The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree

by Shokoofeh Azar

  When the sun finally set and the owls began hooting, and the nightingales and sparrows had gone to sleep, she stood up, walked across the grass past Dad on the porch, and entered her room. She turned on the light. Looking carefully at every part of the room, she confirmed that her eyesight had returned. She pulled out the I Ching from among her books, made a wish, and threw three coins six times on the floor, writing down the results on a piece of paper. Six lines.

  Exhaustion: A man permits himself to be oppressed by stone

  and leans on thorns and thistles.

  He enters the house and does not see his wife.

  Misfortune …

  Her eyes filled with tears. She took a deep breath and looked out the window at Venus which had just risen. She read on:

  He is oppressed by creeping vines.

  He moves uncertainly and says, “Movement brings remorse”.

  It was then that, for the first time, she, herself, interpreted a dragonfly. At least now she knew the reading of the blue dragonfly on her head.

  Several days, later the female workers shared the news; but Issa never came to see her, even to say goodbye.

  She didn’t get a fever. She didn’t brood. She didn’t even go to fetch her ballet slippers. After a few days, she stopped staring at the scorched circles. She packed some things for herself and Dad in a small bag and, as she was putting on her sneakers she went out to him on the porch and said, “Get up. Get dressed. Let’s go to Tehran. There’s nothing left for us here.”

  Dad looked at her as if from very far away, smiled, and said, “I’m staying here”.

  “In Tehran we can live in Granddad’s house,” Beeta insisted. “There’s room for us there.”

  Dad replied, “I still have work to do here”.

  Scornfully Beeta said, “Like what?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Dad said, simply.

  Then he kissed Beeta on the cheek and said, “Go to university. Study a subject that you like, and be someone that good people want to meet. Maybe you’ll return one day. I’ll be waiting for you here until then.”

  Crying as she left, Beeta descended the hill and with the help of the dragonflies, footpaths, cows, loose horses and gypsies who occasionally wandered the forests, she might find the way to the main road.

  * * *

  1A poem by the German poet, Margot Bickel, and translated into Persian by Ahmad Shamlu.

  11

  The wind sings of our nostalgia

  The star-filled sky ignores our dreams

  And each snowflake is like a tear unshed

  Silence is full of words unsaid

  Actions uncompleted

  A confession of secret loves

  And marvels unspoken

  In this silence our truth is hidden

  Yours and mine.1

  Maybe it never would have come to this if Beeta had taken Issa’s silence more seriously. Brokenhearted and hurt by his unfaithfulness, and although she had been unable to plumb Issa’s depths the whole year, eight months, and two weeks that she had been in love with him, Beeta left Razan to forge a new path among the living. Issa’s silence had been a gulf between them that was filled with lovemaking.

  It wasn’t that Issa had sought to hide anything, he just saw his life as so full of fate, anguish, and despair that he had become accustomed to keeping silent. He had become accustomed to keeping silent about the jinns’ enchantments and his grandmother’s conniving; the plants’ maniacal growth in the courtyard, Effat’s black love, Razan’s sacred fire, and his father’s transfiguration. And yet, perhaps if Beeta had really wanted and had made a real effort to be part of Issa’s life, she could have heard many stories from the people or even me. Perhaps if she had wanted to take their relationship beyond those rings of fire, closer to real life, she could have searched for the meaning of Issa’s long silences instead of striving to interpret dragonflies.

  People still say many things about Issa’s family, especially about his sister. People say that the mouth and body of someone stricken by black love gives off a fragrance contagious to anyone who comes near and smells it, even if they are not in love. Even if they are old. Even if they are children. They fall in love, become infatuated, obsessed. Effat was stricken by black love the day that a young shepherd passing through Razan, for the first and last time, happened to ask Effat, who was sitting on her porch spinning thread, for a sip of water before leaving. Effat gave him water in a blue ceramic cup she had made herself and, just as the young boy bent his head to drink from it she caught sight of the undulant, shining reflection of his face in the water, and promptly fell in love. She became stricken, feverish, captured. It was as simple as that.

