“Well, did you have another choice?” I asked her.
“No, there wasn’t another one,” she answered. “In fact, Gholam was my only choice. But I do not regret coming to Canada,” she said, smiling mischievously. “Here, I have more choices.”
“How come?” I asked. “Well...” she started, but stopped to polish the apple in her hand. Then she carefully peeled it, cut it in half, and gave me a piece as she bit into her piece. Her eyes were shining and as the juice from the apple dribbled slightly from the corner of her lips, I couldn’t resist biting into my own piece and filling my own mouth with the apple’s sweet juice. It was only a week after she’d arrived. They were supposed to have gone on their honeymoon. But Sima postponed the trip, saying she was still tired from her long journey from Iran.
I got to know him much better on our honeymoon. He wasn’t unbearable. Not a bad person, actually a good person, generous, honest. He never said “no” to me. But he is boring and dull. I don’t know what he has done with his life. Yes, he’s educated, has an engineering degree, and is working as a programmer. But life shouldn’t be limited to work alone. On our honeymoon, I sometimes I felt I was lying next to a stone, or a statue that showed no compassion or enthusiasm for anything. I couldn’t ever tell whether he was upset or happy. He never showed any emotion. It seemed he had no experience with women and didn’t know anything about them. He didn’t even try to get to know me, didn’t ask me questions about what I like or don’t like. I don’t blame him for not knowing me. How could I? He sometimes stared at me as if I were a strange and alien creature. Once I asked him, “What do you see in me? Do I look bizarre to you?” He turned his eyes away from me and said nothing. He was really boring.
He quickly realized that Sima didn’t like him, and thought marrying him was a mistake. Sima’s silence was full of words: “What a damn choice.” But in her eyes I could see there was something else glittering, as if she were asking, “Why didn’t you send me a videotape and ask me to marry you? Why Gholam? If it had been you, I would have been the happiest girl in the world.” Yes, everything was obvious in her eyes; I could read them clearly. I tried to avoid Sima, not to make things complicated. I stayed in my room in Gholam’s absence, but temptation didn’t leave me. No, it wasn’t me who initiated it. She did.
I trusted Kamyar. We knew each other for more than seven years. He always said, “You’re like a brother to me.” Well, I was like a brother to him. I helped him to settle when he first arrived to Canada. He was young and naïve, and he knew no one. He was a refugee claimant. When a friend of mine introduced him to me, I invited him into my home, and didn’t ask him for rent until he found a job. I loved him, the way I loved my brother Nader, who lost his life for nothing. Kamyar was a good guy and he loved me, too. I encouraged him to go to university and get a degree. I told him, with only a high school diploma, you get nowhere. But he didn’t show any interest in continuing his education. “Take it easy,” Kamyar told me. “Life is too short.”
Kamyar spent most of his spare time reading or going to movies. He dreamed of being a filmmaker and spent most of his money on films and books. He filmed us with his camera in the airport. Before Sima, we didn’t have any problem with each other. Actually, because of his work schedule, we didn’t see each other very often, but he was there and I had a good feeling, as if I was living with my own brother.
My mother loved him, too. He reminded her of Nader, the son she lost in the war. “If you would like, I can find you a match, too,” she had said to him. “There are many girls yearning to leave Iran.”
But Kamyar took it as a joke, laughed loudly and said, “No, Mother, I’m not looking for trouble.”
He is young, and has plenty of time ahead of him, not like me, almost forty, almost bald, and of the few hairs that are left on my head, the grey hairs far outnumber the black ones.
It wasn’t my fault it happened. I didn’t want it to end like that. Yes, at first glance I wished these two could have changed places. But later … I understood their relationship. When Gholam told me they’d been living together for more than seven years, and Kamyar was like his martyr brother, Nader, I tried to look at him as a brother, too. In the beginning, he hid himself in his room. I didn’t want to go to his room but then it happened. A postman came to the door, and I didn’t know the language so I had to call Kamyar for help. At other times there were phone calls, and again there was a language problem and I had to ask Kamyar for help. And after that, we would sit and talk. I was a newcomer and didn’t know much about the city and life in this country. Gholam worked every day and I was at home bored. I talked to Kamyar about my life, about Iran. And he talked about his family. I was talkative when Kamyar was around.
