by Ehsaneh Sadr
How could Sarah have seen him with Leila? Laleh Park was nowhere near any place Sarah needed to be . . . What was she doing there? It was incredible how little control Sarah’s parents had over her.
At the far corner of the garden, Sadegh grabbed a broken broom handle from among the shovels and rakes leaning against the wall. He lifted the long handle and brought it down on the trunk of his mother’s massive walnut tree. The stick vibrated at the contact and generated a painful and satisfying warmth in his hands. Sadegh raised the broom handle and struck the tree again. Crows squawked and vacated the tree. He lifted the handle for a third blow but stopped at the sound of footsteps. He guessed it was his wife and didn’t want to further alienate her with his display of temper.
Sadegh turned around. He held the broomstick horizontally with his hands joined together and resting on his thighs. With his head bowed, he felt like a disgraced servant awaiting judgement. He had no idea what he would say to Sumayeh.
Complete honesty was a core tenet of their relationship. One of Sadegh’s first conversations with Sumayeh during their khastegari had been about dishonesty and how it was akin to idolatry in that the liar feared another person’s reaction more than they feared God’s. Since they’d been married, whenever Sadegh had felt even the slightest unholy attraction to a woman in the streets, he’d admitted it immediately to Sumayeh. How was she going to understand his deceptions about Leila?
Sumayeh finally spoke. “Khob, chi shode? So, what’s going on?”
Sadegh fixed his eyes on his wife’s thin and delicate feet shod in black plastic men’s sandals that were much too big. Sumayeh must have stepped into whatever shoes she’d first found on the back patio.
“Nothing, azizam.” He answered. “Really, there’s nothing to worry about. I just . . .” He didn’t know where to start, so he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sumayeh snapped.
Sadegh looked at his angry wife. The afternoon shadows played with her scar, making it look like a long and strange extension of her frown.
“Nothing. I’m so sorry,” Sadegh tried to communicate just how sorry and ashamed he was with his voice, his eyes, his posture. “I wasn’t sure . . . but then I couldn’t say no. And I thought if I saw her once that would be enough, but then it was even harder.”
“Sadegh. I don’t understand.” She emphasized the last consonant of each word, as if speaking in time to the thump of an ax hitting a tree. “What are you talking about? Who is she?”
“Her name is Leila.”
“And you’re . . . She’s . . . I know it’s not possible . . . but Sarah made it seem as if she was some sort of . . . Well, who is she?”
Sadegh was confused by these halting questions from his usually unflappable wife. He’d expected calm and cold condemnation. Why did Sumayeh look so disconcerted?
“Leila”—Sadegh saw Sumayeh’s black eyes flinch as he said her name in the familiar way without a Ms. or khanoom—“is my sister. It’s kind of unbelievable really. My birth mother, well, she found me in the summer, the day after Sarah’s wedding. And, well, Leila is her daughter. From her second husband.”
Sumayeh’s eyes reflected her relief. “Oh,” she exhaled. “Yes, that makes sense now. She’s your sister, not . . .”
Sumayeh didn’t finish the sentence, but it was enough to make Sadegh finally understand. “Wait, you thought she was some sort of . . . girlfriend?” Sadegh was astounded that his wife could even consider such a thing and relieved that his actual sins were so much more benign than what he’d been suspected of. He bounced the broken broomstick in his hands and almost started chuckling at the misunderstanding, but swallowed his laughter in the face of Sumayeh’s angry expression.
“What am I supposed to think?” she demanded. “All I know is that you’ve been hiding something. That’s a betrayal whether it involves a girlfriend or not.”
Sadegh answered with sincere penitence, “I am sorry, Sumayeh-joonam. Let me explain.”
Sadegh gestured to a small stone bench where Sumayeh sat and listened as he told her about the woman he’d met outside the Sa’adat Abad mosque who’d turned out to be his mother. She’d asked questions, that Sadegh had refused to answer, of course, about Ali. He’d cut the visit short as quickly as he could, but not without agreeing to another meeting. He’d been introduced to his sister, Leila, for the first time at Valiasr square, near the women’s clothing shop where she was employed. Since then, he’d seen her and their mother only three more times, once at their flat near Laleh Park, where Sarah must have seen him.
