by Ehsaneh Sadr
* * *
Sadegh could hear the wailing as he fit his key to the lock but didn’t feel the full impact of the auditory assault until he opened the door. He kicked off his shoes and headed toward the kitchen. He hoped Sumayeh wouldn’t be angry with him for having taken so long to get home.
“Salam, azizam,” Sadegh greeted his wife. “Tell me how to help.”
Sumayeh handed him a bowl of rice and stew and directed him to feed the baby so she could turn her full attention to Mahdi, who was in the midst of his own meltdown. Sana was screaming as she twisted over the tray of her high chair reaching toward a soft plastic Snoopy figure that was on the floor. Sadegh bent and picked it up but Sumayeh stopped him before he handed it to the baby.
“No. It’s a game. She keeps throwing it on the floor and expects me to get it for her.”
“Okay,” Sadegh said. “I’ll only give it to her one more time.”
“Sadegh, she’s already thrown it down twice.” Sadegh could tell from her tone that Sumayeh was on edge. “Leave it on the floor. She needs to learn.”
Sadegh looked at Sana who had quieted her whimpering as she anticipated receiving the toy from her father. He sheepishly set it back on the floor instead, and Sana, realizing she’d been double-crossed, resumed her screaming with the additional anger of the betrayed.
Sadegh wasn’t sure what Sumayeh wanted him to do now but tried to calm the baby by offering a spoonful of food. Sana shook her head vigorously but then, a wicked gleam in her eye, grabbed at it and threw it on the floor beside Snoopy. Sadegh wondered whether it would be hypocritical to pick the spoon up now.
Sumayeh didn’t seem to be having much luck with Mahdi either. Sadegh listened as she offered him a choice.
“Mahdi dear, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here if you’re going to yell at me. Do you want to walk to your room, or should I carry you?”
“I’m not going anywhere!” was his response.
“Okay. I’m going to carry you . . . Ouch!”
Mahdi had kicked his mother.
Sadegh’s protective instincts were provoked. He grabbed his son’s shoulder roughly and scolded him. “Hey! Shame on you, you bad boy. Apologize, right now!”
Mahdi squirmed against his father’s hold, and unbelievably, Sumayeh intervened on his behalf.
“He is not a bad boy,” she said. “He made a bad choice. And now he’s going to make a better one and go to his room and stay there until he’s feeling better.”
Sadegh held on to Mahdi. “So he should get away with kicking you? What’s going to happen when he’s twice this size?” Sadegh directed his next words to Mahdi as he delivered a light shake. “You apologize to your mother or maybe I’ll kick you so you see what it feels like.”
Sumayeh’s voice was sharp as she intervened. “Sadegh, a forced apology and threats won’t accomplish anything. Let him go to his room. I’m sure he’ll apologize when he’s ready.”
Sadegh finally let go and Mahdi ran out of the kitchen crying, “I hate you both!”
Sumayeh sighed and turned her attention to Sana, who was still yelling in her chair. Sadegh felt bad for having further irritated his wife. He had wanted to smooth things over, but it seemed he’d made it worse.
“I’m sorry, azizam,” Sadegh apologized. “I just hated to see him hurt you. What can I do to help?”
Sumayeh took another deep breath as she picked Sana up. “I know you want to help, but it’s harder for me when you interfere like that. I’m going to put Sana to bed.”
Sumayeh left the kitchen, and Sadegh, penitent, started cleaning up.
* * *
By the time Sumayeh returned, Sadegh had washed the dishes, wiped the counters, and was in the midst of sweeping the floor. It was a more thorough job than he normally would have done, and he was hopeful it would help smooth things over.
“Mersi, Sadegh-jaan. Sorry that took so long. I was trying to settle Sana down and fell asleep myself.”
Sadegh was relieved that her tone wasn’t unfriendly. Maybe they could finally put the events of the day behind them. It would be good to be friends again. Sadegh needed his wife’s advice.
