Strange Times, My Dear

by Nahid Mozaffari

  But what can a young girl do? She counted. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. She was eighteen years old now. Her young and cheerful eyes shone in her moonlike face framed by the veil. The black veil suited her. It brought out her fair skin and round face. “Mom, don’t worry. Reza has gotten used to it. Sometimes he doesn’t even remember.”

  So life went on without her. Peacefully. Everything was in its rightful place. She shuddered. The little worry inside her was growing larger. Her heart ached. Mrs. Amini, too, had been bedridden for two months. Then she had died. But she was a nurse. How could she not have realized that she had cancer? Every afternoon she would walk in the hallway. With her arms crossed she would gently caress her left breast. Unconsciously She was no different from the patients being released the next day Just a bit thinner, a bit paler. And one morning Mrs. Amini was gone. Without saying anything to Vaji. When she died everyone said, “She had cancer.” Vaji thought, “Mine isn’t cancer. If it was, I would know. It’s not.” In the beginning, the pain would come once a week and then she would have no more pain until the next week. Then why now, after the operation, was she in pain every night? And it didn’t even leave her in peace during the day. The next morning the doctor was at her bedside.

  “It’s all your imagination and fear. The day before yesterday your case was discussed at the meeting. Everyone’s opinion was favorable. We first diagnosed that the tumor is in the uterus and that we would remove it by a simple operation. But during the operation we realized that a benign tumor was in the area of your stomach and intestines. Of course, we took biopsies and as a result we couldn’t give you a definite answer until today. But from now on you should put your mind at ease. The committee decided not to perform another operation. Over the next few months we will treat you with chemotherapy and medication as an outpatient.”

  “When can I go home?”

  “Whenever you want. But in my opinion it would be better for you to stay here. You will be under more supervision.”

  She could hear Azarmi’s voice: “I adore this great mother-in-law. Good for her. It’s good you asked her permission to come. You can’t believe how great I felt yesterday. After you left, all I did was think of you. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come. The guys from the neighborhood came over yesterday morning. Your brother was there, too. No, there’s nothing to be afraid of. You should’ve been there. They brought tons of fruit and nuts and cigarettes. By the way, Ashraf, why did you get so thin? What are you worried about? Really? Believe me, walking with a cane is a lot of fun. Come over again tomorrow. Please. Well, if you have to study, come the day after. Come so that I can see you more. Next time you have to come to my room. What’s there to be embarrassed of? Aren’t we engaged? But it’s not good in the yard. Yeah, I saw the two women. Really? Are you serious? Was it really your mother? Why didn’t you say something? I saw her staring, but she had completely covered her face. I didn’t recognize her. You should have introduced her. There was so much fruit and pastries upstairs, and you left without eating anything. Your mother is really kind. After you, I love her. You don’t mind, do you? I told my mother and my family to only come on Fridays so it will be easier for you to come over. See how thoughtful I am? I’ll wait for you tomorrow. Okay. The day after. This time you have to come to my room. I’ll be hurt if you don’t. Stay by the phone. I’ll call again after these people are done with their calls. Good luck.”

  Vaji thought the man would never stop talking. She wished the phone wasn’t right outside her room. The constant ringing, talking, pleasantries, compliments. What else is there to talk about with a patient other than their health? Vaji thought that if she had been Ashraf’s mother she wouldn’t have come, and she wouldn’t have let her daughter come, either. Then she leaned forward to watch Azarmi leave with his cane, dragging his leg behind him.

  So Ashraf had come. Right when she was sleeping. I would have seen her if I had been awake. Farrokh had come, too, but I was unconscious. Azarmi is right to have hope, but what about me?

  Vaji could hear Nahid at the end of the hallway. She knew that by now she was crouched on her bed, shaking her dark skinny hands, and with her thick Dezful accent she was screaming.2

  “Don’t get me wrong, but you hear this is the capital and it means people from everywhere else in the country should be homeless and destitute. Their young should stand in front of bullets so the high and mighty can live their easy comfortable lives. So they can strut down the street and show off. No way! We toppled that throne. And we’ll deal with this menace, too—so well that even you’ll say well done. You have no conscience. Day and night they drop bombs on our heads and we don’t make a peep. Then you come here to the capital, and it’s as though there’s no war at all. Once in a blue moon they sound the siren just for the heck of it, and these miserable creatures run and hide in a hole. You people have no shame! I pray you’ll all be barren and childless. Leave me alone. You’re breaking my arm. Bastards. Am I lying?”

