The Book of Fate

by Parinoush Saniee

  I got up early in the morning and again dusted the entire apartment, boiled and rinsed the rice, and when everything was done, I took a quick shower. I didn’t wet my hair; I had washed and set it with curlers the night before. I put on my yellow dress, which was my best one, dabbed on a little lipstick, took the curlers out of my hair and let the beautiful curls cascade down my back. I wanted to look flawless and not cause Hamid any embarrassment. I wanted to be so perfect that he would stop hiding me in the house like a backward, illegitimate child. I wanted to be someone his friends would consider deserving of joining their group.

  Close to noon, my heart sank at the sound of the doorbell. The ring was a signal; Hamid had a key. I quickly took off my apron and ran to the top of the stairs to greet them. There was a cold wind blowing, but I didn’t care. Right there at the top of the stairs, Hamid introduced me to everyone. There were four women and the rest were all men, and they were all about the same age. Inside the apartment, I took their coats and looked at the women with curiosity. They didn’t look all that different from the men. They were all wearing trousers and oversized sweaters that were mostly old and didn’t match the rest of their outfits. They had treated their hair as if it was a nuisance; they had either cut it so short that from behind they could be mistaken for a man, or they had tied it up with a rubber band. None of them was wearing any make-up.

  Although everyone was polite and courteous, other than Shahrzad, no one paid much attention to me. She was the only one who kissed me on the cheeks, looked me up and down, and said, ‘Beautiful! Hamid, what a gorgeous wife you have. You never told us how attractive and well dressed she is.’

  It was only then that everyone turned and looked at me more carefully. I sensed an invisible sarcastic smile on some of their faces. Although no one said anything impolite, there was something in their behaviour that not only made me blush and feel embarrassed, but Hamid, too, seemed uncomfortable. Trying to change the subject, he said, ‘Enough for now! Go in the living room and we will bring the tea.’ A few of them sat on the sofas and the others on the floor. Almost half of them smoked. Hamid quickly said, ‘Ashtrays; give me as many ashtrays as we have.’ I went to the kitchen and fetched the ashtrays and gave them to him. Then I went back to the kitchen and started pouring the tea. Hamid followed me there and said, ‘What sort of a get-up is that?’

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘What kind of dress is that? You look like a Western doll. Go put on something simple; a shirt and a pair of trousers or a skirt. And wash your face and tie back your hair.’

  ‘But I’m not wearing any make-up. It’s just a little lipstick, and it’s a very light colour.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve done; just do something so you don’t stand out so much.’

  ‘Shall I rub coal on my face?’

  ‘Yes, do it!’ he snapped.

  My eyes were brimming with tears. I could never tell what was good or bad in his eyes. I suddenly felt drained. It was as if in that one moment the exhaustion of the entire week suddenly overwhelmed me. The head cold that had started a few days ago and that I had chosen to ignore suddenly got worse and I felt dizzy. I heard one of them say, ‘What happened to the tea?’ I pulled myself together and finished pouring the tea and Hamid carried the tray to the living room.

  I went to the bedroom, took off my dress and sat on the bed for a while. There was no particular thought in my head. I was just sad. I put on the long pleated skirt that I usually wore around the house and grabbed the first shirt I saw in the closet. I put my hair up with a pin and used a cotton ball to wipe off what was left of my lipstick. I was trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I was afraid that if I caught sight of myself in the mirror my tears would start to flow. I tried to distract myself. I remembered that I hadn’t poured any clarified butter over the rice. I walked out of the bedroom and ran into one of the girls who was just then walking out of the living room. The moment she saw me, she said, ‘Oh, why the change in decoration?’

  They all craned their neck to peek out and take a look at me. I was red up to my ears. Hamid poked his head out of the kitchen and said, ‘She’s more comfortable this way.’

  I stayed in the kitchen the entire time and everyone left me alone. It was around two when everything was finally ready and I spread the tablecloth in the hall. Although I had closed the living room door so that I could comfortably prepare the lunch spread, I could hear them talking loudly. I couldn’t understand half of what they were saying. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language. For a while, they talked about something called the Dialectic and they repeatedly used the terms ‘the populace’ and ‘the masses’. I couldn’t understand why they didn’t just say ‘the people’. Lunch was finally ready. I had a terrible backache and my throat burned. Hamid inspected the lunch spread and then invited the guests to eat. Everyone was surprised by the variety, colour and scent of the dishes and they kept telling each other which dish to try.

  Shahrzad said, ‘I hope you’re not too tired. You have really gone to a lot of trouble. We would have been satisfied with bread and cheese. You didn’t have to work so hard.’

  ‘Forget it!’ one of the men said. ‘Bread and cheese is what we eat every day. Now that we’ve come to a bourgeois home, let’s see how they eat.’

  Everyone laughed, but I thought Hamid didn’t like the comment. After lunch, they all went back to the living room. Hamid carried a stack of plates to the kitchen and irately said, ‘Did you have to cook so much food?’

