by Zoya Pirzad
He would knock back the sherbet or tea and say, ‘They don’t?’
I did not go out and stand beside the hood to participate in the usual ritual, but instead stayed in the hallway, leaned up against the wall, and closed my eyes. ‘Oh God, make it start.’ I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be alone right away. My head was pounding and I had no patience for anything.
When the engine finally turned over, I opened my eyes. But I waited until Artoush had backed out of the garage and turned into the street, and until the sound of the engine faded into the distance, before saying, ‘Thank you, God.’
I went to the kitchen, sat down at the table and yelled at myself. ‘What the hell is your problem?’ I drew a Kleenex out of the box and dabbed my eyes, remembering my father.
Whenever I felt really bad, I would think of Father, and whenever I felt really glad, again I would think of him. Like when a plant clipping I had put in water actually sprouted roots. Or when I tried out a new recipe and it turned out delicious. Or when Armen got good grades. I began to tear the Kleenex into pieces and wondered why I think of Father whenever I’m feeling especially bad or glad.
I raised my head up and looked at the two paintings I kept taped to the refrigerator. The twins had done one of them, a Mother’s Day gift from the year before. Two hearts and big colorful flowers, with ‘I love you’ written inside each of them. The other one Armen had done, when he was four or five years old. Using yellow watercolors, he had painted the outline of what was supposed to be a woman. In the woman’s hands, which did not look like hands, was a green ring that looked like a head with two eyes. When I asked him what he had drawn, he said, ‘Mommy, holding Armen.’ Chin in hand, I gazed at the painting and thought, ‘I will never be able to hold you like that again.’
My eyes roamed to the counter and I saw the package that Emile had put in my hand the day before, when both he and I were running after his mother in the yard. How had I forgotten the package until now? I took it to the living room. What with the chaos of the previous afternoon and evening, it was not so strange I had forgotten. I leaned back in the leather chair and opened it.
It was one of the books by Sardo that I said I had not read. He had inscribed on the flyleaf: ‘For Clarice, to whom I could listen for days and days.’
I closed the book. The room was not that cool, but I felt cold. I re-opened the book and read the sentence again. I traced the handwriting with my finger. What an elegant hand, I thought. Even, proportional, diagonally slanted. My handwriting in Armenian script was stiff. I wrote in block letters and my ‘O’s looked like little rectangles. Emile’s handwriting was cursive, with neat angles, and...supple.
Little by little my queasy, listless feeling began to lift. Like boiling water evaporating bubble by bubble. I felt a burden had lifted. I felt better. ‘So he was really interested in what I said? So I hadn’t bored him?’ I remembered his hand under his chin, and his wristwatch, with its white leather band. In the yard two frogs were calling to each other back and forth. I looked out the window. ‘Maybe these two enjoy chatting with one another, too.’ The bougainvillea seemed to be nodding to me through the window.
I turned the book over and read the blurb on the back. This man has been in love with this woman since they were young, and his sole desire is to be united with her. Now engulfed in political affairs, he is uncertain whether to choose love, or as he puts it, his responsibilities to society. I returned to the flyleaf and read Emile’s inscription one more time. I leafed through the pages, then opened to the first chapter and began to read. The hero of the story was undecided; the heroine attempted a variety of stratagems to win him over, until the phone rang. I looked at my watch and could not believe it. When was the last time I had read a book for such a long uninterrupted stretch?
27
On the phone, Nina’s motor was, as Garnik would put it, running at full speed, her voice ringing out like a bell. ‘I, for one, am still in the dark. Are things really and truly getting serious, or is Alice building sandcastles in the air again? The minute Violette heard, she said it was obvious off the bat that Joop liked Alice. So how did we miss it? Clueless me, trying to fix him up with Violette! But I guess it did not turn out too shabby. Alice is first in line.’ She chuckled loudly. Then her voice lowered to a whisper. I heard her say ‘Emile Simonian’ a few times and when I asked, ‘What did you say?’ she answered, ‘Nothing. Will you come with me this afternoon to drop by the bazaar? Sophie is nagging me to buy her a beret.’ She gave me no chance to answer yes or no, ending with, ‘So, see you this afternoon. Violette says hello. Bye for now.’
