by Ehsaneh Sadr
“If you’re good. But first, go to the bathroom and wash off the tears.”
The boys cheered and, squabble forgotten for now, raced to the bathroom.
Azar turned to her brother, apologetically bringing him into the waiting area.
“I’m sorry they were so much trouble. Take a seat. Should I bring some tea?”
Ali sat in the same spot that Leila had been just moments earlier. He shook his head indicating he didn’t want anything and asked, “Who was that girl?”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you properly. She’s Ms. Tabibian’s daughter.”
“Your secretary?” Ali asked.
“Well yes, although of course Ms. Tabibian doesn’t work for me anymore. Why? Have you seen Leila before? It seemed like maybe you knew each other.”
Ali looked at her a moment and then shook his head and said, “Khaharam, my sister, you need to be careful.”
Worried he was about to say something sensitive, Azar pointed to her still disassembled phone on the table to inquire silently as to whether he had a cellphone with him.
Ali shook his head again to indicate there was no reason for concern. “I left it in the car,” he said. “Listen to me, Azar. I don’t agree with you and Ibrahim on everything, but I respect and admire the way you stand for your principles. At the same time, you’re my sister, and I want you to be safe. They let you out, but that doesn’t mean they’re finished with you. You can’t trust anyone. And I mean anyone. You never know who’s working for them.
This again. It irritated Azar to be lectured by her little brother as if he, more than she, understood the oppressive nature of the regime and how to protect oneself. And Azar couldn’t understand how her brother’s experience of unjust imprisonment had actually made him even more deferential to the system. Didn’t they who knew what this regime was capable of have an even greater duty to inform others and work for change?
But, as Azar’s thoughts flashed to the sensitive documents she needed to secure, she realized Ali’s very deference and apoliticism made him the perfect person to hold on to them. They wouldn’t be watching him the way Azar feared they might be watching her. Plus, he could keep the file at his condo, where he seemed to be spending most of his time these days anyway and which wasn’t too far from her home if she needed to retrieve them.
“You’re right Ali-jaan,” Azar agreed, stifling her counterarguments. She couldn’t afford to pick a fight with him right now. “Ali, look I have a big favor to ask of you. I need you to—”
Before she could finish her request, the kids came racing back ready to go.
“I have to talk to your uncle for a minute,” Azar said to the boys. “Go watch TV in my office until I’m ready.”
After a bit of grumbling and Azar promising she wouldn’t be long, they trudged reluctantly to her office.
Azar turned to Ali to continue their conversation and held out the white envelope. “I need you to hold on to this for me.”
“What is this?” Ali asked.
“You won’t believe it!” Azar couldn’t help crowing a bit. “These are medical documents that prove a cover up of Arman Tamimi’s death due to—”
“No!” Ali interjected. “Don’t tell me any more. I . . . I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Okay, okay. Relax. Just, I need you to hold on to these for a while and keep them safe for me at your condo. They’re the only copies I have.”
Ali was shaking his head. “No, Azar, I can’t. Believe me. You don’t want to give them to me.”
“What do you mean? You just said I have to be careful. I can’t trust anyone. I can’t keep these here or at home in case we get raided again. Even our parents’ home isn’t safe. I need you to do this for me, Ali. You’re my brother. You’re the only person I can really trust.”
Ali closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Azar was irritated. What was his problem? He’d been in jail for barely a month, and no one had touched a hair on his head. He hadn’t been sentenced, and even if he had, he didn’t have to worry about little children that depended on him. Why was he the one that was such a coward?
“It’s just for a few days,” Azar cajoled.
Ali opened his eyes. “Okay. Fine. I’ll take them.”
“Mersi! Put them someplace safe, okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Ali said as he rubbed the back of his thick neck. When Ali was a toddler, one of Azar’s friends had said his fat neck made him look like the walrus in their science text. Azar had stopped talking to the girl for a month, but she had secretly agreed.
“I’d better go,” Ali finally said.
“Didn’t you have something you wanted to talk about? Do you want to join us for dinner?” Azar asked.
“No, I have a lot to do. But, yes, I do need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Azar asked.
“I’ve been . . .” He paused and began fiddling at the chip on his tooth that he’d gotten, along with a broken arm, when he was fifteen and tripped into the deep joob, or gutter, that ran alongside her parents’ street.
“What?” Azar prompted.
Ali looked at the floor and mumbled, “I’ve been seeing Sarah.”
Azar didn’t understand his meaning and looked at him quizzically.
“We ran into each other almost two months ago” Ali explained as he looked up. “Azar, it was so improbable. I was near Laleh Park and went into the very café she just happened to be at with her friends. And then the next week, we found each other there again. There’s no way something like that could have happened unless God wanted it. So we’ve been seeing each other regularly since then.”
Azar was indignant. “Are you stupid?”
Ali looked taken aback.
“Have you forgotten who her family is? Have you forgotten what they did to us? How much pain and suffering all of us have had to endure because of that ridiculous girl and her venomous family? Do I have to remind you of their role in your arrest? And maybe in my arrest? Ibrahim is still in that hellhole Evin. Those people are two-faced traitors to us and to this country. I hate everything they stand for!”
