The Book of Fate (19 page)

His mother and sisters came to see me. ‘I miscarried my second child, the one after Monir,' his mother said. ‘But then I gave birth to three healthy children. Don't grieve for no good reason; you have plenty of time, you are both young.'

The truth was that I didn't know the cause of my deep depression. It was certainly not because of the miscarriage. Although I had sensed some changes in me during the previous few weeks and somewhere in my mind I knew what had happened, I had not admitted to myself that I was becoming a mother. I had no clear understanding of what it meant to have a child and to call it mine. I still thought of myself as a schoolgirl whose first obligation was to study. Yet, my sorrow was tinged with a painful feeling of guilt. The foundation of my beliefs had been shaken and I felt disgusted by those who had caused it. I was terrified of the doubt that had infested my mind and I believed God had punished me by taking my child.

‘Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?' Hamid said.

‘I wasn't sure, and I didn't think the news would make you happy.'

‘Is having a child really important to you?'

‘I don't know.'

‘I know your problem isn't just the child; something else is troubling you, it was obvious from your hallucinations. Shahrzad, Mehdi and I discussed it a lot. That day you were under pressure from all sides. You were physically tired and had a bad cold and the things the guys said delivered the last blow.'

My eyes were brimming with tears.

‘And you didn't defend me. They made fun of me, they laughed at me, they treated me like an idiot, and you sided with them.'

‘No! Believe me, none of them meant to hurt or insult you. After that day, you don't know how Shahrzad fought with everyone, especially with Akbar. And it all resulted in us adding to our mandate the need to develop a proper approach to presenting and promoting our principles. Shahrzad said, “The way you guys talk, you offend people and make them wary; you scare them away.” That day, Shahrzad stayed with me at your bedside the entire time. She kept saying, “We are the reason this poor girl ended up like this.” Everyone is worried about you. Akbar wants to come and apologise.'

The next day, Shahrzad and Mehdi came to visit me and brought a box of pastries. Shahrzad sat next to my bed and said, ‘I am so happy you are feeling better. You really gave us a scare.'

‘I'm sorry; I didn't mean to.'

‘No, don't say that. We are the ones who should be apologising. It was our fault. We argue so harshly and vehemently and are so immersed in our beliefs that we forget people are not used to this sort of confrontation and it shocks them. Akbar always argues like an ass, but he didn't mean anything by it. He was really upset afterwards. He wanted to come today, but I told him not to bother, that seeing him would make you sick again.'

‘No, it's not his fault. It's my fault for being so weak that a few words can shake my faith and beliefs and I can't answer back and argue as I should.'

‘Well, you're still very young. When I was your age, I didn't have the confidence to even argue with my father. With time, you'll grow older and more experienced and your beliefs will develop a more solid foundation, one that is based on your own perception, research and knowledge, and not on what others memorise and repeat like a parrot. But let me confess something to you. Don't give too much credence to all this intellectual high-brow talk. Don't take these guys too seriously. In their heart, they still have their faith and in difficult times they still unconsciously turn to God and seek his protection.'

Hamid who was standing in the doorway, holding the tea tray, started to laugh. Shahrzad turned, looked at him and said, ‘Isn't that so, Hamid? Let's be honest. Have you been able to completely forget your religious beliefs? To eliminate God from your convictions? To not mention his name under any circumstance?'

‘No, and I don't see why it would be necessary. This was the subject of our discussion the day before you all came here for lunch, and that's why Akbar went on like that. I don't understand why the guys all insist on this so vehemently. In my view, people who have religious beliefs are more peaceful, more hopeful, and they seldom feel abandoned and alone.'

‘You mean you don't make fun of my praying and my faith and you don't consider it to be a superstition?' I asked.

‘No! Sometimes when I see you pray with such calm and emotional confidence, I even envy you.'

With an approving smile, Shahrzad said, ‘Just remember to pray for us, too!' And I instinctively hugged her and kissed her on the cheeks.

From then on, I saw very little of Hamid's friends, and even that limited contact took place in a well-defined framework. They respected me, but they didn't consider me one of them and tried not to talk about God and religion in front of me. They were not comfortable in my company and I was no longer all that interested in seeing them.