For Alice to divulge a relationship that had barely even sprouted yet, much less borne fruit, was not terribly surprising. But what was that Nina had said about Emile? Why was she whispering, and why had she said ‘I’ll tell you later’?
I went to the backyard, checked on the vegetables I’d planted, and picked a few tomatoes. I turned my head to look up at the jujube tree. Wedged between the branches were two nests. A nice plump sparrow flew up in the branches and settled on one of the nests. It had something in its beak – bringing food for its babies, I thought. It was very hot and everything was quiet. I went back inside, singing a song to myself.
For their after-school snack, I made what the kids liked to call ‘Cheese in the Oven’ sandwiches. I cut up some rolls, laid a slice of cheese on each, and put them in the oven. While waiting for the bread to toast and the cheese to melt, I wondered how many after-school snacks I had prepared up to that day. How many lunches? How many dinners? The metal gate squeaking and the sound of feet running up the path interrupted my calculations.
Sophie said, ‘My mom said to come to your house. She should get here herself in a minute or two.’
I told them to wash their face and hands, have their snacks and get ready for their piano lesson.
Armineh said, ‘It would be super if Sophie came to piano class with us.’
Arsineh said, ‘It would be super duper if Sophie came to piano class with us.’
Both of them turned to Sophie. ‘When you hear Miss Judy speak Persian...’ began Armineh.
‘You’ll die laughing...’ finished Arsineh.
I shouted, ‘Armen, snack!’
He shouted back from his room, ‘I’m not hungry.’
The girls muffled their laughter. When I looked at them, Armineh said, ‘I swear, we don’t know anything, but...’
Arsineh continued, ‘But we heard he made up with Emily.’
Sophie said, ‘That’s probably why he’s not hungry.’ The three of them burst out laughing.
The phone was ringing in the hallway; I went to get it. Mrs. Simonian said that she had heard from Emily, who had a piano lesson scheduled, that the twins also had their piano lesson that afternoon. Since Emile would be coming home late due to some business that had come up, Emily should come with the twins. Mrs. Simonian herself had a backache and could not take Emily. Not so much as a ‘please,’ or an ‘if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.’ Not even a proper hello and goodbye.
Before I could put down the receiver, Armen popped out of his room.
‘Shall I go get Emily?’
I raised a quizzical eyebrow, and he fell to stammering.
‘Uh, well...Emily said on the bus that she has a piano lesson and, uh, well...I decided to take piano again.’
I laughed when I saw the comical look on Armen’s face, forgetting all about the sting of Mrs. Simonian’s rudeness. Just at that moment, Nina opened the front door. ‘Oh my gosh, I’m baking in this heat.’ With no thought of hello, Armen slipped between the two of us and shot out the front door. Almost at the end of the yard, he turned back and shouted ‘We’ll wait for you at the bus stop.’
Nina looked at me. ‘What’s come over that one?’ I stared up at the ceiling.
‘He’s in love!’
I waited for her rollicking laughter, but she just shook her head. ‘It seems like they’ve poured something in the water supply thes
e days!’
I called out toward the kitchen, ‘Kids, let’s go.’
Emily was wearing a white blouse and black trousers, a piano book pressed to her chest. She was leaning up against the bus stop sign, her head down, pushing a little stone back and forth with the tip of her toe. Her long straight hair was spilling over her face. Armen paced back and forth in front of Emily, waving his hands and talking. He fell silent as soon as we walked up. Emily swiftly raised her head and said hello. The hair fell to either side of her face.
‘What a sweet girl,’ Nina said.
I asked myself, ‘Is she just a girl?’
Emily looked at me for a moment. Why did it feel like she had read my mind? She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and smiled, not unlike the smile the twins offered when they wanted something.
The bus arrived, and when I got on, the driver greeted me. I was surprised to see him. ‘Hello, Mr. Abdi. Weren’t you working the Refinery route?’
He laughed. ‘What can I do, ma’am. I got promoted. What about you? Are you well? We are grateful for all the troubles you went to for us.’
‘What trouble?’ I protested. ‘How is your boy?’
