A Door between Us

by Ehsaneh Sadr

* * *

  “Thank you, sir, for your trouble.” Sadegh held a 10,000-toman note toward the driver.

  The old man twisted toward the back seat and tilted his head respectfully. “Please, be my guest. No payment is required.” It was typically insincere Tehran cabbie taarof double-speak.

  “I insist.” Sadegh set the bill on the passenger seat as he opened the vehicle door. He wondered whether Leila was back home yet or whether he should try to find her at the police station. Where was the police station in this neighborhood?

  The driver cleared his throat. “In that case, you should know that the price is fifteen tomans. You changed destinations, and I had to spend a lot more time in traffic. But of course”—the man went back to his taarof—“you’re still welcome to be my honored guest and pay nothing.”

  Sadegh looked at the driver. He was an old man with deep wrinkles, dark skin, and yellowed eyes. He considered objecting to this outright thievery but he didn’t have the time or heart for it. Instead he rifled through his wallet and pulled out another 5,000 tomans as he chided the driver. “Khejalat bekesh. You should be ashamed.”

  “Thank you agha, raazi bashid. You understand, of course, I have a family to support.”

  Sadegh got out of the car, walked up to the intercom outside the gate, and pressed the button for Ms. Tabibian’s home. There were fifteen units in the shabby building, three on each of five floors.

  There was no answer. Sadegh was about to try again, when the heavy metal door suddenly opened from the other side and a short round woman in a cheap black chador and brown plastic sandals shuffled out. He held the door open and waited for her to exit, but she stopped and examined him with black, beady eyes.

  “Shoma? Who are you?”

  Sadegh winced. He recognized the shrill voice that, in person, was like a pin in his eardrum. “I’m a guest of one of your neighbors.”

  “Is that right? Who are you visiting?”

  Sadegh was stuck. “Um . . . Ms. Tabibian.”

  “Humph! I told you on the telephone that Ms. Tabibian isn’t here.” The woman’s voice notched upward in energy and intensity until it was a knitting needle in his ear. “Befarmayeed! I’m not going to let you in.”

  “Please,” Sadegh pleaded. “I need to see Leila. Is she back?”

  “Befarmayeed, agha! Be on your way sir!” She trundled toward him so he had to back up and let go of the door to avoid a collision. The door shut behind her with a loud clang.

  Sadegh turned and almost bumped right into Leila.

  “Oh! I’m sorry,” Sadegh said.

  “Sadegh-agha, thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you got my messages.” Leila’s eyes were red. It looked like she’d been crying and might start up again.

  The neighbor pushed in between them. “Leila-khanoom, do you know this gentleman? He says he’s your brother, but I’ve never seen him before or heard your mother mention him.”

  “Yes, Ms. Noori,” Leila said. “Thank you so much. This is my brother—well, my half brother—Sadegh. We’ve only recently been reacquainted and . . .”

  “Humph! Well, he looked suspicious.” The woman wagged a finger as she spoke. “And you never can be too careful.”

  “Yes, thank you Ms. Noori,” Leila said. “I’m sorry for the trouble. No one called?”

  “Just this—” Ms. Noori eyed Sadegh. “—gentleman.” She turned toward Leila. Not quite enough to completely have her back toward Sadegh but enough to signify what she thought of him. “Leila dear, I have to do some shopping for Mr. Noori’s dinner, but I left the phone with him and gave him strict instructions to answer immediately if anyone calls. What did the police say? Were they any help? You know you can stay with us tonight again, and as long as you need to. Okay, azizam, I need to go or dinner will be late. If you’d be more . . . comfortable,”—she eyed Sadegh again and dropped her voice, as if doing so would prevent him from hearing—“you can take him up to our apartment. Mr. Noori is there, so you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

  At this she paused.

  Leila answered, “Thank you, Ms. Noori, for your kindness, but I—”

  The woman interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Hala, however you’re most comfortable. I’m just thinking about the neighbors. You know how they talk. Anyway, I’ve got to go.”