Once in a while, Shahrzad and Mehdi would stop by and visit us as friends, but I still didn't feel any closeness towards them. My feelings for Shahrzad were a combination of respect, kindness and envy. She was a complete woman; even men respected her. She was well educated, intelligent and eloquent. She wasn't afraid of anyone, and not only did she not need to lean on anyone, she was the one their entire group relied on. What was interesting was that despite all her strong characteristics, she had soft and tender emotions. When faced with certain human tragedies, tears would quickly well up in her dark eyes.

Her relationship with Mehdi was a mystery to me. Hamid had told me that they had got married for the benefit of their organisation, but there was something far deeper and more human between them. Mehdi was a very quiet and intelligent man. He rarely took part in their debates and hardly ever displayed his knowledge and skills. Like a teacher listening to his students review their lessons, he remained silent and only observed and listened. It didn't take long for me to realise that Shahrzad played the role of his spokesperson. During their discussions, she always kept a subtle eye on him. A nod from Mehdi was a sign of approval for her to continue with what she was saying, and a slightly raised eyebrow would leave her pensive in the middle of a debate. I thought, No, it was impossible to develop such a bond without love. I knew that Hamid's ideal wife was someone like her, not like me. Still, I felt no resentment. I had placed her so far above myself that I believed I didn't even deserve to be jealous of her. I just desperately wanted to be like her.

 

Towards the end of spring, during the final exams for year ten, feelings of weakness, fatigue and nausea made me realise I was pregnant. As difficult as it was, I did well in my exams, and this time, with mindfulness and enthusiasm, I sat waiting for the birth of my child; a child whose smallest gift to me would be an escape from infinite loneliness.

Hamid's family was very excited at the news of my pregnancy and considered it a sign that Hamid had finally changed his ways and settled down. I let them believe what they wanted to; I knew if I complained about his long absences, I would not only betray Hamid and risk losing him for ever, but his family would blame me and consider me to be the guilty party. His mother truly believed and used every excuse to remind me that a capable wife can keep her husband duty-bound to his home and family; as proof, she would tell me how when they were young she had saved her husband from the snare of the communist Tudeh Party.

 

That summer, Mahmoud married my maternal cousin, Ehteram-Sadat. I was neither eager nor interested in helping with the preparations and my pregnancy provided the perfect excuse. The truth was that I didn't like either one of them. But Mother was as happy as you would expect her to be and constantly listed the new bride's merits over Mahboubeh. With the help of my aunt, who didn't know whether she should forgo her strict hijab to make her work easier, Mother was busy attending to all that needed to be done.

On the wedding day, Mahmoud looked like he was attending a funeral. Scowling and with a surly expression on his face, he kept his head down and didn't exchange pleasantries with anyone. The festivities were taking place both at Father's house and at Mrs Parvin's. The men gathered at Father's house while the women went next door. Contrary to what had been decided, Mahmoud didn't stay for even a day at Father's house. He had rented a house near the bazaar and the bride was taken there on the wedding night.

There were colourful string lights hanging on all the walls and between the trees, and pedestal lamps flanked the doors. The cooking was being done in Mrs Parvin's front yard, which was larger than ours. There was no music or singing. Mahmoud and Ehteram-Sadat's father had stipulated that no one was allowed to engage in any irreligious activities.

I was sitting with the other women in Mrs Parvin's front yard and fanning myself. The women were busy cheerfully chatting and eating fruit and pastries. I was wondering what the men were doing. There was no sound coming from next door, except occasionally when someone would urge everyone to say praise to the Prophet and his descendants. It seemed they were all waiting for dinner to be served so that they could complete their obligations and shake off their boredom.

‘What kind of a wedding is this?' Mrs Parvin kept complaining. ‘It's just like my late father's funeral!'

And my aunt would silence her by puckering her brow and saying, ‘May God have mercy!'

