The streets are empty. The wind is blustery, blowing in all directions, just like Ferdous herself. She feels she is talking to someone who believes her, someone like herself, who tells her, you are free to go, to go, to go…
I didn’t betray my brother. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t.
MOHAMED, A YOUNG SOMALI MAN returning home from work, finds Ferdous lying on the ground a few metres from her building. Mahan is the first person to be informed of her death.
Ibrahim gives the news to Ferdous’s mother, who asks that her body be sent back to Iran for burial in their family mausoleum. Ibrahim is ready to pay, but Ladan won’t allow it, arguing that her mother had fled Iran and it was wrong to send her body back there. Finally, Ibrahim gives up and buys a grave beside Frida’s. Once in a while, when Frida’s mother takes her grandchildren to her daughter’s grave, she puts a flower on Ferdous’s grave too. Ferdous’s grave is rarely visited by anyone else, except Ladan, who comes to her mother’s grave just once a year.
CHAPTER 9
WHEN NADEREH AWAKENS, the first thing that catches her eye is the flashing light on her answering machine. The first message is from Parvaneh: “Frida passed away. If you want…”
“I want nothing to do with them,” she mumbles. She skips to the next message, but Parvaneh’s words are emblazed on her consciousness. Still, Frida’s death can’t be real. The message has made her break out in a cold sweat. Struggling to regain her senses, she listens to the next message. It is from Mahan, asking to see her. She can feel her pulse pounding in her throat as she wonders what he could possibly want from her. He hasn’t mentioned anything about Frida’s death. Maybe that’s all it is. The message is brief; already the machine is partway through the next one. It’s from someone who calls herself Farah, who wants to get in touch with her regarding her relationship with Ferdous. By the time the last two messages have played, Nadereh is struggling to overcome her shock over Frida’s death. She finds herself standing up, grasping onto the bedside chair—she feels dizzy and she can’t trust her legs to support her.
Then she notices Goodarz’s note. Absorbed in reading it, she ignores the telephone’s ring until she hears the same voice on the answering machine, the same one that left the message about Ferdous for her a while ago. Hesitantly, she lifts the receiver to her ear. Farah introduces herself, and then mentions past events that only the two of them could have known. Slowly, Nadareh begins to remember. Farah. She had been in the Evin prison at the same time as Nadareh. The woman wants to come over, but Nadereh refuses, saying that her roommate might be home.
Farah suggests they meet at the Tim Hortons in the Scarborough Centre. When Nadereh arrives, Farah is waiting. But when Nadereh looks Farah over, she realizes that this woman isn’t the person she thought she was. She can’t remember if she’s even seen her before. This Farah has salt-and-pepper hair gone mostly to white rather than black. She has a dark complexion, with black eyes and a small mouth with narrow lips. She is stout and looks about forty-five years old; but her grey roots indicate that she’s older than she appears. She acts motherly toward Nadereh.
“You were with us for a short time,” she says, “but I remember you very well. Your belly was huge when they released you—that’s what I remember the most. You were very young and naive, and you kept asking everyone about your husband. When you heard he’d been killed in a street fight, you couldn’t believe it. Some women, the tavabs, I mean, made fun of you. So tell me, since you’ve been released, where have you been and what happened to make you come to Canada?”
Nadereh is still trying to place her. When had she met the woman who is sitting in front of her, staring at her with her compassionate eyes and talking to her in a Turkish accent? Goodarz’s note, the events of the previous night at Parvaneh’s, the sudden death of Frida, and Mahan’s mysterious request keep playing over and over in her mind. Harshly, she asks the woman, “Have you dragged me out here to investigate me? If you’re an immigration officer, I am pleased to inform you that I’ve got my citizenship and I’ve had it for years now.”
Farah laughs loudly and says, “I’ve nothing to do with your citizenship. To tell you the truth, since I’ve heard the rumours…” She pauses for a moment and then continues. “I’ve only been here a few months myself.”
Nadereh is still angry. She asks, “Are you looking for a case for your refugee claim?”
Farah says softly, “No, let me finish. Back then you—”
“Forget about ‘back then,’” Nadereh says crossly.
