The Book of Fate

by Parinoush Saniee

  ‘Well, you see him at the university and you can invite him here whenever you want. Of course, only when I am home. I want to get to know him, too.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried that I… I don’t know… that I may go too far?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I trust you more than I trust my eyes. Besides, if a girl wants to go too far, she will do it even if she is shackled and chained. We must have internal restraints, and you do.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, I feel so much better. And you can be sure I will keep a grip on everything.’

  After the new year holidays, one day when Shirin was not at home, Massoud came and sat next to me and said, ‘Mum, I need to make a serious decision about my future.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, ‘I have been meaning to talk to you about that. But I must say, I really don’t believe in the traditional approach to choosing a wife. I want you to find a girl you like, someone who is compatible with you, someone you know well. I was actually hoping you would meet someone at the university or at work.’

  ‘To be honest, I made such a big mistake last time that I am now very scared. And I don’t think I will ever fall in love like that again. However, there is an opportunity that is sensible and practical in every respect. And if you think it is appropriate, I will pursue it. Frankly, almost all my friends are now married and I’m very much alone.’

  The memory of Firouzeh tugged at my heart. I sighed and said, ‘Well, tell me about this opportunity.’

  ‘Mr Maghsoudi has a twenty-five-year-old daughter who is studying chemistry at the university. And he has been dropping hints that he wouldn’t mind having me as a son-in-law.’

  ‘Mr Maghsoudi is a wonderful man and I am sure he has a fine family,’ I said. ‘But there is one problem.’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘He is the deputy director of the ministry; it is a politically appointed position.’

  ‘Come on, Mum! You are really going too far. Don’t tell me you are afraid he will be thrown in prison and executed!’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be afraid? I am terrified of politics and political games. That is exactly why I was worried when you started working there and made you promise that you would never accept a sensitive position or a political appointment.’

  ‘If everyone thought like you, who would run the country?’ Massoud asked. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you need to see a psychologist!’

  Regardless, Massoud decided to ask for that young woman’s hand in marriage. Shirin and I were ready to leave for Mr Maghsoudi’s house when Massoud said, ‘Could I ask you for a favour? Out of respect for Mr Maghsoudi, would you please wear a chador?’

  I lost my temper and snapped, ‘Look, my dear, did you forget that we are human? That we think for ourselves and have our own principles and beliefs, and we cannot constantly transform ourselves into people we are not? Do you know how many times I have had to change how I cover myself because of what men saw fit? I wore a chador in Qum, I wore a headscarf in Tehran, I married your father and he didn’t want me to wear any hijab at all, then came the revolution and I had to wear a long manteau and a headscarf, and when you wanted to marry Miss Ladan you wanted me to be elegant and fashionable. Back then you wouldn’t have even minded if I wore a low-cut dress, but now that you want to marry your boss’s daughter, you want me to wear a chador! No, son. I may not have been able to stand up to many people in my life, but I can certainly stand up to my son. And I want to tell you that as a middle-aged woman who has experienced the good and the bad in life, I can think for myself and I can choose what I wear. We will go there dressed the way we normally dress and we will not act falsely just to please them.’

  Atefeh was a devout, dignified and, most important, a sensible girl. She was fair and had large hazel eyes. Her mother, who maintained full hijab even in front of Shirin and me, was a ceremonious hostess. And Mr Maghsoudi, to whom I still felt indebted, was as usual kind and courteous. He had gained some weight, his hair had turned white and he played constantly with his prayer beads. From the moment we arrived, he and Massoud started discussing work and completely ignored the fact that we were there for a very different reason.

  Although the atmosphere in their home somehow reminded me of Mahmoud’s house, I did not have any negative feelings. Their air of faith and piety somehow instilled peace and calm in me. There was no hint of the fear of wrongdoing and the angels of hell. Instead I sensed the angels of love and affection fluttering around. Unlike Mahmoud’s house, laughter and joy was a not a sin here. So much so that Shirin, who because of her uncles’ attitudes did not have much regard for very religious families, quickly warmed up to Atefeh and they started chatting together.

  Everything proceeded quickly and easily, and we celebrated Massoud and Atefeh’s wedding in the middle of spring. Although Massoud had a few years earlier used the benefits available through the ministry to buy a nice apartment, Mr Maghsoudi insisted that they live on the first floor of his house, which was vacant and which he had set aside for Atefeh.

  I tried hard to appear cheerful the day Massoud packed his things. I gave him a hand and playfully teased him. But when he left, I sat on the bed in his empty room and stared at the walls. I suddenly felt the apartment had lost its spirit and my heart was heavy with sadness. I said to myself, The chicks are flying away and the nest will soon be empty. For the first time, I was afraid of the future and the loneliness that lay ahead of me.

  Shirin, who had just arrived home, opened the door a little and said, ‘He is gone? It’s so empty here.’

