Everyone kept insisting that I go to the beauty parlour, but I refused. Mrs Parvin faked this, too. She threaded my face, plucked my eyebrows and put curlers in my hair. All the while, tears were streaming down my face. Uncle Abbas’s wife had come over in the morning to help, or, according to Mother, to spy. ‘Oh you’re such a sensitive sissy?’ she said. ‘There is hardly any hair on your face for you to cry like this.’
‘My child has become so weak that she can’t bear it,’ Mother said.
Mrs Parvin had tears in her eyes, too. Every so often, she pretended she needed a new piece of thread and she turned away to wipe her eyes.
The marriage ceremony was to be held at five o’clock when the weather had cooled off a little. At four, the groom’s family arrived. Although it was still very hot, the men stayed outside and sat in the shade of the tall mulberry tree. The women went upstairs to the living room where the wedding sofreh had been laid out. I was in the room next door.
Mother burst into the room and scolded, ‘You’re still not dressed? Hurry up. The gentleman will be here in an hour!’
I was shaking from head to toe. I threw myself at her feet and begged her not to force me to go through with the marriage. ‘I don’t want a husband,’ I pleaded. ‘I don’t even know who this lout is. For the love of God, don’t make me. I swear on the Quran, I will kill myself. Go and break this up. Let me talk to my father. Wait and see, I will not say yes. Just watch me! Either you put an end to this, or I will say in front of everyone that I do not consent to getting married.’
‘May God take my life!’ she gasped. ‘Be quiet! What sort of talk is this? Now you want to shame us in front of all these people? This time, your brother will cut you into tiny pieces. Ahmad has been carrying his knife in his pocket all day. He said, “If she says one word out of line, I will finish her off right here.” Think about your poor father’s reputation. He will have a heart attack and drop dead.’
‘I don’t want to get married and you can’t force me.’
‘Shut your trap and don’t raise your voice. People will hear.’
She came at me, but I dove under the bed and huddled in the farthest corner. The curlers had all come loose and scattered around the room.
‘May you meet your death!’ Mother hissed. ‘Come out of there! May God let me see you on a slab at the morgue. Come out!’
Someone was knocking on the door. It was Father. ‘Missus, what are you doing?’ he asked. ‘The gentleman will be here any minute.’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ Mother said. ‘She’s getting dressed. Just tell Mrs Parvin to come here quick.’
And then she snarled, ‘Come out, you miserable wretch. Come out before I kill you. Stop creating so much scandal.’
‘I won’t. I won’t get married. For the love of brother Mahmoud, for the love of Ahmad whom you love so much, don’t force me to get married. Tell them we have changed our minds.’
Mother couldn’t crawl under the bed. She clawed at me, grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out. Just then, Mrs Parvin walked in.
‘May God have mercy! What are you doing? You are tearing out all her hair!’
Mother wheezed, ‘See what she’s doing? She wants to put us to shame at the last minute.’
Still curled up on the floor, I glared at her with hatred. She still had a cluster of my hair in her fist.
I don’t remember saying yes during the marriage ceremony. Mother kept squeezing my arm with all her might and whispering, ‘Say yes. Say yes.’ Finally, someone said yes and everyone cheered. Mahmoud and a few of the men were sitting in the next room and they chanted praise to the Prophet and his descendants. A few things were exchanged, but I was oblivious to it all. There was a veil across my eyes. Everything was floating in a fog, a haze. People’s voices blended into a confusing and incomprehensible clamour. Like someone transfixed, I sat staring at a distant point. I didn’t care that the man sitting next to me was now my husband. Who was he? What did he look like? Everything was over. And Saiid didn’t come. My hopes and dreams had reached a bitter end. Saiid, what did you do to me?
When I came to, I was in that man’s house, in the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me, taking off his tie. It was obvious that he was not used to wearing one and it had bothered him. I stood in a corner and gripped the white chador they had made me wear to come to that house, tight against my chest. I was trembling like an autumn leaf. My heart was pounding. I was trying not to make a sound so that he wouldn’t notice my presence in the room. In total silence, tears were falling on my chest. God, what sort of tradition was this? One day they wanted to kill me because I had exchanged a few words with a man I had known for two years, knew a lot about, loved and was ready to go to the ends of the earth with, and the next day they wanted me to climb into bed with a stranger whom I knew nothing about and for whom I felt nothing but fear.
The thought of his hand touching me made my skin crawl. I felt I was in danger of being raped and there was no one to save me. The room was half dark. As if my stare had burned the back of his neck, he turned and looked at me, and sounding surprised, he quietly said, ‘What’s the matter? What are you afraid of…? Of me?’ Then he smiled sarcastically and said, ‘Please don’t look at me like that. You look like a lamb gaping at its slaughterer.’
I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t speak.
‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Don’t be afraid. You’re about to have a heart attack. I won’t touch you. I’m not an animal!’
My tense muscles relaxed a little. My breath, which had been caged in my chest for I don’t remember how long, was set free. But he stood up and again my body contracted and I pressed myself tightly into the corner.
