‘Thank God you came to your senses,’ I said.
‘Not all that much. These days, I think a lot about Dad. He was a great man, wasn’t he? We should be proud of him. There are a lot of people here who share his beliefs. They say things about him that I never knew. They really want to meet you and hear you talk about him.’
I looked at him warily. That old dilemma was still plaguing his soul. I didn’t want to distort the image he had of his father and rob him of the pride he felt, but I saw that need and dependence as a reflection of his immaturity.
‘Look, Siamak, I have no patience for that sort of theatre,’ I said. ‘You know I did not share your father’s beliefs. He was a kind and decent man, but he had faults and shortcomings, too. The biggest was his one-sided point of view. To him and those who shared his politics, the world was divided in two. Everyone was either with them or against them, and everything that had to do with the opposing group was bad. Even in the arts, they considered only artists who shared their perspective to be true artists; everyone else was an idiot. If I said I liked some singer or thought someone was a good poet, your father would argue that the singer or poet supported the Shah or was anti-communist, therefore his work was rubbish. He would actually make me feel guilty for enjoying a song or a poem!
‘They had no personal opinions and individual preferences. Do you remember the day Ayatollah Taleghani died? Our neighbours, Mr and Mrs Dehghani, who were supporters of a leftist faction, kept coming to our house and calling because they didn’t know what to do. Before his death the Ayatollah had spoken against the people who had rioted in Kurdistan and they didn’t know how to react to his death. All day long they chased after the leftist leaders to learn whether they should mourn or not. Finally orders came that the Ayatollah had been a supporter of the people and his death should be mourned. Mrs Dehghani suddenly burst into tears and went into deep mourning! Remember?’
‘No!’ Siamak said.
‘But I do. I want you to rely on your own thoughts and beliefs, to weigh the good and bad of everything by reading and learning, and then make decisions and draw conclusions. Sheer ideology will trap you, it will make you prejudiced, it will obstruct individual thought and opinion, and create bias. And ultimately, it will turn you into a one-dimensional fanatic. Now, I would be happy to say all this to your friends as well, and I will list their and your father’s mistakes for them.’
‘Mum, what are you saying?’ Siamak said crossly. ‘We have to keep his memory alive. He was a hero!’
‘I am tired of heroisms,’ I said. ‘And my memories of the past are so bitter that I don’t want to relive them. Besides, you should forget all this and instead think about your future. Your life is ahead of you, why do you want to drown yourself in the past?’
I don’t know to what extent Siamak accepted what I said or if it had any effect on him, but neither one of us ever expressed any interest in talking about politics again.
I asked him about Parvaneh and her family so that I could find out more about the secret he was harbouring in his heart. And he finally opened up to me.
‘You can’t imagine how kind and smart Lili is,’ he said. ‘She is studying business management. She will finish this year and start working.’
‘Are you in love with her?’ I asked.
‘Yes! How did you know?’
I laughed and said, ‘I found out at the airport. Mothers are quick to pick up on these things.’
‘We want to get engaged, but there are problems.’
‘What problems?’
‘Her family. Of course, Aunt Parvaneh is wonderful. She has been like a mother to me and I know she loves me. But in this case, she is taking her husband’s side.’
‘What does Khosrow say?’
‘I don’t know. He doesn’t approve and puts strange constraints and conditions on us. He thinks the same way Iranian men thought a hundred years ago. You would never know he had studied and lived here for so many years.’
‘What does he say?’ I asked.
‘We want to get engaged and he says, “No, you can’t!”’
‘Is that it? Don’t worry, I will talk to them and see what the problem is.’
Parvaneh had no objections. In fact she was happy about Siamak’s relationship with Lili.
‘Siamak is like my own son,’ she said. ‘He is Iranian, he speaks our language and we understand each other. I am always afraid that my children will marry a German with whom I cannot develop any sort of a relationship. I know everything about Siamak; I even know who his ancestors were. He is smart, has studied well, is now successful and has a bright future ahead of him. Most important of all, he and Lili love each other.’
‘Then what is the problem?’ I asked. ‘It seems Khosrow Khan doesn’t agree with you.’
‘Yes, he does. The problem is that we and the children think differently. We are still Iranian and cannot accept certain things, but our children grew up here and cannot understand our point of view. And these two keep talking about a long engagement.’
‘Parvaneh, I am surprised at you! Even if they want to stay engaged for a year, what is wrong with that? It is now common in Iran. Maybe they want to get to know each other better, maybe they want to save some money before they get married, or maybe they just want to give themselves more time.’
