The Book of Fate (24 page)

‘Great!' he retorted. ‘What a warm welcome.'

‘Were you expecting a welcome? You have some nerve! Where have you been all this time? You didn't even bother calling. Would it have killed you to send a message, a short letter, or something? Didn't you think we would die of worry?'

‘I can see how worried you were for me!'

‘Yes, the idiot that I am, I was worried. But forget about me; didn't you think about your poor mother and father who have been sick with worry?'

‘I told you not to make a fuss, that our work might take longer than expected.'

‘Yes, fifteen days could turn into a month, but not four months. The poor old man looked for you everywhere. I was scared something would happen to him.'

‘Looked for me? Where did he look for me?'

‘Everywhere! Hospitals, coroners' offices, police departments.'

Horror-struck, he exclaimed, ‘Police departments?'

Mischief simmered in me. I wanted to hurt him.

‘Yes, with Shahrzad's brother and your other friends' relatives they sent photographs of all of you to the newspapers.'

His face was as white as chalk.

‘You are a lunatic! Couldn't you do one thing right and manage things here?'

And he quickly started to put his dusty shoes back on.

‘Where are you off to now? Well, I can just tell the police you've come back, and not empty-handed.'

He was gaping at me with such dread that I wanted to laugh.

‘What are you saying? Do you want to get us all killed? This place is no longer safe. I have to get word to the guys. I have to see what the hell we are supposed to do now.'

He had opened the door and was about to walk out when I said, ‘There's no need. I lied. No one called the police. Your father just went to Rezaieh and came back without finding any trace of you.'

He breathed with relief and said, ‘Are you sick? I almost had a heart attack.'

‘You deserved it… Why should it be just us who get scared half to death?'

I arranged his bedding in the living room. ‘I will just sleep in my room,' he said. ‘In the back room.'

‘I have turned it into the children's room.'

I had hardly finished my sentence and his head had barely reached the pillow when he fell fast asleep, still dressed in his dusty clothes.

Months were speeding by. The children were growing up and their personalities were taking shape, becoming more distinct. Siamak was a proud, belligerent and mischievous boy who had a certain reserve in expressing affection. The slightest adversity agitated him and he would try to crush any obstacle in his way with the might of his fists. In contrast, Massoud was gentle, kind and mild-mannered. He expressed his love to the people around him and even showed affection for nature and the objects that surrounded him. His caresses soothed the pain left in me by the lack of Hamid's love.

In their relationship, the two boys strangely complemented each other. Siamak gave the orders and Massoud implemented them. Siamak daydreamed and invented stories and Massoud believed them. Siamak would joke and Massoud would laugh. Siamak would hit out and Massoud would take the beating. I was often afraid that Massoud's gentle and loving nature would be crushed by Siamak's hostile and powerful personality. But I could never openly protect Massoud. The slightest move on my part was enough for Siamak's rage and jealousy to explode and lead to even more fist fights. The only way to avoid these clashes was to distract him by something more interesting.

But Siamak was also an impenetrable shield that protected Massoud against others. He would so wildly and strongly attack anyone who posed a threat to his brother that Massoud himself would plead and beg to save his enemy from Siamak's hands. Often the enemy was my brother Mahmoud's son, Gholam-Ali, who agewise fell right between Siamak and Massoud. I don't know why the three of them would start to fight the instant they came together. Hamid believed this was how boys played and communicated with each other. But I couldn't understand or accept his reasoning.

 

Although Mahmoud had married three years after me, he already had three children. His first child was Gholam-Ali, the second was Zahra who was one year younger than Massoud, and his last child was Gholam-Hossein who was only one year old. Mahmoud was still foul-tempered and reclusive, and his obsessive nature was growing more pronounced from one day to the next. Ehteram-Sadat was constantly complaining to Mother about him. ‘Lately he has become even more confused and daft,' she would say. ‘He repeats his prayers several times and he still wonders if he said them properly.'

In my opinion, Mahmoud was not suffering from anything. His mind was as sharp as ever; he was especially savvy when it came to work and financial matters and had made a success of his business. He had a store in the bazaar where he worked independently, and people considered him a first-rate expert in carpets. He was never uncertain or obsessive in his work, and the only role religion played in his professional life was his careful observation of a Muslim's obligation to contribute one-fifth of his income to charity. Therefore, at the end of each month he would send his entire earnings to Ehteram's father in Qum, who would take a small portion of it for almsgiving and return the rest to Mahmoud. By this ‘change of hands', as they called it, all of Mahmoud's money would become halal and he would have no reason to worry.