  With a curt nod to Sadegh, Ms. Noori left them and headed down the sidewalk. With her black chador and side-to-side waddle, her receding back looked a bit like a plump penguin strolling the streets of Tehran.

  * * *

  “Kheili lotf kardin oomadin. It was kind of you to come. I’m . . . sorry for the imposition. I know you didn’t want us to contact you, but I—”

  “Yes, well,” Sadegh interrupted. He cleared his throat. “About that. I may have been hasty. You see, I just found that, well, I was mistaken. Or really, my mother, Maman-Mehri I mean, was mistaken. And, well, it’s unfortunate.”

  Leila looked at him from the tiny kitchenette, where she was pouring tea. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What’s changed?”

  “Ah, well.” Sadegh’s fingers drummed his knees as he looked around once again at the astonishing little apartment. An entire woodland scene had been painted in silver over aging walls blackened by the radiator and gas lighting. Cracks in the cheap plaster had been transformed into tree branches over which small wooden figures of birds and other forest creatures had been hung to look as if they were resting. The floor was covered with colorful cheap qelims and big red cushions with traditional geometric patterns that were piled against the walls for sitting purposes. The first—and only—time Sadegh had previously visited Ms. Tabibian at her home, he’d felt as if he was stepping into the luxurious tent of an ancient Persian prince on a hunting trip in the middle of a moonlit forest.

  It was a type of décor Sadegh had never even imagined was possible. And he marveled again at how the women had transformed what could have been an ugly and depressing space into something so beautiful. The thought occurred to him that if he’d been raised by Ms. Tabibian, perhaps his love of colorful patterns would have been nurtured into an artistic sensibility he didn’t even know he had. Despite his confused feelings toward Maman-Mehri, Sadegh still felt pretty lucky to have been raised by her. But perhaps there were things he’d missed out on.

  Pulling his attention from the scene around him, Sadegh continued. “I don’t know how much you know, and it’s silly really, but, well, that grocer, the one that entered her house unannounced, it seems my sister somehow childishly encouraged him to think that your mother was interested in him. And then my mother caught wind of this and alerted my father and, well, it’s too bad really, but this is what seems to have led to their rupture.”

  Leila sat cross-legged and leaned thoughtfully against the wall perpendicular to the one Sadegh leaned against. A little silver squirrel painted on one of the low branches seemed to be whispering in her ear. “I don’t understand. Your sister gave this man a key? Why would she do that?”

  “No, no, that wasn’t my sister.” Sadegh massaged his kneecaps. “It was Maman-Mehri who offered the man a key. But only as some sort of test. You see, she didn’t think the man would actually go to the house unless he’d been encouraged. And, well, it turned out he had been encouraged by my sister, who was playing at some sort of strange child’s game of writing him love notes from your mother. But Maman-Mehri didn’t know that, and she simply wanted to protect my father, you see. It was all just a mistake.” Sadegh smiled and shrugged, lifting his hands and turning his palms upward.

  “A mistake,” Leila repeated. She looked down at the teacup in her hands. “That’s what my mother said. It must have been some sort of mistake. But your father wouldn’t believe her. And he cast her out like some sort of leper, warning her that if she ever tried to see her son, he’d have her arrested and imprisoned for adultery.”

  “Well, you can hardly bl
ame him when he saw . . . Anyway, all’s well that ends well.” Sadegh clapped his hands on his knees. “Now that this whole thing has been cleared up, she’s . . . well, she found her son after all, didn’t she?” Sadegh tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. There was no way to defend what his father, or Maman-Mehri, had done. But Sadegh couldn’t bring himself to criticize his parents in front of Leila. Anyway, it was all in the past.

  “She spent years looking for you,” Leila said, her glassy eyes still fixed on the teacup. “Despite his threats. She went to his store with hopes of following him to his home, but he was careful and had his men on alert to intervene. And then they moved the store, and she lost track of him.”

  Sadegh tried to imagine what it would be like if Mahdi or little Sana were taken from him. He’d never get to hold their wriggly bodies again. He wouldn’t get to see them grow into the worthy and God-loving people he was raising them to be. The thought filled him with sadness for what Ms. Tabibian must have experienced. He was eager to change the subject.