My aunt believed that, other than herself, everyone in the world was a sinner and no one practised their faith properly. But her dislike of Mrs Parvin was of a different nature. That night she repeatedly groused, ‘What is that hussy doing here?' If we had been anywhere other than at Mrs Parvin's house, my aunt would have certainly thrown her out by now.

Ahmad never showed up at the wedding. Mother kept asking Ali who was standing by the front door, ‘Did your brother Ahmad come?' And then she would slap the back of her hand and say, ‘You see! It's his brother's wedding after all, and your poor father is left with no one to help him. Ahmad cares about no one other than those unsavoury friends of his. He thinks the world will come to an end if he doesn't go out with them one single night.'

Mother's words made Mrs Parvin air her grievances, too. ‘Your mother is right. Ever since you left, Ahmad has got even worse. He's hanging out with a bunch of strange people. May God lead him to a happy end.'

‘He is so stupid that he deserves whatever happens to him,' I said.

‘Oh, don't say that, Massoumeh! How could you? Perhaps he wouldn't be like this if the rest of you paid some attention to him.'

‘Like how?'

‘I don't know. But it isn't right the way you have all abandoned him. Your father won't even look at him.'

That night Father's sister arrived at the wedding alone. Up until that moment, Mother kept saying, ‘You see what an uncaring aunt you have? She didn't even bother coming to her eldest nephew's wedding.' And when she saw my aunt walk in, she puckered her lips and said, ‘The lady has graced us.' Then she quickly got busy doing something so that she could pretend not to have seen her arrive.

My aunt came and sat next to me and exclaimed, ‘Oh, I almost died on the way coming here! The car broke down and I was delayed for two hours. I wish you had held the wedding in Qum so that the entire family could come and I wouldn't have to suffer so much travelling back and forth.'

‘Oh, dear Auntie, we didn't want you to go to any trouble.'

‘What trouble? How many times does one's eldest nephew get married for one to not want to take two steps?'

Then she turned to Mother and said, ‘Hello, madam. You see that I did finally come; and this is how you greet me?'

‘Is this the time to come?' Mother grumbled. ‘Like a stranger?'

Hoping to change the subject, I said, ‘By the way, dear Auntie, how is Mahboubeh? I really miss her. I wish she had come.'

Mother glowered at me.

‘Frankly, my girl, Mahboubeh is away. She sends her apologies. She and her husband left for Syria and Beirut yesterday. God bless him, what a husband. He adores Mahboubeh.'

‘How interesting. Why Syria and Beirut?'

‘Well, where else would they go? They say it is beautiful there. They call Beirut the Bride of the Middle East.'

Mother petulantly said, ‘My dear, not everyone can go to the West like my brother.'

‘As a matter of fact, they could,' my aunt retorted. ‘But Mahboubeh wanted to go to a place of pilgrimage. You see, she is obliged to go to Haj, but because she is with child, her husband said for now they should visit the shrine of Her Holiness Zeynab and postpone a pilgrimage to Mecca until a later time, God willing.'

‘Well, as far as I know, you have to take care of all your obligations, organise your life and then go to Haj,' Mother continued to argue.

‘No, my dear Tayebeh, these are all excuses made by people who can't go to Haj,' my aunt countered. ‘In fact, Mahboubeh's father-in-law, who is a scholar and a cleric and has ten seminarians in his pay, says when someone has the financial means, he is obliged to go.'

Mother was sizzling like wild rue over fire. She always became like this when she couldn't come up with an appropriate retort. She finally found one and said, ‘Absolutely not! My brother-in-law's brother, our bride's paternal uncle, is a much more accomplished scholar and he says that going to Mecca has many conditions and requirements. It's not as simple as that. Not just your family, but even your seven neighbours to the right and your seven neighbours to the left should not be needy for you to be obliged to go to Haj. And in your case, well, with your son being out of work—'

‘What out of work? A thousand people are beholden to him. His father wanted to open a store for him, but my son didn't want one. He said, “I don't like the bazaar and I don't want to be a shopkeeper. I want to study and become a doctor.” Mahboubeh's husband who is educated says my son is very talented and he has made us promise to leave the boy alone until he takes the university entrance exams.'