When he finished his story, Sadegh waited for Sumayeh’s response as she picked apart a dry autumn leaf so that only its bony veins remained attached to the stalk.
“It’s incredible that she found you,” Sumayeh finally said. “And I can’t imagine how you must feel about meeting her after all this time. But I still don’t understand.” Sumayeh dropped the remains of the leaf on the ground and looked up at Sadegh with wounded eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this a secret for so long?”
Sadegh dropped Sumayeh’s gaze and fiddled with the broom handle as he thought about what to say. The fact was that Sadegh had put off telling his wife in a childish attempt to preserve his uncomplicated life by willing away and ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with. He wasn’t sure how the sudden appearance of a new mother and sister would change things. He didn’t know what the impact would be on Maman-Mehri and his siblings. He resented the intrusion of these women and wanted to minimize their contact with and impact on his real life for as long as possible. But trying to pretend they didn’t exist was such a childish and cowardly response that he knew it would only increase Sumayeh’s disappointment in him.
“Well,” Sadegh spoke slowly. “I wanted to see what type of people they are before involving our family.”
Sadegh watched Sumayeh’s reaction as he spoke. She was listening intently, trying to understand, maybe even hoping for an explanation she’d find forgivable.
Sadegh continued. “And, frankly, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have too much contact with them.”
Sumayeh cocked her head. “If it isn’t a good idea to have contact with them, then why are you still seeing them?”
Sadegh leaned on the broom handle, twisting its broken end into the dirt. “I’m still trying to figure it out. See, the last time I saw them, about a month ago, she . . . my mother started talking about Leila getting married. It came out of nowhere, and since then she’s been calling and hounding me about helping them find a good match and—well, I can only think of one reason why there would suddenly be so much urgency about getting married.”
“You think she’s pregnant?” Sumayeh understood immediately. She wrinkled her American nose as if she’d seen a cockroach in the kitchen.
Sadegh stopped fidgeting with the stick and shrugged. “I’m just guessing. I don’t know about this type of thing. But it’s been hard for me to decide how involved to be. I’m not going to trick some young man into marrying her if that’s what’s going on.”
“No, of course not.” Sumayeh was quiet a moment and then asked, “How old is she?”
“Nineteen. The same age as Sarah. And she seems to be a good girl but . . . well, she doesn’t have a father around, and I don’t really know how mughayed, observant, they are.”
“I see.” Sumayeh frowned as if she was working out a problem.
“Sumayeh, dear, what should I do?” Sadegh sincerely wanted his wife’s opinion. But he also hoped that Sumayeh might get so busy figuring out and telling him what he should do that she’d forget about being angry with him.
“What you should have done, Sadegh,” Sumayeh eyed him as she answered, “was to come to me immediately.”
Sadegh’s attempt at diversion hadn’t worked. He pulled the broomstick toward himself and ten
sed behind it as if to make himself small enough that it would protect him from his wife’s disapproval.
“I know, Sumayeh-jaan, azizam,” Sadegh said. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
Sumayeh cut him off. “No, not because of that. My feelings aren’t important.” Sumayeh waved her hand in the air as if erasing her feelings from the equation. “I can see you were trying to do what is right, and that is the most important thing. The point is that you should have come to me because I could have helped you figure out this whole mess a long time ago. If something strange is going on or your sister really is pregnant or in some other type of trouble, I’m the one that can figure this out. Women are much better at this sort of thing.”
“Really?” Sadegh took a deep breath of relief. “Oh, Sumayeh, you’re so right. I should have come to you from the beginning.”
Sadegh tossed the broomstick aside, sat next to his wife, and took her hands. They were ice cold.
“Azizam,” he said as he pulled her close and rubbed her back and arms. “You’re freezing.”
The air was crisp but not especially cold for a late November afternoon, and Sadegh, warmed by his anger and shame hadn’t felt a thing. But he should have noticed that Sumayeh was getting cold.