It wasn’t my fault it happened. At first I simply liked her, like a sister-in-law. I never imagined betraying Gholam. It happened. It wasn’t Sima’s fault, either. She was lonely and didn’t love Gholam. I knew Gholam loved her. He looked at her as if she were from Venus. Sima isn’t very pretty: medium height and a bit overweight; she has narrow lips, an eagle nose, and a complexion the colour of wheat. Her long face didn’t match her height and her stout body. But her eyes were big, light brown, glimmering and cheerful. And she was always really happy when she was with me. At the airport, when she appeared from the transit hall, dragging her heavy bags, she greeted us as if she had known us for years. I was supposed to film them, but forgot totally about it and then I when I did film them, it was out of focus. When we watched the film afterward it was funny and we laughed. Not Gholam—he might have realized something, but what? Nothing had happened yet.
They thought I was stupid and realized nothing. They thought I was made of bricks, with no emotion. It was clear to me even that first night, when Sima mostly addressed Kamyar and compared me to him, I figured out he was the one she was attracted to. When we were alone, she asked about him, then excused herself. She didn’t even undress in front of me. She changed into her nightgown in the bathroom, turned the light off, and climbed into bed. She faced the wall, her back to me, and mumbled a good night. She excused herself, saying she was tired from travelling such a long way. But I was awake the whole night, and I couldn’t believe I had a woman in my bed, a goddess. Her perfume made me dizzy, but I didn’t dare touch her to wake her up. She slept like a log and I had to go to work the next day. I didn’t take a day off; I left it for our honeymoon.
On our honeymoon I realized I couldn’t live with him. He wasn’t my type. I couldn’t make myself love him. I knew my parents would be hurt and would turn against me. But what could I do? I couldn’t lie to myself. I told Kamyar, “I have nobody here except you. I don’t love Gholam. What should I do?” He looked at me in silence. How long? I don’t know.
I don’t know how it happened. Yes, I liked her. I liked her from the very first night. She bewitched me. I don’t know how we ended up in each other’s arms and later in my bedroom. She said, “What do we do now?”
I told Kamyar, “Let’s leave here. Here isn’t our place anymore. I can’t face Gholam. I know what I’ve done. In Iran, a woman who commits adultery is stoned to death.”
She was terrified. She imagined she would be condemned to death. I made her understand we weren’t in Iran and she was safe here, didn’t have to answer to anyone except herself. I told her, I will leave this place and you will behave as if nothing has happened.
Kamyar wanted to leave me and then I would have to cope with my sin alone. I beseeched and cried, “Please, don’t leave me. Aren’t you in love with me?”
He said, “I am, but I love Gholam, too, I respect him, he’s like a brother to me. He has done a lot for me and I can’t steal his wife from him in turn.”
I told him, “We’d better talk to Gholam and then leave.”
They’re waiting to hear the last word from me. To hear that they can be together and go to their own way. I paid for the wedding, paid for her jewellery, paid for th
e ticket to bring over a wife for Kamyar. They misunderstood me. I watched them and waited to see which one would feel guilty and break first. I know Sima can’t be a wife for me. But I didn’t want to lose her so easily. I want her to pay for this transgression. She must feel the shame of this. She thought she could take Kamyar away from me. I had a taste of what it would be like to have a wife; to come home and find my supper on the table, my house clean, and the aroma of a woman’s perfume making my legs tremble.
I look at Sima in silence and blame her without saying a word, making her feel ashamed of herself. And you, Kamyar, whenever you get close to my wife, I’ll be a thorn in your eyes. Wait, and I’ll show you.
When I introduced Mina to Sima, her eyes filled with tears, but she was able to keep herself from crying. I had known Mina for a few years. We were just friends and had never dated. I liked her. She was an independent woman; she lived by herself and was always busy. She’s twenty-four and always said, “I don’t have time for men.” When I told her about Sima, she said, “You’re in a big mess.”
“How do I get rid of this mess?” I asked her, sincerely looking for help.
She said, “Marry me.” She was serious.
I was shocked and asked, “Do you mean it?”
She replied, “Yes, of course, I love you.”
