A Palace in Paradise

by Mehri Yalfani

  “My God, Nadereh, you’ve had a hard life. Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d only known… What happened to your son?”

  Finally able to share the story of her burden, Nadereh relaxes, feeling the words flow easily from her mouth. She has never told anyone the full story before. Even when she speaks to social workers, she tells them only the things that can be written in files, leaving out anything that might elicit their sympathy. Serenely, she says, “I don’t know. Sometimes I blame it on the sperm of an addict…. But Goodarz had quit the drugs a long time ago. I did too—I quit smoking when I found out I was pregnant. One of the doctors told me it happened during childbirth. I was in labour for a long time. They didn’t want to give me a C-section. They thought that because my first baby had been born through natural childbirth, I could have this one naturally too. But, when I couldn’t push him out, they tried to use forceps, but that didn’t work either. So they took me to into another room, where they used a vacuum device to deliver him. The doctor told me that the baby didn’t receive enough oxygen and that the delay caused by moving me resulted in brain damage. Of course, some of the other doctors didn’t agree and blamed Goodarz and me because we were smokers before getting pregnant. Later on, I found out that if they had admitted they were at fault, I would have been able to sue them.”

  “Why didn’t you do that?”

  “What good would it have done? It wouldn’t give me back my child’s health. Anyway, I didn’t find out that I could have sued the hospital until Goodarz was gone. Who has the patience to put up with the courts, the lawyers, the bureaucracy? Ehsan needed me to take care of him, and that was my priority. It still is.”

  The sky starts to clear. Some patches of blue start to appear. A flock of gulls flies over, screeching as if they are happy to see the weather clearing.

  Nadereh breaks the silence. Something has burst deep inside her; all her bad experiences are draining from her soul, as these previously unspoken words come pouring out. “Sometimes I think my disabled child is the fruit of a grand dream that our fathers and our generation hatched. My first husband, Ehsan, like many others, lost his life for those dreams. Sometimes I just think that there’s no fairness in life.”

  Nadereh’s words remind Mahan of Mahasti’s disappearance. “Maybe,” he suggests, “losing Mahasti is a result of these dreams too.”

  Nadereh looks at Mahan and says, “If your daughter is devoting her life to helping the poor, you should be proud of her. You shouldn’t blame yourself. She’s an exceptional person.”

  They reach the end of the shoreline, and Nadereh turns toward her street. She thinks about Ferdous again. “I was always afraid that Ferdous might kill herself. I always looked at her as a victim. But in the end, she had me fooled too. I didn’t know how deep her problems ran. I knew she felt bad for what she had done and that she had asked for forgiveness, but I didn’t know that she had betrayed people. She even didn’t blame Ibrahim when he abandoned her.”

  “What was wrong with her?”

  Nadereh shrugs her shoulders and waves her hands, as though she is dismissing the thought. “Forget about it. Why waste our breath? Actually, she poisoned my life. When I found out what she had done, I was disgusted with myself and with her. But now when I look back, I think we were both victims.

  They leave the shore behind, and Nadereh pushes Ehsan’s stroller onto a street lined on both sides with houses and tall buildings. Before long, she stops in front of one of the high-rises. Looking up, Mahan can see that most of the balconies are decorated with plants and flower boxes. She says, “This is where I live. I guess I should take Ehsan home.”

  She holds out her hand for Mahan to shake. He implores, “Won’t you invite me in for a cup of tea?”

  Nadereh’s eyes take on a faraway look. “Sorry, I really have to say no. By the time I get this little guy settled, I won’t have enough energy left to entertain any guests. He needs a new diaper—I know he is wet—then I have feed him his lunch and put him to bed. I also have to finish a paper before noon tomorrow.”

  She puts out her hand again, and Mahan takes it in his. He pulls her toward him and suddenly they hug each other, staying clasped for a while. But then Nadereh pulls herself out of Mahan’s arms and starts toward her building. Startled, he says, “Tonight I’m going back to Toronto. I’m here for a one-day conference. I’m planning to go back to Iran soon. My father has written to tell me he’s sick, and I want to see him before something happens to him. I might stay there. I came to Canada to raise my daughter, but I never expected to lose her here.” His voice breaking, he continues. “Actually, her leaving was like a lesson to me. It showed me that I’m wasting my time here….”

