by Kimia Eslah
“Bale, yes, Maman,” Mojegan agreed with her mother inattentively.
After two weeks, Mojegan was tired of hearing her mother compliment Reza so much. She did not think anyone, including her handsome and generous husband, should be placed on a pedestal but she did not intend to spoil her mother’s bliss. Reza was happy to be admired and reciprocated by praising Batoul to others whenever she was in hearing distance. He assured Batoul that were his parents still alive, they would also agree that she is an exceptional hostess. Batoul smiled humbly and offered him more sweets.
On her last day in Shiraz before they returned to Tehran, Mojegan sought solace among her sisters. “She just won’t stop,” Mojegan confided while they had tea in Akram’s sitting room.
The house was empty with everyone at school and work, and they expected Azadeh to join them shortly.
“Uh-huh.” Akram poured tea and offered a plate of pastries for a fourth time.
When Mojegan declined the sweets, Akram started picking lint off the carpet.
“Akram,” Mojegan asked, concerned, placing a hand on Akram’s folded knee, “what do you know?”
“Hm,” Akram still refused to look up at her youngest sister.
“Akram, lotfan, please,” Mojegan pleaded and squeezed Akram’s knee.
“She’s happy for you,” Akram insisted before she looked away again.
“I see.” Mojegan felt she needed to apply more pressure still. “And the praise?”
“She’s happy for you, that you found a husband, and that he’s such a decent person,” said Akram, continuing to look away.
“She was … worried, worried that I wouldn’t find a good husband?” Mojegan guessed. “Is that it?”
Akram raised and lowered her brow in a subtle movement that only her close relations would recognize as acknowledgement.
“She thought I couldn’t find a husband!” Mojegan said loudly.
At this, Akram cast her gaze to the carpet in a statement of disapproval. She was a quiet person who preferred the company of quiet people and thought less of those who raised their voices. To her, it was melodramatic and uncouth.
“What are you yelling about?” asked Azadeh. She stood in the doorway, holding yet another box of sweets and a bouquet of lush red tulips. Azadeh kissed each sister thrice on the cheeks and then sat opposite Mojegan. Akram poured her a glass of tea and served it with one sugar cube in the saucer.
Even Mojegan, who felt cross, offered sweets and fruit to Azadeh before she proceeded with the conversation. “Maman didn’t think I could find a husband,” Mojegan said indignantly, at a respectable volume.
“Oh, that. Well, you did, so that settles that.” Azadeh smiled at each sister. Casually, she picked her favourite sweets from the platter, nan-e nokhodchi. The delicate flower-shaped cookies made of roasted chickpea flour melted on her tongue instantly.
“You knew about this?” Mojegan’s voice rose again. “I don’t understand. She’s grateful that Reza married me? Is that it?”
Akram tutted her disapproval and offered the platter of sweets to Mojegan. Mojegan’s expression transformed from outrage to cordiality as she turned to Akram to express gratitude and contentment. Just as quickly, she frowned again and peered at Azadeh.
“This matters. I want to know what she said.” Mojegan heard the hurt in her voice, as did her sisters.
“Mojeeh, she wants you to be happy. That’s what she wants for all of us,” Azadeh pleaded for compassion. “She worried that with you being away from home and working so much, you might not meet someone.”
“She’s told me that before.” Mojegan spoke kindheartedly of her mother.
“Well, that’s it then.” Akram picked up the platter and extended it to her sisters. “Cookies?”
“No, that’s not it,” insisted Mojegan with her gaze focused on Azadeh. “What else is she worried about?”
Azadeh and Akram exchanged subtle looks. Then Akram shrugged so slightly that the movement was nearly undetectable.
“Maman is old fashioned, you know that,” Azadeh began in her diplomatic manner. “She believes women must concentrate on their families and their homes.”