Within a week, we got married at the city hall. Gholam and Sima were our witnesses. They accompanied us to the airport. I couldn’t stay in that house another minute, or even in this city any more. I couldn’t do anything for Sima. She chose her husband from almost seven thousand kilometres away. Now it’s up to her what she wants to do with him.
Where Is Paradise?
For all those children who lost one or both parents during the eighties and in the mass executions in 1980 in prisons of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
MAMAN JAAN, IS IT TRUE that you’ve gone to paradise, among the stars? If that’s so, why does Grandma take me to Beheshte Zahra every Thursday afternoon and sit by a grave and lament for you? I can read your name on a piece of stone: “Setareh Dadfar.”
I asked Grandma why my mother’s family name is different from mine and she said your mom has her own father’s family name and you have yours. Where is my father anyway?
I haven’t seen you to be able to tell you that since you sent me home with Grandma, Ammeh Pooran came to visit and took me to Khanum jaan’s place. But I didn’t see my Baba jaan there. When Khanum jaan saw me, she hugged me and wailed loudly. I asked for Baba jaan. Khanum jaan said, “Your Baba jaan is in paradise.” So, are you both together in paradise?
You know, Maman jaan, when I was with you in Evin, I was so happy. I had many khalehs and ammehs over there. All of them loved me, and when you were taken away from me, then came back—sick with your feet swollen and unable to walk—they entertained me, telling me stories and making me small toys like that doll. Do you remember that doll? I liked it very much even though it wasn’t pretty. I don’t know what happened to that doll. I lost it when I was in Evin. Actually, I didn’t lose it. The guards took it from me. But why? It was a little doll, not very pretty, not like those I had at home. She had only two dots for eyes and some loose black threads on her head for hair. Whenever the guards came for you, I started to cry, but the khalehs and ammehs kept me occupied with that doll and told me stories about her.
Now just Grandma tells me stories. She says they are the same stories she told you when you were the same age as me. I love Grandma but I don’t like that she calls me “poor child.” I tell her, I’m not poor, my father and mother are engineers. She still calls me “my poor child.” Nobody calls me “my daughter” anymore. I envy Lili. Do you remember Lili? But I know that you didn’t see her. She was born when we were in Evin. She’s Khalehs Ladan’s daughter, still just a baby. She’s so cute, and Khaleh Ladan calls her “my daughter,” “my darling.” I ask her what about me? Whose daughter am I now? She hugs me and says, “You are a courageous girl, like your maman.” I want to be like you, but I don’t want to be in Evin, to be flogged, have swollen and black feet, and then to go paradise. I don’t want to leave my little girl without a maman and a baba. Sometimes I envy Lili, even though she’s just a baby; she has a maman and a baba and I have neither.
Still, I’m wondering what happened to you. It’s hard for me to believe that you left me behind and went to paradise. After you sent me home with Grandma, I never saw you again. I asked Grandma many times to take me to Evin to see you and be with you. She cried, “Damn Evin. My daughter is not there anymore.”
“Where’s she now?” I asked.
“She’s in paradise, my poor child,” she wailed. “She’s among the stars.” But where’s paradise, for God’s sake? Why won’t anyone take me to paradise to be with you and Baba jaan? I miss both of you. I miss our apartment, too. You remember I had a room for myself: a bed, a dresser, and a desk. I had beautiful dolls, many toys and books. I ask Grandma to take me to our apartment. I want to sleep in my bed. Sometimes I think you and Baba jaan are there and sent me to visit with Grandma for just a few days; that you will come back and get me. But sometimes I can’t remember Baba jaan’s face. When I see Lili’s baba, I mean Mr. Shapoor, I remember that I once had a baba too. But what happened to him? When Ammeh Pooran took me to Khanum jaan’s place, I looked for my Baba jaan, but he wasn’t there, either. I remember the days we went there with you and Baba jaan, and Khanum jaan always made me cookies, which I liked very much. Baba jaan made me a swing that hung from a big tree. He sat me on the swing and pushed it. Khanum jaan warned Baba jaan, “Be careful. Don’t let my little girl fall or get hurt.” We were so happy in those times. You and Baba jaan loved me. Whenever you picked me up from daycare, you kissed me and called me “my dear daughter.” Now nobody calls me “my daughter” anymore, as if I am no one’s daughter any longer. Grandma calls me “poor child.” If you and Baba jaan hadn’t gone to paradise or if you’d taken me with you, nobody would call me poor.