“I’m fine,” Sumayeh insisted. And she pushed him away, motioning to the patio.
It was Maman-Mehri. Moving heavily, she came to the top of the stairs and leaned against the railing.
“Sadegh-jaan, Sumayeh-jaan, ye lahze biya, karet daram. Come here, I want to say something.”
Sadegh and Sumayeh stood and walked toward his mother, Sumayeh in front on the narrow path. Sadegh whispered as they approached. “Just don’t say anything to her about this.”
He hoped Sumayeh would understand. There was no need to lie. But there was also no need to share the full story. Sadegh wasn’t sure exactly how Maman-Mehri would react to the news of his mother and sister’s reemergence. But he was sure it wouldn’t be good. Why not spare her as long as possible?
Sumayeh turned and looked at Sadegh as if she was about to say something. But she was cut off by Maman-Mehri.
“Thank you, my dears.” Maman-Mehri was breathing hard as she spoke. With her house chador wrapped tightly around her spherical body, she looked like a sky-blue balloon that was rapidly inflating and deflating with each breath.
“You know, I never like to meddle in my children’s marriages. So far as I’m concerned, you always know best. But sometimes, well, us older folks have some experiences of life that we have an ob-li-ga-tion to share.” Maman-Mehri rapped the rail to emphasize each part of the word. “It’s my duty, even though it is hard for me, to give advice that can keep you on the right path and save you from sorrow or sin.”
Maman-Mehri put a hand, wrapped in her chador, on her heart, “Sumayeh, my aroos, I could not ask for a better daughter-in-law.”
“And I couldn’t ask for a better—” Sumayeh began but was interrupted.
“You’re an angel! A rose!” Maman-Mehri’s voice quivered with emotion. “For me, there is absolutely no difference between you and my own daughters. I love you just like I love them. Every time I say my prayers, I thank God for you and do extra prayers for your safety and happiness.”
Sadegh knew it was true. Maman-Mehri had initially been skeptical of his interest in Sumayeh, with her odd family background. Sumayeh’s mother was not only American but was a former nun whose yearning for a cloistered life devoted to God that could also incorporate children and a family had led her to Islam. She’d met and married Sumayeh’s father at UCLA, where he was a leader in the campus Muslim Student Association, and the two of them became increasingly involved in anti-Shah and pro-Khomeini activities until they moved to Tehran in November 1978.
But once Maman-Mehri had seen how determined Sadegh was to win Sumayeh, she quickly got on board and did everything within her power to convince Sumayeh’s parents that her family would be a good match. And she’d been a generous and loving mother-in-law ever since. She and Sumayeh had taken to each other naturally, bonding over their shared devotion to God and family. So when Maman-Mehri said Sumayeh was like a daughter to her, no one could doubt it.
“Mersi, Maman-Mehri,” Sumayeh said, but Maman-Mehri had turned her attention to her son.
“Sadegh,”—Maman-Mehri’s tone was sorrowful—“if you have done something that has hurt Sumayeh in any way, you have made a grave mistake. And if you persist in this, you must know that God will not forgive you and that even I, your mother, will not forgive you.”
Sumayeh looked hard at Sadegh. He could tell she wanted him to correct Maman-Mehri’s misunderstanding and explain that Leila was just his sister. But Sadegh shook his head to indicate that he wasn’t going to. He hoped Sumayeh would understand enough to keep quiet as well. Maman-Mehri might be disappointed to think he’d engaged in some sort of illicit relationship. But he was sure she’d be devastated to learn that Sadegh had reconnected with his biological mother. Sadegh cursed his cousin once more for putting him in this position. Sarah was such a selfish girl.
Taking Sadegh’s motion as an attempt to interrupt her, Maman-
Mehri started speaking more loudly. “I am not finished, Sadegh!” she barked. “And there is nothing you need to say anyway. It’s none of my business. You have to make this right with God. You have to make this right with your wife. They are the ones whose forgiveness you must beg.”
Sadegh nodded in what he hoped was a penitent manner. But Maman-Mehri had turned back to Sumayeh. “Sumayeh, my darling girl, I know the pain you are in, believe me, I know better than you can imagine. And I know that, even if it seems impossible, the only way forward, the only way to soothe your deep hurt, is to forgive.”
