Read Things We Left Unsaid Online
Authors: Zoya Pirzad
Things We Left Unsaid
About the Author
Zoya Pirzad
is a renowned Iranian-Armenian writer and novelist. She has written two novels and three collections of short stories, all of which have enjoyed
international success.
Things We Left Unsaid
has been awarded multiple prizes, including the prestigious Houshang Golshiri award for Best Novel of the Year and her most recent collection of
stories,
The Bitter Taste of Persimmon
, won the prize for Best Foreign Book of 2009 in France. She grew up in Abadan, where this novel is set, and now lives in Tehran.
Oneworld Fiction
First published in English by Oneworld Publications 2012
First published by Nashr-e-Markaz as
râ man xâmush mi-konam
, 2002
English translation rights arranged through agreement with Zulma, France
Copyright © Nashr-e-Markaz Publishing Company, Tehran, Iran, 2002
Translation copyright © Franklin Lewis, 2012
All rights reserved
Copyright under Berne Convention
A CIP record for this title is available
from the British Library
Paperback ISBN 978-1-85168-925-5
ebook ISBN 978-1-78074-084-3
This ebook edition first printed in 2012
Oneworld Publications
185 Banbury Road
Oxford OX2 7AR
England
The sound of the school bus braking...the squeaking of the metal gate swinging open...the footsteps running up the narrow path across the front yard. I did not need to look at
the kitchen clock. It was 4:15 p.m.
As the front door opened, I wiped my hands on my apron and called out, ‘School uniforms, off; hands and faces, washed! And we don’t dump our satchels in the middle of the
hallway.’ I slid the tissue box to the middle of the table and turned around to get the milk from the fridge, which is when I saw that there were four people standing in the kitchen
doorway.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘You didn’t tell me we have a guest. Go get changed out of your uniforms, and when you get back I’ll have a snack ready for your friend.’ I
thanked my lucky stars they had only brought one guest home and looked at the girl standing between Armineh and Arsineh, shifting from one foot to the other. She was taller than the twins, but
sandwiched between their chubby pink and white faces, she seemed pale and thin. Armen was standing a few steps behind them, chewing gum, and looking at the girl’s blond locks. His white shirt
had come untucked, and the three top buttons were undone. He must have got into a scuffle with someone, as usual. I set out a fourth glass and plate on the table, thinking, I hope I won’t get
summoned to the school again.
Armineh stood on tiptoes and placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘We met Emily on the bus.’
Arsineh stroked Emily’s hair. ‘They just moved to G-4.’
I took another roll out of the breadbox. How could I have missed the move-in? G-4 was the house across the street, just opposite us.
Armineh broke my train of thought. ‘They moved in yesterday.’
Arsineh continued, ‘While we were at the Club.’
Both of them twirled around to the girl. Armineh’s pocket was torn at the corner for the umpteenth time. ‘Sophie used to live in G-4.’
Without even looking, I knew the seam of Arsineh’s pocket was torn, too. ‘Sophie’s mother is Auntie Nina.’
Armineh’s white collar strings were untied. ‘Uncle Garnik, Sophie’s dad...’
Arsineh also undid her collar strings. ‘Gosh, he’s funny! Isn’t he, Armineh?’
Armineh nodded quickly. ‘He makes us crack up so much, we almost die laughing.’
I undid both of their collars and eyed the new girl, whose attention was not wholly focused on the twins. She stood, hands clasped behind her, looking furtively all around. Her lips were flushed
pink, as though she had lipstick on. I split the fourth roll in half and said, ‘Wash your hands...AND faces.’
When they left the room, my pessimistic streak began gnawing away at me as usual. What was the girl staring at so intently? Had she spotted any dirt? Maybe she thought the kitchen old-fashioned
or cluttered? My optimistic streak came to my defense: Your kitchen may be a bit cramped, but it is never dirty. Anyway, who cares what somebody’s little girl thinks? I spread some cheese
over the butter and put the sandwich on the fourth plate.
I looked around the kitchen, at the dried flowers, the clay jugs on top of the cupboards, the strings of red chili peppers and garlic hanging on the wall. My optimistic streak was comforting:
other women may not decorate their kitchens this way, but it looks beautiful to you. So even if your mother and sister laugh, or your friends and acquaintances make remarks about how
Clarice’s kitchen reminds them of the witch’s hut in
Hansel and Gretel
, you shouldn’t change your taste to accommodate theirs. You shouldn’t let what people say
offend you, and you shouldn’t... The flower box on the window ledge caught my eye. I should have changed the soil.