  And her voice would die off in her throat as she struggled. In a few minutes, in the silence of the hospital, a woman with large broad hands would noisily collect the pitchers from the counters in each room and she would dip her red bowl into the small slippery ice cubes and pour them into the pitchers. And now a woman whose nose had been bandaged was looking at Vaji:

  “You’ve had an operation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it tough?”

  “No. It’s only tough after you regain consciousness.”

  The telephone rang, and Vaji stopped paying attention to her roommate. A second later, the nurses were all running around in a frenzy. Vaji could see them come and go from the narrow opening of the door. But she only realized why when the sound of the military march rose from the speakers. She walked out of her room. The patients were all standing in the hallway watching. They were taking the stretchers down on the elevator and bringing folding beds and dusty mattresses out of storage. Two people were setting up the beds and another one was wiping them down. The speakers were broadcasting the military march and the latest news from the war front. Two janitors and an assistant nurse were going room to room, and the head nurse, Mrs. Naseri, was shouting orders. Hers was the only constant voice that could be heard every day, from seven in the morning until two in the afternoon.

  “Pull this bed forward. Push that one back. Now bring in that folding bed and put it between the two.

  “Okay lady, I know you’re sick. But please help us out a bit. There’s a war going on, and it’s out of my hands. Quickly. Yes. Take your things to the other room.”

  Vaji thought this was the best time to change her room. She took her clothes out of the dresser. Naseri’s voice rose again. “No, Mrs. Vas-sel, you stay in this room. We can keep an eye on you here. Mr. Habib, help them take out that dresser and make room for the bed.

  “Mr. Azarmi, what are you doing getting in the way? You better go make a phone call and stay out of the way.

  “Okay, that’s fine. So far we’ve made room for all the women in this section of the ward. The other half of the ward will be for the brothers.”

  The ambulance sirens from the street and the sound from the loudspeakers drowned out Naseri’s voice. Within the hour one more bed was added to the rooms with two beds, and the rooms with three beds were transformed into rooms with five beds. A long row of folding beds stood along the hallway walls and young men — once in a while an older man — lay on each. An hour still remained before the regular visiting hours, but the rooms were already packed with crowds of people crying and weeping at the patients’ bedsides. In the hallway, someone was rubbing the shoulders of a woman who had passed out. The tables were piled with bouquets of flowers and boxes of pastries. Vaji thought, “How did they find out so quickly?” There were still patients coming out of the operating room. It was past two o’clock, but Naseri’s voice could still be heard. The air conditioners and fans were working full force. The windows were open. Still, hot, and suffocating air fill
ed the rooms.

  Mokhtar had come alone; later Vaji’s mother came. She stood next to Vaji’s bed. There were people from Dezful visiting Nahid, who was now Vaji’s roommate. A few others stood around the bandaged face. Vaji had trouble breathing.

  “Let’s go out to the yard,” Vaji said.

  “Isn’t it bad for you?”

  “No. It’s actually very good for me.”

  Ignoring the pain that pressured her stomach, Vaji put on her chador and made her way to the yard through the mob. Mokhtar was calm, but every time his eyes met Vaji’s his upper lip quivered.

  “Farrokh didn’t come?”

  “No. She had to study.”

  “The doctor said there’s no need to operate.”

  “He told me, too.”

  “When did he speak with you?”

  “Yesterday. You were sleeping when we came. The doctor stayed to speak with me. How many times did I tell you to go see a doctor? You didn’t. You waited till things got worse.”

  “There you go again. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just weak. I want to come home.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. I just mean, are you uncomfortable here? Don’t they take good care of you?”

  “I miss Reza. They bring in more war casualties every day. They need beds. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just taking up someone else’s bed.”

  “Stay a couple of weeks and rest. At home Reza is naughty and he’ll get on your nerves.”

  “I want to come just for him.”

  “Actually, it’s better if he doesn’t see you. He’s gotten used to it. If you come home and then have to go back to the hospital he’ll be upset again.”

