A Bitter Veil

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  “Long, but fine,” Anna said.

  “If you are tired, you must nap.” He spoke English with a crisp British accent.

  “I never sleep during the day. I’ll go to bed early.”

  Parvin offered Anna a glass of tea. She took it carefully. “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Samedi.”

  “Oh, but you must call us Maman-joon and Baba-joon,” Nouri’s father said with a smile.

  “Dear Mother and Father,” Nouri explained.

  Anna nodded shyly. Then, “Oh, that reminds me.” She put down her tea, got up from the couch, and went to the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Nouri asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  She climbed the stairs back up to her room. The servant was almost finished unpacking. That was a problem, Anna thought. She had no idea where the woman had stored her things. She flipped up her hands in a questioning gesture, then realized the servant had no idea what she was after. She tried to sketch a box in the air with her fingers.

  “The present. The gift,” she said. “Where is it?”

  The servant shook her head. Anna searched the room. She didn’t see it. She knew she’d packed it in her big duffel. Then she opened the door to the closet. There it was on the top shelf: a pale blue box with a dark blue ribbon. She reached for it, but the shelf was too high. The servant was taller and retrieved it.

  “Khayli mamnoon.” Thank you very much. It was one of the few Farsi expressions Anna knew.

  The woman dipped her head. “Khâhesh meekonam.” You’re welcome.

  Anna took the box back downstairs and handed it to Nouri’s mother. “This is for you, Maman-joon.”

  Nouri’s parents exchanged glances.

  “Open it,” Nouri said.

  Anna watched as Parvin opened the box. She had obsessed over the gift for weeks. It couldn’t be too lavish, but it couldn’t be cheap or shoddy. She’d finally settled on a pair of Lalique crystal candlesticks. They’d cost a small fortune. She hoped it was an appropriate choice. “I know the name Nouri means light. As his wife, I hope to bring a bit more light into your lives. I am honored to be part of your family.”

  Nouri’s father translated. Parvin examined the candlesticks carefully. A slight frown furrowed her forehead. She spoke in Farsi.

  “What did she say?” Anna asked nervously.

  Nouri translated. “She said she can’t accept them.”

  Anna’s stomach flipped over. “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “Maman says they are beautiful. So beautiful we should keep them for ourselves.”

  “But it is a gift for her,” Anna said. “Tell her.”

  Nouri did, but Parvin shook her head.

  “Please…” Anna’s stomach tightened into a knot of anxiety. “I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong? Doesn’t she like me?”

  Nouri’s father barked out something in Farsi. Parvin answered him. They went back and forth. Bijan had the last word. It sounded decisive. Then Parvin looked at Anna. “Okay,” she said in broken English. “Is okay.”

  “What’s okay?” Anna was totally confused.

  Nouri piped up. “It is an Iranian custom. Ta’arof. Iranians always decline a gift before we accept. It is our way. But Baba knows this is not the custom in the West. He was explaining that to Maman.”

  Parvin rose, went to Anna, and gave her a hug. “Khayli mamnoon.”

  “They are beautiful,” Bijan said. “And thoughtful. But the honor of having you join our family is ours.”

  Anna sat back, tired but relieved. Immersing herself in Persian culture was going to be more challenging than she’d anticipated.

  Bijan changed the subject. “I have called the head of the company with the Metro contract. They would like to meet with Nouri in two days. I assume that will be suitable?”

  “Of course,” Nouri replied. “Thank you, Baba.”

  “And you, Anna. I know you will be busy with the wedding and your new home. But after you’re settled, will you want to work?”

  She was pleased he’d been thinking of her. “I would like to. Until we have children, of course.” She smiled shyly.

  “Ah.” He grinned broadly. “You want children?”

  “Oh yes. At least three or four.” She had always wanted a brood of children, their sweet baby smell in her nose, their noise and laughter filling the house. She couldn’t wait to shower kisses on them when they skinned their knees and elbows, or woke up frightened from nightmares. She’d vowed that her children’s lives would be vastly different from her cold, antiseptic childhood.