Armen came back to the kitchen before the girls, hands and face all washed. He had wet his hair and combed it back at the sides, leaving the bangs hanging down into his eyes. He was wearing his
favorite black shirt, sporting a picture of a huge bighorn ram’s head. Maybe the daily nagging was having an effect little by little, and my fifteen-year-old son was finally learning to keep
clean and neat. I wished my mother were there to see it.
I poured some milk in to a glass. ‘I wish Nana were here to see it.’
He picked up the glass. ‘See what?’
I sat down across the table and gazed at him, chin propped in my hand. ‘That her grandson doesn’t only comb his hair and put on clean clothes for the Club or for a party. That he
listens now, and keeps himself clean and neat even around the house.’ I reached out to caress his cheek, but he yanked his head back.
‘Don’t! You’ll mess up my hair.’ My hand hung in the air for a second. I picked up the salt shaker, though I had no need for it.
Arsineh and Armineh were holding Emily’s hands, leading her into the kitchen. ‘Come along. Don’t be shy. Come!’
Emily looked at me, her big eyes like shiny black marbles. I smiled at her. ‘Come on in, Emily.’ Armen got up from the table and pulled out a chair for her. I was dumbfounded –
this was not one of the items on my list of daily reminders for him.
Armineh and Arsineh fired off their usual alternating barrage of words:
‘Emily has come to Abadan with her grandmother and father.’
‘I wish we had straight hair, just like Emily’s.’
‘Emily is three years older than us.’
‘Emily used to go to school in Masjed-Soleiman.’
‘She’s been to school in London, too.’
‘She’s been to school in Caklutta, too.’
Armen broke out laughing. ‘Not Caklutta, you dimwit. Calcutta.’
The twins tuned him out. ‘Mom, see how white Emily’s hands are!?’
‘Just like Rapunzel’s.’
Armen, who was surreptitiously eyeing Emily, burst out laughing again. This time the twins bristled. Before they began bickering, I broke in to explain: ‘Rapunzel is Arsineh’s
doll.’
Armineh said, ‘We already told her on the bus.’ She downed the last of her milk and held the empty glass out to me.
Arsineh took a bite out of her sandwich and said, mouth full, ‘That’s why she came over...’
Armineh continued ‘...to see Rapunzel for just a sec and run back home. Milk, please.’
I poured some milk for Armineh and told Arsineh, ‘We don’t talk with our mouths full.’
Armineh took a sip of milk. ‘Otherwise, Emily doesn’t have permission to go over to anybody’s house.’
Arsineh said, ‘Her grandmother will scold...’
Together they shouted, ‘Oh no!’ And they stared at Emily. Armineh had a milk moustache.
I pulled a Kleenex from the tissue box and gave it to Armineh. ‘Around the lips.’ Then I turned to the girl. ‘Did you tell your grandmother that—’ Just then the
doorbell rang.
Emily jumped up. I had made it to the middle of the hallway when it rang a second time. I stepped over the satchels dumped on the hall floor and opened the door. I did not see anyone in front of
me at eye-level and had to lower my gaze a long way down before I saw her. She was short. Very short. About up to my elbow. She had on a kind of flower-patterned smock and a knitted black shawl,
which she had tied around her waist. She wore a pearl necklace, three strands wide. A frog croaked in the grass and the short woman practically yelled, ‘Is Emily here?’
I was agitated. ‘These kids! They never do what you tell them.’
She clutched at her necklace. ‘She’s not here?’
She turned around to go, so I blurted out, ‘She is here! I’ve only just found out that she came without telling anyone. You must have been worried.’
She let go of the necklace and closed her eyes. ‘Thoughtless child!’
‘I know exactly how you feel. If it were me, I would have been worried, too. Do come in.’
She opened her eyes and looked up, as if she had only just noticed me. She stared at my face and then quickly smoothed her hair, which was tied in a bun at the back. ‘Forgive me. That
brainless child made me forget myself.’ Her hair was all white. She stretched out her hand, ‘I am Elmira Simonian. Emily’s grandmother.’