Mojegan did know this. During the course of her childhood, she learned many skills that she doubted she would ever need. One summer, Maman taught her to make vinegar. One winter, they made a mattress together, including washing and carding the wool. Every year, she was expected to sew a dress for herself. Looking back, Mojegan felt somewhat nostalgic about these times. Maman had described the importance of these skills to keeping house and raising a family. Mojegan had not challenged her mother’s opinions in spite of her plans to rely on gas stoves, washing machines, and department stores to manage her household in the modern world. She was happy to simply spend time with her mother in the hopes of earning her praise. Mojegan tried her best to master her chores but she never sought to perfect her skills. In comparison, nursing offered her never-ending, meaningful opportunities to learn, challenge herself, and change lives. She never expressed her passion for nursing to her mother fully. Mojegan did not want to offend her by implying that being a homemaker was unimportant or unchallenging. Instead, in the company of her mother, Mojegan lived respectfully in the past.
“Okay, go on,” Mojegan encouraged Azadeh.
“Well, you’re a modern woman with a career. She was worried that a man might not be so … interested in a modern woman.” Azadeh finished with a look that was partly sympathy and partly amusement.
Yes, of course. This, I also knew, thought Mojegan, feeling dejected. She always worried that my career would keep me from having a family. She knew it was futile to broach this topic with her mother. Instead, she told herself to let it rest. Still, she felt dissatisfied in her resolution. Mojegan bit her lower lip and slumped in her seat.
Akram smiled lovingly. She raised the platter again to Mojegan, “Sweet?”
***
As the sun began to set over the Tehran skyline, Reza parked the Paykan on the street half a block from Bita’s apartment. Reza had picked up Mojegan from the nurses’ residence, where she continued to live while they looked for a suitable home. The trees had filled with bright green leaves but the spring air was still cool. As Mojegan stepped onto the curb, she wrapped a white shawl around her bare shoulders. Reza liked her to dress elegantly with prominent jewelry and makeup, but she chose a modest green swing dress to match the type of outfit she imagined Bita might wear. To compensate, she wore large pearl earrings and her hair in a bouffant. It did not have the desired impact on Reza. Upon first seeing Mojegan when he stepped into the foyer of her residence, Reza mentioned that she still had time to change.
“Your hair looks great and so do your earrings,” he said, putting both hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels.
When Mojegan proceeded past him to the car, he followed with a shrug. “You would look so much better in one of the dresses I bought you.” Reza held the car door open for her.
Mojegan sat wordlessly. As Reza walked around the car to the driver’s side, she tried to de-escalate her anger. Reza has his preferences, and he wants me to look my best. He just doesn’t understand Bita and Davoud, Mojegan counselled herself.
“I love you, Reza,” she said sweetly when he entered the car. She leaned forward with her eyes closed, and he kissed her puckered lips.
“I love you, too,” replied Reza as he started the engine. “Now, where do they live?”
Once they arrived at the apartment complex, Reza said little. He held the door open for Mojegan to enter the lobby. Mojegan pressed the elevator button and heard the sound of the lift descending. From the corner of her eyes, she watched Reza walk about the lobby, inspect the couch and coffee table, and then frown to himself. When the elevator doors opened, a young foreign couple emerged who were similar in age to Reza and Mojegan. Mojegan had heard them talking excitedly a
s the elevator descended, and she saw that they were delighted in each other’s company, though she did not know what they were saying. When they stepped out and saw Mojegan and Reza, they both smiled and slightly bowed their heads.
“Salam,” the couple said at once.
“Hello,” Reza replied in English.
The couple smiled and continued out the lobby door. Reza walked into the open elevator, and Mojegan, slightly surprised by his use of English, caught up quickly.
“I didn’t know you spoke English,” Mojegan smiled at him.
“Pardon me, do you have a match?” Reza asked in English. He wore an amusing expression with one eyebrow raised and his lips smiling but puckered slightly.
“Chi megee? What are you saying?” Mojegan laughed at his odd expression and reached to press the sixth-floor button.
“It’s from James Bond. Pardon me, do you have a match? He’s asking for a match.” With that Reza lifted Mojegan’s chin with two fingers and kissed her.
