Aida translated for Elham, who looked sceptical.
‘My Niki? Are you sure she’s got the right child?’
Aida smiled at Heather.
‘She says thank you for saying such kind things.’
‘And she’s made lots of little friends here,’ Heather continued. ‘Oodles of them.’
Aida translated and Elham frowned.
‘She has the wrong kid. Here, show her the picture in my phone.’
Aida ignored the phone. ‘Elham says making friends is one of Niki’s strong points. That and demonstrating patience.’
‘What is she getting at? Who is this woman? Find out what she wants,’ Elham commanded under her breath.
‘Just like her mother,’ Aida continued. ‘The whole family thrives on their warm and trusting nature.’
Elham elbowed her.
‘I know you’re not translating what I say.’
Heather watched, confused, then reset her uneasy smile.
‘There are a couple of things I’m a little concerned about.’
‘See! I knew it,’ Elham said in rapid Persian. ‘It’s the tantrums, isn’t it? She never listens, either. Or the pinching. She knows she’s not meant to pinch but you think she’ll listen to me?’
‘Her speech isn’t as advanced as we would expect at her age but more than that . . . it’s . . . the drawings, mostly,’ Heather continued, her gaze shifting away from them in discomfort. ‘They’re, well, we can’t put any of them up on the walls, if you get my drift. Some are . . . troubling and, well, we’ve had a complaint. Nothing formal yet, but one of the parents . . . Niki can be . . . rough. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it. But we need to ensure all the children feel safe. And it makes me wonder about how things are for Niki. I understand your situation, and really we want to support you. Those times you’ve been late to pick her up and she’s joined the long day care kids, we’ve not charged you for that. But the pictures and the rough play and, well . . .’ She trailed off, her discomfort filling the gaps for Aida.
Aida translated for Elham, who fell silent. It was a long silence, punctuated only by the incongruous giggle and shriek of children playing nearby. Elham’s voice was small, her eyes set on the ground before her.
‘You think I don’t know this?’ she asked. ‘I see this. I know it isn’t normal for her. But how is she supposed to understand normal when all she has known is detention? When all she has seen . . . You think I don’t feel shame about this? You think I don’t feel like I am failing her? Mothers are meant to protect their children but how can I do this for her? I tell her to be gentle but what can you expect? What do I tell her? No, Niki, draw rainbows and pussycats instead. Nice things. Just forget everything else. How do I do this? There is nothing I can do.’
Tears filled her eyes and she turned away from them, ashamed. Heather clasped her hands in front of her, waiting uncomfortably for Aida to translate. Elham turned back to Aida suddenly, her eyes full of fear.
‘What if they take Niki away from me?’ she whispered. ‘You hear all those stories of Child Protection . . . Don’t tell her I said all that, Aida-joon. Please.’
Aida cleared her throat.
‘Elham is a good mother,’ she told Heather. ‘It is not easy for people like us. She is doing her best.’
‘I . . . I didn’t say she wasn’t,’ Heather said. ‘It’s just, well, we can organise something. Some help perhaps?’
‘Can you get her a visa?’ Aida asked sharply. ‘Promise her she won’t go back into detention?’
Heather’s face fell. ‘Now, look, I . . . my concern is . . . I care. I’ve signed the petitions online. My husband too. But I have no control over those things.’
The woman was red-cheeked, wringing her hands nervously.
‘I’m sorry,’ Aida apologised. ‘That was very improper of me. I’ll talk to Elham about getting someone to help with Niki.’
As if conjured by some spell of coincidence, Niki appeared beside them, casting her arms around Elham’s legs.
‘Of course,’ said Heather, offering them both what Aida now knew was a smile of hope and pain. It was the one given by anyone employed to help them. ‘When you’re ready, of course.’
As they left, Aida thought of all the children she’d seen, caged and anxious and not knowing any better. No room for their imaginations because of the abundance of reality. Then she tried to think of them no more.