She looks around. People of all nationalities, mostly immigrant families, are spending their Sunday window shopping and looking for bargains in the mall. Nadereh stares at them, oblivious to where she is; she is consumed with her thoughts. Suddenly, she remembers Farah’s message on the answering machine and says, “You told me you wanted to talk about Ferdous.”
“Yes, Ferdous is the reason that I wanted to see you. I heard that you and Parvaneh…”
Nadereh wants to ask her how she knows Parvaneh, but she refrains. All she really wants is to get rid of Farah. She doesn’t know her; she has no memory of her. She hasn’t had time yet to think about the other events: Frida’s death, Goodarz’s leaving. His reason isn’t clear and she doesn’t know what part she played in his decision. Now that Frida is dead, she is overcome with guilt about trying to prevent Ferdous from donating her kidney. It is as though her conscience is telling her, if you hadn’t tried to stop Ferdous, Frida would still be alive.
Farah asks, “Are you listening to me?”
Letting go of her thoughts, Nadereh asks, “How do you know Parvaneh?”
Farah says, “I haven’t met her, but she is well known in the Iranian community. However,” she continues, “you shouldn’t feel sorry for Ferdous. She’s responsible for the deaths of more than one person. She betrayed her own brother. She was a tavab. Did you know that?”
“So what? Many prisoners were tavabs.”
“This one is different from the others. She’s responsible for their deaths.”
Nadereh says nothing. She feels like she is disoriented, falling. She remembers how sorry she felt for Ferdous and how much she has done to help her. Then she thinks of Frida. She says, “Maybe it’s a good thing, then, that Frida died before she could get Ferdous’s kidney.”
“Frida died? When?”
“Last night.”
Nadereh sits staring at Farah, who continues in a kind, motherly tone, “I know all about Ferdous. I only found out you were here in Canada because word got around that you were helping her. I told myself that maybe you didn’t know anything about Ferdous’s past. Please don’t do it anymore. If I were you, I wouldn’t even talk to her. Stop being her friend. These kinds of people aren’t worth a cent.”
“I thought she’d been a victim. How stupid and foolish I was. I wish I could talk about it with Parvaneh.”
Remembering Parvaneh and Mahan, she suddenly feels uneasy.
Farah says, “Parvaneh knows about her. I wonder why she hasn’t told you anything.”
Nadereh watches people strolling around, trying to digest everything that has happened. After a while, her mind drifts back to the conversation she’d had with Parvaneh, when Parvaneh had said, “I want to tell you something, but it’s a secret.”
“What?” Nadereh had asked.
Parvaneh had turned away from the window, looked at Nadereh, and then said, “I don’t know for sure if it’s true or not, but rumour has it that Ferdous was a prisoner, even though she denies it.”
Nadereh stared at Parvaneh and said, “Well, is it a sin to be a prisoner? I was a prisoner too.”
“She was a tavab.”
“What kind of tavab? There were many of them. Some were forced to be. Otherwise…”
“I don’t know how. I don’t know anything else about her past. She’s no different from anyone else to me. She’s a mise
rable person who needs help. You can help her. She has nobody. Her husband abandoned her. From what I heard, he used her as a way to get into Canada. He came here on Ferdous’s money, but she still loves and admires him. Whatever else she has done is none of my business. All I know is that she’s a deeply depressed woman.”
“How do you know all this?”
Parvaneh answered, “I am a social worker. Haven’t you told me everything about your past too?”
“What can I do for her?”
“Help her. She’s a broken woman. Her husband has taken her daughter away. She splits her time between the psychiatric hospital and her apartment. Her mother is supposed to arrive one of these days. Help her. Forget about whatever she might have done before; it’s her business.”
“So Parvaneh never told you anything?” Farah says. Then she asks herself, “Why not?”
“I don’t know. She mentioned something, but she didn’t go into detail. She said, Ferdous had been a tavab. Then…”
“Ohhh, I get it. Parvaneh isn’t supposed to talk about anyone’s past. She’s a social worker.”
Nadereh sets her coffee on the table and looks at Farah suspiciously. Am I dreaming, she wonders. Since last night, everything has become fuzzy and unreal. Doubtfully, she says, “How do I know that you’re telling me the truth? Parvaneh won’t believe me.”