  ‘Yes, the children all leave,’ I said. ‘But this is the best kind of parting. Thank God he is alive and well and I finally saw him get married.’

  ‘Mum, between you and me, we are really alone now,’ Shirin said.

  ‘Yes, but we still have each other and it will be a few years before you leave, too.’

  ‘A few years!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You are not going to think about getting married until you finish your studies. Right?’

  She pursed her lips and shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe I will get married in a couple of months.’

  ‘What? I will not let you!’ I said firmly. ‘What is your hurry? You shouldn’t even think about it until you have finished university.’

  ‘But there may be circumstances—’

  ‘What circumstances? Don’t let anyone talk you into anything. Study with peace of mind, start working, and stand on your own two feet so that you don’t end up browbeaten, with your hands tied, and forced to accept any humiliation. And only then start thinking about marriage. There is always time to get married. But once you do, you will forever be responsible for home and family. It is only now when you are young and single that you can be carefree. These years are short and they will never come back. Why would you want to make the best stage of your life even shorter?’

  Massoud came to see me regularly and kept saying, ‘It’s enough, you should stop working. You’re at the age when you should rest a little.’

  ‘But, son, I like my work,’ I would argue. ‘For me it is now more of a hobby. Without it I will feel useless.’

  Still, he wouldn’t give up. I don’t know how he managed to record all my work history and arranged for me to receive a pension. Of course, I was pleased to have a regular income, but I could not stop working and kept myself busy with a few projects. Massoud, too, was regularly giving me more money than I needed.

  He was earning a generous salary, but he wasn’t happy with his work. And I didn’t want him to continue with a government job. I kept nagging, ‘You are an artist, an architect, why have you got yourself all tangled up in a complicated and tedious government position? Promotions in this sort of post are deceiving. The moment your crowd leaves, you will fall flat on your face. You should only accept appointments that you know you are truly qualified for. All of you who are so pious and such strong believers, why is it that when it comes to status and position you become so irresponsible and phoney and believe you d
eserve any job?’

  ‘Mum, do you know what your problem is? You have been burned too many times. But don’t worry, I really don’t have the patience for all that bureaucracy. With a few of my friends we are planning to start our own firm. I will stay here until I have fulfilled my obligations. But when our firm is all set up, I will leave.’

  Despite my efforts to avoid the subject, a few months later I had to give in to Shirin and discuss her plans for marriage. Faramarz had received his bachelor’s degree and was getting ready to leave for Canada. They were intent on getting married before he left so that he could apply for Shirin’s residency permit as well. I was against her dropping out of university, but they assured me that it would take approximately a year for her residency application to be processed, which would give her ample time to finish studying for her degree.

  It was painful to think about being separated from Shirin, but she was so happy and excited that I did not allow myself to express the slightest bit of sadness. We held their marriage ceremony and a short while later Faramarz left. He would return when Shirin’s residency had been arranged and she had finished her degree. We would then have a proper wedding celebration and the bride and groom would leave together.

  I felt that in spite of the hardships, I had met my responsibilities. My children had studied well, started their own lives and were successful. But I also felt empty and purposeless, just as I used to feel right after the final exams at school. It seemed there was nothing left for me to do. I thanked God more than ever before for fear that he would think I was ungrateful and would punish me for it. And I consoled myself that fortunately there was still time; Shirin would not be leaving for at least another year. Still, I could not ignore the dark clouds of old age and loneliness that cast their shadow on me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The closer we got to the time Shirin would go to Canada, the more depressed and anxious I became. I tried to be less attached to my children, I didn’t want to cling to them like an old, busybody mother and make them worry about me all the time. I tried to socialise more, widen my circle of friends and find new ways to fill my free time of which I had more and more as the months passed. But finding new friends at that age was not easy and I didn’t have much of a relationship with my family. Mother was very old and living with Mahmoud. She would not agree to come and stay with us occasionally for a few days, and I would not go to Mahmoud’s house, therefore I seldom saw her. Mrs Parvin had aged too and was no longer as energetic and active as before. But she was still the only person I knew I could count on if I ever needed help. Faati had been sad and sombre ever since Firouzeh had got married and left Iran. We weren’t as close as we used to be; it was clear that she somehow blamed us for the pain she suffered being separated from her child. I had regular gatherings with my former women colleagues and I still occasionally saw Mr Zargar. He had remarried a few years earlier and seemed happy.

  The only time my thoughts and worries ebbed was when Parvaneh was in Tehran. We talked and laughed and travelled back to the happy days of our youth. That year, her mother had been taken ill and she was spending more time in Iran.

  ‘After Shirin leaves, you’ll have to rent the apartment and spend a few months a year with each of your children,’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely not! I will not lose my independence and self-respect; and I have no intention of intruding on my children’s lives. It is no longer practical or appropriate for several generations to live together in the same house.’