*
When Elham returned home with Niki that afternoon Aida had a surprise for them.
‘It’s a bed, Niki. A late birthday present. A little mattress just for you. So you don’t have to sleep crammed together on that single bed anymore.’
Niki gave the mattress a cursory glance, her eyes drifting over the purple daisies and stars of the sheets.
‘No,’ she replied shortly, coiling herself around Elham.
‘Niki-joon, look at the lovely gift khaleh has given you!’ Elham gushed, but Niki refused to.
‘No,’ she said again, her voice muffled by Elham’s thigh.
Elham gave Aida an apologetic look.
Aida waved it off. ‘It’s nothing.’
She watched Niki huff out of the room. She had missed Niki’s birthday the week before and only now had the money to buy her a gift. Aida didn’t mention that because of the mattress she would be eating noodles until her next payment came through. Nor the difficulty she’d had lugging it home from the high street, balanced beneath her umbrella, after spotting it in a store while dropping off résumés. Nor the particularly strange breed of catcalls this had produced.
‘We’ve never slept apart,’ Elham confided, her voice low.
Aida was mortified that she had not considered this.
‘Of course,’ she assured Elham. ‘It’s there whenever you need it. I’m sure the cats will love it, anyway.’
Later, Aida wandered into the kitchen to find Elham scraping the remains of Niki’s meal into the Cyruses bowl. Elham glanced at her a moment, shaking her head at the wasted food, then her face suddenly lit up.
‘Oh, something happened to Niki today! Niki-joon!’ she called. ‘Come here! Come show khaleh.’
Niki wandered back in, heavy-footed.
‘Show her. Show khaleh,’ Elham insisted, and Niki reluctantly opened her mouth.
‘She fell off the play equipment,’ Elham explained. ‘Knocked a tooth right out. But she’s such a brave girl, aren’t you?’
Niki nodded stoically, her tongue working the new gap in her mouth. ‘Tooth fairy,’ she informed them.
Elham and Aida exchanged confused looks.
‘She was saying this before,’ Elham said. ‘What are you saying, azizam?’
‘Tooth fairy,’ Niki insisted, her voice rising with frustration.
‘Fairly?’ Aida guessed. ‘What’s not fair?’
‘I don’t understand you, azizam. Maybe it’s the missing tooth or maybe she knocked her head when she fell. Niki, what are you saying?’ Elham asked again, prompting the child to flash red.
‘TOOTH FAIRY!’
The two women looked at each other, lost. Somewhere in the back of Aida’s mind a distant memory shuffled its feet.
‘Wait, this is sounding familiar.’
She pulled out her phone and typed tooth fairy into the search engine. She opened the Wikipedia entry and scrolled down. When she was finished, she began at the start and read through again. Elham watched her intently.
‘What? What does it say?’
Aida looked down at the screen, bewildered.
‘Tooth fairy . . . A pari. When children lose their teeth the tooth fairy comes in the night to take them away.’
Elham’s face squirrelled in confusion.
‘What? The children?’
‘No, the teeth.’
‘It takes the teeth? Oh, l
ike the little mouse! My mother used to tell me that. The little mouse comes at night to take your teeth away.’
‘Yes, but the tooth fairy leaves money in return.’
‘For the teeth? Who gets the money? The parents or the child?’
‘The child.’
Elham considered this.
‘The little mouse makes more sense. Mice are always hoarding things. But why would a pari want to buy teeth? A jinn maybe. A jinn would exchange your teeth for money, except it would be an ancient dirham that turned out to be cursed, and would ruin the fortunes of you and your descendants for generations.’
Aida could see her mind ticking over.
‘But we’re in Australia now, so pari it is. Okay, Niki-joon. Time for bed. Let’s leave your tooth out for the tooth pari.’
Niki threw back her head to protest but Elham raised a finger.
‘You want your payment, don’t you? You better get into the new bed khaleh gave you or the tooth pari might accidentally give your payment to Maman and take away my teeth.’