“I’m almost finished.” Sadegh said as he swept crumbs into the dustpan. “Did you already eat dinner with the kids?”
“No.” Sumayeh answered. “We’ve got some leftover kookoo sabzi. I’ll make it into sandwiches for us.”
Sadegh finished the sweeping, put the broom and dustpan away, washed his hands, and started setting the table as Sumayeh rummaged in the refrigerator.
“Sumayeh-jaan, I’m really sorry about what I said at my aunt’s house. It was inexcusable. I was angry and confused, and I lashed out.”
Sumayeh nodded as she set the green herb patties on a plate and started rolling them into flatbread sandwiches. “Thank you for apologizing, Sadegh. Taking the Lord’s name in vain is absolutely not something I’m willing to tolerate. What was going on with you?”
Sadegh sighed as he sat at the kitchen table. So far as he was concerned, the way to make up after a fight was to let it go and move on. But Sumayeh always felt the need to review exactly what went wrong and who was responsible. She said the purpose was to figure out how to avoid similar problems in the future, and Sadegh didn’t doubt her intent, but he felt like such discussions were just as likely to cause renewed bad feelings.
“Sumayeh-jaan, I’m really so sorry. It will never happen again. I’m just under incredible pressure. I need your help, azizam. You have no idea what is going on.”
Sumayeh set two plates on the table and sat across from Sadegh. She tucked her caramel-colored American hair behind her ears and focused her black Iranian eyes on her husband.
“Okay, so tell me,” she said.
Sadegh did his best to tell the story. It wasn’t easy. He’d been frustrated with Leila’s telling, but, if anything, he did a worse job as he struggled to relate Leila’s nonpregnancy and everything else he’d learned that afternoon about Ms. Tabibian being missing, Mr. Heydari’s strange interest in the women, and Leila’s plan to find government secrets to scare Heydari away. He was about to explain how he’d found the file of medical documents in his briefcase, when Sumayeh interrupted him.
“Sadegh, you need to cut these people out of your life.”
“What? Wait, I haven’t finished yet.”
But Sumayeh had more to say.
“When I was twelve, we went to the US to visit my mom’s family. I think I told you that they weren’t very happy that she became Muslim and moved to Iran. Anyway, at one point my uncle was talking to me and kept repeating this phrase, ‘By their fruit shall ye know them.’ It’s in the bible, and he was trying to argue that you could tell Islam was an evil religion because it had resulted in so many horrible things.”
Sadegh tried to interrupt, but Sumayeh set a hand on his arm to indicate she wasn’t finished.
“Just listen a minute. See, I’ve thought a lot about that phrase, and I think my uncle was right. Not about Iran—he didn’t know what he was talking about and had no idea about all the evil things that have been done in the name of Christianity—but I think it’s true that you can tell if a person is good or evil based on the impact they have on the people around them. And Ms. Tabibian is one of those people that leads others astray. It would be best to cut her off completely.”
“Really? But . . . she’s my—”
“Yes, absolutely,” Sumayeh squeezed his arm as she barreled on. “If Ms. Tabibian had been a different sort of woman, I would have been the first to welcome her into the family. But I’ve seen her impact on Maman-Mehri, who I know to be a woman of God. I look at her impact on you . . . Sadegh, in our years of marriage you’ve never lied, or hidden things, or disrespected me or God in the ways you have since you met this woman. And now Leila has come right out and admitted that she was trying to, well, seduce someon
e so that she could find something to use against the government. That is disgusting on so many levels. And if she could engage in something like that, she wouldn’t hesitate to use you to get at more secrets. Sadegh—” Sumayeh stroked the hairs on his forearm. “—this may be difficult, but I think you should turn her in. Turn her in before she manages to do some real harm.”
Sadegh was at a loss. How had his wife arrived at such a firm conclusion so quickly, while he remained lost in confusion over what was going on and what he should or shouldn’t do? He reminded himself that she still hadn’t heard about the file or his conversation with Ganjian.
