Moon at Nine

by Deborah Ellis

‘I want you to deputize some of your classmates. I know you cannot watch them all the time. You have your own studies and personal business to attend to. So I want you to put together a brigade of students who will take turns keeping an eye on Farrin and Sadira. And if there are any transgressions, I want to know immediately. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Principal Kobra.’

  ‘Thank you. Farrin and Sadira, this is my decision. You will continue to attend this school. You will continue to make excellent grades. Other than in matters of academics in the classroom, you will not speak to each other, you will not meet each other, and you will not study together. Frankly, with the study program I will create for you, you won’t have time for anything but your schoolbooks. You will absolutely never be alone together again. Do you understand? Tell me you agree right now or I will expel you immediately.’

  They did not have much choice. ‘Yes, Principal Kobra,’ Farrin said.

  Sadira just nodded her agreement.

  ‘I want to emphasize that the consequences of further transgressions will be much more severe than simple expulsion and the end of your academic futures. This sort of activity is against the natural order and will be seen as an act of treachery against the common good. I do hope you are hearing me on this. Are there any questions?’

  No one had any questions. With a wave of the principal’s hand, everyone was dismissed

  Without looking up, Sadira walked away with her father.

  Farrin didn’t have the courage to call after her.

  The ride back to Farrin’s house was like riding home in a knot that got tighter and tighter the closer they were to home. By the time they arrived at the house, Farrin felt as if she were trapped in a vice.

  Her mother followed Farrin up to her bedroom but did not speak until the door was closed behind them.

  ‘I always knew there was something wrong with you,’ she said. ‘I just never imagined it would be this. All we have given you, all we have done for you – and this is how you pay us back? I should let your father go ahead and marry you off to that monkey nephew of his, and you can go live among the goats and be somebody else’s problem. I should just go ahead and let that happen. It would be better for us if you were dead. How can I explain this to my family? And your father – I know you don’t think much of me, but you can’t even behave yourself for your father’s sake? You are a monster and a freak, and if you do anything more – anything – to bring shame and attention on this family, I will wash my hands of you. I’m not even going to ask you if you understand. You’re a smart girl. You understand.’

  With that, her mother left the room and closed the door. A moment later, Ada brought in some boxes and packed up all Farrin’s videotapes, music cassettes, and books. She took everything out with her and did not look at Farrin once.

  Farrin was left alone.

  She went to her bed. And cried.

  That night she sat by the window. She could not see the moon at nine, but she knew it was there, and she hoped Sadira had not forgotten.

  FIFTEEN

  Dear Farrin:

  I hope you will forgive me for writing this letter. It is going against the rule that forces us apart. But it is not a good rule! If I cannot at least be in touch with you through pen and paper, all I see for my life is desolation.

  I don’t know when – or if – you will get this note. How often do you check your storage bin in the cloakroom? And I will fold it until it is a tiny piece of paper. You could easily miss it – or worse. You could mistake it for scrap and throw it away.

  But I do not believe this will happen. I believe that the love I feel for you has spread from my heart into the ink of my pen. That love will draw you to this note – you will not be able to ignore it.

  If you do not want to respond, I understand. It is a big risk. If you no longer love me, then all hope is gone, and I will resign myself to darkness. I will still treasure every moment I spent knowing you.

  I love you. This love brings only joy to me. No matter what happens next.

  All my love,

  Sadira

  Dearest Sadira:

  Your letter did draw me to it – how brave you were to write it! How lovely you are and how strong. Your love for me is a miracle, one that I am thankful for every day.

  These days I have a lots of time to think. The house is silent. My parents had our housekeeper take away all the things I used to think were entertaining – my television, my tapes of The Night Stalker, my books, my radio, my cassette player. They did this to punish me, I know. But they really did me a favor.

  All I have now is my book about demon hunting and my memories of you. If that is all I ever have in my life, it is enough. But I am not yet ready to bow down to the demons that run the world!

  Know, my love, that I am always looking out for you. We will find a way …

  Love,

  Farrin

  Dearest Farrin:

  Pargol’s little Tikes of Terror are taking great pleasure in not letting me out of their sight for one single second! I have tried several times to get notes to you, but every time I think I have a clear moment, another clutch of Pargol’s juniors comes out of nowhere.

  They laugh and skip around me and say, ‘Where are you going, Sadira? Are you going to see Farrin?’ Their questions make me feel shame, as though I’ve done wrong. But the better part of me knows we have done nothing to be ashamed of. They are too young to understand what it will do to them, this spying on others in hopes of ratting them out. I fear for the future of their characters. I fear for the future of Iran.

  We have hurt no one. We have done nothing against the state or the revolution. If two girls who love each other threaten the revolution, then it isn’t worth much. Time for a new revolution!

  I will get this note to you! I will!

  Love,

  Sadira

  PS: When you hear me cough three times, I am saying, ‘I love you.’

  My lovely Sadira:

  Watching Pargol made Head Girl this morning disgusted me. The only good thing about that whole awful assembly was when you managed to get close to me as we filed out of the gym.

