by Sara Farizan
Parveen looks up at me, her sad expression letting me know that my dreams won’t come true. “There is no fairy godmother, Cinderella. Life doesn’t work that way. If you’re patient and go through the steps, you will be able to change. But there’s a lot of energy that goes into a transformation,” Parveen says. I slump back onto the sofa. Everyone is staring at me. I can feel it, and my face grows hot.
“I can get you hormones,” Katayoun says in a quiet voice.
“Yes. Please.”
Parveen rubs my back, and I’m so tired. So very tired.
“Prepare yourself, child,” Maryam says. “You have no idea what’s in store for you.”
I see their faces, sympathetic, worn, and beautiful. They will help. They know what it is like to be desperate to change.
13
KATAYOUN AGREED TO MEET me for lunch at Restaurant Javan. I’ve been waiting for her for a half hour, and I’m getting worried. The wedding is a month away, and nothing has changed. Reza is still handsome. Nasrin is still in denial. And Mrs. Mehdi is still fixing up her father’s estate for the wedding. Nasrin’s grandfather has a huge house with a big basement. The plan is to turn the basement into a subterranean dance party for the reception. I imagine it will be a tamer version of one of Ali’s parties. Dariush is upset that he is not allowed to play DJ. Mrs. Mehdi has sense enough to limit her son’s musical opportunities.
I asked the funny-looking man in the orange suit who runs the restaurant for a private table. He was more than accommodating, just like last time, but when he asked if Ali would be joining me, I lied and said he might show up. It’s early enough that Ali is probably still in bed. At last Katayoun enters meekly, and I wave at her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, sitting down across from me. She glances around the room, a light sweat blooming on her upper lip.
“That’s all right. Were you able to—?”
She answers by handing me a large paper bag. There it is, the start of my new life. I put the bag in my book bag and smile gratefully. “How much do I owe you?”
Katayoun shakes her head. “It’s been paid for.”
“Who . . . um, I mean, who paid, so I can properly thank them?”
“We all pitched in. Goli khanum and the rest of our group. Except for Maryam.” I could die from embarrassment. Katayoun tells me how often I should take the drugs, explaining that I should insert the syringe in my thigh or my rear end. I should avoid veins, bones, and nerves. She emphasizes not to take more than I should, one cc a month. That gives me time for only one injection before the wedding. Maybe a beard will start to sprout, and Nasrin will see that I’m serious. It’s scaring me a little.
“How long have you been taking them?” I ask as Katayoun continues to look around the room.
“A little over a year.” Her eyes lock onto mine with a nervous intensity. “Why did you pick this place?” Her expression is like that of the cat I see by the schoolyard, skittish and fearful of everyone and everything nearby.
“I just thought you’d be more comfortable. There’s a diverse crowd here, so—”
“A diverse crowd? Is that how you would put it?” Her tone has turned icy. Katayoun’s face is scarlet, and her hands are clenched in fists on the table as if she is about to pound on it.
“It’s safe to . . . Well, to be one’s self in here. I mean, there is less of a chance of judgment or, I don’t know, more of a chance for people who, I imagine, are sympathetic.”
“I’m not like them! You hear me? What they do is unnatural.” She whispers as her eyes train on a table of two men giving each other affectionate glances. It’s the seething rage I don’t understand. In meetings Katayoun is usually so demure and easily startled, especially when Maryam throws a verbal barb her way.
“I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“Thought what? That I am the same as these . . . these perverts, just because I am different?” Some lady she turned out to be. She at least has the courtesy to whisper these hurtful things. They’re hurtful because she’s talking about me. I’m a pervert. Even if I change, my feelings for Nasrin have always been there.
“I thought by being someone who is different, you might sympathize with others who are also different.” I don’t want to argue with her. She was kind enough to bring me what I need, even if she is being an absolute bitch. Katayoun leans in, her face close to mine, and I can’t will myself to move my head away for fear she might attack me.
“My illness is treatable. Their malady is a bargain made with the devil. The Republic knows that, the Koran knows that, and you damn well better know that if you are to survive in this society.”