  Vaji looked at her mother who, though silent, was listening intently. “Mother, say something.”

  Mother looked at Vaji. Her eyes were brimming with tears. In a choked yet calm voice she said, “It’s better if you don’t come. Stay another week and rest.”

  An hour later, when Vaji returned to her room, the janitor was sweeping the floor. Nahid was looking at her burned legs, talking to herself.

  “I’ll leave when my legs get well. Anywhere is better than here. I hate it here. I hated it from the start. Once in a blue moon I’d come to visit my relatives. I don’t want to come to Tehran anymore.”

  Vaji took off her veil and lay down on the bed. She knew that one word from her would get Nahid started again. Nahid stared at the woman whose eyes peeked through a bandaged face. Her dark, olive-skinned face turned crimson. She slapped her knees.

  “God doesn’t love me. He stuck me here with this bitch again. There was no cure for me in Dezful. Dear God, don’t make me needy of this person and that. You know, present company excluded, most of these Tehran uptown snobs are godless. I hope their houses come down on their heads. They have no religion; they don’t believe in God. Oh God, could these planes come and bomb this place one day? What’s the matter; why are you all standing here again? Am I lying? Every time there’s a siren these delicate ladies jump into their husband’s arms. Aren’t we women, too? A dozen times my kid has gotten so scared from the sound of the planes and the bombs that he peed in the middle of our meal. You don’t even wear proper head scarves. It’s beneath you. Our kids are being martyred by the dozens. Our beautiful young people go to the front and never come back. You snub your nose. Bitches. Let go of me. Let go of my arms. It hurts. You can’t find a single honorable man anymore. Leave it to me to teach them all a lesson. The country is being washed away and these godless uptown snobs are fast asleep.”

  The patients are all gathered at the door, and the nurse has injected the sedative but it still hasn’t taken effect. The woman’s voice resonates in the ward:

  “Strangle me. Kill me. Just like the others. Her shirt is open down to her navel and she throws a lace scarf over her head. I’ll rip her apart myself. Shameless. God, God, save me. What was my sin? Why did you do this to me? Everyone dies from mortars. Miserable me, I get burned by boiling water. I have no luck.”

  And now the head nurse is standing over Nahid. The woman cries and beats herself on the head. The head nurse says, “What? What’s the matter, lady? Why are you screaming? Did you give her the sedative, Nurse? Fine. Go to sleep. You’ll be released in two days. Every damn day you make a scene. Your nerves are bad. Well, so are everyone else’s. Nurse, stay with her. If she starts screaming again let me know.”

  The head nurse had barely made it out of the room when Nahid roared, “She’s one of them.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said it’s no one’s fault. It’s all because of the water. Anyone who drinks the water here goes crazy.” “You’re at it again? Quiet.”

  The patients had not yet dispersed. Vaji, despite her pain, left the room. She didn’t want to be there. Next door, by the window, Azarmi was sitting up in bed eating pistachios. A young man with his shoulder all bandaged up was lying on his back and moaning. Next to him, a middle-aged man lay in bed with his eyes closed and a woman, apparently his wife, and a few young girls and boys stood around him.

  His left arm was in a cast, and there were weights hanging from his legs at the bottom of the bed. In his right hand the man was quietly clenching a stem of narcissus and once in a while he would raise it to his nose and smell it. The janitor had come to kick the visitors out, and now Azarmi, with a cane in one hand and a chair in the other, was off to sit next to the telephone. He is going to start talking any minute now, Vaji thought. And she walked to the window at the other end of the hallway. The woman standing next to her was looking out at the street, blowing kisses. A four- or five-year-old boy was perched on his fathers shoulders, laughing. So why didn’t Mokhtar bring Reza to see her, to wave to her? “Sister. Sister

  An old Arab man with an IV in his arm was sprawled on a folding bed. He could barely speak Persian.

  “My arm. My arm hurts, sister. The needle in my arm hurts.”

  The old man’s right arm was all swollen where the IV had been inserted. Vaji turned to call the nurse.