The kids filed past the driver one by one, each saying ‘Pass.’ Mr. Abdi laughed and said, ‘Day before yesterday there was a Tehrani riding the bus. He heard the passengers from the Oil Company sayin’ somethin’ and not payin’ for the ticket. ’Stead of saying “pass,” he said “gas.” ’
I laughed and Mr. Abdi pressed the button to close the door. He turned his face to me. ‘Thanks God, our son is much better. We brought him home. Your sister was very kind. Many thanks.’ Nina nudged me from behind. ‘Hey, get a move on, already.’
The bus had only a few passengers. The twins and Sophie went to the back, Armen and Emily sat directly behind the driver, and Nina led, almost pushed, me to a seat far away from the children. I was explaining, ‘His son was sick, and I asked Alice to look in on him at the hospital...’ when Nina cut me off.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. The sun would never rise if it weren’t for your making buddies out of all the Oil Company drivers, gardeners and plumbers, would it?’ She looked behind her and leaned in close to my ear. ‘Tell me about your new neighbor. Isn’t his name Simonian? He’s a widower, right?’
I stared at her for a few seconds. Why had I not understood earlier? Now that I had understood, why did I suddenly feel empty? Why was it so hot? Why was it taking so long to get there?
By the time we reached Miss Judy’s house in south Bawarda, I had told Nina everything I knew about the inhabitants of G-4. As we approached the stop, I stood up, pulled the cord and told Nina that while the children were at their lesson, we could go buy that hat for Sophie and come back. Nina looked at me, confused.
‘What hat?’
I motioned to the kids to get off, and said to Nina, who was still sitting, ‘Get up. Here we are. Didn’t you say you wanted to buy a beret for Sophie?’
She got up from her seat. ‘For the moment I’ve got more important things to do than buying hats. Let’s see, you are not invited anywhere on Thursday night, are you?’ The instant I said no, she said, ‘Then you’ll have guests.’
I said goodbye to the driver, and was the last one to get out. I reprimanded myself. ‘A beret in this heat? As Mother would say, “You really are an ass!” ’
28
After the kids’ piano lessons, we all took the bus home. When we got off at our stop, I looked over at Emily, who was walking with the kids toward our house. Before I could venture a word, she said, ‘Grandmother said for me to stay at your home for a couple hours.’
I remarked to myself, ‘Grandmother assigns everyone his appointed task.’
I went in the kitchen, only to find that Mother and Alice had turned up before we got back. Time and time again I had explained to Mother that I gave them the spare house key so they could open the door in case of an emergency when we were out of town. It had no effect. Mother and Alice were in the habit of popping over unannounced, and if it happened we were not at home, they would just dig out the key and let themselves right in.
Alice was sitting at the table, filing her nails. Mother was standing on a chair dusting the clay jugs atop the cabinets. As I walked in, instead of returning my hello, she blurted out, ‘What am I going to do with you and the junk you display all over the house? Just like your father, God have mercy on him.’
‘Who asked you to go climbing up there? Ashkhen dusted all the cabinets last week,’ I said.
Mother stepped down off the chair. ‘Ashkhen’s dusting is good for nothing.’ As Nina walked in, Mother greeted her enthusiastically. So, her pique with Nina had come to an end. I heard Artoush drive up in the Chevrolet.
Nina and Alice greeted each other with kisses, and Nina told her about Thursday night’s dinner party. Sophie and the twins jumped up and down, clapping.
‘Oh boy! A party!’
They hopped over to Emily. Armineh said, ‘You must come too!’
Arsineh added, ‘Do come!’
Armen looked at Emily. Emily looked downward. ‘If Grandmother allows...’
Nina said, ‘Don’t worry, your grandmother and your father are invited too.’
Alice put on her lipstick without a mirror. ‘Joop just loves Persian food.’
Mother said, ‘Clarice will make Fesenjan for him.’ So her pique with the Dutchman had come to an end, too.
Arsineh told Armineh, ‘Now do your impression of Miss Judy. Come on, do it!’
Armineh stood on her tiptoes and pointed her index finger at Armen. ‘This time you serious learn piano, or you play hokey again?’
Arsineh answered in the role of Armen, ‘I am serious about it.’