Niki eyed the two women suspiciously, processing her options. Finally, she nodded cautiously.
‘But Maman help me sleep,’ she countered.
‘Okay, azizam,’ Elham agreed. ‘You go put on your pyjamas and I’ll be there soon.’
Niki sauntered off, casting a prudent glance over her shoulder, the little tooth clasped firmly in her fist. In the kitchen, Elham opened her purse.
‘How much do you think this jinn leaves? I have no coins.’
Aida checked her own purse.
‘Me neither. I have a ten-dollar note. Is that too much? It seems like too much. Surely a child’s tooth isn’t worth much?’
Elham shrugged her shoulders sceptically.
‘Who knows in this country? You pay five dollars for bread so ten doesn’t seem unreasonable for a human tooth.’
‘Maman!’ Niki called out from the bedroom.
‘You go settle her,’ Aida said. ‘I’ll find somewhere to get some change.’
‘You sure?’ Elham asked, her face uncertain. ‘It’s raining.’
‘Of course. Imagine what would happen if she woke up to nothing. Go.’
The rain was heavier now, bucketing down in great powerful slabs. Aida huddled under the umbrella, her shoes soaked through. Water coursed through the gutter beside her, leaves and garbage barrelling urgently down the street. The little corner store was still open, a bucket waiting expectantly by the door for umbrellas. Aida’s was the sole lodger. It was a small store, poky and labyrinthine, the shelves housing an eclectic assortment of products, many of which were coated with a preserving layer of dust. There were loaves of white bread on the counter, a selection of videos for hire, and a handwritten sign advertising the option of dry-cleaning services should patrons be that way inclined. It reminded Aida of the little stores at home, the one near her parents’ place where she’d go sometimes to pick up jam and herbs and pofak cheese puffs if there was change to spare. An elderly woman, wizened and bored-looking, stood behind the counter, a feather duster keeping busy over the easier-to-reach stock. Such was her height that only two of the four shelves were dust-free. Aida approached the counter, pulling the ten-dollar note from her pocket.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know the correct amount of money the tooth fairy leaves, would you?’
The woman stared at her for a moment, her face expressionless, before she called out something in another language through the open doorway behind her. Aida thought it might be Vietnamese, and for a moment wondered if this woman too had come by boat. Soon a young man came skulking out. The woman said something to him and his face contorted in confusion.
‘What were you looking for?’ he asked Aida, stepping up to the counter.
Aida smoothed the note in her hand.
‘I was wondering how much money the tooth fairy leaves. For a tooth. A small tooth, maybe this big.’ She squeezed her thumb and forefinger close. ‘Three, no, just turned four years old. Knocked out in the playground, if that makes a difference,’ she added helpfully, unsure whether the tooth fairy modulated payments like insurers did.
The young man thought for a moment.
‘It depends. I mean, in this economy, you wouldn’t want to go for anything lower than a dollar, I reckon. It’s not like the old days when twenty cents would buy you a decent bag of lollies. And any higher is just excessive, because what’s a four-year-old going to do with all that coin? A dollar, I reckon. Just to be safe.’
Aida held out the note.
‘Thank you. Could I trouble you for change?’
The woman looked annoyed and stepped forward to say something, but the young man brushed her away.
‘It’s fine, Ba Noi. Look at the rain.’
He fished some coins out of the register.
‘Here, take this too.’
He handed Aida a small chocolate bar from the counter.
‘Just think of it as the tooth fairy making an investment for the future.’
His unexpected kindness unsettled her, and she turned her face away.
Aida arrived home to a smell both familiar and faraway, her mind lost for a moment as she scrambled to place it.
‘You’ve been burning esfand!’ she exclaimed, the oaky smell reminding her of her mother, who would routinely wait until guests had left before flushing the house with the burning seeds in case they’d inadvertently brought bad spirits inside. It brought seventy-two angels, her mother insisted, who purged the house of evils.
Elham looked embarrassed.