I slap Katayoun.
I should be apologetic. I’m not. I don’t know where that came from—but it came, and a part of me is glad. My hand burns with shame as Katayoun begins to cry. Before I can apologize, she stands up and reaches for my book bag. She wants the hormones back. Like hell am I going to give them up. She beats her bony fists on my shoulders, calling me a liar and a degenerate. I grip my book bag tightly, blocking Katayoun with my body, though I’m still planted in my chair. Two servers arrive to break us up, but neither of them is allowed to touch us because we are women, so they waddle back and forth in between us like limping penguins. One of them tries to puff out his chest as big as he can to keep me from Katayoun, his hands behind his back.
“Give it back!” Katayoun shrieks. “You don’t really want them! You’re one of them,” No! She’s trying to take away my only hope. I slap her again with the back of my hand—I’ll show her how manly I can be—and doing so feels good.
“Don’t you dare judge me, you piece of trash.” Oh my god—I said that out loud! Good! She had it coming. I clutch the book bag to my chest, hugging it like a life vest.
“What’s all this?”
Oh no. Ali. He sounds so calm. I was stupid to think I wouldn’t run into him, even though he’s never out of his apartment this early. We should have met at Max Burger, but after the way Parveen was treated there, I didn’t want Katayoun to face the same ugliness. I didn’t expect her to be such a judgmental donkey butt.
“She took something of mine and won’t give it back!” Katayoun shrieks. Now she’s accusing me of stealing. Ajab gereftari—what are the odds? When did this become my life?
“She did?” Ali turns to me. “Well, give it back. I’m sure I can buy you whatever junk this poor creature is peddling.” He doesn’t even defend me. He knows I would never steal.
“No. I need it.” I’m not going to just roll over because he says so. He’s used to people doing that, but I won’t. This is none of his business! It’s my body, my life, my love, and I will do with all of it what I can. Ali shoos away the two servers and the sad bald man in charge, all of whom have been hovering around the edges. They oblige and retreat, while others in the restaurant watch our display with great interest. I always manage to make a scene at this stupid place, with its cheap decor and mediocre food. Ali motions for Katayoun to sit. She refuses, shaking her head and with her arms folded across her chest.
Ali doesn’t bat an eye. He sits across from me and extends his hand. “Whatever it is, I can get it for you in abundance. Just hand it back and she—I’m sorry, your name?” Ali asks smoothly, grinning at Katayoun in the way he has learned from the movies. He channels Fardin, an old, Persian movie star, and a bit of Cary Grant. He loves black-and-white movies. I like some of them, too, but never watch them because Nasrin falls asleep.
“Katayoun,” she says, calmer.
“Lovely. Won’t you sit down?” He pulls over a chair from the next table. “I promise you what is owed you.” He’s actually flirting with her, and he’s believable at that. She sits next to Ali. He smiles at her again before directing his attention toward me. “Now, what is it that you need so badly, Sahar?” I don’t answer. He’s getting annoyed. He turns back to Katayoun. She’s melting under his gaze.
“I was delivering hormones for before her operation,” Katay
oun confesses. I shut my eyes. When I open them, Ali looks at me like I have just told him I have killed Britney Spears, Madonna, and Lady Gaga.
Ali extends his hand again, but I refuse to hand him the bag. His jaw clenches. “Give it to me, Sahar. Or I will have you arrested.”
“You wouldn’t! You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly.” His tone is chilling and stirs such fear in me that I know he is serious. He has the power to do it. A call to Farshad, and I would be detained for a day, possibly beaten. I could risk prison. What’s the worst they can do? I don’t have much else to live for. I don’t even study these days. I do my homework and take the tests, but it means nothing. I feel absolutely alone. “Give it to me, Sahar. We’ll figure something out.” I don’t know if he’s lying, but the way he says it reminds me of Maman. Damn him and his strong genes.
I plop my book bag on the table, and Katayoun rifles through it, procuring the coveted treasure. Ali just stares at me.