“I’m telling you—a lot of people know about Ferdous. I’m wondering why no one else has told you about her already.”
Nadereh is confused. “Why?” she asks Farah, and then stops talking. It is as though she’s asking herself.
She remembers taking Ferdous to a cultural program at the North York library. It took quite a bit of coaxing to convince Ferdous to come with her. “Come on, you’re always stuck at home,” Nadereh had said. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you keeping yourself away from people?”
During the break, she ran into her friend Hamideh, whom Parvaneh had introduced her to. They sometimes saw each other at these kinds of events or met casually when they were out in the Iranian community. She’d heard from Parvaneh that Hamideh had been behind bars in Evin for a few years too.
Ferdous, as usual, was standing in a corner, not making any effort to mingle. When Hamideh had spotted Nadereh with Ferdous, she’d pulled Nadereh’s sleeve and led her away to a corner, asking, “How do you know that skinny woman?”
“What do you mean, how do I know that—”
Before Nadereh finished, Hamideh spoke up. “Didn’t you know that she was a tavab?”
Still angry, Nadereh answered, “It’s none of your business. How do I know whether or not you are—”
Hamideh stopped her and said softly, “I’m concerned for you. Otherwise—”
Nadereh didn’t stay to hear the rest. She looked for Ferdous but couldn’t find her. Abruptly, she’d left the library.
Nadereh stands up and faces Farah. She tries to remember who she really is. Farah’s grey hair and complexion make her look sick and old. Her face is bony and her cheeks are sunken, but her black eyes still shine with maternal kindness.
But last night’s anger and disillusionment have only gotten worse. Nadereh says, “You’re just messing with my head.”
Farah ponders this for a moment, then replies, “Why is Ferdous’s life so important to you? She’s the daughter of a rich haji who betrayed her close friends and sold out her own brother as soon as things got tough in prison.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Gently, Farah replies, “Yes, I should have told you earlier. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even aware that you were here. Then I heard your name by chance while I was talking with some friends about Frida’s kidney transplant. A lot of Iranians know about it. Maybe Ferdous started telling everyone herself so she’d look better; perhaps she wanted people to forget that she was once a tavab.”
Nadereh says, “I’m going to throw up.” She rushes to the washroom. She feels like she wants to be sick, but she can’t; instead, her stomach just keeps on churning. Farah stands beside her and massages her shoulders. Nadereh washes her face. Farah hands her a paper towel to dry her face, and they leave the washroom. Then Farah asks, “What are you going to do?”
“What should I do?” Then she remembers Goodarz. Maybe he can help, she thinks.
Staring at Farah, she says, “I’m going to leave the city, maybe today or tomorrow. There’s nothing here for me anymore.”
“Why should you leave? Ferdous should be the one to leave.”
When they reach the mall exit, Nadereh turns to say goodbye.
Farah asks, “When can I see you again?”
“I told you, I’m leaving.”
She walks a few steps, then returns and puts her hand on Farah’s shoulder. “What’s the matter?” Farah asks.
“What about Ibrahim, Ferdous’s ex-husband?” Nadereh asks. “Was he a tavab too? Was he a political prisoner?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know him.”
Nadereh concludes that he probably wasn’t able to put up with Ferdous.
When Nadereh turns to leave, Farah says, “Are you really going to leave Toronto? Have you found a job somewhere else, or are you going somewhere for a holiday?”
Nadereh doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know what she will do. She only knows that, because of what she now knows, she doesn’t have the strength to face Mahan and Parvaneh. A sadness has gripped her heart that she can’t share with anyone. She should leave. Maybe leaving would be punishment enough for her foolishness. She hates herself for being so gullible.
When she arrives home, she phones the shelter to ask for an emergency leave. She needs the week off. She calls a friend, planning to give her the key to her apartment, but she changes her mind. She isn’t able to wait for her friend to come and get the key.
“Forget about it,” she says. “I’ll be back in a week.”
But when she gets on a bus for Vancouver, she’s sure that she won’t come back to Toronto. She asks herself, why Vancouver? It seems as if somebody is telling her to find Goodarz. He had always said, “If I had to leave this city, I’d go to Vancouver, to the shores of the Pacific Ocean.”
