by Ehsaneh Sadr
The man continued his questioning. “If our precious Imam Khomeini was unable to judge Montazeri . . . if the prophet Moses, peace and blessings be upon him, was unable to judge Khizr, what makes you think that you can judge Heydari? Maybe there are things about Heydari and this child you say he hurt or these women that you don’t know.”
“I just . . . I don’t understand.” Sadegh was surprised to note that he was close to tears. “How am I supposed to know who is a good or bad person? How do I know what is wrong or right? What is the standard by which to judge even my own behavior?”
The man smiled and reached for his prayer beads as he stood up to dismiss Sadegh.
“You must trust in those who know more than you,” he said.
As he approached his table, Sadegh noticed that the groom had joined his brother, brothers-in-law, and other male relatives at their table.
The groom stood as he approached, and Sadegh greeted him with a three-cheek kiss. “How’re you holding up?” Sadegh asked.
“This suit is so tight I can barely move,” the groom growled. “And I can’t eat a thing or the vest will pop a button. My God, how long do I have to wait before we can get things going? The ladies need to move things along before I rip this crazy outfit off, and your sister changes her mind about marrying such a slob.”
Sadegh chuckled.
Ganjian actually looked quite presentable. His wild hair had been beaten into submission by the combination of a good cut and copious gel. His three-piece suit—minus a tie—slimmed his belly while accentuating his broad shoulders. Besides, Leila wouldn’t notice or care, even if he’d shown up in his usual outfit of relaxed khakis and an oversized button-down shirt.
Sadegh thought back to the family luncheon when he’d introduced Leila to his friend and mentor. Ganjian, not usually at a loss for words, had gone quiet and even stammered a few times as Leila pointed out that they’d met before on the night she was arrested. When Ganjian asked, some weeks later, if he and his family could come khastegari courting of Leila, no one was surprised.
What had been surprising, to Sadegh at least, was how quickly Leila seemed to return his affections. Ganjian had no money to speak of, especially now that he’d left the Basij and had gone back to teaching full-time. His family situation was awkward, with an invalid father and two younger sisters depending on him. And, as well as Sadegh could judge, Ganjian wasn’t exactly good-looking.
When Sadegh had asked Leila whether she wanted to accept an engagement proposal from Ganjian, she’d blushed and agreed immediately. “He’s a good man,” she’d said. “He has a kind heart.”
Sadegh would be sad to see Leila move out. It was hard to remember that there was a time he didn’t want her in his life. As they’d gotten to know one another, he’d been astonished to find so many familiar gestures, habits, and preferences in someone he’d only just met. It was a completely different relationship than he had with Zainab and Fatimeh. Leila was younger, of course, so Sadegh felt protective of her. But she also seemed to understand him in a way that was more intense than either of his other half sisters. He would be sad to see her go.
Even so, Sadegh agreed with Leila’s assessment of Ganjian. She would be loved, protected, and cared for. And she would be married to a man of faith who would keep her on the right path. He had no trouble encouraging the match and even supporting the new couple with a generous dowry and, with Maman-Mehri’s help, a respectable wedding party.
“Well, you know how it is,” Sadegh teased his friend. “The ladies have to get things just perfect over there before they’ll let you in for the ceremony. Never forget, my friend, that despite appearances, women truly are in charge of the world.”
Ganjian laughed and shook his head.
Sadegh felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Mishe, Baba? Can I, Daddy?”
It was Mahdi, come to pester him again.
Ganjian reached out and pinched Mahdi’s cheek.
“Look at this young man. He starts at Adab in the fall, right?” Ganjian asked.
Ganjian was referring to the K–12 private school that Sadegh himself had attended and where Ganjian had once been his teacher.
Mahdi squirmed away from the man’s attentions and yanked his father’s sleeve again. “Baba, when are you going to answer me?”
Sadegh leaned down to kiss Mahdi’s forehead and then pushed him on his way. “Go play, kiddo.”
Mahdi complied but stomped his feet as he walked away to convey the depth of his conviction that life was unfair.