  Someone stricken by black love stops speaking. Or, if they speak, they speak only of love. They don’t work, but if they work, they work feverishly, until they collapse from exhaustion. Effat became obsessed with going for walks on moonlit nights. Her long hair brushed, she would set off, barefoot, as soon as the sun went down. Her steps were sure and steady, but aimless. From grove to grove. From meadow to meadow. From courtyard to courtyard, and from stable to stable. In the beginning her father and Issa, her only brother, would go looking for her and find her in a neighbour’s stable, a meadow in the depths of the forest, or in a distant rice paddy, sitting in the moonlight combing her hair with her wooden comb and quietly singing love songs. The last time that Qorban and Issa had set off after her in the dark, they found her in a meadow several villages over, crawling on all fours, eating grass, and bleating. She was ripping the grass up from beneath the snow with her teeth and chewing it. On that cold moonlit winter night, the meadow was covered with snow, and the moon’s silvery reflection had multiplied the snow’s illusions; every twig and branch loomed larger, tempting you to go towards the elastic shadows, to touch them, take them. But Qorban had warned Issa not to be tricked by the shadows. He had told him, “Just follow me, cover your ears, and don’t look around. Every shadow on a snowy, moonlit night could be a jinn, a nasnas,2 a fairy, or a davalpa”.3 That night when they reached the large meadow and they heard singing, Qurban stopped and said, “Cover your ears. It’s the sound of the fairies, jinns, and davalpas who want to seduce us.” Issa covered his ears but wondered all the same, why would they want to seduce us? His father brought his mouth close to Issa’s ear and said quickly, “Because the fairies and jinns want to breed with us and the davalpa wants us to toil for him”. Issa couldn’t understand why fairies and jinns would want such a thing but there was no more time for questions. Walking with their ears covered, the sound came nearer and nearer until the father heard the bleating. They approached cautiously. Qorban signalled to Issa to stay where he was. His father moved towards the creature, until gradually he made out his daughter; Effat’s head was lowered and she was ripping frozen grass from under the snow with her teeth. Upon seeing his daughter like this, Qorban felt all the world’s sorrow tumble down on him. He sat down next to Effat and said, “My daughter, you are not a sheep”. Effat stopped eating grass, and with complete innocence said, “What do you know?” Then she smiled kindly at her father. Her father said, “I was there when you were born. Your mother named you ‘Effat’. Your mother was also human.” Effat looked at him again and said, “You mean, you still don’t understand?” Her father asked, “Understand what?” “That nothing is reason for anything?” Effat replied with finality.

  Effat always smiled. Black love made people kind; kind and sad. That night, Qorban and Issa finally convinced Effat to come back to the house with them. Like all the villagers, Qorban knew that the consequence of black love would be death. There was no other cure. He couldn’t just sit and do nothing, however. He tried different things. He took her to the shrine on the mountain and gave her to the caretaker there, but a week later they saw her sitting on the steps of the tekyeh with torn clothes, talking to the shadows in the middle of the night. The people saw her turn to the shadows and say, “baaaaaaaaa … baaaaaaaa … I am your sheep … I am your serv
ant … just come back once and pass through this village … See how beautifully I am bleating for you … baaaaaaaaa … baaaaaaaa …” Then she cried, stood up, mounted the wooden steps of the tekyeh, and rubbed her hand along the carved wood saghe nefar as she pleaded and cried. She wiped her tears away with her long hair, looked up to the sky and said, “You left your little darling lamb here … Won’t you come back and take her with you? Your innocent little lamb is wasting away all alone … Come and take me, kill and take my flesh as your food … may it nourish you. Baaaaaaaaaaaa…baaaaaaaaaaaa. Have you forgotten how you carried me under your arm and played the flute for me in the deserts and on the plains?” Then the distraught young woman began to sob once more and said, “See? I am without an owner … no matter how much I bleat nobody comes to take me to their stable … for everyone knows that I am your little, lost, white lamb … baaaaaaaa baaaaaaa.”

