Parvaneh sips her tea and says, “Suddenly, Mahan seems to have changed. Last night he slept in the basement.”
Mother says, “That’s it? The way you were crying, I thought that Mahan had divorced you and run away with Nadereh to the other side of the planet. My sweet daughter, don’t imagine such bad things. That girl is capable of anything, except stealing your husband. What’s so bad about her? So, she is pretty. She is young. And she is lovely. I am a woman and even I can see how beautiful and lovely she is. But I’m old enough to know people, and to see through them. She’s an honest girl and I am certain that she would never even think about stealing a friend’s husband.”
Hassan laughs loudly and says, “Good for you, Grandma. You too!”
Just then, Mahasti appears in the kitchen door. Parvaneh opens her arms and her daughter throws herself into them.
CHAPTER 7
IT’S ALMOST ONE IN THE MORNING when Nadereh and Goodarz leave Parvaneh’s house. A cool breeze is blowing, and it feels refreshing after the stuffy house. A few stars sparkle through the light cloud cover. A cloud blots out the pale moonlight, lending a slight gloominess to the night sky, which reflects the light from the sleeping city. They walk without saying a word, both of them lost in the privacy of their thoughts. They wait at the bus stop in silence, but after fifteen minutes, they give up and start to walk. Finding the subway shut down for the night, they continue east along Bloor Street.
Their shared silence hints at the anger they are both keeping locked inside themselves. Of the two, Nadereh appears to be the angrier, while Goodarz feels mostly ashamed of himself. He keeps thinking, “Why should I get involved? I’m not even a friend. Why should I waste my time listening to their problems?” He is angry at himself for coming, but he’s also mad at Nadereh for suggesting that he accompany her this evening. He has only met Ferdous a few times, and he doesn’t exactly know her. To him she always seemed to be a pitiful person, always looking for sympathy from others. When Parvaneh and Mahan turned down her request, her reaction only increased the pity and disgust he felt for her. He regrets allowing himself to become involved in the whole business. Nadereh is a loser too, he thinks. Why does she get involved in other people’s problems? He suspects that she’s only looking to gain something for herself from meddling in other people’s affairs. He also noticed that Nadereh seemed to be trying to attract Mahan’s attention, and he wonders if this is why she can’t leave them all well enough alone. But he isn’t entirely sure that this is true. Maybe he only imagined it.
They walk side by side past the dimly lit shops. Goodarz says, “I think we’re getting close to High Park.”
Nadereh is starting to come around. “Why don’t we go to High Park and watch the sunrise?” she suggests.
Goodarz smiles and answers, “You don’t seem to take anything seriously.”
Indifferently, Nadereh says, “Maybe I’m ignorant. When you have been slapped around your entire life, nothing seems important or serious to you anymore. After a while being slapped just becomes part of your life.”
Goodarz stares at her for a moment and says, “Nadereh, just accept that no one wants to listen to you. Ferdous knows what she’s doing. Her outlook is more mature than yours is. Believe me, this is all a game and she doesn’t need your advice. You’re just wasting your time.”
Nadereh stops walking. She puts her hand on Goodarz’s arm and says, “You don’t know Ferdous, do you?”
It is a rhetorical question, as if she is telling Goodarz, “Don’t go there…. I feel sorry enough for myself right now without you adding your two cents.”
They reach the entrance to High Park. A little further on, there is a bench under a street lamp. Nadereh sits down. “Ahhh, this is good.” She lays her head against the back of the bench, sighs deeply, and says, “My head is pounding.”
Goodarz stands beside her. “Nadereh, let me give you my last bit of advice.”
She lifts her head up, opens her eyes, and asks, “Well?”
He wants to talk about something that has been bothering him for a few months now, but he’s worried that bringing it up would invade Nadereh’s privacy. He hesitates for few moments and then says, “Let’s leave this city. You and me and these people…”
Nadereh sits up. “What do you mean by ‘these people’?”