  “Not that I don’t want to see you. But if you can’t, I won’t insist. I really miss you. Sometimes I want to come and get you myself. I’m tired of this. No. They’re really nice kids, especially the sisters, they really take care of us, but you know, it’s not just a day or two. Especially in the women’s ward. The doctor says it will take a long time for my eye to heal. I’m in no hurry, but I’m worried about you. Nothing. Just like that. I feel bad you didn’t do well on your test. It’s all my fault. But I’ll make it up to you. Forget it. When I get out of here I’ll study with you every day. You’ll definitely pass. No, I still remember the lessons. If I take one look, I’ll remember. Still I’m lucky to hear your voice. I have a roommate from Bostan. He got shot in the shoulder. His love is still in his village. There’s an old guy, too. He’s a wreck. There’s always a herd of people around him. Not that I’m jealous, but I’d be really happy if you came. You don’t have to study any more now. I know you failed the test, but we’ll make up for it.”

  “Cut it short, brother. You’re driving us crazy.”

  One of the young boys lying in the hallway had had enough.

  Azarmi was still talking, and the janitor was bringing the trays of food and Nahid was snoring and the bandaged face was looking at herself in the mirror. The pain in her legs had quietly started. Vaji knew that it would creep higher and higher and it would squat on her stomach. She pressed the emergency button.

  “Nurse, please, sedatives.”

  “Why?”

  “The pain has started.”

  By the time the nurse pulled the syringe out of Vaji’s flesh, Nahid from Dezful, the bandaged face, the tray of food, Azarmi’s voice, the black telephone on the wall, the constant ringing, the swollen hand, the narcissus, the moans of the young man, had all faded away. Vaji had clenched her fists and was pressing hard on the large egg inside which did not resemble an egg at all. Silence filled the
hospital. With her eyes closed, Vaji could hear only the sound of water dripping at regular intervals from the faucet, and then she didn’t hear that, either.

  And Mokhtar, serene and happy, was carrying Reza on his shoulders, and Reza was blowing kisses to his mother and waving to come into her arms. Vaji was far away, so far away that despite all her eagerness she could not reach out to take him into her arms. Farrokh, wearing her modest black veil, had come to take Reza from Mokhtar’s shoulders, to cradle him like a mother. And to cover him with her black veil, and underneath it Reza was struggling and Farrokh was taking him away, and Mokhtar, without uttering a word, was watching her. And now Reza was no longer there. Farrokh wasn’t there, and Mokhtar’s shadow had faded and the sound of the water dripping from the faucet had replaced it. Vaji opened her eyes. Nahid had pulled the sheet over up her head and the bandaged face no longer had those hazel eyes with which to look at Vaji.

  Her dry and bitter mouth bothered her. Vaji got up, pain was swirling around in her back. She put on her head scarf and walked out into the hallway. The beds were all arranged in rows down the hallway. All the lights, except for one, had been turned off. Next door, the middle-aged man had stuffed the wilted narcissus in his nostrils and was sleeping. In the hallway a young man was smoking in bed. He heard Vaji’s footsteps and turned his face to the wall. The smoke from his cigarette bounced off the wall and faded away. They had amputated both his legs. The sheet at the foot of the bed was flat, as though he had never had legs. The other young men were all fast asleep. Under their beds, duffel bags were thrown here and there next to bags of fruits, pastries, and canned food. The old Arab, holding on to his IV stand, was standing at the window watching the city sleep. Vaji, despite her grogginess, still wanted to walk. Outside her room, she stopped thinking of Reza, Farrokh, and Mokhtar. The coughing, the vomiting, the chills and the fevers, the one vomiting blood, the cigarette being lit, the groans of pain, the buzzer that woke the nurse up with a start, were all there. But still there was silence that lasted until the night shift transferred everything, neat and tidy, to the day shift. And the nurses would come again with tired and bloodshot eyes carrying thermometers, bedpans, vials of blood, bottles of pills, and syringes; and then the janitors would follow with their brooms, sponges, and wet rags, and the wilted flowers would be thrown away. Then the toilets would be flushed, faces washed, once in while here and there a comb would be put to use and a toothbrush would clean someone’s teeth, then there was the breakfast tray and after that the voice of the head nurse reporting on the beds, and now Mrs. Naseri’s voice filled the ward and the doctors came one by one to visit their patients and then the ward’s doctor who would examine the rest. Vaji stood at the window in her room. The bandaged face had been taken to the operating room and Nahid had gone off with her flask to drink tea in her old room.