Time to Let Go

by Christoph Fischer

“I am sorry, but imagine that had been your mother on the plane, and you only had a stewardess there to help you. I understand he is upset.”

  “We are all trained and re-trained every year how to save lives!” Hanna defended her profession.

  “Oh, I never knew that. So you are all half nurses up there? I had no idea,” said the beautician.

  “Well, that would be exaggerating,” Hanna had to admit. “We are no nurses but we are far from being incompetent.”

  “What do you think personally? If your mother died on a plane, wouldn’t you blame the airline?” asked the beautician.

  “When in shock anything is possible. I appreciate the husband must be feeling a lot of anger and sadness, that is only normal when you lose a loved one, unexpectedly. But sometimes people die and there is nothing anyone can do. We all have to eventually,” Hanna said, slightly irritated now.

  “It will be interesting to see what happens. They were talking about it on the radio this morning,” the beautician said casually.

  Hanna felt like fainting. “That story is on the radio again?” she asked.

  “Yes, just half an hour ago,” the beautician answered.

  “What did they say?” Hanna asked, grabbing a seat. She was still only in her towel from the massage and would have dropped it otherwise.

  The beautician could see the impact the story had on Hanna and called one of her colleagues over. “Lisa, do you remember what they said about that court case between the airline and the billionaire? This lady wants to know what they said on the radio.”

  “The bloke wants to take the court case to America, since his wife is from there and the plane took off from an American city,” Lisa recalled. “His lawyers say he has not got a chance in hell in the UK courts, with all the bad publicity he got and he is trying it out over there now.”

  Hanna was almost fainting. A legal battle in America?

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “No, you got it wrong,” chimed in another assistant. “He wanted to do that but he can’t.”

  Hanna was relieved, but the benefit of her massage was instantly erased. By the time Biddy woke up Hanna was dressed and was already running late for her appointment with Karim’s mother, so she quickly ushered her mother into the car, dropped her off at Karim’s place and rushed off to see Fariba.

  Chapter 18: Fariba

  Karim opened the door and greeted her with a big smile.

  “My mother has been impatiently waiting for you. She was talking all morning about her vintage car trip,” he said warmly.

  Fariba was wearing a red, silk head scarf. Immaculately styled and made up there was the glamour of a movie legend about this woman.

  “Ms Kelly, your chauffeur is ready,” Karim said jokingly.

  “Hanna!” Fariba exclaimed. “I have been so excited in waiting for you, my children threatened to take me outside and make me wait for you on the door step.”

  “Well, you can’t blame them for feeling jealous,” Hanna said, while Karim was helping his mother to the car.

  It took considerably more effort to get Fariba into the car than Hanna had anticipated. Although slim and petite, the patient was dead weight. Hanna took Karim discreetly aside to suggest that he come along to help lifting Fariba, but the otherwise dutiful son refused.

  “My mother doesn’t want to get out of the car and sit somewhere in public,” he told her. “Since the stroke she says she is stagnant for too long and she is looking forward to doing a sight-seeing tour. There is no need for you to get her out of the car. She feels very self-conscious in public places. Your company is more than enough for her.”

  He turned around and walked back to the house, waved briefly and went inside.

  “You must have men in every city waiting for you,” Fariba said after they had left the driveway.

  “I wish there was that much interest,” Hanna told her. “Most men like the idea of a stewardess as a girlfriend, but the reality is quite different from their imagination. We suffer from mood swings and constant tiredness, so it doesn’t take long before the first few suitors give up because it is not worth their while.”

  “I can’t believe that someone would say that about you,” Fariba contradicted.

  “Trust me. As a species, we cabin crew are hard work. The good guys who have the necessary patience are rare.”

  “I would have taken you for a good judge of character,” Fariba was surprised. “Can’t you distinguish the good guys from the bad?”

  “I thought I could but after the initial honeymoon period they turn into being very clingy or very needy. They either want me to stop flying and become a housewife or they become controlling in other ways and jealous when I am away.”

  “I can see that that would not be good for you. A woman needs to be free and independent. The times of ‘the Stepford Wives’ are thankfully over,” Fariba agreed. “My Karim probably appears clingy and controlling to you?” she asked. “I know he can be very intense and stubborn but trust me he has a good heart.”

  “I know he has. He has been incredibly kind and helpful to me,” Hanna said, carefully avoiding eye contact with the suddenly pushy mother.

  “Just because he looks Persian people do treat him differently,” Fariba observed. “The girls he brings home are usually very nice and kind, but then they leave him and marry someone who is British.”

  “I am sure that’s not the case,” Hanna disagreed.

  “Why else do you think he is still single? If you know please tell me, I cannot think of one thing that is wrong with my son.”

  “Fariba, I have only just met your son.”

  “You have become very close in the last few days. The thought must have at least crossed your mind. This bond between you, my dear, is a very rare thing,” Fariba pressed on.

  “Actually, for us cabin crew this is a rather common phenomenon,” Hanna replied. “I work with new colleagues every time I go to work. We become close friends quickly, only to be separated by the next work schedule and our private lives, let alone the geographic distances between our homes.”