‘You are so simple!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you know what they mean by a long engagement? They mean an informal marriage. Like some of the kids around them, they want to live together. And their definition of “long” is at least five years, after which they will decide whether they still want to be together or not. If they do, they will make the marriage official; otherwise, they will separate. And they don’t mind if they end up having a child. If they separate, one of them will take the kid!’
My eyes were wide with disbelief. ‘No!’ I said, stunned. ‘I don’t think this is what they mean by a long engagement.’
‘Yes, my dear, it is. Every single night, Lili and Khosrow get into a fight over it. To be honest, Khosrow will never be able to accept this. And I don’t think you would expect him to.’
‘Of course not!’ I said, flabbergasted. ‘How dare they? If Mahmoud and the others only knew! Now I understand why Khosrow Khan has been so cold and distant. The poor man! I am surprised at Siamak. He seems to have forgotten where he comes from. Has he really become that much of a Westerner? In Iran a simple conversation between a boy and a girl can still lead to bloodshed and this gentleman wants to live with someone’s daughter for five years without marrying her? Of all impossible things!’
That night we sat and talked into the early hours of the morning. Siamak and Lili argued about the value of getting to know each other before marrying and the worthlessness of a piece of paper, and we argued about the value of a properly-structured family, the necessity for an official marriage and respect for the ties of kinship. Finally, we came to the conclusion that, for our sake, the children should go through with the ‘irrelevant and idiotic’ process of marriage and if ever they felt they no longer suited each other they could void that piece of paper and get a divorce. We also decided that they should get married while I was there and as soon as they had set up their home and were ready to start their life together.
‘I am truly grateful!’ Khosrow said. ‘You can’t imagine what a weight you have lifted from my shoulders.’
‘It really is a strange world,’ I replied. ‘I still cannot digest any of this.’
The beauty and sweetness of my trip was made complete with Lili and Siamak’s wedding. I was delighted to have a daughter-in-law who was kind, intelligent, charming and Parvaneh’s daughter. I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want to go back home.
The wonderful memories of that time will stay with me for ever. My best souvenirs were all the photographs that later adorned the walls, shelves and tables in my home.
The good years pass quickly. In the blink of an eye, Shirin was in the last year of school and Massoud was finishing his
last term at the university. He was terribly busy preparing his final project and thesis, and his responsibilities at work had increased. But his recent silence had nothing to do with any of this. There was something weighing on his mind and I could tell he wanted to talk to me but was hesitating. I was surprised; we had always been open and comfortable with each other. Still, I let him wrestle with his doubts. Finally one night when Shirin had gone to a friend’s birthday party he came and sat next to me and said, ‘Mum, would you be very upset if I decide to leave you and Shirin and live in a separate house?’
My heart sank. What had happened for him to want to leave us? Trying to remain calm, I said, ‘Every child will one day leave his parents, but it all depends on the reason why.’
‘For example, marriage.’
‘Marriage? You want to get married?’ I asked, surprised. ‘Oh my dear, that is wonderful! It is my dream.’
The truth was that I had thought a lot about Massoud getting married. For years I had dreamed of the day he would marry Firouzeh. They had liked each other and had been close ever since they were children.
‘Thank God,’ Massoud said. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t approve.’
‘Why wouldn’t I? Congratulations! Now tell me, when should we have the wedding ceremony?’
‘Slow down, Mum! First I have to ask for her hand and see if she will agree to become my wife.’
‘Nonsense!’ I exclaimed. ‘Of course, she will agree. Who better than you? They have loved you ever since you were a little boy. And on several occasions they even made veiled comments about why you were not stepping forward. Poor Firouzeh was worse than all of them. She never managed to hide her secret from me. It is always there in her eyes. Oh that dear girl! She will make a beautiful bride.’
Massoud stared at me and said, ‘Firouzeh? What are you talking about? Firouzeh is like a sister to me, like Shirin.’
I was shocked. How could I have been so wrong? That close relationship, those meaningful looks, those long hours of sharing confidences: were they all rooted in fraternal affection? I cursed myself for having spoken so rashly.
‘Then, who is she?’ I asked, trying hard to regain my composure. But still, there was a coldness rippling in my voice.
‘Mina’s cousin, Ladan,’ Massoud said. ‘She is twenty-four; she is beautiful. She is from a well-respected family. Her father has retired from the Ministry of Transportation.’
‘Of course I know who they are. How long has this been going on, you rascal? How come you never peeped a word?’
I started to laugh. I wanted to make up for my initial coldness. Just like a child, my laughter cheered him up and he started to talk.
‘I met her three months ago and it has only been a month since we expressed our feelings for each other.’
‘You have known her for only three months and you have already decided to marry her? It must be a high fever!’
‘Mum, why would you say such a thing? Some men ask for a girl’s hand in marriage without having even seen her.’