“Stop!” Ali’s voice was angry. “You don’t know her. She isn’t like her family. She isn’t political. She’s . . . I love her!”
“You think you’re only marrying her?” Azar railed on. “Families marry each other. Look at me and Ibrahim. We were a good match because our families were a good match. It didn’t matter how I felt about him. And it doesn’t matter how you feel about Sarah. You think you love her, but there are a thousand girls you could love. It’s the family that’s important.”
“No! I don’t agree,” Ali protested. “Sarah is the only one for me.”
Azar ignored him. “It doesn’t matter. You need to end this, Ali. My God! Now I see why you’ve been dragging your feet to finalize the divorce. You need to stop immediately. In time, you’ll see what a simpering foolish girl she is and—”
“Don’t you dare talk about her that way!” Ali’s voice was raised now. “She is my wife! She will always be mine. She . . .” Ali’s voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. “She’s pregnant.”
PART THREE
Two Days in December
The rulers, however, say that people do not understand, that they are ignorant and that they do not really understand their interests. They argue that they have been appointed by God and His representative to rule over this mass of people.
—Mohsen Kadivar, prominent critic of the Islamic Republic, August 31, 2009
CHAPTER 7
Friday, December 18, 2009, Midday—six months after the election
Normality hasn’t been practiced in Iran . . . The new generation understand they need to have a normal life.
—Former senior Iranian official6
Sarah felt her phone vibrate in her jeans pocket as she leaned over the bathroom sink, wait
ing for the ultimate outcome of another bout of nausea.
She pulled the phone out. As expected, it was Ali.
“Allo? ”
“Sarah, it’s me. I’m just looking for parking outside. Should I come in?”
“No, Ali-jaan, I . . .”
Sarah’s stomach lurched, and she put the phone down to lean closer to the sink. But it turned out to be a false alarm. She put the phone to her ear again.
“Sorry, Ali . . .”
“Are you okay?”
Sarah loved that he sounded so worried.
“I’m fine, azizam,” she reassured him. “I’m just sick again. Today is the worst it’s been.”
Ali chuckled softly, “If this kid is causing so much trouble before it even arrives, we’re in for a rough ride.”
“Ugh . . . I feel too awful to even joke about it.”
“You’re right, dearest. I’m sorry. Anyway, I’m here.”
“Yes, Ali-jaan, I was saying . . . I’ve been so sick, and my father only just got here. I . . .”
“You haven’t told them yet?”
“No, but I’ll do it right now—as soon as I get out of the bathroom, okay? I’ll text you. Just wait a bit for me.”
“Okay. Are you sure you want to do this today?”
“Yes! Don’t be mad. I’ll text you soon. I’ve got to go. I’m gonna be sick.”
Sarah flipped the phone closed, leaned over, and pulled back her hair with one hand as her body finally released her lunch into the sink.
Sarah felt better with her stomach emptied. She rinsed her mouth, washed her face, and critically examined her small eyes and wide nose in the mirror. Did she look different? In books and movies, pregnant women were always recognized by a certain “glow” about them. But even with all the morning queasiness, her own mother hadn’t seemed to notice anything, much to Sarah’s combined relief and disappointment.
Sarah smoothed back her thick black hair and fastened it with a hairband before retrieving her headscarf from where it hung on a hook beside her chador. She tugged the headscarf over her hair and tied it firmly under her chin. Then she reached for the light-green cotton chador and draped it over her head, careful to keep the ends from trailing onto the bathroom floor by gathering the folds and tucking them under her left elbow. She opened the bathroom door and shook her right foot loose of the bathroom slippers. Then she set her foot down in the hallway and swiveled to do the same with her left.
But rather than moving toward the salon where her family was enjoying post-lunch tea and sweets with Aunt Mehri’s family, she moved toward her bedroom. She was going to tell everyone about Ali. But first she had something to take care of.
* * *
Sarah had been shocked, bewildered, overjoyed, and utterly horrified to discover she was pregnant. She had noticed a few subtle changes in her body, but had initially chalked them up to the effects of having lost her virginity. But when her period, which like clockwork normally arrived on the eighth or ninth of the lunar Arabic month, failed to appear twice, she knew something was up.
When she mentioned her concerns to Ali, he got her to a doctor’s office for a pregnancy test within the hour. And when they received the positive result, his eyes glistened with joy as he pinched her cheek with his thick fingers.
Sarah was the one with reservations.
“What are we going to do?” She asked Ali in the car on the way back from the doctor’s office.
“We’re going to have the most beautiful little baby on the planet!” He reached across the gearshift and pulled her hand to his lips for a kiss.
“I mean about our parents.”
“We were going to have to tell them eventually,” Ali shrugged. “In some ways, this makes it easier. They can’t try to keep us apart now.”
“No, Ali. I’m so . . . embarrassed. How can I tell them I’m pregnant?”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m your husband! We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“But they . . .”