“Sumayeh dear, perhaps you’re being hasty. There are things I still haven’t told you. See . . . on my way home, I found an unfamiliar file in my suitcase.”
“What do you mean by unfamiliar?” Sumayeh cocked her head so that her hair fell against her neck on the right while brushing the top of her shoulder on the left.
“I mean, I’d never seen it before and have no idea how it got in my bag. But it seemed to confirm what Leila was saying.”
“Okay,” Sumayeh tucked her hair behind her ears again. “So she probably planted something in your bag to make her story more convincing.”
“Let me finish. I went to see Ganjian—that’s why it took me so long getting home—and he told me it’s true. Some of the young people and college students that were taken in last summer, and even more recently, ended up getting hurt. But the authorities don’t want people to know, so they’ve been confiscating medical documents. Look . . .”
Sadegh left the kitchen to retrieve the two files Ganjian had given him plus the one he’d found in his bag. He dumped them on the kitchen table before Sumayeh.
“Ganjian gave me these two. They’re for kids that he personally knew who died for various reasons. One of them fell and hit his head. The other one suffocated, probably in a van during transport. None of the families know the real cause of death.”
Sumayeh rifled through the papers slowly. When she came to the one that Sadegh had found, she paused.
“Why is this one different?” she asked.
“It’s a copy. The others are originals. That’s the one I found in my bag. I still don’t know how it got there.”
Sumayeh turned a few more pages then closed the files and stacked them back into a pile. Sadegh waited for her to say something, but she was silent.
“Nazaret chiye hala, what do you think now?” he asked.
Sumayeh traced a finger lightly over her scar as she spoke. “I don’t see how this changes anything,” she said. “Leila was spying on the government. The fact that she found something that is actually true only makes her more dangerous. You should tell the authorities about her immediately.”
Sadegh struggled to understand. It would be a relief to share Sumayeh’s certainty.
“Really?” he said. “You don’t think that maybe . . . since she was telling the truth about what she found, she was also telling the truth about Heydari? So maybe the only reason she was trying to find something was to stop him from pursuing her.”
Sumayeh’s reply was quick. “No. That whole story is completely ridiculous. If a man like Heydari wanted a second wife, I’m sure he would have lots of options. Why would he insist on someone that doesn’t want him? And, more importantly, how would digging out and publicizing government secrets help Leila decline his offer? It’s a pretty weak story.”
Sadegh agreed on that point. “Yes, you’re right. If it really was her plan, it wasn’t a very smart one. But it just, well, it kind of bothers me to learn that the government and people I know were involved in this sort of thing. I think it bothers Ganjian too. I think that’s why he gave me those files. He wants me to do something about it. Maybe he wants me to tell the families how their children died.”
Again, Sumayeh did not hesitate. “It doesn’t bother me a bit. Sometimes, sadly perhaps, sacrifices are required for the greater good. I sacrificed my own face to fulfill my commitment to God. Abraham was willing to sacrifice his own child—imagine! It should come as no surprise that the Islamic Republic has to make some difficult sacrifices as well. It may be sad for those individuals and their families. But, alhamdulillah, God is big and is able to compensate them for their sacrifices in this world or the next. So no, this doesn’t bother me at all, and it shouldn’t bother you either.”
Sadegh couldn’t disagree with anything his wife was saying, but something still bothered him. Yes, the story of Abraham was beautiful and inspiring, but only because he was a prophet that was sincerely following God’s command. If a madman were to do the same thing . . . Ah! Sadegh realized what the problem was.
He spoke slowly, as he was still sorting his thoughts. “Sumayeh, you’re right. And I agree with you . . . mostly. But what I’m stuck on is this: What if a bad man were to get into the system? And what if he did things not because the velayat wanted them but because he is evil? How can we recognize and stop such a person from abusing the system and abusing the people’s trust?”