  ‘Why? Was it bad?’

  ‘No, but now I have to listen to their jibes until the end of the world.’

  Hamid served a few rounds of tea. I gathered up the lunch spread, washed the dishes, put away the leftovers and tidied up the kitchen. It was past four-thirty. My back still hurt and I felt as if I had a fever. No one was asking for me, I had been forgotten. I understood very well that I didn’t fit in with them. I felt like a schoolgirl at her teachers’ party. I was not the same age as them, I didn’t have their education and experience, I couldn’t debate the way they did, and I wasn’t even bold enough to interrupt them and ask what they wanted to drink or eat.

  I poured another round of tea, prepared a platter of cream puffs and carried the tray to the living room. Again, everyone thanked me and Shahrzad said, ‘You must be tired. I’m sorry none of us helped you clean up. The truth is, we really are no good at these sorts of things.’

  ‘You’re welcome, it was nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? We couldn’t do any of what you did today. Now, come and sit next to me.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll be right back. Just let me say my prayers before it is too late and then I can come and sit comfortably.’

  Again, they all gave me a strange look and Hamid frowned; and again, I didn’t know what I had said that was so strange and out of the ordinary. Akbar, who had earlier called Hamid a bourgeois and I sensed some rivalry or tension between them, said, ‘Wonderful! There are still people who say their prayers. I am delighted! Madam, since you have preserved your ancestors’ beliefs, would you explain to me why you pray?’

  Flustered and vexed, I said, ‘Why? Because I am a Muslim and every Muslim must pray. It is God’s command.’

  ‘How did God give you this command?’

  ‘Not just to me, to everyone. He did it through his messenger and the Quran that was descended to him.’

  ‘You mean to say there was someone sitting up there who wrote down God’s commands and threw them down into the arms of the Prophet?’

  I was getting angrier and more confused by the minute. I turned to Hamid and with my gaze appealed to him for help, but there was no kindness or compassion in his eyes, only fury.

  One of the girls said, ‘Now, what happens if you don’t say your prayers?’

  ‘Well, it would be a sin.’

  ‘What happens to someone who sins? For instance, we don’t pray and, according to you, we are sinners. What will happen to us?’r />
  I clenched my teeth and said, ‘After death, you will suffer, you will go to hell.’

  ‘Aha! Hell. Tell me, what sort of a place is hell?’

  My entire body was shaking. They were mocking my beliefs.

  ‘Hell is made of fire,’ I stammered.

  ‘It probably has snakes and scorpions, too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Everyone laughed. I looked beseechingly at Hamid. I needed help, but he had hung his head down, and although he wasn’t laughing like the others, he wasn’t saying anything either. Akbar turned to him and said, ‘Hamid, you haven’t even managed to enlighten your own wife, how are you going to save the masses from their superstitions?’

  ‘I’m not superstitious,’ I snapped angrily.

  ‘Yes, my dear, you are. And it’s not your fault. They have ingrained these notions in your head so well that you have come to believe them. The things you say and waste your time on are in fact superstitions. They are all things that are of no value to the masses. They are elements that make you dependent on someone other than yourself. And they are all meant to scare you into being content with what you have and to stop you from fighting for what you don’t have, all in the hope that in another world you will receive everything. You believe in things that have been created to exploit you. This is exactly what superstition is.’

  I was dizzy and felt like I was going to vomit. ‘Do not revile God!’ I said furiously.

  ‘See, kids! See how they brainwash people? It’s not their fault. These ideas are planted in their heads from the time they are small children. See what a difficult road we have ahead of us in fighting against the “opium of the masses”? This is exactly why I say we must include the campaign against religion in our mandate.’

  I could no longer hear them. The entire room was spinning around my head. I thought if I stayed another minute, I would be sick right there. I ran to the toilet and threw up. I felt a dreadful pressure inside me. There was a stabbing pain in my back and lower abdomen, and then my legs were wet. I looked down. There was a pool of blood on the floor.

  I was burning up. Below me, flames were dragging me towards them. I tried to escape, but my legs wouldn’t move. Terrifying, hideous-looking witches were stabbing pitchforks in my stomach and pushing me towards the fire. Snakes with human heads were laughing at me. A vile creature was trying to pour rancid water down my throat.

  With a child in my arms, I was locked in a room that was burning in flames. I ran towards different doors, but each one I opened I found myself facing more flames. I looked at my child. He was drenched in blood.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in a strange, white room. A sharp chill ran through me and I closed my eyes again, curled up and shivered. Someone pulled a blanket over me and a warm hand felt my forehead. Someone said, ‘The danger has passed and the bleeding has almost stopped. But she is very weak. She must grow stronger.’

  I heard Mother’s voice. ‘You see, Hamid Khan. Let her come to our house at least for a week so that she can regain some of her strength.’