  “I never thought about it like that but Karim is stable and in one place, so it is already only half as difficult for you two to keep in touch as if it were one of your random colleagues. And so close to your family home. You must have formed an opinion or made a judgement about him one way or the other. Clinginess is an undervalued quality: we used to call it commitment.”

  “I find your directness rather refreshing but this conversation is too weird, Fariba,” Hanna said.

  “Now sweetheart don’t disappoint me. It honours you that you are careful with your words, but I know you have the guts to tell me what bothers you about him, and it is about time one of his dates told me so I can steer him in the right direction. I am not getting any younger and neither is he. I would like to see him settled. So would you please just tell me what he is doing wrong? I promise I won’t tell him that it is coming from you and I will not hold it against you – whatever you say. You must help me help him!”

  Hanna sighed deeply.

  “I guess in my case it is bad timing. I am just not entirely sure what he is capable of,” Hanna confessed. “He has strong opinions and a definite edge to him. He comes across as a bit stiff and rigid.”

  “Karim is nothing but gentle and caring,” Fariba argued.

  “Well, as his mother you would see it that way.”

  Fariba laughed heartily. “Yes, it’s the Jewish stereotype I’m afraid but I am very honest about it.”

  “I didn’t even know you were Jewish! By religion or by culture?”

  “Both. We learnt to hide it when we were living in Iran. Not that it always was necessary to do so, of course. I don’t want you to think badly of my home country just because of its current government. We were rather a large and accepted minority there once. I have always maintained that the louder you shout about your beliefs the more difficult it will be for others to come near you, so we kept it private and out
of the public eye.” Fariba said matter of factly. “If you are born a Jew you will always be a Jew.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “The rabbis can try and make you believe in Moses and the parting seas, the burning bush and the Kabbalah, but if you don’t think that any of it ever really happened you are still one of the chosen people, in their books,” Fariba explained. “You can convert, cut off your beard and curls, eat pork – but if you were born to a Jewish mother you are part of the tribe forever: so why the need to advertise?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Hanna replied but kept her eyes on the traffic.

  “Forget about religion and culture. Tell me more about my son!”

  “There is nothing to tell,” Hanna said firmly now to stop the interrogation. “Enough said.”

  “I like your resolve,” Fariba said amused. “All I want to say is that you should not dismiss Karim too easily. He is a nice boy and you have nothing to fear from him.”

  “Why are you so keen on the idea of me and your son? I am not Jewish, I live an unsteady live, and I am probably too old to have children. Where do you see the big advantage that I am missing?” Hanna asked outright.

  “The advantage, my darling, lies in your good heart and in the fact that Karim seems to have taken a shine to you. In an ideal world he would be marrying a Jewish girl a few years younger and she would worship the ground he walks on and bear him a few bubbeles, but once you transfer that ideal in to real life you find those perfect women are often dull, selfish or needy, and lack the spirit and warmth I want for my son. Maybe I don’t show it, but as a mother I am as overbearing as they come and I rarely approve of his girlfriends. If you don’t believe me, ask him. He will tell you.”

  “He said you would like me,” Hanna said. “He said you liked all of his girlfriends in the past.”

  “That was a very over confident statement. You were lucky,” Fariba said with a wink. “Now, do you have enough time to drive towards Clay Hill? I have not been that way for ages and the weather is so beautiful today, there will be extraordinary views.”

  “Absolutely,” Hanna said.

  “Do you have any music in this car?” Fariba asked. “I wouldn’t mind listening to some and blast it really loud. Put on whatever you like, anything will do. My grandchildren are keeping me modern. I know all the stars: Lady Gaga, Rihanna and will.i.am.”

  “It will have to be the radio, I am afraid. I have CD’s, but they are all Buddhist chanting.”

  Fariba said no more about her son and a prospective relationship but talked about the heyday of her life in Iran under the rule of the Shah: parties, stimulating intellectual discussions and cultural events. Some of it sounded a little bit too polished and picture perfect to ring completely true, yet Hanna had to admit that Fariba was a born entertainer and the many stories she had to share were more than enough for two or three lifetimes: helping a friend to elope, attending her first Indian wedding, reading forbidden books, watching banned films, listening to a French woman explain about the ‘loose’ western sexual morals, resistance groups, secretly feeding her starving Muslim friend during Ramadan. It was obvious Fariba had lived her life to the full and Hanna thought it was lucky that she had lived to tell the tales – and remembered them all, more or less truthfully.

  “We were starting to get worried,” said Karim as he greeted them back home eventually. “Did you have a good time?”

  “Karim, you will have to marry this one. You can’t put a price on a vintage car driver like that,” Fariba said in the direction of Hanna, rather than that of her son.

  Chapter 19: The Counsellor

  After they had lifted Fariba back upstairs Karim took Hanna aside. He nervously shifted from foot to foot and rubbed his hands together as if he was cold.

  “I hope you won’t mind too much, Hanna, but I have a surprise for you,” he said.

  “A surprise?”

  Hanna stopped and looked at him questioningly.