‘It’s all this talk of jinns . . . I know it’s just a children’s story but better to be safe than sorry. We need all the luck we can get.’
Aida smiled, and placed a coin and the chocolate bar in Elham’s palm.
‘Here.’
Elham pocketed them.
‘I’ll take it in later, in case she wakes up before morning. You hungry? I’m reheating some tahchin from yesterday.’
Aida held up a hand.
‘It’s okay. I have leftovers.’
‘You mean that monstrosity that stank out the kitchen? The smell of it – like Mashhadi perfume but cheaper. I gave it to the cats.’
Aida glanced into the kitchen. Cyrus and Shahrzad had distanced themselves from the leftovers, eyeing them with disdain and mistrust.
‘You see? Even the animals won’t touch it. You cook like we’re still in the camps. Please, just eat some real food with me.’
Aida hesitated. Cyrus was prodding at the leftovers with his paw, forcing it from his dinner plate. A chunk tipped over the edge onto the linoleum and he stepped back, satisfied.
‘Fine. Thank you.’
They sat at the table, Elham’s delicious food before them.
‘I’m exhausted. Look at the time,’ Aida sighed.
‘Just like home, right?’ Elham said. ‘None of this dinner while it’s still daylight business they have here.’
‘I have an idea,’ Aida said, leaving the room and returning moments later with a sheet.
She spread it on the floor, a makeshift sofreh, then took her plate from the table. She sat down, legs crossed, and began to eat.
‘Just like home,’ she smiled.
Elham let out a whoop of laughter, her eyes bright, then joined her.
‘You know what would make this more like home?’ she said. ‘My mother complaining about the traffic on the way to the bazaar. ‘Ai, nothing but red lights the whole way! And the man beside me in the taxi looking into my bag like a pervert!’
‘The price of saffron!’ Aida cried, clutching at her cheeks in pantomime of her own mother. ‘And you wouldn’t guess how long I had to wait in line for this sangak! You’d think it was the bread of the Shah himself!’
Elham snorted with laughter.
‘And this rain! It’s like a horse’s tail! I remember just before I left going to buy meat and it was twice the price it was the week before. Twice the price!’
Elham’s face changed and she stared into her rice.
‘It’s funny the way you don’t think about how it might be the last time you ever do something, but then it is. The last time I buy meat from the butcher in the bazaar. The last time I squeeze into the crowded bus. The last time I hug my mother and kiss her cheeks. You don’t realise how big these small things are.’
Aida stopped eating. Elham seemed suddenly shrunken by her grief. She knew what was coming next. Her heart started to race as she settled her spoon on her plate.
‘You know . . .’ Elham started, but Aida cut her off.
‘You know what I do when I start to think like that?’ she said, and Elham looked at her expectantly.
‘I think of three things different and three things the same. My father taught me this. It makes things less scary. Reminds you of the things you have. Why don’t you try?’
Elham looked dubious. ‘Your father is a psychologist?’
‘An academic, but he figures it’s the same. Just try it,’ Aida insisted. ‘Three things that are different.’
‘Fine,’ Elham said, picking a grain of rice from her lap. ‘One – people eat dinner very early here. Two – the tooth jinn, obviously. Three – people say confusing things here like, “How are you going?” What does this mean? How am I going? By train, of course, but I’ll probably be late because they’re never on time.’
‘Good.’ Aida smiled. ‘Now three things the same.’
Elham sat back, stretching her feet before her and rubbing her thighs.
‘This is hard.’
She thought some more.
‘One – I’m still scared to walk the streets at night. Two – most television is silly. Three – saffron is just as expensive.’
‘Do you feel better?’ Aida asked, and Elham lifted her shoulders.
‘Distracted, I guess. It stops you thinking what you were thinking. Your father is a clever man.’ Elham pulled herself to her feet, her arms wrapped around her body. ‘Does it help you hold off those thoughts forever?’
The Book of Ordinary People Page 8