‘Listen, my dear girl, there are things I have to do tonight. I have to go see my friends. I will leave now. Change into something comfortable and get some sleep. I promise you, if I come back home tonight, I will not come to you. I swear on my honour.’ Then he picked up his shoes, held his arms up in surrender and said, ‘See! I’m leaving.’
At the sound of the front door closing, I crumpled like a rag and sank to the floor. I was so exhausted that my legs could no longer bear my weight. I felt as though I had carried a mountain. I sat in that position until my breath regained its normal rhythm. I could see my reflection in the dressing table mirror. My image kept distorting. Was that really me? There was a ridiculous veil sitting lopsided on my dishevelled hair and despite the remnants of the repulsively heavy make-up, my face looked terribly pale. I tore the veil off my head. I tried to unfasten the buttons on the back of my dress. It was useless. I yanked on the collar until the buttons ripped out. I wanted to tear that dress off and be rid of anything that symbolised that absurd marriage.
I looked around for something comfortable to wear. There was a bright red nightgown with masses of pleats and lace laid out on the bed. I said to myself, This is Mrs Parvin’s shopping. I saw my suitcase sitting in a corner. It was large and heavy. I moved it with great difficulty and opened it. I took out one of my house dresses and put it on. I walked out of the bedroom. I didn’t know where the bathroom was. I switched on all the lights and opened all the doors until I found it. I held my head under the sink faucet and soaped my face several times. The shaving kit on the side of the sink looked foreign. My eyes remained fixed on the razor. Yes, that was my only escape. I had to set myself free. I imagined them finding my lifeless corpse on the floor. For sure, the stranger would be the first person to discover it. He would be terrified, but he would certainly not be sad. But when Mother found out I was dead, she would wail and weep, she would remember how she clawed at my hair and dragged me out from under the bed, she would remember how I begged and pleaded, and her conscience would suffer. I felt a certain chill and pleasure in my heart. I went on with my imaginings.
What would Father do? He would put his hand on the wall, lean his head on his arm and cry. He would remember how much I loved him, how I wished to study and didn’t want to get marr
ied, he would be tormented by the cruelty he had shown me, and perhaps he would become ill. I was smiling at the mirror. What satisfying revenge!
Well, what would the others do?
Saiid. Oh, Saiid would be shocked. He would holler, cry and curse himself. Why didn’t he come to ask for my hand in time? Why didn’t he steal me away one night and help me escape? He will live the rest of his life with sorrow and regret. I didn’t want him to have so much grief, but it was his own fault. Why did he disappear? Why did he not try to find me?
Ahmad!… Ahmad would not be sad, but he would feel guilty. After he heard the news, he would be in a daze for a while. He would feel ashamed. Then he would run to Mrs Parvin’s house and drink morning and night for an entire week. And from then on, he would spend all his drunken nights under my scolding gaze. My spirit would never leave him in peace.
Brother Mahmoud would shake his head and say, ‘That wretched girl, sin after sin, what flames she must be burning in now.’ He would not blame himself the slightest bit, but still, he would read a few suras from the Quran, he would pray for me on a few Friday nights, and he would be proud of himself for being such a compassionate and forgiving brother. A brother who despite my having been a bad girl had asked God to forgive me and who had lessened the burden of my sins with his prayers.
What about Ali? What would he do? He would probably be sad and become a bit reticent, but the minute the neighbourhood kids came for him, he would run out and play and forget everything. But poor little Faati, she was the only one who would cry for me with no sense of guilt. She would feel just as I did when Zari died, and she would be plagued by a destiny similar to mine. How sad that I won’t be there to help her. She, too, would find herself friendless and alone. Mrs Parvin would praise me for having preferred death to an undignified life. She would regret that she had lacked the courage to do the same and had betrayed her great love. Parvaneh would learn about my death very late. She would cry and surround herself with the souvenirs she had of me and she would always remain sad. Alas! Parvaneh, how I miss you, how I need you.
I started to cry. The fantasies faded away. I picked up the razor and held it against my wrist. It wasn’t very sharp. I had to press hard. I didn’t have the heart, I was afraid. I tried to remember my rage, anger and hopelessness. I reminded myself of the wounds Ahmad had inflicted on Saiid. I counted, ‘One, two, three,’ and I pressed down. A strong burning sensation made me drop the razor. Blood gushed out. Pleased, I said, ‘Well, that’s one. Now how am I going to slash my other wrist?’ The cut burned so much that I couldn’t hold the razor with that hand. I said, ‘It doesn’t matter. It will just take longer, but in the end all the blood will drain out of this one wrist.’
Again, I drowned in my fantasies. I felt less pain. I looked at my wrist; it had stopped bleeding. I squeezed the wound and groaned in excruciating pain. A few drops of blood fell into the sink, but again the bleeding stopped. It was no use; the cut wasn’t deep enough. I can’t have reached the vein. I picked up the razor. The cut on my wrist was throbbing; how could I cut the same place again? I wished there was a better way that didn’t involve so much pain and blood.