  ‘Intruding? They should love it and be grateful!’ she argued. ‘They should want to make up for all the hard work you did for them.’

  ‘Don’t say that! It reminds me of my grandmother. She used to say, “Raising boys is like frying aubergines, it takes a lot of oil, but then they have to render a lot of oil.” I have no such expectations of my children. I did it for myself, it was my duty. They don’t owe me anything. Besides, I really do want to keep my independence.’

  ‘Independence to do what?’ she argued. ‘To sit at home all alone and for them, in peace and with a clear conscience, to forget you?’

  ‘That is nonsense,’ I said. ‘Every single revolution in the world was because people wanted independence. Now you expect me to simply give up mine.’

  ‘Massoum, time passed so quickly and the kids grew up so fast!’ Parvaneh said. ‘Those were wonderful days; I wish they would come back.’

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘I don’t want even a single hour of it to come back. Thank God, those days have passed. And hopefully the rest will pass just as quickly.’

  The hot summer days had arrived. I was busy preparing Shirin’s dowry and Parvaneh and I often went shopping together or found some other excuse to spend the day together. On one of the hottest afternoons, I had just lain down to rest when the unexpected and unrelenting sound of the doorbell made me jump. I went to the intercom and asked who it was.

  ‘It’s me. Hurry up and open the door.’

  ‘Parvaneh? What’s the matter? We were supposed to meet later this afternoon.’

  ‘Are you going to open the door or do I have to break it down?’ she screamed.

  I buzzed the door open. In the blink of an eye she was upstairs. Her face was flushed and there were beads of sweat on her forehead and on her upper lip.

  ‘What has happened?’ I asked. ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘Go inside, go!’

  Stunned, I stepped back into the apartment. Parvaneh tore off her headscarf, threw down her manteau and fell on to the sofa.

  ‘Water, cold water!’ she gasped.

  I quickly brought a glass of water and gave it to her.

  ‘I’ll bring you some sherbet later,’ I said. ‘Now, tell me what has happened. You’re killing me!’

  ‘Guess. Guess who I saw today!’

  I felt my heart drop to the floor like a rock and my chest emptied. I knew. Her behaviour and the state she was in had drawn an exact image of thirty-three years ago.

  ‘Saiid!’ I said in a choked voice.

  ‘You minx! How did you know?’

  We were again two adolescent girls whispering in the upstairs room at Father’s house. My heart was pounding just as it had then and she was just as excited and restless.

  ‘Tell me! Where did you see him? How is he? How does he look?’

  ‘Wait! One thing at a time. I went to the pharmacy to pick up my mother’s medications. The pharmacist knows me. He had a visitor. They were standing behind the counter, but I couldn’t see his guest’s face, he had his back to me. His voice sounded familiar and because his hair and figure looked attractive I was curious to see his face. The pharmacist’s assistant gave me the medications, but I couldn’t leave without taking a look at that man. I walked up to the counter and said, “Hello, doctor. I hope you are well. How many sleeping pills can one take in one day?” Imagine! What a stupid question. But it made his guest turn around and look at me with surprise. Oh, Massoum, it was him! You can’t imagine how I felt. I was so flustered.’

  ‘Did he recognise you?’

  ‘God bless him, yes! He is so clever. After all these years, he recognised me despite the headscarf, the manteau and the coloured hair! Of course, he hesitated at first, but I quickly took off my sunglasses and smiled at him so that he could take a good look at me.’

  ‘Did you talk?’

  ‘Of course we talked! Do you think I am still afraid of your brothers?’

  ‘What does he look like? Has he aged a lot?’

  ‘The hair on his temples is completely white; the rest is salt and pepper. And he was wearing pince-nez glasses. He didn’t wear eyeglasses back then, did he?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Of course, his face has aged, but he doesn’t look all that different,’ Parvaneh said. ‘Especially his eyes; he still has the same eyes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘The usual greetings. He first asked about my father. I told him Father died a long time ago. He offered his condolence
s. And then I boldly asked, “So where are you living these days? What are you doing?” He said, “I lived in America for a while.” And I asked, “You mean you don’t live in Iran?” He said, “Yes, I do. I came back a few years ago and started working here.” I didn’t know how to ask him whether he was married and had children or not. I just said, “And how is your family?” He looked surprised, so I quickly added, “I mean your mother and sisters.” He said, “Unfortunately, Mother passed away some twenty years ago. My sisters are married and have their own families. Now that I am in Iran and alone, I see more of them.” I pricked up my ears. It was the best opportunity. I asked, “Alone?” He said, “Yes, my family stayed in America. What can one do? The kids grew up there and are accustomed to that life; and my wife didn’t want to leave them.” Well, I had most of the information and I thought it would be rude if I asked any more questions, so I said, “I am happy I ran into you. Please write down my telephone number. If you ever have time, I would be happy to see you again.”’