Goodarz turns away and stares off into the darkness before answering. “I could never be comfortable with these people. They’re drowning in their sorrows, trapped like insects in a spider’s web. Get away from Ferdous; leave her alone. Think about yourself. How much more do you think you can put up with?”
“I don’t need your advice!” Nadereh snaps. “Stop it now. I’ve had enough of this conversation.”
“Remember what I’m telling you now. Your advice won’t do anyone any good. You’ll be the only one who loses.”
“When have I ever said that I’ve got the answers to other people’s problems? If I had all the answers, I would have been able to help you.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Goodarz says heatedly. “I’ve never asked for anything. All that free advice is rubbish. I don’t give a damn for people like Parvaneh, Mahan, and Ferdous. I feel ashamed sitting at the same table with them.”
Nadereh’s eyes flash as she tries to control herself. “Well,” she says calmly, “Mister high and mighty, what happened that made you stoop so low as to associate with us?”
Without thinking, Goodarz says, “I wanted to be sure of something and now I am.”
“What?”
“Forget it; it’s nothing. As I said before, I wanted to find out if you could change Ferdous’s mind and get her back on her feet.” He pauses, then recites a poem that has just come to his mind.
“Ah…
I would have been happier
To be born an insect,
Or maybe a leaf,
Or maybe … nothing!”
“Spare me,” Nadereh pleads. “I don’t have the patience to put up with your blathering.”
“Then let me cheer you up with a story.”
Nadereh sits there silently.
Goodarz continues. “It’s a story that might make you feel better and forget about everything.”
“Go ahead and tell me your story. If it’s boring, I’ll ignore you and lie down on this bench to sleep.”
Impatiently, he asks, “Are you going to listen or not?”
She looks at him, curious now. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
He says, “I…”
He stops for a moment. The noise of a train in the distance breaks the silence of the night. Nadereh says, “Well, what happened to your story?”
“I killed my mother,” Goodarz says. Then he stops.
He doesn’t really know why he wants to talk about his mother’s death, but something compels him to do so. He hasn’t thought about it for a long time, but all of a sudden the horror of the accident comes back to him. It seems like it happened just a few days ago, and he desperately needs to talk about it with Nadereh. He wonders why he didn’t mention it before. He’d already told her that his mother died in an accident, but he never mentioned that he was driving the car. Now he is determined to tell her the whole story.
Nadereh sits expectantly, waiting for Goodarz to continue. The whispering breeze is the only sound. He clears his throat and asks, “Did you hear me? I killed my mother.”
Collecting herself, Nadereh looks at Goodarz. He is standing in front of her, waiting for her to say something, and her big eyes fill with fear. She quickly shakes off her apprehension, laughs loudly, and says, “Are you serious? Do you think I’m such a child that you can tell me a story and I’ll forget about what happened tonight?”
Goodarz repeats, “I killed my mother. Believe me.”
“I can’t believe you. Don’t make a fool of me or yourself.”
&nbs
p; Goodarz turns away from her and says in a louder voice, “I killed my mother. Why don’t you want to believe me?”
This time Nadereh laughs mirthlessly and says, “Are you trying to amuse me? You don’t have a funny story, so now you’re making up something about your poor mother.”
Goodarz shouts, “Nadereh, do you want to listen to me or not?”
Still furious, Nadereh answers, “Well, if it is true, then why are you telling me? If you really killed your mother, what are you doing here? Didn’t you break the law?”
Goodarz laughs loudly. “Law? The law is bullshit! Besides, the law had nothing to do with it. I…”
Wearily, Naderh says. “You’re just exaggerating!” And after a while she says, “You told me before that it was an accident. Go on, but keep it short.”
Goodarz says, “Yes, it was an accident, but…”
“There is no way an accident would be considered a deliberate murder even if you were found guilty.”
“So, you don’t want to listen.”
“Not if it was an accident. I’m not in the mood to hear your story. Instead, tell me why everything looks so bleak. Why can’t I feel happy? How come I feel like I want to die?”
