SAMIRA
No Morality Police come out here.
Large water jugs and wicker baskets filled with fruits and vegetables are carefully balanced atop the heads of the women and young girls. The men play backgammon, smoke hand-rolled cigars or sip tea outside tea shops. Most of the children on the street are helping their parents work. Having never left Tehran, the Afsseus children are fascinated by the village’s scenery and people.
REZA
Look, Maman!
REZA points out a boy with a loosely wrapped turban riding a mule. Strings of fish dangle from the flanks of the mule. An aged man with a long beard wears a qashani and walks by the boy’s side. He carries two fishing rods over his shoulder and a bucket of fish in his left hand.
SAHAR
And over there!
SAHAR points to three young girls in long-sleeved shirts and colorful skirts sitting cross-legged on the stoop of a doorstep. They are weaving baskets with some older women. As they drive by, the windy melody of a duduk causes a flashback for SAMIRA.
DISSOLVE TO PAST (PAST):
INT. JAJA’S TEA SHOP, MORNING
JAJA hangs the portrait of his deceased wife on the wall of his teashop. He has tears in his eyes. SAMIRA stands behind him, incandescently beautiful. She’s tall with sharp cheek bones. Although the cut of her clothes is conservative, the cloth is vivid with orange and purple. Her headscarf frames her face loosely enough to hint at the beauty of the curls beneath. JAJA comes to stand beside her. His leathery face highlights SAMIRA’S powder-white, youthful skin.
DISSOLVE TO PAST (PAST):
INT. SAMIRA’S STUDIO, EVENING
SAMIRA stands in her wedding dress. DAVOUD’S desperate fingers struggle to unbutton the gown. SAMIRA’S eyes are unsure of themselves. She is suddenly startled by the sound and feel of DAVOUD ripping her dress apart. She takes a breath and lowers her eyes onto the wood floor.
MATCH DISSOLVE TO (PAST):
INT. SAMIRA’S STUDIO, AFTERNOON
A burgundy-colored music box sits on the wood floor, next to SAMIRA’S feet. She stands face to face with ARMIN. They are like angels in the glow of the moonlight. They kiss and melt into each other.
DISSOLVE TO (PAST):
INT. AFSSEUS LIVING ROOM, EVENING
SAMIRA, SAHAR, REZA, RAUMBOD and HASSAN sit around the sofreh spread on the floor, full of SAMIRA’S home-cooked food. They all look toward the hallway as ARMIN walks (back) into the room. He is holding the music box wrapped with a big gold bow. SAMIRA’S eyes fill with tears.
DISSOLVE TO (PAST):
INT. AFSSEUS LIVING ROOM, EVENING
The room is full of the heaviness of evil. MORALITY POLICE buzz around, shouting with their pointed guns. SAMIRA is covering her children, but looks at ARMIN. His eyes tell her that, rather than face torture and eventual death, he will provoke them into killing him there and then. He is sorry. Very sorry. He loves her. He turns around and pretends to run. Bullets fly.
FLASH CUT TO:
INT. CAR, AFTERNOON
MR. SHIRAZI
We’ll sleep in this village overnight.
SAMIRA is startled to find herself in the present.
MR. SHIRAZI
You’ll need your rest.
The next couple of days will be very difficult.
SAMIRA
(to the children)
Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.
I’ll be here and I’ll take care of you. And your Amoo Davoud will take care of you, too.
The jeep pulls over in front of a small cottage. Everyone gets out. An older woman sits cross-legged on the stoop. She has a round face and gray hair. A plain chador patterned with small, faded blue birds covers her from head to toe. She is not wearing any makeup but lots of cheap thin bracelets jingle on her arm when she moves. The worn flip-flops reveal her dusty toes and yellowing toe nails. SAMIRA, DAVOUD, SAHAR, RAUMBOD, REZA and MR. SHIRAZI approach. The air smells of dill and jasmine.
MR. SHIRAZI
This is Mrs. Kordi. She’s a very nice lady who’s hosted many, many people. She’s a Turkish immigrant and loves Iranians. You’ll be staying with her tonight.
SAMIRA
Salam. Thank you so much for having us.
MR. SHIRAZI
She doesn’t speak much Farsi. A few words here or there. Her food is always great, and her house is one of the few around here with electricity so you can listen to the radio.
MRS. KORDI nods hello and invites them in with a gesture. They follow her but when DAVOUD tries to enter, MRS. KORDI blocks him from the doorway.
MR. SHIRAZI
No, Davoud, only Samira and the kids stay there.
DAVOUD
But I can’t—
MR. SHIRAZI
That old woman lives by herself. She couldn’t possibly let a man sleep there.
It’s haram.
SAMIRA
I really don’t—
MR. SHIRAZI
That’s the way it is. You can’t all fit in there, anyway.
DAVOUD
(to SAMIRA)
Will you be okay?
SAMIRA nods.