  How much I long to hug you! I have the memory, but I don’t want it to be only in my past. I want a future with you, too.

  There must be a way to let people know we are serious and just want to be together. I have thought of several ways that we could protest what has been done to us, but there is a problem with each idea –

  We could go on a hunger strike. I discounted this idea quickly, since I’m not sure anyone would notice. If they did notice, I’m not sure they would care.

  We could refuse to study. This idea is also no good. Our parents would just decide to marry us off faster. If we don’t graduate we will have fewer choices, no matter what sort of life we end up with.

  We could appeal to someone. Where would we go to do this? Who has the power to keep us together without hating us for loving each other? There is no one who will help us.

  We could run away. There. I’ve said it. I don’t know how we would do it, but I think we should find a way to leave Tehran and maybe even Iran. I don’t know where we could go, but there must be some place where people will leave us alone. They wouldn’t have to like us. As long as they let us be.

  By the way, as a final, insulting exercise of power, my parents took away my demon-hunting book. All my notebooks are gone. All burned. They really don’t like anything about me.

  All my love,

  Farrin

  PS: Three little coughs – the most sublime music in the world!

  Dear Farrin:

  I have also thought of all the things you have thought of, and come to the same conclusion. We can shout, but no one will listen. We can starve ourselves, but no one will notice. We can refuse to study, but we will hurt only ourselves.

  Maybe we could disappear. Maybe no one would mind. They might even be happy to be rid of us. My father already treats me as if I am dead. Wh
y is it anybody’s business if we want to leave? We have no children, no husbands, no responsibilities. Why should anyone care if we want to live together?

  But these are the thoughts of a child. We cannot afford to be children.

  I don’t know why it is anybody’s business, but it is. And if we are caught trying to leave, I have a feeling that it will go very bad for us.

  I can’t see any way out. If we leave, they will find us. If we stay, we are doomed.

  Loving you was still worth it.

  Love,

  Sadira

  PS: Too bad about your book. I hope you will get a chance to rewrite it.

  My dear Sadira:

  I hate that you are so sad and so downhearted. You are nothing but light and music and jasmine and all things good. There should never be a shadow over you. There should not even be the barest hint of a bitter wind touching your gentle face.

  I saw our moon at nine o’clock. It should have made me happy, but it seemed cold and cruel, as if it were taunting us because we cannot be together.

  I need to see you. These notes are too risky and haphazard. What if they fall into the wrong hands? It is only by chance that you were chosen to hand out the physics assignments yesterday, and that you had a note ready to slip to me when you passed my desk. I continue to be in awe of your courage.

  What if I could arrange for us to meet, in secret? Would you risk it?

  All my love,

  Farrin

  Dear Farrin:

  I am so lonely! If only my mother were still alive, she would help me. I’m sure she would.

  The academic studies that used to bring me joy now have the color of doom about them. Each completed lesson brings me closer to the end of whatever time I have left in the same building as you. I live for each glance of your face, for each time I hear your voice give an answer in class, for each group of three short coughs you give in answer to mine.

  When we graduate, that will be the end. I will never see you again.

  This understanding has finally sunk in.

  If I never see you again, I might as well be dead.

  So, yes, I will risk anything to see you.

  Love,

  Sadira

  Dear Sadira:

  For a while, after all this trouble started, my parents put a hold on their stupid social lives. But they are getting back into it. They don’t like each other, and all those evenings with no one to talk to but each other is starting to drive them crazy.

  I am as good as gold. I don’t talk back to my mother. I stay out of my father’s way (he still hasn’t spoken to me). I do all my studies and I don’t complain.

  Maybe they are thinking they can forget about me again. They are having one of their silly parties – the silliest one of the year – on October 31. Can you find a way to slip out of your home in the evening? I have persuaded Ahmad to pick you up and sneak you into my room. We can have a few hours to ourselves, and then he will take you back home before your father discovers you are gone.

  What do you think?

  Love,

  Farrin

  Dear Farrin:

  My father pays so little attention to me now that I doubt he will even notice if I’m not there. He won’t even eat with me. I have to prepare his meal, put it on a tray, and leave the room. Only then will he go to the kitchen, take the tray, and go to his own room to eat.

  As you know, the only door to the house is in my father’s room, but if I can get the screen off the window in my room, I will escape.

  Tell me the time and the place where I should wait for Ahmad. I will be there. Even if it’s only for a few hours, I will be filled with enough hope to keep going.

  We are full human beings, you and I. We are not the property of our parents or our future husbands or the revolution or anybody. Sure, we are born into a country and a culture and a history and a society, and those things will always be a part of us.

  But first and most important, we are human beings with a right to choose for ourselves how we want to live. All we have is our lives. Each person gets just one. We owe our parents and the revolution our respect, but we don’t owe them everything. And everything is what they want.

  I choose you, not just because you are wonderful and not just because you love me.