  Several days later, when Qorban was out and Effat was sitting as always on the edge of the porch combing her hair with a wooden comb and watching the steady snowfall, Issa finally worked up the courage to come and sit beside her. He started sniffing the air. Aside from the smell of cold snow, he couldn’t smell anything. He edged closer and sniffed again. This time he detected a scent that wasn’t snow. He sat even closer, their bodies touching. In the dead of winter the warmth of Effat’s body was like an oven. He stuck his nose in Effat’s hair and sniffed. Suddenly a wild fragrance took possession of him. It was a fragrance like none other he had known. He became dizzy and felt that if it continued much longer he would never be able to free himself from it. Moving away from her in a panic, he sat in the courtyard directly under the falling snow. The wild fragrance of Effat’s body would not leave him, however. His nerves were shattered; he wanted to pounce on Effat again, on her body and hair. But as he hastened back to her, he turned around midway and, frightened, went out of the courtyard and didn’t come back until that night. Issa’s reaction was not lost on Effat who, smiling, finally lifted her head and watched him walk away under the heavy snow. She whispered to herself, “Oh poor thing. You don’t understand it, either,” and continued combing her hair.

  The next morning, Issa was still thinking of just one thing: the people were right, the smell drives you mad. He wanted to stay in the house all day so he wouldn’t have to pass by Effat and smell that irresistible scent. However, without knowing how it happened, he found himself several seconds later sitting next to her once more. He asked, “Are you really in love?” Effat looked at him with surprise and said, “What does ‘in love’ mean?” Issa said, “You know, it’s what people say when they have a crush on someone.”

  “How can a leaf have a crush on a tree? Is that even possible? Can a lamb have a crush on his shepherd? Do ‘shepherd’ and ‘tree’ mean anything without ‘lamb’ and ‘leaf’? Confused, Issa asked, “What are you trying to say?” “One day I saw someone who stood with me for a few minutes and asked for a cup of water, drank it, and then left. And I realised I had suddenly become two. That’s it. Since that day, I’ve been two. Do you understand?” Effat said. Issa didn’t understand. Effat shook her head, then suddenly said angrily, “You’re all crazy. None of you understands what it means to be two. All of you are so stuck on your one self that you don’t even understand why you are alive!” Then she calmly returned to combing her hair. It blew in the gentle breeze. She laughed and said, “My only problem is that my two are separated. I need to fix that, that’s all.” “Where is your other one now?” he asked. Effat stopped combing, stared at an indistinct point in the air, and said, “Standing under a lone tree facing a meadow and looking at his flock scattered over the plain”. She paused and then speaking again said, “Just now he bent down and is drinking cool water from the spring at his feet”. Closing her eyes to feel the refreshing coolness of the water in every cell of her body— she really had been thirsty—she took a deep breath again and said, “How cool it is! Would you like some?” Ignoring her offer, Issa said, “Where are you going next?”

  “To winter pastures with the Charva tribe. We’re going towards the Kalimani plains.” She replied, enigmatically.

  The next day, the Soothsayer came to their house with some elders. The elders were thankful, since the presence of the Soothsayer protected them from Effat’s fragrant breath, so that nothing could happen to them. There was no need for the old man to open his book to recognise that the girl had been enchanted. “Black magic.” The elders asked what they should do. The Soothsayer said, “Bring me a bowl of water”. Then, turning towards the village leader he said, “Send someone to bring some urine from your newborn grandson”. They called a boy and gave him the message. The boy ran off and returned an hour later with a small ceramic bowl of urine from the young male child. The Soothsayer poured the urine into the bowl water. He said, “Bring a fresh piece of cloth”.