“Well,” Ganjian said. “I’d better go too. I’m told I’m supposed to stop at every table to talk to everyone. God, when will all of this be over?”
Sadegh clapped his friend on the shoulder, and Ganjian took his leave.
Sadegh was about to sit, when he noticed his cousin’s husband, Ali, squeezing between two tables on the right.
“Ali-agha!” Sadegh called to him.
Ali stopped and looked around but then continued on his way.
“Ali!”
This time Ali saw Sadegh and responded as he walked toward him.
“Salam, Sadegh-jaan. Chetori? How are you?”
Sadegh took Ali’s hand and kissed his cheeks in greeting. The young man had grown on him in the months since Sarah’s marriage had finally been settled by news of her pregnancy. Sadegh had been particularly touched and abashed to learn that Ali’s time in jail had resulted from his and Sarah’s generosity to Leila.
“I’m good.” Sadegh said. “I wanted to tell you your nephews were looking for you. I sent them over to the kids’ table in the corner.”
“Oh, great, thanks. I couldn’t find them and was starting to worry. Those two get into trouble pretty quick. I should go check on them.”
Sadegh pointed Ali in the direction of the children. As he headed off, Sadegh watched the boys at the table. Someone must have brought a second gaming device since the pack of boys had divided into two separate groups, each of which was centered around the lucky player. Sadegh saw his son standing at the outskirts of one of the groups.
Sadegh wondered with a sigh how long it would be before Mahdi would head over and pester him for sweets again. This was a definite downside to his recent rebellion against his wife’s rule.
Up until six months ago, Sadegh had generally been happy to go along with Sumayeh on pretty much anything she felt strongly about. He had so much faith in her purity of intent and the process by which she deliberated God’s will that he knew she would make good decisions. Even when he secretly disagreed or felt resentful, it was much easier to comply and comfort himself with the knowledge that it would be Sumayeh’s fault if things went wrong.
But it wasn’t working for him anymore. Sumayeh had been so utterly wrong about Leila, Ms. Tabibian, and Maman-Mehri. Sadegh couldn’t help thinking, perhaps unfairly, that things might have turned out differently for Ms. Tabibian if he hadn’t been so eager to please his wife and mother. And Sumayeh’s conviction that any questioning of government policy was a sign of weakened faith had caused a disturbing rift in their once rock-solid friendship. Sadegh had become increasingly disillusioned by the authorities’ seeming endorsement of Heydari’s operation. Their differences on these big issues had trickled down into squabbles over less important day-to-day hassles. Sadegh seemed to have developed an uncontrollable compulsion, which the children had swiftly noticed and begun to use to their advantage, to constantly question his wife’s views and consider the pros and cons of every single decision in an effort to figure out what he thought was right.
It was exhausting. And scary. If he was wrong, Sadegh would have only himself to blame.
Like his decision to start sharing the medical files of people who had died in custody. That could blow up in his face at any minute, and Sadegh wasn’t even entirely sure he was doing the right thing. He had no desire to publicly embar
rass or harm the Islamic Republic which, contrary to Sumayeh’s accusations, he continued to feel a strong loyalty and sense of duty toward. But he also felt an unyielding conviction that these families had a right to know how their children had died. That was why he’d met the three families privately to let them read through the medical files of their loved ones.
The hardest visit was with the family of Arman Tamimi. His mother had wept as she’d read the medical evidence that her son had been sodomized and burned before being beaten to death. And his father had demanded a copy of the file, which Sadegh had refused.
Sadegh still wasn’t sure that the path he’d chosen was a good one. But it was better than any of the alternatives he had been able to think of. And he couldn’t think of any better way of divining God’s will than using the mental faculties God had given him to make his own best guess about which path to take.
Sadegh noticed Mahdi waving at him. Having caught his father’s attention, he raised his eyebrows and nodded vigorously as if to say, “I can have another sweet, right?”