“You can go now.” He raises his hand to shoo away Katayoun. She looks gutted and I’m glad, but I’m envious of her as she rushes out of the restaurant.
“You would really have me arrested?” I ask.
Ali leans back in his chair and purses his lips. “You would really be a man? What are you thinking?” I thought he would be supportive. He’s so indifferent about what I do as it is, why should he care now? He gets whatever he wants. Why can’t I get this one crucial thing? “It doesn’t make everything go away. You will have to live in a body that isn’t yours. A body that you don’t belong in.”
“It’s legal this way,” I whisper. Why can’t he see that? I’m going to be free as a man. I’m going to live life fully for once.
He shakes his head. “She’s not going to leave him. No matter what crazy thing you do.”
That’s not . . . He doesn’t know that. I mean, she may just postpone the wedding or maybe Reza will fall down a cliff. The reality hits in a way it never has. I gasp. Everything is blurry. Ali motions a server for water. I drink, but it quenches nothing.
“Did Parveen put you up to it? Make it sound wonderful?” I shake my head. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Nasrin . . . she likes you as you are. A male version of you would be perverse. It would frighten her.”
No. I’m not going to give up. Even if it’s wrong, there is still a chance, and that’s more than I have as a woman. A chance. My only chance. I’m going to have that operation, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me. I just have to figure out who is going to help me.
14
BABA IS BUILDING A dresser for Nasrin and Reza. Mrs. Mehdi commissioned it, but I have a feeling it’s more of a gift to my father than it is to her daughter. I’m grateful it gives him something to do, and he seems to enjoy his work again. It’s a start. The past few nights he has stayed late at the workshop, and I have had the apartment to myself and my own thoughts. When I should be thinking about math equations and literature, I’m thinking about whether Parveen will help me. Even if my change isn’t finished in time, maybe Nasrin won’t go through with the wedding.
Nasrin will see me in the room, with peach fuzz growing from my chin, and she will stand up from the ceremony. She will topple over the sofra, all the elements before her: the pastries, flowers, candelabras, the cup of honey, the bowl of gold coins breaking. The mirror that the young couple is supposed to see themselves in will shatter, and we’ll run away. A helicopter will be waiting for us to take us to Switzerland, where I will finally learn how to ski while Nasrin sits in a lodge eating chocolates. OK, none of that will happen, but if she knows I’m doing this, she will call off the wedding. She has to wait for me.
The intercom in our apartment buzzes. I’m not expecting anyone. I get up from the kitchen table, abandoning my books yet again, and push the intercom button. “Yes?”
“It’s Parveen. May I come up?” I hesitate. After the debacle with Katayoun, I am sure word has gotten around that I am not who I presented myself to be. Parveen has been kind to me, though. I don’t see why she would act differently now. I buzz her in and open the door, waiting for her to reach me at the top of the stairs. I can hear her high heels clack. I watch her from the doorway as she glides up the stairs. She is more of a woman than I will ever be. Being a woman comes naturally to her, effortlessly, and sometimes I wish I didn’t know she is transsexual. It might make me feel better about my neglect of feminine pursuits. At least I wouldn’t keep thinking about it when I speak with her.
“Salam, Sahar joon,” Parveen says as she enters, kissing me on both cheeks. I lead her into the living room and wait for her to sit down. I offer her tea, but she declines. She can’t stay for long. I sit down, waiting for a lecture or some kind of reproach for the way things happened at Restaurant Javan. Neither comes. Instead she asks me about the test and school. I’m grateful. Is it possible Katayoun didn’t tell her? Our small talk continues for a while. We discuss the weather and how humid the days have become recently. Parveen even tells me a tame joke about a gorilla and tiger. I don’t find it all that funny, but I laugh anyway.
“So, do you want to tell me why you really want to have the operation?” she asks at last.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am caught off guard. My heart beats fast.
“As I said before, I feel like I am in the wrong—”
“It’s okay, Sahar. I won’t judge you. Just please don’t lie to me or yourself anymore.” I swallow down the fear that’s been lodged in my throat for weeks.