  Baba-joon laughed. “I suppose you and Nouri will be quite busy.”

  Anna felt her cheeks get hot. She hoped she hadn’t made a faux pas. But Baba-joon was still grinning. “Well, until that blessed day arrives, what do you have in mind to do?”

  She spread her hands. “I don’t know. I was hoping to take some time and figure it out.”

  “The company I work for is always looking for people who speak and write English. Writing letters, translating, making phone calls, and what not. I realize you need to learn some Farsi, but if you’re interested I can make inquiries.”

  The oil company? Especially the one where Nouri’s father worked? Just how involved would Nouri’s family be in their lives? Anna hesitated. She knew better than to refuse. “I appreciate the offer, Baba-joon. Can we talk more after we’re settled?”

  “Of course. Take your time.”

  Anna swallowed. She’d only been in Iran a few hours, but she wondered how long it would take to feel at home.

  Eleven

  Nouri snuck into Anna’s bed late that night, and they made muffled, secretive love, all the more erotic because of the need to be quiet. He fell asleep in the crook of her arm but woke at first light and crept back to his room.

  The next morning the family’s chauffeur drove them to Shemiran, a district at the northern fringe of Tehran’s city limits. One of the most beautiful areas of Tehran, Shemiran was once the summer residence of the Qajar and Pahlavi shahs, who built ornate palace complexes and villas. Now, though, with the population of Tehran exploding, Shemiran was slowly becoming part of Tehran’s northern suburbs. It was growing into an upscale neighborhood with stores, high-rises, and traffic. As always, the Alborz Mountains towered over everything. Although it looked different, Anna decided Shemiran was equivalent to Chicago’s North Shore.

  Eventually the car turned onto a narrow residential street where high walls surrounded everything. Anna was expecting an apartment building, but as they pulled up to an open gate, she saw a small house with a narrow brick front and columns flanking the door.

  Nouri climbed out and held the car door for Anna. She stared at the house. “This is our new home?”

  Nouri grinned. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yes, but this is the first time I’ve seen it.”

  Anna shook her head. “I don’t believe it,” she sputtered. “We can’t…I mean…what are…”

  Nouri placed his finger on her lips. “Shh.” He took her hand, and they walked through the gate. The first thing Anna saw was a tiny garden with an even tinier pool. Next she passed a chenar tree, then leafy green shrubs, between which there were bright flowers and grass.

  The house was three stories high, although the top floor was little more than a closet and loft with a sliding door that opened onto a roof. There were three bedrooms, two baths, hardwood floors, and elegant countertops. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air, and two workmen were nailing baseboards to the downstairs walls. Someone else was waxing the floors. Anna went into the kitchen. Aside from the new stove and refrigerator, there was a dishwasher. And a garbage disposal. Anna felt slightly dizzy, as if she’d walked into a dream.

  “So what do you think?” Nouri asked with a sly grin.

  She ran her hand over the snow-white kitchen counter. Every-thing was pristine, sleek. “This…is magnificent. But how can we afford it?
Even if I get a job, the rent must be astronomical. There’s no way—”

  He cut her off. “That is the best part.”

  “What?”

  “This…,” he spread his arms, “Anna, this is a wedding gift from my parents.”

  “They’re giving this to us? The entire house?”

  “My father bought the land and built the house himself.”

  “No. He can’t. It’s too much.”

  “Anna, they want to do this.”

  “We should be building it. And paying for it. You know, start small and work our way up.”

  “My parents want us to get off to a good start. This is their way.”

  Anna bit her lip. “We can’t accept it. We have to tell them.”

  He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Oh, now you are practicing ta’arof?”

  “I’m serious, Nouri.” She tried to formulate the right words. “It’s a matter of independence. Living within our means. Building something together. Do you want…”

  Nouri’s smile faded. “Anna, did you pay rent on your apartment in Chicago?”

  “No, but we…I…was a student. That was different.”

  “How? We are barely out of school. And you know that first jobs are always underpaid. We are lucky to have a family that cares enough—and has the resources—to help.”