MR. SHIRAZI
Now, make sure to eat lots of food. Food will be scarce for a day or so and you’ll need your strength. Be packed and ready to leave at six tomorrow morning.
DAVOUD
Bye, bye, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow.
SAMIRA
Say bye to your Amoo Davoud.
THE CHILDREN manage to wave goodbye. DAVOUD and MR. SHIRAZI leave. SAMIRA AND THE CHILDREN go into MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE.
CUT TO:
INT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, EARLY EVENING
Humble, hand-woven rugs lie side-by-side across the entire sitting area and colorful cushions lean against the walls. A small, round table sits in the corner of the room, and on top of it are the only electrical devices in the brick hut: an aged lamp and a radio with a broken antenna. MRS. KORDI lights the lamp, then throws up her arms in a gesture of pride over her electricity. She clicks on the rusted radio and plays with the knobs until static-filled folk songs crackle in the room. The songs are sung by men (women are mostly forbidden from singing in public). SAMIRA takes off her rupush. MRS. KORDI notices her bulging belly and warmly places her hand on it. She immediately realizes that there is something other than a baby under the clothes and quickly draws back her hand. SAMIRA is startled, then relieved when MRS. KORDI offers her a smile of understanding. They both laugh. MRS. KORDI spreads a sofreh over the rugs in preparation for dinner. SAMIRA AND THE CHILDREN sit cross-legged around the sofreh. MRS. KORDI puts out a small basket of fresh herbs to enjoy with the eggplant stew (noticeably short of meat) and basmati saffron rice. Both were cooked over the traditional black cast-iron stove in the small kitchenette adjacent to the sitting area. It is some of the best eggplant stew that SAMIRA AND THE CHILDREN have tasted, but its most notable quality, not lost on anyone, is that this is the same dish SAMIRA cooked a few nights ago when ARMIN was killed—the only meal prepared in the Afsseus house that was never eaten.
MRS. KORDI
Eat, please. Eat.
Children . . . beautiful!
SAMIRA
Thank you.
SAHAR
Maman, look at her teeth . . . most of them aren’t there.
Noticing SAHAR’S fascination with her disastrous teeth, MRS. KORDI points to an empty spot where a tooth should have been.
MRS. KORDI
Bir zaman bu çok genç.
SAMIRA
I think she’s telling us a story about her missing tooth!
MRS. KORDI
Kana ve kana ve kana ve!
SAMIRA
Sahar jan, why don’t you translate for us?
SAHAR
I don’t speak Turkish!
SAMIRA
Just do what you can! Use your imagination!
SAHAR
Um . . . I’m not sure . . .
SAMIRA
I’ll show you how. One day h
er husband noticed some of his whiskey money was missing. She told him that she’d given his whiskey money as alms to the poor, which made him furious because, he told her, we are the poor who should be getting alms! But really she’d spent the money on a new ribbon for her hair which she’d bought on market day from a woman in a neighboring village. Suddenly, as if Khoda was punishing her for her lie, the tooth turned jet black, overnight! But she wasn’t upset, because she was grateful that Khoda hadn’t punished her by making her nose grow, like he did with Pinocchio, because her husband really hates big-nosed women!
SAHAR and REZA laugh and so does MRS. KORDI who either understands the game or assumes they understand what she is saying and are laughing at her funny stories. RAUMBOD remains quiet. MRS. KORDI sticks her finger deep inside her mouth to point out another missing tooth.
SAMIRA
Sahar jan, you try.
SAHAR
Okay. This one broke off when . . . she tripped over a shovel . . . when she was eight years old. It really hurt but her baba let her eat ice cream . . . for a whole week afterwards! So it was worth it!
SAMIRA
Good job, baby! I think you’re right, that’s exactly what happened!
SAHAR
Yup. Definitely.
SAMIRA
Come on, Raumbod jan, you try one! Look, she’s pointing to a tooth that’s half chipped off! What do you think happened to the top half of that poor tooth?
Beat.
RAUMBOD
Someone she loved died . . . And she was too sad to cook for her kids. So she cut off half her tooth so she could focus on the toothache and forget her sadness.
MRS. KORDI keeps on laughing, but the others lose their smiles. Unsure as to what has happened, MRS. KORDI stops laughing too.
MRS. KORDI
Eat more, children. Eat.
CUT TO:
INT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, LATE EVENING
Roll-out beds line the same floor where they had eaten. MRS. KORDI brings a stack of pillows and blankets and sets them on the ground next to SAMIRA. SAMIRA thanks her. MRS. KORDI puts her hand on SAMIRA’S face and gives her a warm smile, reminding SAMIRA of her maman. MRS. KORDI then goes into the only other room in the small cottage, a curtained-off space that is her bedroom. SAMIRA AND THE CHILDREN lie down on the cots in the sitting area, all four of them nesting together, conserving their warmth. THE CHILDREN, exhausted from the day’s travels, quickly fall asleep. SAMIRA lies awake. She is free to fear. To miss. To cry. Her heart thuds. She prays to a God in which she is no longer sure she believes, for the return of her husband.