In her mind, she imagines she is talking to Goodarz: “You’re not the only one who killed someone. I did too.”
CHAPTER 10
THE WEATHER IS OPPRESSIVELY GLOOMY, more than just a rainy day. Heavy, dark clouds on the horizon blend into the ocean to the point where there is no distinction between water and sky. The tall buildings on the waterfront seem to be looming up right out of the ocean. Nadereh watches a flock of gulls flying over the harbour and imagines herself to be just a tiny spot amid the splendour. At times, she is overwhelmed by the beauty of her new home. Her need for Goodarz grows into a bold desire. She imagines him with her, working on expressing himself through his poetry. She would beg him to write it down, and he would answer, “When I want to write it down, it flies away.”
The beauty of the vista before her reminds her of a few of the poems that Goodarz had recited, but she can only remember bits and pieces of them. This vast, indescribable magnificence surrounding her is so breathtaking that she sometimes thinks it must be an illusion.
Absorbed in her own thoughts, she hardly notices the chilling cold that passes through her clothing and penetrates her bones. Holding the handle of Ehsan’s stroller, she pushes it along slowly. He is nine years old, but developmentally he is still very much at the toddler stage. She can see an inexpressible sadness and sometimes an enormous joy in his big brown eyes. He always has a smile on his face and he’s always affectionate and loving with his mother, his full-time caregiver. Even after all these years, Nadereh fails to understand the noises that he produces in his efforts to communicate. When he is restless and Nadereh can’t calm him, she imagines he is asking for the father he lost three years ago. When Goodarz was still around, he had b
een the one who mostly took care of their son.
The ocean is asleep under the heavy clouds, and nothing can disturb its deep serenity. Tiny waves lap upon the shore in a melancholy rhythm, like a mother’s lamentation for her long-lost son, for whom she still grieves. They are in Stanley Park, and fewer people than usual are out: only a few young people jogging or skateboarding, some older couples out for their daily walk, and a few new mothers and babies.
In front of a huge rock at the edge of the ocean is a sheltered bench where Nadereh usually sits to rest and feed Ehsan. To get there, she pushes Ehsan’s stroller, watching the ocean and the gulls, and envying their freedom. She talks to her son, practising the exercises they’ve given her at the speech therapy centre. She’s not sure how much he learns at school. She hopes that one day she will be able to communicate with him. The doctor also told her that, if he practises every day, Ehsan might be able to walk with crutches eventually. They can do the physiotherapy outdoors when the weather is fine. For Nadereh, the exercises are essential—a commitment, a duty—and she makes them part of her daily routine. To her, the park beside the ocean is a second home and the birds are friends and acquaintances; they fly overhead watching and sympathizing with her. She is more familiar with nature than with people. If it is raining, she has to stay home—where she finds it hard to perform the physiotherapy and speech-therapy exercises with Ehsan—or take him to a mall, which she doesn’t like either. She becomes bored easily and yells at the boy if he gets fretful. Then she regrets her bad behaviour and kisses him and cries over him to make up.
Three years after Goodarz left, Nadereh still can’t set aside the pain of the loss. He was like a saviour, helping her bury her old, deep wounds from her past. She still loved Mahan, however, even while she was living with Goodarz. Goodarz knew, even though he never mentioned it and she didn’t talk to him about it. Whenever Nadereh dreamed of Mahan, which happened frequently, Goodarz could always tell, because she was always melancholy and sad the next day. One day when Nadereh woke up to Ehsan’s cry, Goodarz wasn’t there. He’d left a brief note and disappeared from her life again. After he was gone, it was as if a new side of him suddenly appeared to her—now, the man resembled a saint—and Nadereh tormented herself with feelings of anger and guilt, realizing she had come to know the real Goodarz too late. Now her chance was gone, and she had no hope that Goodarz would come back. She felt guilty for not showing any love or even appreciation for him—he had taken care of Ehsan full-time so that she could attend university. She had lived with him as if she had had no other choice. After he disappeared, she realized that she had pushed him away. She had needed to make herself busy enough so that she wouldn’t have time think about her own life.
A Palace in Paradise Page 11