  “Anyway,” he said to Leila. “Ms. Tab—your mother . . . I mean, our mother. Sorry, I’m still not sure how to refer to her.”

  “It’s okay,” Leila said but didn’t offer a suggestion. She still wasn’t looking at him.

  “Anyway, she said that you were in danger and, well, I think I know what—”

  Leila’s crystal-green eyes snapped toward him. “You talked to her? When?”

  Sadegh was startled by her intensity. “I didn’t talk directly to her. She left a message saying she was worried about you and there was some sort of danger. I assumed, frankly, that it had to do with . . .” Sadegh’s voice trailed off, but he looked pointedly at Leila’s midsection as he rubbed his knees again.

  Leila didn’t seem to notice his insinuation. She asked again even more insistently, “When exactly did she call?”

  Sadegh pulled out his phone. “Let’s see. She left a message at eleven thirty-six yesterday morning. Then I got three more calls from the same number over the next thirty minutes, but no other messages. And then there were the messages you left last night and this morning.”

  “Let me listen to her message,” Leila demanded.

  Sadegh didn’t like being ordered about. And he didn’t like feeling that he had no control over the conversation. But he knew Leila was distraught and didn’t want to upset her further, so he put his phone on speaker and played the message.

  Again, Sadegh listened as Ms. Tabibian breathed heavily into the phone. “Your sister is in grave danger. She’s done something . . . so stupid. I’m going to try to fix it, but I . . . I need your advice . . .”

  At this, Leila took a swift inward gasp of air and covered her mouth with her palm so that her nose was squeezed in the space between her thumb and index finger. She didn’t seem to breathe until the end of her mother’s message, when she released her nose and took several shaky, shallow breaths that turned into sobs.

  “What’s going on, Leila?” Sadegh demanded. “You need to be straight with me this time so I can help.”

  Leila grabbed tissue paper from a box in the corner between them. She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. She took a deep breath that seemed intended to control her crying.

  “Okay, let’s start with this,” Sadegh took charge. “Leila, don’t be embarrassed, but I need you to tell me. You can just nod the answer. Are you . . . expecting?”

  Leila looked at him with such an immediate expression of disgust that Sadegh felt almost embarrassed. The squirrel on her shoulder looked at Sadegh with beady, angry eyes.

  “What are you talking about?” Leila asked. Her voice was muffled under the tissue she was using to wipe her nose, but Sadegh registered the disdain it held and struggled to remember why he had arrived at the conclusion that she must be pregnant.

  “Well, you . . . your mother, I mean, she was in such a rush to get you married. Why else would she—”

  “I’m not pregnant,” Leila snapped.

  “Then what’s going on?” Sadegh’s shame at incorrectly guessing something so indelicate turned to anger. He leaned toward Leila and pointed his finger in her face. “You and your mother show up and start pushing me to find you a husband. And then your mother says your life is in danger and goes off to who knows where. I’m not a fool!” Sadegh clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it into the soft pillows beside him for emphasis. “If you want my help, you start talking now and tell me what’s going on.”

  At that moment, a familiar whistle rang through the room. Sadegh searched for the source of the sound and found it on one of the high branches painted on the kitchenette corner. It was Maman-Mehri’s cuckoo clock. Or, rather, one just like it. How had he not noticed it before? Perhaps because it was somewhat obscured by numerous wooden birds, relatives of the one flying out to announce the time, that surrounded it like a shared nest. Was this, like the one hanging in Maman-Mehri’s dining room, a gift from his father?

  Leila remained silent until the cuckoo returned to its home for the fifth and final time. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I’m sure this has all been confusing, and I’m sorry about that. But it’s not what you’re thinking. It’s just hard to explain.”

  Sadegh, his anger weakened by the surprise of the cuckoo clock and Leila’s conciliatory tone, relaxed back into the cushions and waited for Leila to continue.

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” Leila went on. “There’s a Mr. Heydari that works with the Revolutionary Guards and the Basij. You know who I’m talking about?”