Davoud greeted them enthusiastically at the apartment door. He asked whether they had found a good place to park, and he thanked them for the flowers and pastries they brought. After hanging up their jackets and leading them to the living room, Davoud asked what they would like to drink. Reza requested a double whiskey neat, and Mojegan explained that she was on shift the next day and had better not drink.
“Mojegan, have one. Hold it in your hand.” Reza looked at her pleadingly.
Davoud smiled and shrugged slightly at Mojegan to express the sentiment that harmlessly appeasing a spouse was part and parcel of married life.
“A small glass of wine, please, thank you,” said Mojegan and turned with a lovely smile to Reza. No point trying to please him if I ruin the effect by sulking, she thought.
“Excuse my bad manners but I’ll join you shortly,” Bita called from the kitchen.
“Is there anything I can help with?” Mojegan offered.
“No, no, please enjoy yourselves,” Bita replied.
Davoud carried two tumblers of whiskey and two glasses of wine precariously across the room to Mojegan and Reza. Bita arrived with a bowl of fragrant borani esfenaj; she added the creamed spinach and yogurt dish to the abundant spread of prepared dishes, fresh fruits, and nuts on the low table.
“Bah, bah! Wonderful!” Reza complimented Bita.
“Yes, it really is beautiful,” Mojegan reached forward and patted Bita on her knee. “So beautiful, it seems a shame to disturb it.”
“Lotfan, please!” Bita placed a variety of sweet and savoury foods on a small dish before she passed it to Mojegan.
“First, let us toast the newlyweds.” Davoud rose with his tumbler in hand.
They all stood around the table. Davoud wished Reza and Mojegan a joyous future filled with good health and much happiness. The couples clinked glasses, and Mojegan reached for Reza’s hand. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squeezed her close, and kissed her forehead.
The evening went along gaily with Bita and Reza bantering playfully. Mojegan felt her heart expanding with this new spring of happiness. Several times, she squeezed Reza’s hand to release the intensity of blissful emotions that overwhelmed her.
Reza was a delightful guest, full of gratitude, compliments, and conversation. She also observed Bita and Davoud making a concerted effort to put Reza at ease. She had been hesitant to accept Bita’s dinner invitation, worried that Reza, who preferred loud and boisterous outings, might be uncomfortable at a small soiree. She had accepted so as to avoid offending Bita, and she was glad to be wrong in her assumptions about Reza.
After dinner, the couples lounged in the living room. On the sofa, Mojegan and Bita sat side by side deep in conversation about the hospital administration’s newest policy. Their legs were tucked under them, and a light maroon blanket lay over their thighs. Davoud and Reza each sat in an armchair with a lit cigarette in one hand and a tumbler of whiskey in the other. They talked about recent events in the news.
“He must know what he’s doing,” Reza exhaled smoke off to the side leisurely.
“He certainly knows what he is doing,” Davoud sat up and spoke sharply. “He’s trying to send a message that no one is safe.”
“Well, if they break the law,” Reza spoke with an amused expression, “then they shouldn’t be surprised when they’re arrested.”
“Reza, son, they didn’t break the law.” Davoud sat forward to face Reza. “It was an apolitical protest. These were innocent students asking for more funding for education.”
Reza shrugged, “Sounds like an entitled lot.”
Davoud clasped his hand over his mouth in shock. “Entitled? How?”
“If it weren’t for the Shah, there would be no universities. They should be thankful, instead of whining for more.” Reza inhaled from the cigarette and smiled at Mojegan.
Mojegan did not turn her head, move her hand, or shift her seat. She opened her mouth to speak but she could not think how to interject, how to change the subject.
“Sounds like it’s time for music,” Bita stood to put on a record.
Davoud excused himself and left for the washroom.
“Bita, I apologize for that,” Reza leaned back and spoke to Bita, who stood over the record player with a Viguen album in hand. From the tired look in his eyes and the slightly slurred speech, Mojegan realized that he was drunk.