WIPE TO:
INT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, LATE EVENING
Several hours have passed. SAMIRA tosses and turns. Her fatigue intensifies.
WIPE TO:
INT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, LATE EVENING
It is later now. SAMIRA is still awake. Exhaustion makes her paranoid. Perhaps, she wonders, given the strength of her love, ARMIN can speak to her from the grave. Or she can talk to him.
SAMIRA
(to herself)
Armin, I’m broken.
There’s no strength left in me.
I need you.
Every corner I turn to is empty.
Please, a sign, any sign, anything at all to help me sleep.
SAMIRA looks at her watch, sees it’s five in the morning. She gets up and walks outside.
CUT TO:
EXT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, CONTINUOUS
SAMIRA sits on the stoop of MRS. KORDI’S cottage, crying softly. The sun rises very slowly and the light washes over her. The nearby birds sing.
WIPE TO:
EXT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE
Some time has passed. SAMIRA finds herself staring at the herb garden next to the stoop. Mint, basil and parsley. She is almost certain the herbs are growing before her very eyes. To avoid going insane, she stands up, does her best to regain her bearings, and begins to go back inside.
CUT TO:
INT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, CONTINUOUS
SAHAR is tossing and turning from a nightmare.
CUT TO:
EXT. BARREN GROUND, MIDDAY
SAHAR stands on barren ground. There is nothing alive. Even the few scattered trees on this deserted plane are blackened by the presence of death. She takes off all of her clothes until she is wearing only her white underwear. Her hair is long and dancing with the sleepy breeze of this forgotten place. She has just killed someone—or she thinks she has because when she looks down to her hands, which are much larger than their ordinary size, they are drenched in blood. The dead is someone she loved. No—it is the shadow of someone she loved. In this place, somehow, she battles the shadows of her waking world.
FLASH CUT TO:
INT. MRS. KORDI’S HOUSE, DAWN
SAHAR sits up, exhaling with fright, just as SAMIRA enters the room. SAMIRA rushes to her side. SAHAR looks to her hands which are wet not from the blood in her dream but from sweat. She sees her maman next to her and breathes a little easier.
SAHAR
Maman!
SAMIRA
I’m here, angel. Shh . . . it’s okay. It was just a bad dream.
SAHAR
I was . . . somewhere.
Someone was dead . . . and there was blood.
SAMIRA
Oh, azizam. I’m so sorry.
Silence returns. THE TWINS still sleep.
SAHAR
Maman?
SAMIRA
Yes, azizam?
SAHAR
What’s it like to be in love, like you were with Baba?
SAMIRA
I can’t really describe it in words.
SAHAR
Oh.
SAMIRA
But maybe I can show you. You ready?
SAHAR
Baleh!
SAMIRA
Okay, now hold your breath. You holding it?
SAHAR nods yes while puffing out her cheeks
SAMIRA
Hold it!
Hold it!
Hold it!
Now imagine that instead of holding your breath, you’re holding time in your cheeks.
Keep on holding!
Keep on holding!
Okay! Now you can breathe out!
SAHAR
(relieving exhale)
Ah!
SAMIRA
Now you know that feeling when you finally exhaled and everything inside of you felt right?
SAHAR
Yes!
SAMIRA
You breathed out and let time flow through your body, right?
SAHAR
Yes!
SAMIRA
Well, that's love. People say love makes time stop, but really, love is letting time and life flow through your body. It’s the feeling of being one with the movement of life.
Beat.
SAHAR
Maman jan?
SAMIRA
Yes, azizam?
SAHAR
Who is Davoud?
Beat.
SAMIRA
Davoud is someone I knew . . . before I met your baba.
SAHAR
How’d you know him?
SAMIRA
My parents married him to me.
SAHAR
(shocked)
You were married before Baba?
SAMIRA
I was.
SAHAR
When?
SAMIRA
A long time ago. I was fourteen.
SAHAR
Fourteen!
SAMIRA
Yes.
SAHAR
Were you scared?
SAMIRA
Yes. But it was because of Davoud that I met your baba. He was—a friend of the family.
SAHAR
Oh.
(beat)
Maman?
SAMIRA
Yes, my darling?
SAHAR
When you met Baba, was that the first ti
me you let time exhale out of your cheeks?
SAMIRA
The first time, and the only time. Now try to go back to sleep.
SAHAR
The only time?
SAMIRA
The only time.
FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN:
ESTABLISHING SHOT: VILLAGE OF SALAS, ON THE IRAN/TURKEY BORDER.
EXT. MRS. KORDI’S COTTAGE, MORNING
SAMIRA AND THE CHILDREN step outside of the cottage to greet MR. SHIRAZI and DAVOUD. SAMIRA and SAHAR are back in full hejab. The men have two donkeys next to them.
MR. SHIRAZI
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