“I suppose Katayoun told you.”
“No. Your cousin called me. He sounded very concerned.” She’s waiting for me to explain myself, but I just can’t. She clears her throat and goes in for the kill. “He mentioned a friend of yours getting married.” My eyes snap wide. I could kill Ali. Parveen reaches over to take my hand in hers. “You didn’t judge me, Sahar joon. I have no reason to judge you now.”
I take a deep breath and apologize for deceiving her over and over again. I surprise myself by not crying. I don’t explain the nature of my relationship with Nasrin, but I’m sure Ali has said more than he should. All I can tell her is that I thought my life would be easier as a man.
Parveen pats my hand and tells me I couldn’t be more wrong. She tells me about Maryam and how Maryam, as a man, was in love with another man, which her older brother found out about. The brother was so angry, he threatened to turn Maryam into the police unless she changed from a man to a woman. Since her surgery, Maryam has become a heroin addict. She is always angry and has even attempted suicide. Goli khanum eventually took Maryam in to keep an eye on her, but Parveen wonders if some souls just can’t be saved.
I’ve watched Maryam in meetings. The way she scoffs at others in the group and isolates herself made me think she just hates everybody else. I guess she hates herself . . . and maybe everyone else in the world, too.
“Do you want to end up like Maryam?” Parveen asks. “Bitter, depressed, and stuck?”
I know Parveen means well, but I have decided. “I know I’m not like you, and I’m sorry for pretending, but I can’t turn away from this now. I will always wonder if . . . if she could love me if the circumstances were in our favor.”
Parveen shakes her head and bites her lip. She thinks I’m incredibly stupid. I flush. She isn’t wrong, but I always used to think I was so intelligent. Everyone told me I was. My parents, my teachers, my classmates, the Mehdis . . . Maybe Nasrin has been the smart one all along. She’ll have a life of wealth, comfort, and privilege, and I will be left with nothing. Nasrin is all I care about—I don’t have anyone else. I’m afraid of what my life will be like without her.
Parveen takes a deep breath and tries again. “I think this is a mistake for you, Sahar. You are not going to benefit from this the way a transsexual would. But you’ve made up your mind.” I nod emphatically. It is what I want.
Isn’t it?
“Is this girl worth it? I can’t think much of a girl
who would put you in this position, but is she really worth it? Have you discussed this with her? I can tell you, I have had people who don’t accept me any longer because of my change. Relatives, friends, boyfriends—this is not an easy life. Will she accept you? Have you thought about all this?” Parveen is crying now, and I have never seen her do that before. She’s always been so happy and confident. I embrace her and she folds into me, her tears dampening my shoulder. I don’t let go until she is ready and backs away. She wipes her eyes and chuckles in embarrassment. “This life is not easy, but it’s the one I wanted for myself. I just wish people would be more understanding. But you . . . You will be living a lie.”
“I already am living a lie. What’s another?”
Parveen takes in the statement and shakes her head. “Sahar, what you’re thinking of doing is not right. I don’t want you to regret this.”
I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I am a delusional fool. I know what I’m doing! Kind of. “I’m going to do it, whether you help me or not. Who knows what will happen to me if you don’t help me?”
And with that Parveen agrees to help. She says she will set up an appointment with her former surgeon, Dr. Hosseini, a few days from now. I will have to miss school, which I have never done before, but I am more than willing. I don’t even care if Baba finds out. He hasn’t noticed anything about me in the past few years, so I doubt he will know I have missed school. I doubt he would even notice if I came home as a boy. The appointment with the doctor is just a preliminary meeting, during which he will explain that there is no way I can have the surgery before the wedding. I don’t care. Divorce is legal in Iran, and maybe by the time I have a handle on being a man Nasrin will realize her marriage is a farce—and we can be together. Wouldn’t that be incredible?
The buzzer sounds again, and I get up to check the intercom. There’s only one person it could be. I stand up and push the button to speak.