  “Small man with a short beard?” Sadegh asked. “I’ve met him once or twice. What about him?”

  Leila nodded at Sadegh’s description of Heydari. “Yes, that’s him. Well, he’s from my mother’s village up north. And when I was born . . . see, my mother was engaged to my father, but . . . it’s kind of complicated.”

  Leila stopped talking and seemed to be thinking.

  “Go on,” Sadegh encouraged her. He was intrigued to hear that Heydari was from his mother’s village. He wondered what the man would have been like as a child. All Sadegh could imagine was a small boy with cartoonishly big purple lips.

  “Eventually, when my mother realized there was no way to find you, she went back home to her parents. My father . . . he was a year younger than her and had loved her even as a child, so when he saw her back in the village, he wanted to marry her right away. But Maman was still mourning the loss of her son. And my father’s family didn’t want him to marry an older divorcée who was clearly torshide, like sour milk. For five years he tried to convince my mother to marry him until finally she agreed. See how much he loved her? Anyway, despite his parents’ opposition, they got engaged.

  “They could have been so happy.” Leila’s voice cracked. “She always tells me the best time of her life was the six months they were together. But it wasn’t to be. Before they could marry, there was the earthquake.”

  Sadegh assumed Leila was talking about the 1990 Rudbar-Manjil earthquake that killed more than forty thousand people and left a half a million people homeless. Sadegh had been nine years old and remembered that it happened the night of the World Cup match between Scotland and Brazil. Sadegh didn’t care much for soccer, but Alireza did, and Sadegh, trying to keep up with his older brother, had watched along with him until he’d fallen asleep. The next day, the television was awash with scenes of the carnage from towns and villages in Zanjan and Gilan provinces, which had been entirely destroyed.

  “My father died under the rubble along with my mother’s parents and her two brothers,” Leila said. “The only reason she survived was that she happened to be outside, on her way back from the outhouse, when it happened.”

  Leila shook her head and sighed. “My poor mother. Her first husband kicks her out over unjust accusations of infidelity. She’s separated from her son. Then she finally finds happiness again, only to lose my fa
ther and her own family. I don’t know how she was able to bear it.” Leila shook her head sadly in a way that made it look as if the painted squirrel was now stroking her head to comfort her.

  Leila squeezed her eyes shut, as if to prevent more tears from flowing. She paused a moment, and Sadegh made what he hoped were sympathetic noises.

  “Anyway,” Leila went on, “she found out she was pregnant shortly after the earthquake. The problem was that they’d never officially registered the engagement. And my father’s family . . . well, I suppose they were in a bit of shock, having just lost their son. They blamed her. Maybe they thought he would have left the village if it hadn’t been for her. Anyway, they refused to acknowledge the engagement or help my mother get the papers she needed. So here she was . . . no husband, no family, and pregnant with an illegitimate child.”

  It would have been an awful predicament, Sadegh thought. “What did she do?” he asked Leila.

  “I don’t know all the details,” Leila went on. “She only told me this part of it recently. Apparently, Mr. Heydari, well, as I said, he was from her village and had gotten to know a lot of powerful people during the war, when he was at the front with the Basij. My mother went to him, and he somehow arranged documents so I could get a proper birth certificate. Then she left her village and moved to Tehran to raise me by herself in a place where no one knew her story.” Leila’s breath caught and she shook her head. “And I’ve never wanted for anything . . . She made sure of that, no matter how hard she had to work or whatever else she had to sacrifice.”

  Sadegh thought about the young woman Ms. Tabibian must have been. By the time she was his own age, she’d lost three families. He tried to imagine what it would be like to lose so much. When his own father—the man who’d triggered this tragic chain of events—had died, it felt as if Sadegh had suddenly lost a protective shield he hadn’t even known he’d been counting on to keep him safe. What would it be like to also lose his mother, his brother and sisters, and Sumayeh and the kids?

  Aloud he said. “She’s a lion of a woman, a sheerezan. I’m sad for everything she’s had to go through. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more . . . understanding and kind. I’m glad you’ve had someone like Heydari to look out for you all these years.”