Armineh arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips. ‘Then you, Emily, here in living room, until I call!’
Sophie held her hand to her stomach and said, amidst her laughter, ‘That’s exactly how she talks!’
Nina lovingly pinched Armineh’s cheek. ‘You little rascal.’
Mother grinned, saying, ‘That’s my lovely, witty girl!’
Alice, her lipstick canister and nail file in hand, doubled over laughing.
Emily cast a sideways glance at Armen, who said, ‘Hardy har har.’
When Artoush came in, the twins jumped into his arms. ‘Daddy, we’re having guests Thursday night! Sophie, and Emily, and everyone, and all...’
All the way home from the piano class I had wanted to say something, wanted to tell Nina no, but she never gave me the chance. Now, as I tried to open my mouth again, she put her hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ll help you out. You won’t have to lift a finger.’ She slipped her arm behind my back and practically pushed me out the kitchen door. ‘You just go invite the neighbors. I’ll take care of the rest.’
Artoush kissed the twins. ‘Not a bad idea. Emile and I will play some chess.’ I left the kitchen, thinking, ‘If only I had thrown that black pawn into the garbage pail.’
I do not know if I closed the front door behind me or not. I headed down the path, opened the gate, but instead of crossing the street, I followed the drainage channel toward the neighborhood square.
I was mad. At Nina for twisting my arm to hold a dinner party because she wanted, as she put it, to fix Violette up with Emile. At Alice, who only thought of herself, and at Mother, who only thought of Alice. At the kids for being happy, and at Artoush, who only thought of chess. Why wasn’t anyone thinking of me? Why didn’t anyone ask me what I wanted?
My compassionate streak complied. ‘So, what do you want?’ I answered, ‘I want to be alone for a few hours a day. I want to talk to somebody about the things I like.’ My critical streak leapt in. ‘Which is it? To be alone, or to talk with somebody?’
I passed by a eucalyptus tree, reached out and picked a leaf, crumpled it up in my hand and smelled it. I walked on a few paces and tossed the mashed-up leaf in the gutter. ‘I want to know what decision the hero of Sardo’s story takes in the end.’ The words came out
, and I took a sudden step backward, having almost stepped on a dead frog, flattened on the sidewalk. It looked as though a fat tire had run smack over it. I muttered under my breath, ‘Curse this city and all its frogs, lizards, and water snakes, dead or alive.’
I reached the square, angry, grumbling, on edge. The sun had set, but it was still hot. A stench rose off the drainage channel. I sat on one of the benches lining the square, a row of Msasa trees and oleander bushes, with their pink and white blossoms, behind me. In the square, under the water tower, a skinny cat was chasing something. A frog, maybe, or a lizard.
A hot gust blew over me and dropped what looked like a pea pod into my lap. For a second, though, I mistook it for a worm or a locust, and instinctively flicked it to the ground, shivering with disgust. I thought how, ever since arriving in Abadan, life seemed like a constant struggle against a multiplicity of winged bugs and creepy crawlies. Ever since I was a little girl, insects were revolting to me, and still were. That, and all the smells that washed over me in Abadan, gave me a constant feeling of nausea: the smell of gas from the refinery, the rancid smell from the drainage channel, the smell of fish and salted shrimp mixed with the Arab perfumes in the Kuwaiti Bazaar – it all combined to make me feel sick whenever I went shopping. Of course, along with all that, perhaps the main culprit was the heat and humidity. Why had I come to this city? Why didn’t I just stay in Tehran?
I thought of our house in Tehran. What a pretty little yard it had. I remembered the little lane and its tall plane trees. Summers when we or one of the neighbors watered the trees, you could smell the wet soil. Winter mornings, before even getting out of bed, I could tell if it had snowed. The light that came streaming in through the bedroom window after a snowfall was different from the light on other days. I remembered snowy days, going to school with gloves, a hat, and a woolen scarf that Mother had knitted for me. What a wonderful sound the crunch-crunch of the snow made under our boots! How many years had it been since I’d seen the snow, or worn my overcoat and gloves, or warmed my hands in front of the heater, or watched the frosty breath come out of my mouth?