Goodarz sits beside her and looks into her face. Raising his voice, he says, “Listen to me. I thought I could tell you about my pain, a burden that I carry with me every day of my life. My mother is with me day and night. I see her everywhere. She’s in the car mirror, looking back at me. Grandfather is sitting beside me in the passenger seat, giving me orders: ‘Don’t drive too fast, don’t pass that car, turn left, turn right, look to your right, look to your left, do this, do that. Look for a job, or continue your education. Take care of your mother, take her to a movie, tell her to marry again. Tell her she is wasting her life. Tell her your bastard father, who disappeared and never gave a damn about his wife and son, isn’t worth a dime. You should be careful, too, or else you might turn out just like him.’
“He talked and talked and talked. I don’t know what happened to him that day. It might be because we were coming back from visiting his younger daughter—I mean my aunt—who was living a comfortable life in a big house in Rasht. She had a wealthy husband who cared about his wife and his children. Grandfather always drove me crazy with his nagging. Grandmother told him several times to stop, but Mom didn’t say anything. Looking in her eyes in the mirror, I could tell that she was pleading with me not to say anything, to be patient, to put up with it. I could see in her eyes that she hated him talking to me this way; it made her miserable. And me, I was eaten up with anger and desperation. I felt like I wanted a car to hit me and kill me. I was so absorbed by my anger that I didn’t see the big truck passing a car on the opposite side of the road. When I realized what was happening, it was too late for us to pass the truck or to slow down and let it pass. Our car was thrown right into the ditch.
“Grandfather died instantly. Grandmother suffered many fractures, and my left arm was broken. But at first it seemed like nothing had happened to my mother. She was thrown out of the car. I struggled out and found her in the ditch. When she saw me, she sat down and said, ‘My sweetheart, my poor baby, what happened?’ I was dizzy, and the pain in my arm was excruciating. Then I saw my mother lie down, as though she needed a rest. I called out to her, but she didn’t answer me. I called again, louder this time. Someone stopped to help. First, he shook my mother and said, ‘Lady!’ There was no answer. I don’t know what happened next. I screamed and cried for my mother. An ambulance came and took all of us to the hospital. I heard them saying that my mother and grandfather were dead but that my grandmother was still alive. Grandmother was in the hospital for a few months, and then she died too.”
The leaves on the trees stir in the early morning breeze as if they are agitated by Goodarz’s story. Suddenly there is a commotion of chirping birds. Nadereh stands up. The first rays of sunlight brighten the eastern sky, while the few stars still visible flicker in the west. Nadereh looks at Goodarz and says sadly, “We have been sitting here for a long time. I’m tired, now. Let’s go home and get some rest.” She walks languidly toward the park entrance.
Goodarz walks beside her. “So, don’t you have anything else to say?” he asks.
“What can I say?”
They reach Bloor Street. The traffic in the street is starting to increase. A truck growls by them as they walk eastward. Nadereh stops suddenly. “I can’t walk any longer,” she says. She looks back to see a taxi approaching, and asks, “Do you have any money? I want to take a taxi.”
Without waiting for him to answer, she lifts her arm and the cab brakes beside them. When they get home, Nadereh throws herself on the sofa in the living room that serves as Goodarz’s bed. Goodarz goes to washroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. By the time he comes out, Nadereh has gone to her bedroom and closed the door.
He was hoping that she might fall in love with him, but he realizes now that it is time for him to move on. He takes his meager belongings and leaves the apartment quietly. At the door, he remembers he should write a note. He leaves it on the table and walks out, closing the door quietly. He slides the key under the door, removing any temptation to return. At a coffee shop, he buys coffee and a muffin, but neither has any taste.