  Anna’s lips pursed into a thin tight line. She didn’t want to alienate Nouri or his family, but her instincts told her this was wrong. She’d pictured life with Nouri as the two of them building their future step by step. Feeling the joy of achievement after tilting against windmills. It was clear now that wasn’t going to be the case. She knew Nouri’s family was wealthy. But this was much more than she’d imagined. Why did he downplay his wealth? Was he afraid of her reaction? The very one she was having now?

  She should have known. America was expensive. Any foreign student who came to the US had to have means. She remembered Nouri telling her about the first protest meeting he’d attended. How suspicious they were of him because of his family’s wealth. Why didn’t she pay more attention? Connect the dots? She wasn’t thinking straight. She ran a hand through her hair, wondering what to do. She couldn’t refuse to live in the house. Nouri’s family would be insulted.

  She walked out of the kitchen. Maybe she should try to be positive. There was much to be positive about. Everything in the house was sparkling, new, and very Western. Even the bathrooms. The master bedroom had walk-in closets. The second bedroom could be an office, the third a guest room. She went into the living room, wondering how she would ever decorate it, when the doorbell rang. The door promptly opened and Laleh waltzed in, surrounded by a swoosh of perfumed air.

  “Yoo hoo!” she called out. Anna suspected she’d come to check out the house, and their reaction to it. Nouri met her and they talked in Farsi. From her breathless tone, Anna could tell Laleh was thrilled. “So, what do you think? Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Anna managed a smile. “It’s amazing.”

  Laleh clapped her hands. “I knew you would love it. I helped Baba with the design.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I am a student of architectural design.” A knowing smile crossed her face. “Until I get married, of course.”

  Anna wasn’t sure what to say.

  Laleh didn’t appear to notice. “I have a boyfriend, you know. His name is Shaheen. He’s the same age as Nouri. He’s handsome and rich and wonderful. I think we will marry.”

  “How lovely.” Laleh was only sixteen, Anna recalled. Nouri was twenty-three. Seven years was a huge age difference, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “But until then, I hope you will allow me to visit often.”

  Anna shrugged. “Mi casa es su casa.”

  Laleh frowned.

  “Sorry. It’s an expression. Of course you’re welcome. Any time.”

  Laleh smiled and looked around with a satisfied expression. “So, have you thought about decorating yet? Better get started.”

  Anna inclined her head.

  “The mahr. Your dowry.”

  “Dowry?”

  “Iranian custom says the husband pays for the wedding, while the wife provides the furniture and household goods. The families also agree on a figure to be paid in case of a divorce.” Laleh waved a hand. “You didn’t know?”

  Anna felt suddenly chilled. She didn’t have a dowry, and she had no idea how much she would be worth if they divorced. She didn’t want to start a marriage by thinking about how it could end. She didn’t have any money for a prenuptial agreement, anyway.

  Nouri scowled at his sister. “Don’t pay any attention to Laleh, Anna. That is an old, outdated custom. My family is more than pleased to supply whatever we need. And we will never get divorced, so you don’t have to worry about mahr.”

  Before Anna had a chance to reply, Laleh jumped in. “Good. Well, then. I know all the best stores. We will go together. Tomorrow. So the furniture arrives by the time you are married. How is noon?”

  Anna swallowed. She felt like a princess who’d been taken to an enchanted kingdom. Her father had given her what she needed, but nothing to excess. It was the German way. And while her mother wasn’t as pragmatic, she wasn’t around enough to have made a difference. Now, though, because of her decision to marry Nouri, people—no, she corrected herself, her new family—were showering her with attention and gifts. They wanted to care for her. She took in the living room, kitchen, and hall of her new house. Why shouldn’t she live in luxury? It wouldn’t hurt anyone. She should banish her nagging doubts. Learn to enjoy for a change. After all, it was the start of a new life. She turned to Laleh.

  “Noon will be perfect.”

  *****

  Anna climbed into the Samedis’ Mercedes the next day. The chauffeur drove them to a furniture store in the heart of the city. Tehran was trying to be as modern as New York or Paris, and Anna saw Western influences everywhere: in shop windows and office buildings. Even the pollution and snarl of traffic were familiar.