One day, when I was crying and asking for you, Grandma called me “poor child” again. I got so angry with her, I banged my head against the wall and screamed, “I don’t like to be called poor! I am not poor.”
She hugged me and caressed me, and said, “I know you’re not poor but…”
But what? I don’t understand. If I am not poor, why does Grandma call me that?
You know Maman jaan, even though I am in Grade Two, there are things I don’t understand. First, why did you leave for paradise without me? Am I not your adorable daughter anymore? Is paradise a better place than our apartment? Still, I can’t believe that you forgot about me. You loved me so much. I remember when we were in Evin, you hugged me so tight sometimes I couldn’t breathe. Well, I didn’t say anything, but I liked it. I wish those days had never ended and that I was with you all the time. I don’t know what happened that you sent me home with Grandma. Your eyes were full of tears but you didn’t cry. You told me, be a good girl, a courageous girl. I asked you, when are you getting out of Evin? When can I be with you again? You said nothing. I started to cry, but you hugged me and said, “You shouldn’t cry. Never cry. Be a brave girl.” Maman jaan, I don’t know if I’m brave or not, but I know I miss you terribly.
I remember you always kissed my hands or feet when I got hurt. I wanted to do the same when your feet were swollen and black but you wouldn’t let me. Why? I regret it so much that I didn’t kiss your wounded feet.
You know, my Maman jaan, since you’ve left, the worst thing for me is going to school. I don’t want to talk about it, but, well, it’s hard to keep it to myself. Grandma takes me to school every day and when the kids see me with her, they ask me, “Is she your Maman?” I say, “No, she is my Grandma.” Then they ask me, “Where’s your maman and baba? Why don’t they take you to school? Are they dead?” I scream at them and shout, “No, they’re not dead! They are in paradise!”
Once, our teacher saw me crying and hitting my hea
d with my fists. She called me and asked me what happened. I told her everything about you and Baba jaan. I even told her that I was in Evin with you and told her I don’t know what happened to you and Baba jaan. Then I told her that I don’t know if you’re in paradise or in Beheshte Zahra. She hugged me and caressed me and said, “You are a courageous girl, like your maman. You should be proud of your maman and baba. They have been brave people.”
I asked her, “Are they really in paradise? And why didn’t they take me with them?”
She said, “They left you behind to continue their lives.” I didn’t understand her very well, but her words soothed me. She changed my seat to the front row and every once a while she smiles at me. Since then my classmates don’t ask me about you and Baba jaan any more. But I don’t like to be friends with them. All of them have a maman and a baba and I don’t have either one. Some of them come to school in a car, but Grandma doesn’t have a car. She even doesn’t know how to drive. Sometimes Khaleh Ladan gives us a ride to Beheshte Zahra, but mostly we get there by bus and it makes me so tired.
Maman jaan, to tell you the truth, I don’t like to go to Beheshte Zahra. I don’t see you and Baba jaan there, only your names on a piece of stone. And there’s nothing for me to play with, not even a swing, and if there were, who would push me?
You see Maman jaan, since you and Baba jaan left me behind and went I don’t know where, I am so miserable. If Grandma calls me poor, she might be right. But I don’t want to be poor. I want to be your little daughter, your adorable child, as you used to call me, to be a courageous girl. Please come back to me. I don’t want you to be among the stars. There’re so many stars in the sky. I want you to be here, a star with me as you were before going to Evin. I want you back, you and Baba jaan. Please, please, please.
Coffee Cup Fortune
AFTER FATHER CLAIMED BANKRUPTCY and sold our Niavaran house to pay his debts, Maman finally decided to pay a visit to Soraya joon. We had moved to the apartment on Mirdamad Street and our life of luxury had become a story that belonged to the past. I believed Maman wanted to reconcile with Soraya joon. It was almost two years since Soraya joon had stopped visiting us. It was my mother who had cut the string between them, which had been very strong and went back to their childhood.
The Street of Butterflies Page 8