  I choose you because the act of choosing you belongs to me. It is mine, my choice, my free will.

  I choose you over my father. I choose you over my country.

  And even if you decide you don’t want me, I still choose you.

  Because in choosing you, I am choosing myself.

  Time and place, my darling. I’ll be there.

  All my love,

  Sadira

  SIXTEEN

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’

  The crowd of adults in Farrin’s inner living room raised their glasses to a photo of Reza Pahlavi, the crown prince of Iran, the eldest son of the Shah, and her mother’s greatest hope for the future of civilization.

  The prince has a tea stain on his collar, Farrin thought.

  It was an old photograph. The prince was still a child in it. There used to be a piece of glass protecting the photo, but it was broken during the last birthday party. Someone who’d had too much to drink stumbled into the little table that held the photo and brought the whole thing crashing down. During the cleanup, cold tea was splattered on it.

  Farrin was dressed up and passing around trays of finger foods. The recipe for the pinwheel sandwiches came from one of the old issues of Ladies Home Journal, brought to the house by the Briefcase Man. Everyone raved about how clever the little sandwiches were. Farrin tried one. It was nothing special.

  She kept her eyes on the door as she passed the trays around.

  Acting like the smiling, dutiful daughter was Farrin’s way of trying to make it up to her parents, to prove to them that everything was back the way it was, back when she was too young to know that she could ask questions. Her mother seemed to accept that the obedient, nicely-brushed-up Farrin was the real Farrin. She ordered her around and did not seem at all surprised when Farrin did as she was told.

  Farrin’s father had not spoken to her since the day in the principal’s office. Farrin stayed out of his way.

  Even tonight, as he was standing with some of his business associates and sharing a joke, he did not acknowledge her when she offered a tray to the group. Farrin barely noticed the snub. She had other things to think about.

  Every time the door to the inner room opened, it was just Ada with more food or a new guest arriving.

  Something will go wrong, Farrin thought. She kept a smile on her face and a polite tone to her voice. All you silly people, taking food from me and asking your vapid questions about school – what have any of you ever had to worry about? You have no idea that you are being served by a girl who is about to disobey her parents on a major scale, if all goes right – which it won’t, it won’t. She won’t come. I won’t see her.

  Then the door opened again, and Ahmad stepped inside.

  The nod he gave to Farrin was so slight as to be imperceptible to everyone but her.

  ‘Ahmad, is there a problem?’

  Farrin’s father came over to him.

  ‘Sir, I just wanted you to know that the car is washed and ready for tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Farrin’s father said. ‘That’s your job. Anything else?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then don’t hang about staring at the guests.’

  Ahmad left, closing the door behind him. Farrin busied herself with refilling her tray. She did not look up from the arrangement of small pastries, but she could tell her father was watching her. His shoes were on the floor just a few feet from her – she could see them out of the corner of her eye. They were pointing in her direction.

  She kept rearranging the pastries, afraid that if she looked up her father would know she had a secret.

  At last, one of his friends called him over and the shoes turned and walked away.r />
  Farrin stayed in the room a while longer, chatting pleasantly and even playing a few song requests on the piano. Then, tired of Farrin hogging all the attention, her mother decided to make a speech, and Farrin took the opportunity to slip out of the room.

  In a flash, she was up the stairs and inside her bedroom.

  In the next second, she was wrapped in Sadira’s arms.

  They stood holding each other, not speaking, swaying slightly to the rhythm of their shared heartbeat.

  ‘This is better,’ Sadira said.

  ‘I have missed you so much,’ said Farrin. ‘I can’t not be with you or talk to you. It’s torture.’

  Someone rattled the doorknob and the girls jumped apart. Farrin knew the door was locked, but it gave her a scare.

  ‘Is this the powder room?’ a woman asked from the hallway.

  ‘It’s downstairs by the front door,’ Farrin called back.

  ‘Farrin, dear, is that you? You are such a lovely girl. Such a blessing to your parents.’

  Farrin recognized the voice. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Hafezi. I’m going to bed now – I’m pretty tired.’

  ‘You get your beauty sleep, young lady,’ Mrs. Hafezi said, and then she laughed as if she had made a clever joke. The girls heard her laugh all the way down the stairs.

  ‘Mrs. Hafezi is having a good night,’ Farrin said. ‘They are celebrating the birthday of the crown prince.’

  ‘He’s not here, is he?’ Sadira asked. ‘You told me your mom was a follower of the Shah, but to have the prince right here – ’

  Farrin laughed. ‘Don’t worry. He went to the United States before the revolution. The prince is represented by a very old photograph with a tea stain. Nothing more counterrevolutionary than that.’

  Sadira sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I hope you won’t be mad at me,’ she said.

  ‘Mad at you?’ Farrin sat beside her. ‘I never could be mad at you.’

  ‘You might be when you’ve heard what I’ve done.’

  Farrin was about to ask what Sadira was talking about when she looked over and saw a tote bag dropped alongside the wall by the bookshelf.