  “Yes, you see,” he almost stuttered, “I know it is none of my business but I can’t help thinking that you should be seeing someone about the trauma you are going through. My friend David is a counsellor and he has agreed to meet with you this afternoon.”

  “Karim that is awfully sweet of you but frankly a little out of order.”

  He nodded guiltily.

  “I know. I am sorry. And of course you don’t need to go through with it if you don’t want to. I understand completely,” Karim said. “In my experience it is a huge step to go ahead and organise a meeting with a counsellor. So I thought I’d do that for you, and then we could see if you are happy to proceed. There is no harm done if you want me to cancel the session. David won’t mind.”

  Hanna thought of her nightmares last night and admitted to herself that maybe this was a good opportunity after all.

  “Well, it can do no harm,” she conceded.

  “David is not going to meet you in his official capacity. He does not believe in short cutting the NHS system and waiting lists. He is very pedantic like that.”

  “So what is the meeting with him about then?”

  “Mainly to assess the damage the event has had on you and to give you an opportunity to speak with an independent outsider. Since you live in London and he practises here he feels it would be wrong for him to take you on as a patient,” Karim explained. “There is no guarantee that either of you would be able to complete a treatment plan.”

  “To be honest, I am not sure I would want a full ‘treatment plan’. I am not even sure I will know what to tell him today,” Hanna admitted.

  “Oh, David will get you to talk. He is a brilliant listener but not without his own foibles and eccentricities. You will see.”

  Karim gave Hanna directions to David’s place and made her promise to call him later to say how she got on.

  David’s apartment was right in the middle of town. The building looked old from the outside, but it was only a fake front wall to make it blend in with the rest of the road. Hiding behind the Victorian façade were several flats with a much more modern interior design. The hallway still smelled of fresh paint and white spirit.

  The first thing Hanna noticed was that her counsellor was wearing white cotton gloves. He looked like a forty year old school boy who had outgrown his childhood wardrobe, but didn’t feel comfortable in his adult clothes yet. His hair was greasy and parted awkwardly on one side, thick glasses in a fashionably colourful design were hiding eyes that were both shy and intense at the same time, a dark blue knitted vest that collected dandruff and covered an ochre shirt that looked as if it had been ironed to within an inch of its life. On first impressions, her confidence in his abilities was not particularly strong.

  Hardly meeting her gaze he asked her to follow him to the therapy room, his voice sounded quiet at first until he cleared it mid-sentence, then it became surprisingly deep and assertive. She was tempted to leave but rules of politeness demanded that she go through with the session, now that she was here.

  “Hanna, I hope Karim has explained to you that this is not a proper psychotherapy session or course, so we won’t have the luxury of time that we would enjoy under those circumstances. And we won’t touch upon all of your issues either. I just want you to tell me anything you feel about the incident on the plane,” David said with a warmth and assertiveness that she had not expected. “What is your primary feeling about the incident?”

  “I keep getting bouts of guilt,” she began. “I cannot think of a singular thing that I have done wrong, but I still worry about having failed the poor woman.”

  “Do you find that you criticise or question yourself a lot in general?” David asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Hanna replied. “I have a very critical father but this feels quite different from my father issues as it were. I played with someone else’s life. I am overwhelmed to have had that kind of responsibility.”

  “Doubt and introspection are tools for the mind and having those thoughts i
s a sign of maturity. I see you have a reflective mind and good insight into your situation. That will make my work much easier. How badly do you feel affected by those worries and your feelings of guilt?” David asked.

  “I guess, it is not too bad. I can compartmentalise and function normally,” Hanna said. “I hope the guilt will disappear.”

  “Do you see any signs of denial in your behaviour?” David asked.

  “No, I don’t think I am running away from it. I try to give it adequate but moderate amounts of my time and thoughts.”

  “So would you say that you feel no emotional scars from the incident at all?”

  “Well, obviously I am a little shell shocked from seeing someone die. That was the first time for me. There are dead bodies in almost every TV programme but it is quite different when they are in the same room, let alone when you are touching them. I was a little overwhelmed. I didn’t have time to think but later on it kept popping into my head: I have touched a corpse; I sat on that poor woman trying to push life back into her but all I did was violate her body; I have bad dreams about her blank stare and I shake when I think how her body felt. Do you think that is healthy or not?”

  “Dear Hanna,” David said with an almost condescending tone. “Healthy is a relative term. Temporary coping mechanisms can appear not to be healthy on the surface, but with the progress of time they recede and so do any negative side effects they may have caused. If they have helped you to cope and didn’t cause damage then they served their purpose well. Bad dreams are a very common occurrence and are by no means an indication of a bigger problem. Feelings around intimacy may well be affected by touching a dead stranger. I want to help you by bringing as much of your feelings to your consciousness as possible. In a traumatic event like yours, problems can occur when someone is not aware of their feelings, and the effects they have on their behaviour. Talking is important, be it with professionals or with people you can trust.”

  “When I think about it I am just sad. Really, really sad for the poor woman. To die like that, in front of complete strangers, without dignity and without saying goodbye to her husband: a dreadful thing to happen to anyone.”