Ugh! This again. It was time to devote some mental energy to the question of sweets. Sumayeh was always insistent that the children have no more than twenty grams of sugar per day, a number she’d pulled from some United Nations guidelines about healthy eating. Mahdi was surely well past that number for today, but Sadegh generally felt that weddings and other special events ought to constitute occasions for leniency.
As Sadegh watched, Mahdi reached for the platter of cakes and other sweet treats at the center of his table. Mahdi chose a small cream puff and raised it up to his mouth. He paused there looking at his father expectantly, waiting for his final approval.
But Sadegh shook his head to indicate he would not give permission. Sumayeh was right. Not because of her insistence on following UN food guidelines, but because Sadegh had seen for himself how Mahdi’s behavior deteriorated when he had too much sugar.
Mahdi’s eyebrows knit in indignant anger as he brought the cream puff down. Suddenly, however, his arm reversed course, and he smashed the whole sweet into his mouth.
Sadegh almost laughed out loud at his son’s blatant defiance. Clearly, the boy thought he had the right to make his own decisions too. Good for him. But now, Sadegh thought as he walked toward his son to administer parental discipline, Mahdi was going to have to learn that the power to make choices carries with it the responsibility to deal with the consequences.
* * *
Sarah spoke into her phone, “Allo? Ali?”
“Janam, Sarah. Yes, my beloved.” her husband answered.
“How’s it going over there?” Sarah asked.
“The ladies’ section is where all the action is at. I’m dying of boredom over here.” Ali spoke quietly, and Sarah guessed he was covering the phone with his hand to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “Next time, I’m sneaking in with you!”
“You just want to be on this side to see all the ladies in their revealing clothes,” Sarah teased her husband.
“No! That’s not what I meant,” Ali protested. “What would be the point anyway, since I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“You’re such a liar! I look like a blue cow.” Sarah pouted.
“What can I say? I like blue cows.” Ali laughed.
“Vagh’an ke! I can’t believe you said that!” Sarah said with mock outrage.
“Shookhi bood, azizam! Just kidding! You’re right, I prefer red cows. Do you have a red dress you can change into?”
“That’s it! I’m telling my father,” Sarah threatened.
“That again? Oh my God . . . I’m finally figuring it out! You arranged all that with your father on purpose so I’d be terrified of him and have to listen to your every command for fear of another beating. What sort of woman am I married to?”
Sarah was laughing so hard she realized she had to pee.
“Oh my God, you’re killing me. I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.
“Okay, azizam. My beautiful wife. My one and only golli. We’ll talk later.”
“Wait!” Sarah exclaimed. “I almost forgot why I called. Azar’s phone died, and she wanted to check on the boys. Are they doing okay?”
“Actually, tell her they’ve been great tonight. Some of the kids brought those new flat computers and they’ve all been mesmerized.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll tell her,” Sarah said before hanging up.
After informing Azar, who was relieved to hear that her boys were behaving, Sarah slipped away from the bridal spread to find the bathrooms.
When she returned, her mother fussed over her. “Are you okay? Where did you go by yourself ? I turned my head to talk to your aunt for one minute, and suddenly you were gone.”
“I just went to the bathroom!”
“By yourself ?” Sarah’s mother objected. “At this point, you shouldn’t go anywhere alone. You never know when things will start. I think this little one is ready to come meet his wonderful mother.”
Sarah’s mother moved a hand to her belly and gave the little one inside a squeeze.
The baby kicked back and punched a bony appendage into Sarah’s pelvic bone.
“Ouch!” Sarah said.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Her mother was automatically on high alert.
Sarah leaned to one side to adjust her position and get more comfortable as she spoke. “It’s nothing, Maman. This little rascal is just moving around.”
“Chi shode? What happened?” nosy Aunt Mehri called from her place beside Leila.
“Nothing. The baby just kicked me,” Sarah reassured the ladies, many of whom were now looking at her with concern.
“Your time is getting close, dear,” Aunt Mehri went on. “You need to be very careful now to make sure you don’t overexert yourself. Mahdiyeh,” Aunt Mehri directed her words to Sarah’s mother, “she should have someone with her all the time now. Did you finally find someone? Batul-khanoom is very experienced. I sent her to be with all my girls. And she knows how to help after the birth too.”