  Turning off the broad boulevards, though, they entered a different world. A donkey calmly munched away on a narrow street; on another, a weather-beaten shop displayed boxes and jars on the sidewalk. In yet another, foodstuffs hung from the ceiling. A picture of the shah sat in each shop’s windows.

  The people made for sharp contrasts as well. Persians were Caucasian, and Anna saw many with fair skin and light-colored eyes, but there were also those with darker, more Arabic looks. Some of the women, dressed in fancy clothes and makeup, strode confidently along the street looking like they were headed for Rodeo Drive. But others wore black robes—chadors, she learned—that covered them from head to toe. The chador-clad women seemed to glide down the street like black angels. The men mostly wore suits, or sports shirts and pants, but once in a while Anna saw a mullah with a flowing beard, clad in long robes and a turban.

  The driver pulled up in front of an upscale store that featured European-style furniture in the window. “It’s the best in Tehran,” Laleh said. “We know the owners.”

  Inside, Anna found the store daunting; there were too many choices. With Laleh’s help, she eventually settled on a queen-size bed, two dressers, and end tables. For the living room, she chose a sleek, contemporary sofa and two chairs in a dusty earth tone. She also ordered a glass-topped dining table, with matching chairs, and bookcases. When it came time to pay, Laleh told them to charge it to the Samedis’ account. The salesman happily dipped his head so low it was almost a bow. Why not, Anna thought? He’d probably never had such a good day.

  Next, they went to an appliance store where Laleh made sure Anna bought a color television, a stereo unit, lamps, a toaster, and a coffee maker. When that was done, they were driven to a restaurant that catered to Americans and Brits. They took their time eating salads, scones, and tea, and by the time Laleh picked up the check, it was almost four o’clock.

  “Perfect timing,” Laleh said with a smile.

  “For what?” An
na hoped they were going home.

  “You’ll see.”

  Back in the car, Laleh ordered the driver to head north to the Bazaar Tajrish. Laleh told Anna it was the place to go for all sorts of goods, and once they were there, Anna saw why. A combination variety store and flea market, the bazaar was a seemingly endless series of covered stalls selling everything from food, to clothes, to jewelry, to music. It reminded her a bit of Maxwell Street, the open-air market in Chicago she and Nouri used to visit.

  As they wove through the narrow aisles of the bazaar, Laleh was a force of nature, so knowing and confident that waves of energy seemed to radiate out from her. She pointed out dishes, silverware, rugs, and more, all at wholesale prices, but cautioned Anna not to buy too much. “People will be giving you many wedding gifts.”

  The bazaar was filling up, entire families making an event of afternoon shopping. Anna brushed up against sweaty bodies. The smells, too, were foreign: pungent spices, grease, perfume, and a peculiar cloying scent she couldn’t identify. Some of the bazaari—mostly men—tried to wave them over, but Laleh didn’t stop.

  The smells, the heat, and the mass of people took their toll on Anna. Between the furniture, appliance store, and now the bazaar, she was exhausted. She couldn’t possibly shop for anything else.

  “Laleh, I’m sorry, but can we go home? I…I’m so tired. I need a break.”

  Concern splashed across Laleh’s face. “Oh dear, I’ve overdone it, haven’t I? Maman tells me I’m like a wild horse that must be tamed. I’m so sorry. Of course we will go.” She hugged Anna. “You should have said something.”

  Anna tried to smile. “It’s been fun.” She almost meant it.

  Laleh backtracked through the bazaar, stopping at a stall that sold 8-track tapes and records. “Just one more minute.”

  Anna nodded tiredly.

  Laleh pored through the selection, chatting in rapid-fire Farsi with the bazaari. Anna made out the words “Michael Jackson” and “Eric Clapton.” Laleh turned to Anna.

  “Who is your favorite rock musician?”

  Anna hesitated. She preferred classical. She wasn’t even sure who was popular now; they slipped in and out of favor so fast. Luckily, a name came to her. “I like Steely Dan.”