My mind instinctively went on the defence. I remembered the woman who had spoken at a ladies’ Quran reading session. She had talked about the sin and the unseemliness of committing suicide, about how God would never forgive you if you took your own life, and about how you would spend eternity in the flames of hell, in the company of snakes with fiery fangs and torturers who flog the humans’ burned bodies. There, you would have to drink rancid water and suffer the hot spears they would stab into your body. I remembered that for a week I had nightmares and had screamed in my sleep. No, I didn’t want to go to hell. But what about my revenge? How could I make them suffer? How could I make them understand how ruthless they had been with me?
I thought to myself, I have to do this; otherwise I will lose my mind. I must torment them the way they tormented me. I must make them wear black and mourn my death for the rest of their lives. But will they really have tears in their eyes for the rest of their days? How long did they cry for Zari? She hadn’t even committed a sin and now, from one year to the next, no one ever mentioned her name. Barely a week had passed when they all gathered around and said it was God’s will and they should not question it, that it was divine providence and they should not be ungrateful. They said God was testing them and as his servants they must pass the test with honour. God had given and God had taken away. And in the end, they were all convinced that they had done no wrong and had played no role in Zari’s death. I thought, it will be the same for me. After a few weeks they will quieten down and after two years, at the most, they will forget. But I will remain in eternal torment and I won’t be there to remind them of what they did to me. And in the middle of all this, those who truly love me and need me will be left alone and grieving.
I threw down the razor. I couldn’t do it. Just like Mrs Parvin, I had to give in to my destiny.
My wrist had stopped bleeding. I wrapped a handkerchief around it and returned to the bedroom. I went to bed, buried my head under the sheets and wept. I had to accept the fact that I had lost Saiid, that he did not want me. Just like someone burying a loved one, I buried Saiid in the deepest corner of my heart. I stood over his grave and cried for hours. Now, I had to leave him. I had to let time bring me indifference and forgetfulness and erase his memory from my mind. Would that day ever come?
CHAPTER TWO
The sun was high in the sky when I woke up from a deep and dreamless sleep. I looked around, confused and disoriented. Everything seemed unfamiliar. Where was I? It took a few seconds for me to remember everything that had happened. I was in that stranger’s house. I leaped up and looked around the room. The door was open and the utter silence suggested I was alone. I was relieved. It was strange; a sort of indifference and coldness had spread through my whole being. The anger and rebellion that had raged inside me for the past several months seemed to have died down. I felt no sorrow and no yearning for the house I had lived in and the family from whom I had been separated. I felt no sense of belonging to them or to that house. I didn’t even feel hatred. Even though it felt as cold as ice, my heart beat slowly and regularly. I wondered whether there was anything in the world that could one day make me feel happy again.
I got out of bed. The room was larger than it had seemed the night before. The bed and the dressing table were new. They still smelled of varnish. They were probably the ones Father said he had bought. My suitcase was open and in disarray. A carton stood in the corner of the room. I opened it. There were some sheets, pillowcases, oven mitts, kitchen linen, towels and a few other odds and ends that my family had not had time to unpack.
I walked out of the bedroom and into a square hall. There was another room on the far side. It looked like a storage room. To the left of the hall there was a large glass door with honeycomb panes. The kitchen and the bathroom were to the right. There was a red carpet on the floor of the hall and floor cushions and backrests made of carpet were arranged on either side. On one wall there were a few shelves full of books. Next to the glass door was another shelf with an old sugar bowl, the statue of the bust of a man I did not recognise, and a few more books.
I peeked into the kitchen. It was relatively small. On one side of the brick counter there was a navy-blue wicker lamp and on the other side a new gas range with two burners; the gas tank was under the counter. A set of china plates and platters with a red floral design were stacked on a small wooden table. I remembered them well. When I was young, Mother had bought them during a trip to Tehran for the trousseau Zari and I would need. A large carton sat in the middle of the kitchen. It was full of newly polished copper pots of different sizes, several spatulas and a large heavy copper tub. Obviously, they had not found an appropriate place to put them.
Everything that was new belonged to me and everything else belonged to the stranger. I was standing there surrounded by the dowry that had been
prepared for me from the day I was born. The entire objective of my life was reflected in those kitchen and bedroom furnishings. Each piece revealed that the only thing expected of me was to work in the kitchen and to serve in the bedroom. What onerous duties. Would I be able to manage the tedious task of cooking in such a disorganised kitchen and tolerate my unpleasant duties in the bedroom with a stranger?
Everything was repulsive to me, but I didn’t even have the energy to feel agitated.
I continued with my exploration and opened the glass door. One of our carpets was spread on the floor and sitting on the mantelpiece were two crystal candelabras with red pendants and a mirror with a clear frame. They were probably from my marriage ceremony, but I couldn’t remember having seen them. In one corner was a rectangular table with an old faded tablecloth, on which sat a large brown radio with two big, bone-coloured knobs that looked like a pair of bulging eyes staring at me.
The Book of Fate Page 11