Although Aunt Mehri had addressed her mother, Sarah answered for herself. “Our housecleaner’s daughter is coming from Karaj to stay with me starting this week.”
“Her housecleaner’s daughter?” Aunt Mehri directed her words to Sarah’s mother again. “How do you know she can be trusted? It’s your decision, of course, but I certainly would never entrust my daughter and grandchild to just anybody. Mahdiyeh-jaan, I strongly recommend you think this through carefully.”
Sarah’s mother spoke up. “Yes, Mehri-joon, you might be right. It seems Sarah already promised the job, unfortunately, but I’ll keep a close eye on the girl when she comes.”
“I’m surprised at you Mahdiyeh-jaan,” Sarah’s aunt chided her mother. “A decision like this shouldn’t have been left to Sarah. What does she know about what is needed? I’ll talk to Batul-khanoom tomorrow, and she can come over and meet the girl and make sure she’s acceptable.”
Sarah gritted her teeth to keep from saying anything. Leila’s wedding wasn’t the place to cause a scene, but there was no way she was going to let Aunt Mehri decide who she would or wouldn’t have help her.
Luckily, Sarah was spared from further advice by the announcement that the groom was about to enter the salon. The ladies all began donning the indoor chadors they carried. Sarah couldn’t find hers and panicked before her mother reminded her she had it. Sarah shook out the folded chador and wrapped it around herself just as the groom entered the room.
Sarah still didn’t understand the match. Leila was stunning. Yes, there was the fact of her being an orphan of unknown parentage, and she certainly didn’t have much money or property to her name. But it didn’t seem right that Leila should end up with someone so ordinary. And Sarah still couldn’t forgive Ganjian, the red-eyed man, for arresting Ali all those
months ago.
Ganjian made his way to sit next to Leila on the raised platform at the head of the bridal spread. He kept his eyes down low so as to avoid seeing the ladies, but Sarah saw him flick his eyes toward Leila, and for a moment, the bride and groom smiled at one another.
Thankfully, and unusually, the mullah officiating the ceremony kept his comments brief. When he asked the beaming bride whether she would marry the groom, Leila cocked her head playfully toward the roomful of women who obliged with a roar.
“Aroos rafte gol bechine! The bride is picking flowers!”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to start by thanking my parents, Ali Naghi Sadr Hajj Seyed Javadi and Allison Dewey Vail Sadr, for bravely and lovingly knitting together two sprawling tribes, one from Qazvin, Iran, and the other from Salt Lake City, Utah. You taught us that the “other,” if not already a family member, was likely a potential friend and made it possible for me to move forward in the world, excited to meet them all.
I’m grateful for my five brothers—Iman, Issar, Azad, Taher, and Nurraddin—who have been with me from the beginning as a source of love, joy, camaraderie, and Speed Uno. Azad, a fellow writer, has advised and encouraged me at every step.
I am blessed with many wonderful aunts and feel incredibly grateful for the community of women I’ve gotten to grow up in. Sarah Carlson and Holly Javadi, from opposite sides of the family, have been particularly involved with and supportive of me at all phases of the writing. Thank you both for the long chats and the helpful feedback on my book and my life.
For befriending and guiding me during my years in Tehran, I’d like to thank my cousins, especially dear Niloufar, who left us too soon, Salman, Salmeh, Asieh, Mehrnoush, Soroush, Farnoush, Simin, Elahe, Sedigheh, Pardis, Iman, Kareem, and Kimia as well as my uncles Ahmad and Mansour. Thank you also to my friends at Rahmate-lel-alamin, including Nassim, Minoo, Alireza, Maryam, Sharareh, Tayebeh, Azita, and Shahriar. Thank you to Taghi, Katrine, and other coworkers at CENESTA and to my colleagues at the Ministry of Jihad, with whom I have so many fond and funny memories, not the least of which was chasing chickens in Hamedan.