‘Yes. But, my son, we have two kinds of marriage. One is based on logic and particular conditions, and the other one is based on love. A traditional marriage, when someone makes introductions and there is a formal request for a girl’s hand, is the first kind. In that case, the circumstances of both sides are looked into, both families articulate their expectations, the elders weigh the conditions, compromises are made, and only when they are certain that there is potential, they involve the young couple and they see each other a few times. If they like each other, they will get married with the hope that they will grow to love one another.
‘But in a marriage based on love, two people develop deep feelings for each other and don’t pay much attention to anything else. Because of their love, they turn a blind eye to things that may be missing in their relationship and they adjust. If they face objections, they accept the responsibility and stand up to others, and regardless of any logical and rational arguments, they get married. It seems your plan fits this second model. In which case, the couple should get to know each other very well and make certain that their love is strong and enduring enough to make up for any lack of compatibility and withstand the disapproval of others. Now, don’t you think three months is not enough time to develop such a deep bond and to achieve true love?’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, but you are philosophising again,’ Massoud said impatiently. ‘I want my marriage to be a mix of the two kinds you described. Why can’t we be in love and have the right conditions, too? I think the problem is that you don’t know anything about love. According to you, even two or three days after your wedding, you still hadn’t had a chance to take a good look at your husband. Therefore, I don’t think you can be a fair judge of love. Ladan says, “Love is like an apple that falls in your lap. It happens in a split second.” See how beautiful her interpretation of love is? She is so sensitive and stunning. You must meet her.’
My heart ached. I wanted to tell him there was a time when I would have given my life for the one I loved. But I checked myself and instead said, ‘What do I know about love? What do you know about me? As Forough wrote, “All my wounds are from love.”’
‘But you never said anything.’
‘And I haven’t said anything now. Just know that you are not the only one here who is familiar with love.’
‘Well, what are you suggesting we do?’
‘I am not suggesting you do anything. You have to give yourselves time, test your love and let it temper.’
‘We don’t have time,’ Massoud argued. ‘She has a suitor. They have asked for her hand and her parents might marry her off any day. We will lose each other for ever!’
‘This itself is a test,’ I said. ‘If she really loves you, she will not be goaded into marriage.’
‘You don’t know her circumstances; her family is pressuring her. You of all people should understand.’
‘My son, she is an educated and intelligent girl, and from what you have told me, her parents are sensible people. They are very different from your grandparents thirty years ago. If she tells them she does not want to get married straight away, they will understand and they will not force her into it. Things are very different now.’
‘What is different?’ Massoud argued. ‘Our culture is still the same culture. Families still think a girl’s only objective in life is to get married and they can force her into it. In fact, her parents wanted to marry her off when she was eighteen, but she resisted.’
‘Then she can resist again for one more year,’ I said patiently.
‘Mum! Why are you taking sides? Why don’t you just say you don’t want me to marry her?’
‘I won’t say that. I haven’t even met this girl. She may be a wonderful person. All I am saying is wait.’
‘We don’t have time to wait!’
‘Fine,’ I said, irately. ‘Then would you please tell me what it is I am supposed to do?’
He jumped up and put a piece of paper in front of me.
‘This is their telephone number. Call them right away and arrange to go there the day after tomorrow.’
I was confused. On the one hand, I scolded myself not to do as he asked. On the other hand, I wondered if I was taking sides against a girl I had never met. I remembered how Mother had dragged her heels and delayed everything when Mahmoud said he wanted to marry Mahboubeh. Besides, this was the first time my son had so passionately asked me for something. I shouldn’t say no. And still, the image of Firouzeh, Faati and Sadegh Khan’s disappointed faces would not fade away from my mind. What a blow this would be to them!
‘Are you sure you don’t want to think about this a little longer?’ I asked.
‘No, Mum, her father said if there is someone else, he should step forward by the end of the week, otherwise Ladan will marry the suitor they have selected for her.’
I had no choice. I picked up the telephone and called. They immediately knew who I was. Obviously, they had been waiting for my call.
Massoud was happy. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He kept hovering over me.
‘Come on, let’s go buy pastries for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late!’
I wasn’t in the mood and I hadn’t finished my work, but I thought if I said no, he would interpret it as another sign of my disapproval. I didn’t want to take his happiness away from him. In the car, he talked non-stop, but all I could think about was Firouzeh and Faati. Wasn’t it Firouzeh’s presence that had brought him back to life and reawakened his interest in his education? Then, what had happened? I who claim to know my son so well, was I so terribly wrong?
With her usual perceptiveness and mischief, Shirin quickly picked up on Massoud’s unusual mood.
‘What is going on?’ she asked. ‘The gentleman is jumping with joy!’
The Book of Fate Page 45