Ahmad had long since left the family. No one was more worried about him than Mrs Parvin who constantly said, ‘We have to do something. If he continues like this, he will not survive.'

His problem was no longer limited to his nightly drinking and drunken rowdiness on the streets. Mrs Parvin said he was using drugs as well. But Mother refused to believe her and tried to save him from the devil and bad friends by praying and resorting to superstitious mumbo jumbo. Father, on the other hand, had completely given up hope for him.

Ali had grown up, but he hadn't managed to get his secondary-school diploma. For a while he worked in Ahmad's carpentry workshop, but Father thought it wise not to delay matters and used all his power and influence to get him away from Ahmad. ‘If I leave him alone and don't stop him right now, he will be lost to us like the other one,' Father used to say.

Ali himself had gradually become disillusioned by Ahmad. He had built his brother into a strong and capable idol, and now he suffered to see him constantly drunk and in a stupor. Apparently this idol was finally shattered when one of the thugs at Café Jamshid gave Ahmad a good beating and threw him out into street; Ahmad was so drunk that he couldn't even lift a finger to defend himself. And at the workshop, Ali's colleagues, who not too long ago would have competed with each other for the honour of being Ahmad's apprentice, now ridiculed and harassed him. In any case, given all this, Ali willingly, but ostensibly under pressure from Father, left Ahmad and went to work for Mahmoud, so that he too would turn out to be a pious and wealthy merchant.

Faati turned into a demure, shy and mild-mannered girl. She stayed in school until the end of year three and then, as prescribed for decent girls, she started going to sewing classes. She herself was not all that interested in continuing her formal education.

I went to extreme lengths to enrol Siamak in school a year earlier than the law required. I knew that he was mentally ready. I was hoping that school would instil discipline in him and he would expend his boundless energy with children his own age and be less difficult at home. But like everything else, his going to school became a trying experience. At first, I had to sit in the classroom with him and only after he was comfortable being there would he allow me to leave; then I would have to stand for hours out in the schoolyard so that he could see me from the window. He was scared, but he expressed his fear with violence. On the first day of school, when the school supervisor took him by the hand to walk him to his classroom, he bit her hand.

When Siamak's rage peaked, the only way I could calm him down was to make myself the target of the waves of his anger. I would hold him in my arms and tolerate the blows of his kicks and small fists until he calmed down and started to cry. It was only on these occasions that he would allow me to hold, caress and kiss him. At all other times, he tried to pretend that he had no need for kindness. But I knew how deeply he hungered for affection and attention. I felt sorry for him. I knew he was suffering, but I didn't know why. I knew he loved his father and his absence pained him. But why wasn't he getting used to that situation? Could the absence of a father have that great an effect on a child?

I persistently read books on psychology and observed Siamak's behaviour. When Hamid was home, Siamak behaved differently. He listened only to his father. Although he could not sit still for a moment, he would sit on Hamid's lap for long periods of time and listen to him talk. And I learned too late that his refusal to sleep was because he was waiting up for his father. When Hamid was home, at bedtime he would stroke Siamak's hair and he would fall asleep quietly and peacefully. Accordingly, I gave Hamid the nickname ‘Sleeping Pill'.

Fortunately, Father's presence and the deep affection he and Siamak shared somewhat made up for Hamid's absence. Even though Siamak didn't like to cling to anyone, when Father came to visit he would stay close to him and occasionally sit on his lap. Father treated Siamak with great calm and like an adult. In return, Siamak listened to him and accepted whatever he said without any reluctance. At the same time, Siamak could not bear to see Hamid or Father express any affection towards Massoud. He had accepted the fact that others, even me, divided their attention between him and his brother, and might even show greater affection for Massoud, but he wanted his father's and grandfather's love all for himself and could not tolerate the presence of a rival. In Hamid's case, this was not a problem; he never paid any particular attention to Massoud. But Father, who had a very clear understanding of this child, had to try hard not to express any love for Massoud in front of Siamak. This in itself made Siamak even more grateful to his grandfather and deepened his love for him.

Eventually, Siamak got used to going to school, even though not a month went by when I wasn't summoned by the principal because he had got into a fight. Still, with his new schedule set, I again started thinking about my own education. I was unhappy that I still had not received my school diploma and had left such an important matter unfinished. I started waking up early in the morning to take care of my household chores. When Siamak left for school, Massoud would keep himself busy with his games and spend hours drawing with his coloured pencils, or if the weather was nice, he would ride his tricycle in the yard. And I would sit and quietly study. I didn't feel the need to attend classes…

Every afternoon when Siamak came home from school it felt as if an earthquake had struck the house. Doing homework had become yet another problem. He would drive me to desperation until he finally finished his schoolwork. Over time, I understood that the more sensitivity I showed, the more stubborn he became. As a result, I tried hard to be patient and not to pressure him. And late at night or the following morning, he would start to write his homework.