Here, Maman-Mehri paused, and it became clear she was fighting back tears.
Sadegh noted with alarm that Sumayeh was trying to interject as she walked up the steps to take her mother-in-law’s hand. “Maman-Mehri, it’s okay, it’s just a mis—”
Maman-Mehri spoke passionately through her tears. “No! I don’t want to hear the details. It is too much for a mother to witness the mistakes of her children.” Maman-Mehri’s voice was so high-pitched, she was practically squeaking. “And it’s none of my business anyway. I just need you to understand that there is beauty in forgiveness. So much beauty! I’m not only saying this. I know! I know because I lived it. My husband, God forgive and bless him, made mistakes too. And I saw with my own eyes that when you are willing to forgive, all-merciful, all-loving God rewards you a thousand times over. Whatever has been taken away will be returned with more than you can even imagine! Don’t let pride or hurt feelings keep you from such rewards my dear. Promise me.”
Maman-Mehri wiped at her eyes with the sides of her chador.
Sumayeh started again, “Maman-Mehri, please don’t be upset. Sadegh didn’t—”
Sadegh rushed up the stairs and grabbed Sumayeh’s elbow but she’d already been interrupted by Maman-Mehri.
“Just promise me!” Maman-Mehri begged as she stroked Sumayeh’s hand. “Oh, my dear beautiful child.”
“The woman Sadegh has been seeing is—” Sumayeh began.
Sadegh barked sternly, “Sumayeh!” How could she not understand that Sadegh’s reunion with his birth mother would cause Maman-Mehri much more pain than any assumptions she might be making now about possibly infidelity.
“She needs to know,” Sumayeh insisted.
Maman-Mehri replied through her tears. “No, I don’t need to know. I’m going inside now, and we never have to speak of this again. I’ve done my duty in warning you both. Now it is up to you. All I can do is pray.”
Maman-Mehri turned to head back into the house, but Sumayeh held tight to her hand.
“Maman-Mehri, please listen. It’s all a misunderstanding.”
Sadegh was panicking now. He broke his wife’s hold on his mother’s hand and
shouted, “Sumayeh, let her go! You aren’t helping!”
But Sumayeh would not be deterred. “Sadegh! What’s wrong with you? You’d rather your mother believe a lie, when all you were doing was seeing your sister? Maman-Mehri, Sadegh has been contacted by his . . . other mother.”
There was nothing more Sadegh could do to protect himself. As he looked at Maman-Mehri’s confused face, Sadegh realized that this was what he had most feared all along. This was the real reason he’d kept his mother and Leila a secret all these months. Because to tell Sumayeh would mean telling Maman-Mehri. And what would it do to Maman-Mehri’s love for him if there was suddenly another mother in the picture and if they were forced to talk about things they preferred to keep hidden?
Yes, perhaps it was a form of idolatry to fear the loss of Maman-Mehri’s love more than God’s anger over dishonesty. But it was Sadegh’s decision to make. Sumayeh had no right to force this conversation.
Maman-Mehri looked ill as she choked out her words. “What? What are you talking about?”
Sadegh kept quiet. Sumayeh had insisted on this. Let her deal with the fallout.
Sumayeh answered slowly. “Yes. I didn’t know either. Sadegh’s mother got in touch a few months back, and Sarah must have seen him when he was meeting his half sister. You see, it’s all a misunderstanding. Sadegh would never, could never, do anything to hurt his family.”
Sumayeh smiled comfortingly at Maman-Mehri, who looked desperately at Sadegh.
“Why?” Maman-Mehri demanded. “What does she want with you?”
Sadegh wished that he could take his mother’s hand and kiss her cheek and ease her pain with some physical demonstration of his love. Instead, he tried to convey all of this with words that fell flat even to his own ears. “I don’t know. It’s not important. Maman-e aziz, my dearest mother, I am the dirt under your feet. You are everything to me, and you have done everything for me, and you will always be my mother. My only mother.”