Sumayeh looked at him intently, and Sadegh went on. “Two people died under Ganjian’s command. I know Ganjian and what a good person he is. I have no doubt he did everything he knew how to do to keep the people in his charge safe. Heydari . . . I don’t know anymore. I’ve heard things and even seen some behavior from him that is surprising. And then, taking into account Leila’s accusations . . . well, what if he is an evil man? Shouldn’t there be a way to tell? Wouldn’t it be better, perhaps, if, instead of trying to cover these things up and disposing of medical documents, the government investigated them to root out bad people?”
Sadegh stopped talking. It was an important point. He’d have to think about it more, but he was pretty sure he was right, and at the very least, he was relieved to have finally identified what had been bothering him all along. He looked at Sumayeh. He wondered, with a little spark of pride, whether he’d stumped her. She’d probably never considered this angle.
He prodded her. “What are you thinking?”
Sumayeh closed her black eyes and took a deep breath.
“Sumayeh?” Sadegh asked again.
“Sadegh, I don’t know what to say,” Sumayeh replied as she opened her eyes and examined him. “I’m just so . . . disappointed. What happened to the man I married?”
“What?” This was not the reaction Sadegh had expected.
“What happened to your iman? Your faith? These things you bring up . . . this talk of evil men . . . they aren’t our concern. Our job is to have faith in God, in the velayat, and in the Islamic Republic. Surely they who are so much bigger and more powerful and more knowledgeable can take care of these problems without our help. Our job is to trust God and be obedient to his dictate and the dictate of those who have been granted his authority. You used to know this!”
“But . . . Sumayeh, that is the whole point! I am happy to be obedient to God’s dictate, but not to the dictate of a charlatan! How are we to know the difference?”
“It’s like I said in the beginning, Sadegh. You can tell from the fruits of their actions. Look at Maman-Mehri for example. How many prayer meetings does she hold in her home? How much money does she give to the poor? How many prayers does she say every day? How many times has she read the Quran? Clearly this is a woman that is close to and guided by God. Had I realized the depth of her feelings about Ms. Tabibian, I would never have encouraged a reunion. And I’m sorry about that. But now . . . well, if Maman-Mehri—who I know to be a woman of God—feels that Ms. Tabibian is evil, then who am I to question that? And if the Islamic Republic—which has done so much to awaken Iranians, and Muslims, and even non-Muslims like my mother—conducts business through the use of people that, to me and you, look like they are making mistakes, again, who are we to question that?”
Once again Sadegh had the uneasy feeling of agreeing and disagreeing at the same time. His head couldn’t find any f
laws in his wife’s steady reasoning, but something still didn’t feel right. Perhaps she was right and his faith was wavering. Maybe this was exactly how the enemy worked. What he needed was a pilgrimage to Mecca or Mashhad or somewhere that he could once again feel the certainty of God’s guidance and the relief of submitting to it.
Sadegh was tired of turning this over in his mind.
“Sumayeh . . . maybe you’re right. I . . . I’m so confused.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I need your help, azizam.”
Sumayeh pulled his hand to her face and snuggled it against her scarred cheek.
“I know Sadegh-jaan. You’ve been under a lot of pressure. Tonight’s the first of Muharram. Let’s go pray together . . . It’ll help us both.”
Sadegh stood and pulled his wife into his arms. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek. “I love you Sumayeh . . . What would I do without you?”
Sumayeh gave him a tight squeeze in response, and they stood together for a moment swaying slightly in the middle of the kitchen.
The sound of Sadegh’s cellphone interrupted the moment.
Sadegh groaned. “Who could that be?”
Sumayeh pulled away and said, “Go ahead and answer. I’ll put things away in here, and then we can go pray. Just don’t be long.”
Sadegh hurried to his phone. The caller ID said Tabibian Home. Damn. Sadegh paused a moment as he considered letting the call kick to voicemail. He didn’t want anything to interrupt his reconciliation with Sumayeh. But then he hit the Answer button and raised the phone to his ear. It would be better to face this head-on. Perhaps he should even invite Leila and her mother to come talk to him tomorrow in Sumayeh’s presence so that his wife could help judge their story and character.