Sarah started weeping as she imagined her mother’s and father’s likely reactions. They would be so disappointed in her. Not just for being pregnant but also for all the deception. Just last week she’d lied for the first time to her mother’s face when she told her she’d been nowhere near Tajrish Square, where one of her mother’s friends claimed to have seen her. Sarah had been lucky the friend hadn’t seen or recognized Ali and that her mother had let the matter drop relatively quickly.
Ali pulled the car over to comfort her.
“Azizam, my beloved. My little golli. My sweet rose. Don’t cry. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see. Your parents love you, and they want you to be happy. And once they see how happy I make you, they’ll forget everything else. And when they see the babies . . .”
“What do you mean babies?”
Ali squeezed her hand and smiled mischievously. “I think we should have twins!”
“Are you crazy? I’m still in school! That’s another thing . . . How am I going to finish my studies?” Sarah’s tears were coming faster now.
“Okay, okay.” Ali recanted quickly. “No twins! And we’ll get someone to help you with the baby. Don’t cry, Sarah darling. And don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay. You’ll see. This is a good thing. Trust me.”
But Sarah couldn’t stop sobbing.
“Ahh . . . You know what this is?” Ali asked and then answered his own question. “This is all those extra hormones that women get when they’re pregnant. That’s what’s making you cry over such good news. It’s okay, azizam. You just let it all out.”
He sat with her, awkwardly patting her hand until she started to feel better. He was right. Her parents would understand. And a baby! As scary as it seemed, it would also be fun to be a young mother. She hoped for a girl. She would get to dress the baby in cute outfits her friends would admire, and then her little girl would become a friend and confidant as she grew. Oh, and Ali would be such a wonderful father.
She blew her nose and gave Ali a watery smile.
He smiled back and asked, “You okay, my love?”
She nodded, and he started the car to take them home, where they talked about where to set up a nursery. The master bedroom was on one side of the condo while the three other bedrooms were so far away, on the other side of the guest salon, that Sarah couldn’t imagine leaving an infant all alone in one of them. They decided the master bedroom was large enough to add a crib and even a rocking chair for nursing at night. But they would also set up the closest bedroom for the baby. Sarah couldn’t wait to finally move in so she could start decorating it and filling the baby’s closet with tiny, frilly clothes.
They had told his family the following weekend. Ali took his parents, sister, and nephews out for a late breakfast on the grounds of the Niavaran museum complex, and Sarah met them a bit later, after he texted that he’d broken the news. Sarah felt nervous as she entered the complex and walked along the grassy lawn toward the outdoor restaurant. She wanted so badly for them to love her. But what if they were angry? Or unkind? She wasn’t used to being anything other than the doted-upon daughter of loving parents. How would she handle being the target of his family’s ire? She was glad they had decided to do this in public, where everyone’s behavior would have to be polite and constrained by the watchful eyes upon them.
She needn’t have worried so much. Ali met her at the entrance to the restaurant and smiled warmly as he took her hand and walked her toward the traditional low tables at which his family sat picnic-style around their meal. Everyone rose immediately, and his mother came forward to kiss her cheeks, saying, “I hear we have wonderful news! Congratulations, my darling girl.” Ali’s father bowed his head formally until his mother pushed him closer, teasing, “Don’t be so shy! She’s your daughter-in-law. Give her a hug and kiss.” Sarah felt that Azar was still a bit col
d as she greeted her, and they sat down to eat. Azar didn’t seem particularly surprised by or even that interested in the news of Sarah’s pregnancy. But perhaps she was simply distracted by her boys, who were wreaking havoc as they chased a couple of stray cats around other people’s tables.
Ali’s mother urged her to eat, asked questions about how the pregnancy was going, and shared a few of her experiences with her own babies, whose colicky screaming was always calmed by a combination of olive oil and rosewater she would rub on their bellies. Sarah was amazed at how natural and easy it felt to be part of this new family and wondered why she and Ali had ever thought it was a good idea to hide their reconciliation.
The plan had been for them to break the news in similar fashion to Sarah’s family that very afternoon over dinner. But Sarah’s father had an urgent last-minute business trip to Dubai, and they’d put the announcement off until today.
It had been a tough week. Things had gone so well with Ali’s family that Sarah couldn’t wait to tell her parents too. Ali’s mother had started calling her every day to ask after her health and see if she was craving any particular foods that she could prepare for her. Sarah basked in the glow of her mother-in-law’s solicitousness but felt guilty and sad to be missing similar moments with her own mother. The morning sickness had kicked in full force, and she felt nauseous most of the time but was trying to hide it. It would be such a relief to finally share her news.
This morning, however, her mother had announced that since today was the first of Muharram, she’d invited Aunt Mehri and the whole family to their house so they could do a series of special prayers and duas together after lunch. What to do?
In a whispered telephone call from her bedroom, she and Ali considered the options. They talked about putting off their announcement until another time when it was just Sarah’s immediate family and they could go out to a restaurant or other public place. But Sarah didn’t think she could keep the secret much longer and knew it would be much worse if her parents guessed the news or, even worse, heard it from someone else. The longer they tried to keep it under wraps, the more likely it would slip out in a way that was potentially disastrous.