When he reaches the bus terminal, he remembers that he doesn’t have enough money. He opens his wallet and finds the credit card that Nadereh gave him. I’ll deposit the money in her account when I get to Vancouver, he tells himself. The bus is almost ready to leave. He climbs on the bus and goes straight to the back, taking a seat in the last row. When the bus reaches the highway, he leans his head against the back of the seat and closes his eyes. Silently, he recites a poem:
It is always the same,
The unknown road ahead,
And unwanted love behind,
Left beside a forgotten trail!
HE HAD MET NADEREH IN A SHELTER for the homeless. It was a bitter winter night, and when he entered, he was covered with snow from head to toe. Nadereh was sitting at the reception desk. As she lifted her head and saw him, she smiled a welcome and cheerfully asked, “Hi, can I help you?”
Recognizing her accent, Goodarz asked quietly, “Are you Iranian?”
Nadereh’s eyes, shining in her face like two black rubies, became even bigger in surprise, and she asked, “Well, yes, but how can I help you?”
Her two big eyes in her round, charming face were staring back at Goodarz. He stood mesmerized under their spell for a moment. The fact that she was Iranian somehow made him even more tongue-tied.
Nadereh smiled. “No place to go?”
Goodarz was still staring at her. “Not exactly. But…”
“Tell you the truth, we’re full here tonight, but if you need a place to sleep”—she continued without waiting for him to speak—“I might be able to find you a place in another shelter.” But there was no space available anywhere, so Goodarz wound up spending the whole night sitting on a wooden bench in the hallway, talking to Nadereh.
Giving him a mug of tea, she asked, “You told me you aren’t homeless, so why did you come to a shelter?”
Goodarz hesitated before saying, “My roommate disappeared today, and he took the keys with him.” He sipped his tea, then put the mug on the bench.
“Haven’t you got your own key?” she asked, then changed the subject. “How about dinner? If you haven’t eaten, there might be some—”
“I had dinner. I had the key, too, but I left it in my room.”
“What about a job? Are you working or…”
Goodarz managed to hide his discomfort. He answered, “I have a job.”
Nadereh’s expression seemed to say I wasn’t born yesterday but instead she asked, “What do you do?”
“I write poetry.” He was surprised that the answer had just slipped out. He hadn’t intended to say this, but Nadereh’s eyes se
emed to inspire his poetic nature.
She burst out laughing, just as Salima, her co-worker, leaned in. She had intended to tell Nadereh that she was leaving, since it was the end of her shift, but instead she muttered something to herself in English and left abruptly. Nadareh ignored her. Turning to Goodarz, she quipped, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Yes, I was just putting you on. Really, I work temporary jobs.”
Nadereh didn’t ask anything else.
For three consecutive nights, it was the same, and every morning, he walked Nadereh home. They were so busy talking, they didn’t seem to feel the bitter cold nor realize how far they were walking.
“What are you going to do when you get home?”
“What am I going to do? I am going to brush my teeth and then go to bed. Haven’t you noticed I was awake all night long? How about you? You don’t have anywhere to go. What are you going to do?”
“Me? It depends. If I can’t find any work, I’ll go to the library or maybe to a movie….”
“So when do you sleep? And where do you sleep? I haven’t seen you sleep at all these past three nights.”
“I can find some places, maybe in the theatre or at a mall or in the library. There’s always a cozy place somewhere.”
“What about your friend? Is he gone forever?”
“Gone forever.”
“I never really found out what you do.”
“I work for a company.”
“What do you do for them? Are you a manager?”
“Do you think I’m cut out to be a manager? I’m good at distributing flyers—I’m an expert in that field. I work two or three days a week, and sometimes I make deliveries as a courier; I can get by on that.”
“Why don’t you rent a room for yourself?”
“I should do it, but the last three nights with you—”
She interrupted him. “These last three nights were exceptions. Because the weather was so cold, my supervisor didn’t object to you staying in the reception area. Last night he said that we can’t go over the shelter’s legal capacity. Also, you are Iranian and you talk to me in Farsi, so he thinks you’re my friend. Now that the weather is getting warmer and the snow is starting to melt, you need to find a place for yourself.”
A Palace in Paradise Page 9