  I was confined to bed for five days at Mother’s house. Faati fluttered around me like a butterfly. Father was constantly shopping for strange things that he claimed were nutritious and restorative, and every time I opened my eyes, Mother would make me eat something. Mrs Parvin sat by my side and talked all day long, but I had no patience for her. Hamid came to visit me every afternoon. He looked depressed and embarrassed. I didn’t want to look at him. Talking to the people around me had again become difficult for me. There was a profound sadness inside me.

  Mother kept saying, ‘My girl, why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? Why did you work so hard? Why didn’t you ask me to come and help you? Why did you let yourself catch such a bad cold? After all, you have to be careful during the first few months. Well, everything is going to be fine. You shouldn’t grieve so much for an unborn child. Do you know how many times I miscarried? This, too, is God’s will and wisdom. They say a child that is miscarried must have had some defect; a healthy child doesn’t die that easily. You should be grateful. God willing, the next ones will be healthy.’

  The day I returned home, Hamid came to pick me up in Mansoureh’s car. Before I left, Father put a gold Van Yakad prayer pendant around my neck. He didn’t know any other way to express his love. I understood him well, but I just wasn’t in the mood to talk and to thank him; all I did was wipe away my tears. Hamid stayed home for two days and took care of me. I knew what a great sacrifice he thought he was making, but I felt no gratitude towards him.

  His mother and sisters came to see me. ‘I miscarried my second child, the one after Monir,’ his mother said. ‘But then I gave birth to three healthy children. Don’t grieve for no good reason; you have plenty of time, you are both young.’

  The truth was that I didn’t know the cause of my deep depression. It was certainly not because of the miscarriage. Although I had sensed some changes in me during the previous few weeks and somewhere in my mind I knew what had happened, I had not admitted to myself that I was becoming a mother. I had no clear understanding of what it meant to have a child and to call it mine. I still thought of myself as a schoolgirl whose first obligation was to study. Yet, my sorrow was tinged with a painful feeling of guilt. The foundation of my beliefs had been shaken and I felt disgusted by those who had caused it. I was terrified of the doubt that had infested my mind and I believed God had punished me by taking my child.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’ Hamid said.

  ‘I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t think the news would make you happy.’

  ‘Is having a child really important to you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I know your problem isn’t just the child; something else is troubling you, it was obvious from your hallucinations. Shahrzad, Mehdi and I discussed it a lot. That day you were under pressure from all sides. You were physically tired and had a bad cold and the things the guys said delivered the last blow.’

  My eyes were brimming with tears.

  ‘And you didn’t defend me. They made fun of me, they laughed at me, they treated me like an idiot, and you sided with them.’

  ‘No! Believe me, none of them meant to hurt or insult you. After that day, you don’t know how Shahrzad fought with everyone, especially with Akbar. And it all resulted in us adding to our mandate the need to develop a proper approach to presenting and promoting our principles. Shahrzad said, “The way you guys talk, you offend people and make them wary; you scare them away.” That day, Shahrzad stayed with me at your bedside the entire time. She kept saying, “We are the reason this poor girl ended up like this.” Everyone is worried about you. Akbar wants to come and apologise.’

  The next day, Shahrzad and Mehdi came to visit me and brought a box of pastries. Shahrzad sat next to my bed and said, ‘I am so happy you are feeling better. You really gave us a scare.’

  ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘No, don’t say that. We are the ones who should be apologising. It was our fault. We argue so harshly and vehemently and are so immersed in our beliefs that we forget people are not used to this sort of confrontation and it shocks them. Akbar always argues like an ass, but he didn’t mean anything by it. He was really upset afterwards. He wanted to come today, but I told him not to bother, that seeing him would make you sick again.’

  ‘No, it’s not his fault. It’s my fault for being so weak that a few words can shake my faith and beliefs and I can’t answer back and argue as I should.’

  ‘Well, you’re still very young. When I was your age, I didn’t have the confidence to even argue with my father. With time, you’ll grow older and more experienced and your beliefs will develop a more solid foundation, one that is based on your own perception, research and knowledge, and not on what others memorise and repeat like a parrot. But let me confess something to you. Don’t give too much credence to all this intellectual high-brow talk. Don’t take these guys too seriously. In t
heir heart, they still have their faith and in difficult times they still unconsciously turn to God and seek his protection.’

  Hamid who was standing in the doorway, holding the tea tray, started to laugh. Shahrzad turned, looked at him and said, ‘Isn’t that so, Hamid? Let’s be honest. Have you been able to completely forget your religious beliefs? To eliminate God from your convictions? To not mention his name under any circumstance?’

  ‘No, and I don’t see why it would be necessary. This was the subject of our discussion the day before you all came here for lunch, and that’s why Akbar went on like that. I don’t understand why the guys all insist on this so vehemently. In my view, people who have religious beliefs are more peaceful, more hopeful, and they seldom feel abandoned and alone.’