“I don’t know why he took it so seriously,” Reza spoke into his empty glass. “Our words are meaningless to people who have power.”
At this statement, Bita turned and looked at Mojegan, who understood this look to be Bita’s suggestion that they end the evening at that point, cordially.
“Bita, the evening was just lovely.” Mojegan put aside the blanket and stood up. “I hate to end the night but I need to rest for work tomorrow,”
“Oh, already?” Reza sat up and turned to Mojegan in slow motion. “Bita, I had a lot of fun. Thank you.”
Reza stood up slowly and walked over to Mojegan. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and Mojegan realized that he needed her support to stay upright. They walked together to the front hallway. Davoud emerged from the washroom and helped get their coats.
With his coat on, Reza patted all of his pockets to confirm he had not left anything behind. Then, he faced Davoud and placed his hands on the older man’s shoulders.
“You are a good man, Davoud,” Reza said and nodded in approval of his own assessment. “You just need to lighten up.”
Davoud pursed his lips, nodded along with Reza, and then he turned to kiss Mojegan goodnight. Mojegan smiled in embarrassment and quietly expressed her apologies to Davoud. Davoud smiled kindly and shrugged his shoulders to express all was forgotten. By this time, Reza was already in the elevator and called for Mojegan to hurry. On the way to the car, Reza held her close and told her that she was as beautiful as a queen. Mojegan smiled back at him and wondered whether he could drive safely. That night, she decided that she would learn to drive.
***
A few days later, Reza agreed to pick up Mojegan after her shift and teach her to drive. In return, he asked her to accompany him out that night. She was reluctant to agree. The final exam for her first course was in four days and she needed to study. Mojegan negotiated with herself. She would be the good wife that she aspired to be and accompany Reza to the club, and the following two nights she would remain home to study.
At five o’clock, Reza arrived in the Paykan. He drove north for forty-five minutes to the upscale neighbourhoods in the village of Elahiyeh. The village and its township had recently been amalgamated into the greater city of Tehran. The green canopy that covered the narrow quiet streets was a pleasant change for Mojegan. She had grown accustomed to the noisy urban roads filled with cars, trucks and cyclists competing for space and the sidewalks crowded with hurrying pedestrians.
The
surface runoff from the Alborz mountain range nurtured a dense growth of lush gardens in the village, as well as a healthy real estate market for the wealthy. Mojegan had heard that most of the homes in the village were owned by foreign diplomats, prominent politicians, and famous artists. She craned her neck in vain to see over the brick walls that surrounded each estate. She imagined large courtyards with fountains tastefully tiled and stone statues depicting youthful women with urns.
In a secluded alleyway, wide enough for two cars to pass narrowly, Reza parked the Paykan and removed the key from the ignition.
“Ready, darling?” he smiled encouragingly.
“Yes,” Mojegan smiled back, happy to share this experience with him.
Reza walked around to Mojegan’s side and opened the car door for her.
“How about I open my own doors from now on?” Mojegan stepped forward, placed her chin on his chest, and looked up at him coquettishly.
“Would that make you happy?” Reza asked.
“Yes,” Mojegan smiled and pressed her forehead on his chest.
“Then, let it be,” Reza said and kissed the top of her head.
He placed the key chain in Mojegan’s open palm, and they took their seats. Mojegan, who had read the twenty-page driver’s manual and made notes, bit her lip and coached herself quietly. Reza just looked out the window. She tried twice to turn on the car but each attempt failed. With a few suggestions from Reza, she managed to start the engine and accelerate to first and second gears. Within thirty minutes, she was able to drive, stop, and turn without causing the engine to stall.
“Reza, I am doing it,” Mojegan said with a wide smile, not taking her eyes off the road.
“You are, darling,” Reza patted her thigh.
“I’m ready to park now,” Mojegan said as she pulled over and got out of the car. “What time is it?”
“It’s not too late,” Reza stepped out, too. “I have something to show you.”