 

One morning when I was home with Massoud, Mrs Parvin came to see me. She seemed excited. I immediately realised she had come to share some news. She liked delivering first-hand news in person. She would highly embellish it and relate it in great detail, then wait to see my reaction. If the news was ordinary, she would simply tell me over the telephone.

‘Well, what is the news?' I asked.

‘The news? Who said I have any news?'

‘Your expression, your manner, your face, they all scream that you have some hot news!'

Excited, she sat down and said, ‘Yes! You won't believe it; it's so interesting… but first bring some tea. My throat is dry.'

This, too, was one of her habits. She would torture me to death before she told me what had happened and the hotter the news, the more she would prolong sharing it. I quickly put the kettle on the stove and hurried back.

‘Well, tell me, it's going to take a while for the tea to brew.'

‘Oh my, I am choking with thirst, I can hardly talk.'

Annoyed, I went back to the kitchen and brought a glass of water for her and said, ‘Well? Tell me.'

‘Let us have our tea first.'

‘Ugh… as a matter of fact, don't tell me. I don't want to know,' I said with a pout, and I went back to the kitchen.

She followed me and said, ‘Now don't sulk. Guess who I saw this morning.'

My heart sank, my eyes grew wide and I said, ‘Saiid?'

‘Oh come on, you still haven't given up? I thought with two kids you would have even forgotten the guy's name.'

I had thought so, too. I felt embarrassed. His name had just popped out of my mouth. I wondered, Does this mean he is still in my thoughts?

‘Never mind,' I said. ‘Now tell me, who did you see?'

‘Parvaneh's mother!'

‘For the love of God, are you being honest? Where did you see her?'

‘Everything at its proper time. The water is boiling. Brew the tea and I will tell you everything. This morning, I went to the street behind Sepahsalar Park to buy shoes. Through a shop window I saw a woman who looked like Mrs Ahmadi. At first I wasn't sure. To be honest, she has aged a lot. By the way, how long has it been since we last saw their family?'

‘About seven years.'

‘I walked into the shop and looked at her. It was Mrs Ahmadi. At first she didn't remember me, but I thought at least for your sake I should talk to her. I said hello and finally she recognised me. We chatted for quite a long time. She asked about everyone in the neighbourhood.'

‘Did she ask about me?' I asked, excited.

‘Honestly, no. But I led the conversation around to you and told her that I see you regularly, that you are married and have children. She said, “In that house, she was the only person worth socialising with. Of course, my husband says their father is a good, honourable man, but I will never forget what her brother did to us. He left us with no honour in the neighbourhood. No one had ever talked to my husband like that, and you can't imagine the things he accused poor Parvaneh of. My poor husband was about to faint. We couldn't hold our heads up in that area any more. That's why we moved so quickly. But Parvaneh would have given her life for that girl. You have no idea how much she cried. She kept saying, They will kill Massoum. Parvaneh went over to their house a few times, but Massoumeh's mother didn't let her see the girl. My poor child; she suffered a hard blow.”'

‘I was there once when she came to the door and Mother didn't let me see her,' I said. ‘But I don't know about the other times.'

‘It seems she even came to invite you to her wedding. She had brought an invitation card for you.'

‘Really? They didn't give it to me. My God, I am so fed up with these people. Why didn't they tell me?'

‘Your mother was probably afraid you would again live through the crush you had on that boy.'

‘A crush? With two kids?' I said, exasperated. ‘I will show them. They are still treating me like a child.'

‘Oh, no,' Mrs Parvin said. ‘Back then you still didn't have Massoud. This was a long time ago; perhaps four years ago.'

‘You mean Parvaneh has been married for four years?'

‘Well, of course, otherwise they would have had to pickle her!'

‘What rubbish! How old could she be?'

‘Well, she is about the same age as you and you have been married for seven years.'

‘Wretched as I am, I was forced into it. They threw me down a well. But not everyone has to live through that hell. Well, whom did she marry?'

‘She is married to the grandson of her father's aunt. Her mother said she had many suitors after she graduated from school, but in the end she married this guy. He is a doctor and lives in Germany.'

‘You mean she now lives in Germany?'

‘Yes, she moved there after they got married, but she spends most summers here with her family.'