  Ehsan is crying loudly, and Nadereh can’t hear the rest of Mahan’s words. She says, simply, “Goodbye.” There is something in her voice that causes Mahan to mouth goodbye under his breath as he turns away. After a few steps, he stops and turns back toward Nadereh, who is standing by the building, watching him. He isn’t the same Mahan of years ago, but she isn’t the same person either. She says, “I wish you good luck, going back home.” Then she opens the big glass door of the building and pushes Ehsan inside. The boy stops crying.

  A LITTLE MORE THAN A YEAR AFTER Mahan’s visit, Nadereh receives a letter from the city of Saary in Iran. Mahan Daavar’s name is written in English on the top left corner of the envelope. Excitedly, she tears open the letter and quickly pores over it. When she reaches the last sentence, she goes back to the beginning to read it again and again, at least ten times. It is long—four pages—and it asks her to visit him in Iran with her son. He also confesses his love for her. He tells her that he has loved her from the first time he set eyes on her in the hospital in Iran. He says that he has never been able to forget her innocent, childlike eyes asking for help. He assures her that she won’t regret travelling to Iran, and he makes it clear that, if she wants to, she can go back to Canada whenever she wants. He offers to pay the cost of the trip for her and Ehsan. He is certain that if she comes to Iran, she’d soon forget about returning to Canada. Finally, he tells her that his parents’ estate included his childhood home, which he plans to turn into a rehabilitation centre for disabled children. He hopes to build a three-bedroom home on the property for himself and, he hopes, for her and Ehsan. He has hired staff, including a young doctor and two nurses.

  Each time Nadereh gets to the end of the letter, she declares loudly and enthusiastically, “He loves me. After so many years, he still loves me!” She hugs Ehsan and kisses him again and again as she shouts, “He loves me, he loves me. He’s always been in love with me!”

  She is so thrilled about the possibility of a new destiny that she finds it hard to sleep that night. The next day when she wakes up, she wonders if it was just a dream. She reads the letter again, but this time thoughts of Parvaneh and Mahasti intrude on her joy and she can’t quite block out a feeling of guilt. She can’t seem to shake their images from her mind.

  When Ehsan wakes up, she receives yet another happy surprise. For the first time ever, he calls her “Ma.” Joyfully, she hugs and kisses him, saying, “Yes, I’m your mother, your mommy.”

  As the day goes by, her emotions rise and fall, but she can’t quite overcome her elation over Mahan’s confession. Still, her sense of honour compels her to write to Parvaneh. Somehow, this decision eases the feeling of deep sadness that she has carried with her for her whole life. As she starts to write the letter, her memories of the happy moments she had shared with the three of them come flooding back.

  Ever since she left Toronto, she has barely given any thought to the life she lived there; she’s tried not to remember anything. Even when Goodarz was with her, whenever she was reminded of their old life, she would push the memory away. Mahan’s letter has revived her memories, especially the happy ones. She thinks about when she’d just arrived in Toronto and had stayed at Parvaneh’s, and she remembers the day that Mahan
had talked about that young woman with her dead child. How clever she had been not to tell him she was that same woman. If Parvaneh had known, she might have discovered Mahan’s feelings toward her and sent her away. She might even have believed that Nadereh had come to Canada to get closer to Mahan. How wise Nadereh had been to hide her love for Mahan.

  She remembers Ehsan, her first love, who had faded from her mind after so many years. “We shouldn’t take food from the mouths of those less fortunate.” When and where had she heard Ehsan say that? She can’t remember, but she’s sure it was him she’d heard it from. She thinks about whether Ehsan’s philosophy should stop her from going to Mahan and taking him from Parvaneh, even though Mahan has begged her to come.

  She keeps her letter to Parvaneh short and straightforward. She begins by thanking Parvaneh for all her help, encouraging her to continue her education, which Nadereh herself had always been prevented from doing. She tells Parvaneh that, even after so many years, she still feels indebted to her. She finishes the letter by telling her that she had met Mahan accidentally when he’d travelled to Vancouver for a conference. At the end of their short visit, Mahan had told her that he was going back to Iran, probably forever. He had been very lonely and depressed. Finally, she encourages Parvaneh to go to her husband and stay with him. She rewrites the letter several times until she is happy with it. Go back to your husband and your country and say good-bye to exile, she repeats. She puts the letter in an envelope as soon as she is finished and mails it the same day, before she can change her mind.

