth is, it’s still terrible. She lives in a shelter, and they sent her to me today to see if I can find an English class for her or help her get a volunteer job. She looks smart, but she is also very innocent and childlike. I couldn’t send her back to the shelter, so I hope you don’t mind that I brought her home for one night. She looked so lonely and so lost.”
MAHAN MAKES THE POTATO SALAD and puts it in the fridge. Then he adds the pasta to a pot of boiling water. While the pasta cooks, he vaccums the living room. Sunshine streams through the window and onto the sofa. He reminds himself to tell Parvaneh they have to move the sofa so that the sun won’t discolour it. Outside the window, he can see the street is silent and peaceful: a car passes occasionally, and the maple trees lining the street are still green in the warm fall sunshine. Mahan is left with the sound of the vacuum and his thoughts. He thinks about his telephone conversation with Nadereh. He feels himself being overtaken by a vague anxiety, the same forbidden attraction he experiences whenever she is around, or when he and Parvaneh visit her.
MAHAN WAS SITTING AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, Reading the morning paper, when Nadereh entered the kitchen, wearing a nightgown that she had borrowed from Parvaneh. Her curly hair framed her face, making her appear mysterious and attractive. Her dark brown eyes set off her baby face; her tiny perfect teeth, small pointed nose, and high cheekbones made her look like a Barbie doll. The gauzy nightgown revealed her small but statuesque figure. After three months of visiting Parvaneh and Mahan, Nadareh no longer felt awkward or shy in front of Mahan, but she was surprised to find him still at home. Pouring a cup of tea and sitting at the table, she asked why he hadn’t gone to work. Mahan replied that he was on the afternoon shift.
Suddenly Mahan’s face brightened with amazement. He had just remembered where he had seen her before. “You…” he started, then stopped suddenly, fixing his eyes squarely on her face.
Nadereh looked at him, puzzled.
“Your eyes,” he stammered. “Your eyes remind me of someone. I remember a woman…”
Nadereh interrupted him. “If it’s a love story, it can’t be me.”
Folding the newspaper and setting it aside, Mahan said, “No, no, not a love story, but a very sad memory. When I was a resident in a hospital in the south of Tehran, a young woman came in one day holding a dead child in her arms….”
The smile vanished from Nadereh’s face, and her eyes opened wider. “And what does this have to do with me?”
Mahan’s voice took on a clinical tone. “That woman’s eyes were exactly like yours. I can see the same defencelessness in them. I have been wondering where I’ve seen you before, and now I remember.”
“What happened to that woman? Was her child really dead? Or did the child die in the hospital?”
Mahan frowned. He looked like a child whose favourite toy had been taken from him. He said, “I told you her child was dead before she brought him to us, or he died in the hospital before I saw him. His body was still warm, but he had stopped breathing and had no pulse. I don’t know how long it had been, maybe a few minutes, but nothing could be done. The child was dead, but the mother…”
His voice was full of genuine sorrow. A silence fell between them. Shakily, he continued, “Her eyes…. There was a pain in her eyes that was impossible to see without feeling her sorrow. For a doctor, death is an everyday occurrence. For me, the living are more important. I’ve seen lots of death, many people who’ve lost their loved ones. But this, this was different. Her black eyes—they weren’t completely black, they were like yours, but there was only desperation and sadness in them. I wanted to hug her. I thought in that moment that she needed sympathy, a warm hug. I didn’t think I could console her with words. I didn’t even know her. It was the first time I had seen her, but I still wanted to hug her. But when I moved toward her, she stepped back. She had such horror in her eyes that I was scared, too. I pulled
away. Believe me, there were no words for her. There was a lump in my throat and I wanted to cry. I asked myself, why didn’t she let me hug her or soothe her? I didn’t want to hurt her. You may not believe it, but I still think the same thing. Why do people build walls around themselves?”
Nadereh was quiet for a while, her eyes fixed on the ground, contemplating Mahan’s words. When she finally looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes.
“Were you…?”
Nadereh didn’t let him finish his question. She pursed her lips, then vehemently stated, “No. That was not me.” Then, she got up and quickly left the kitchen.
Was Nadereh the same young woman from the hospital in Tehran? Mahan was convinced she was, even though she denied it. If she was, it would remain their secret; he would never tell Parvaneh.
MAHAN HEARS THE TELEPHONE over the sound of the vacuum, but he doesn’t care. Let it ring. Standing by the window, he looks out into the front yard, absorbed by the sparrows hopping around searching for seeds. Then he remembers the pasta and rushes to the kitchen. The water in the pot has evaporated, but the pasta isn’t burned. He empties the pasta into a strainer and runs it under cold water.
He returns to the living room to finish vacuuming. The sound of vacuum cleaner wraps him in solitude, and more memories come to the surface. He thinks about when he was a high school student in Saary and his brother a medical student living in Tehran.
It was a Friday morning and Mahan was still in bed. The sky was cloudy and he had slept in. He could hear his mother talking to Nezhat over the sound of vacuum cleaner in the living room. Nezhat came every Friday to help his mother clean the house. It was huge, with its spacious rooms and vast courtyard that looked like an orchard. Mother couldn’t manage it by herself. Outside his window, the leaves of the orange tree whispered softly in the breeze. The leaves were a soft green, and their gentle fluttering was calm and soothing. His mother used to say that green was the colour of spring and revival, and that it represented hope.
A Palace in Paradise Page 4