  When they brought it, he put his hands under the cloth and asked the village’s only Haji to hold the mirror above his hands. Calling Effat over to sit in front of him, the Soothsayer took her hands and put them in the bowl of urine under the cloth. Suddenly the cloth began to move. The bowl beneath it was rattling. Bubbling. Drops of urine sprayed left and right like hot coals, burning the felt rugs on which the villagers were standing. Creatures were forming inside the cloth and had begun to move around. Pouring sweat, the Soothsayer was trying to keep those squirming creatures under the cloth when suddenly, all became still and silent. Silent. Silent.

  The villagers stood there, frozen. They were holding their breath. The only one who was laughing with an innocent kindness was Effat. The Soothsayer, whose eyes had been closed until now, opened them. He looked at Effat who was smiling at everyone as if nothing had happened. The Soothsayer threw the cloth into a corner and the wide-eyed, frightened villagers saw that the bowl of urine now contained dirt and padlocks, jinxes and black magic. Effat looked at the locks and laughed. The Soothsayer asked, “Do you know how they had locked your fortune, girl? These are locks of your fate that the jinns brought to me from under the earth.” Then he pulled out some frankincense, fragrant wood, and an incense burner from his bag. Once he had lit it, he carried it around the room, reciting prayers, occasionally whipping the air with his prayer beads and cursing. Finally, the whole room was filled with fragrant smoke and the evil jinns were gone. Then he sat down and pulled out a bottle of saffron essence, a sheet of paper that had been soaked in ambergris, and a white pheasant feather quill. He dipped the quill in the saffron essence and wrote a prayer on the paper. He said that Effat shouldn’t leave the house for seven days and seven nights or else she would be possessed by jinns again. Everyone was happy. Her father kissed the prayer writer’s hand and put some money, bread, and some chicken in a little bundle for him.

  As the Soothsayer was gathering his things, Effat walked towards him and took his hand kindly. Then she smiled at the panic-stricken Soothsayer, and staring him in the eye, she exhaled deeply. Suddenly a wild fragrant perfume rose from her breath as though thousands of wild primroses and violets had sprouted from her mouth and filled the room that, until that moment, had just smelt of incense. It was a cool, intense smell. Terrified, the Soothsayer yanked his hand back. One of the villagers yelled, “That’s the smell!! … The smell of black love. Run!” Everyone, the Soothsayer in the lead, was trying to escape when an old woman among them suddenly stopped. She leaned on her cane, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Effat laughed. The old woman laughed too, and motioned for her to come nearer. Effat approached timidly. Now the two of them were standing on the porch while the others were gathered around the frozen courtyard. One villager said to the old woman, “Come on! … Get away from her … You’ll go crazy, too.” But ignoring the others, the old woman told Effat, “Exhale again. Do it for me.” Effat took the old woman’s hand gently in her own, inhaled deeply, and when she exhaled it felt as if spring was pouring from her mouth. The old woman closed her eyes and, in an instant, memories of her childhood and youth came from very far away and took
their place in her mind and soul: running in the rice paddies, picking wild greengages, the flavour of raspberries bursting in her mouth, and the first time she made love. The old woman opened her eyes and laughed. Then she threw her cane aside and began spinning in a chakkeh;4 just like her fourteen-year-old self when the very same village leader was in love with her and had brought a bouquet of wild lilies to put in her hair.

  It was Issa who first noticed the four o’clock plants that had begun to sprout and bloom. The greengage trees began to grow fresh leaves and blossom even though they were covered with snow, and suddenly the whole courtyard, covered in a blanket of winter snow just minutes before, was drowning in marigolds, primroses, and four o’clocks. Issa was so alarmed he began hiccupping, and if Homeyra Khatun hadn’t brought him essence of orange blossom so that he could hold his breath for seven ‘peace be upon hims’, who knows what disaster would have befallen him. After the shock of what was unfolding before his very eyes, and a hiccup that was so loud the chickens took flight, he laughed. Then his father, crying at the same time, laughed out of frustration and despair, and then one by one, villagers began to laugh until finally all of them, though still terrified, laughed. Laughed. And laughed.