  Leaving the post office, she doesn’t go home, even though it is four in the afternoon and the day nearing its end. She pushes Ehsan to Stanley Park and sits on the same bench where she sat with Mahan. It’s a sunny day. The grandness of the ocean reflects her sense of serenity and joy.

  She looks back on her memories of Mahan. His love is a refuge in the cruel world. Every once in a while, she kisses Ehsan and says to him, “He still loves me, and that’s enough for me.” She never answers Mahan’s letter, and he never writes to her again.

  ABOUT A YEAR LATER she receives a letter from Parvaneh, thanking her for her wise and compassionate advice; it has come from the same address as Mahan’s letter. Inside the envelope is a photo of Parvaneh and Mahan. A baby girl sits on Parvaneh’s lap, and another girl, who looks about six or seven, stands next to Mahan. On the wall behind them a portrait of a young woman, her hair tied at the back of her head, looks strikingly like Mahasti.

  She slowly opens the letter and sees Parvaneh’s familiar handwriting. Parvaneh tells Nadereh that she is indebted to her for her new life. She explains that she and Mahan had adopted the older girl in Canada. They named her Bahar, an Iranian name that corresponds with her original name, April. The little girl sitting on Parvaneh’s lap was abandoned as a newborn and left at their door. They adopted her and named her Rayhaneh in memory of Nadereh’s little sister, who was killed in the war. Parvaneh also mentions that Mahasti will be coming to visit them in the near future. At the end of the letter, Parvaneh invites Nadereh and her son to Iran and tells her about the institution Mahan established for children with disabilities and special needs. “If you come to Saary, ask for the Ehsan Institution; anyone can give you directions. It’s actually Mahan’s parents’ house.”

  Nadereh puts the photo on her bookshelf next to Goodarz’s and Ehsan’s, and places the letter on the table so that eventually she can reply. As the days and weeks pass, though, she can’t quite bring herself to write back and Parvaneh’s letter remains unanswered.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My special thanks to Marguerite Anderson and Annie Coyle Martin, two great writers who spent time reading this novel and encouraged me to continue.

  Thanks to Gity Nasehi and Sussan Niazi for their constructive comments, dedication, and expertise in helping me with the final translating and editing of the manuscript. I’m also indebted to Constance Dilley, for her edits and her great points of view.

  Thank you to Mrs. Ordoobadi, Mohsen Yalfani, Siavoush Daghighian, Nasrin Mohases, Nargess Soudagar, Shiva Maleki, Ava Homa, and Selora Lezerjani who also read my manuscript and whose comments have enriched my manuscript.

  My great and utmost acknowledgement goes to Lynn Conningham for her dedication and her skillful editing of this book.

  Finally I don’t have enough words to thank Luciana Ricciutelli, the Editor-in-Chief of Inanna Publications who accepted my manuscript. I am grateful for her expertise in editing the final version of this book and for her keen knowledge of literature. I’m really thankful to you, Luciana.

  I’m also thankful to Renée Knapp, Inanna’s fantastic Publicist and Marketing Manager.

  I started to write this novel in 2003 but after reading “We Lived To Tell, a memoir of Evin prison written by Azadeh Agah, Susan Mehr, and Shadi Parsi (2007), the manuscript went through many changes. I was deeply inspired by the book, and I would like to give the authors of that book a special acknowledgement.

  I’m also in debt to M. Raha, the writer of The Simple Truth, a memoir in three volumes about the Evin prison.

  Photo: Syroos Mohsenzadeh

  Mehri Yalfani was born in Hamadan, Iran. She graduated from the University of Tehran with a degree in electrical engineering and worked as an engineer for twenty years. She immigrated to Canada in 1987 with her family, and has been writing and publishing ever since. Four novels and two collections of short stories written in Farsi, her mother tongue, were published in Sweden, the U.S., and Canada. Her novel, Dancing in a Broken Mirror, published in Iran, was a finalist for the “Book of the Year” in 2000. She has published several books in English, including Parastoo: Stories and Poems (1995), Two Sisters (2000), and Afsaneh’s Moon (2002). Her short fiction has appeared in a number of American and Canadian anthologies. Her most recent collection of short fiction, The Street of Butterflies, was published in 2017. She lives and writes in Toronto.