Time to Let Go (21 page)

Karim laughed again, a little too loudly for Walter’s liking.

“The Jewish thing?
Well, what do you want to know about it?”

“Well, for a start, how can a Jewish man have a Persian name?”

“I also have a Jewish name beside Karim, but nobody in our family ever uses it. It is a common practice among assimilated Jews to have an official name that fits the local customs.”

“My son tells me that...your...
circles would not easily accept my daughter if she did change her mind. Is that true?” Walter asked shyly.

“It is, in general, a tendency maybe, but it is not true for my family. My mother
grew up as a minority that was well accepted at first. For many years there were large Jewish communities in Iran and they got on fine with their neighbours. Discrimination didn’t come until much later in her life, and it was only then that she felt the need to stick to the ‘tribe of the chosen people’ for her own protection. My parents were always believers but they never bought into exclusivity or segregation as a principle. I understand that when the religious fundamentalist forces in Iran gained more support the Jews tried to keep more to themselves. Over here it has been our Jewish connections that helped get my father established, which might explain why my sister and my brother both married Jews, but my parents did not demand or expect it.”

“I am glad to hear it because if Hanna changed her mind about you I would not want her to be rejected,” Walter explained.

“My mother is a very typical specimen of a Jewish matriarch who is fixated on her sons. She takes great interest in my life and that of my brother, but when it comes to relationships she really just wants us to be happy. My brother was married to a Jewish princess and it ended in a messy divorce and lots of heartache. She has seen a lot of my girlfriends come and go and has never made any demands on them, other than what you would expect any other caring mother would. Racial or religious differences caused many of her friendships to fall apart during her time in Iran, and there is no way she would do the same. Hanna and my mother have met and are meeting up again this afternoon: they get on like a house on fire.”

“Well, I am sorry I brought this up now,” Walter said, relieved that Karim had made this conversation so easy for him.

“Don’t worry. If you wanted to put in a word for me with your daughter that would be appreciated,” Karim said with a cheeky wink.

“I will see what I can do but, a
s with most daughters, the endorsement of a father is not what they look for in a man,” Walter said with a wink himself. “I might do more damage to your cause than good by giving you my blessing.”

“Tell Hanna I stopped by and that my mother will be ready for her day out whenever is convenient. I
’d better go back now and relieve my sister of her duties.”

“I will tell Hanna you came to visit. Good bye, and thank you again.”

Hanna and Biddy did not spend much time in the leisure centre. Today there was a large group of teenagers who took up half of the pool, and the rest o
f the visitors were squeezed into the remaining tiny space. There was no peace in the steam room either, and Hanna decided to treat her mother to a massage in a nearby parlour instead.

The place used to be known for
its excellent massages when Hanna still used to live here, but it had since undergone a massive revamp and was now a modern chain establishment with a broad range of services and special offers. The smell of essential oils was overwhelming.

Hanna and Biddy were able to get massages together in the same treatment room. Biddy appeared to enjoy the pampering although she remained quiet
throughout and eventually fell asleep when the treatment came to an end.

“We can leave her on the table for a while if you like,” one of the therapists told Hanna. “Your mother seems so peaceful. We are not very busy today. We never are on a Monday.
Hairdressers being closed for the day impacts a lot on our business. Our clients prefer to come into town for an entire day of beautification. When the salons get busy, so do we.”

“Well, that must be nice after the weekend,” Hanna guessed.

“It would be, if we didn’t have to pay for it the other days,” came the instant reply. “It’s a waste of appointments that we need to squeeze into the other days. We are working through lunch and staying behind late, but I guess we mustn’t complain other businesses are going under in the recession. Do you work?”

“I am afraid I do
. I am a stewardess on long haul flights.”

“What do you think of that case they are talking about? You know, the
billionaire who is suing the airline?” the beautician asked her.

“He must be very upset,” Hanna said carefully. “It’s very mean to fight someone who was only trying to help you.”

“I am sorry, but imagine that had been your mother on the plane, and you only had a stewardess there to help you. I understand he is upset.”

“We are all trained and re-trained every year how to save lives!” Hanna defended her profession.

“Oh, I never knew that. So you are all half nurses up there? I had no idea,” said the beautician.

“Wel
l, that would be exaggerating,” Hanna had to admit. “We are no nurses but we are far from being incompetent.”

“What do you think personally? If your mother died on a plane, wouldn’t you blame the airline?” asked the beautician.

“When in shock anything is possible. I appreciate the husband must be feeling a lot of anger and sadness, that is only normal when you lose a loved one, unexpectedly. But sometimes people die and there is nothing anyone can do. We all have to eventually,” Hanna said, slightly irritated now.

“It will be interesting to see what happens. They were talking about it on the radio this morning,” the beautician said casually.

Hanna felt like fainting. “That story is on the radio again?” she asked.

“Yes, just half an hour ago,” the beautician answered.

“What did they say?” Hanna asked, grabbing a seat. She was still only in her towel from the massage and would have dropped it otherwise.

The beautician could see the impact the story had on Hanna and called
one of her colleagues over. “Lisa, do you remember what they said about that court case between the airline and the billionaire? This lady wants to know what they said on the radio.”

“The bloke wants to take the court case to America, since his wife is from there and the plane took off from an
American city,” Lisa recalled. “His lawyers say he has not got a chance in hell in the UK courts, with all the bad publicity he got and he is trying it out over there now.”

Hanna was almost fainting.
A legal battle in America?

“Are you quite sure?”

“No, you got it wrong,” chimed in another assistant. “He wanted to do that but he can’t.”

Hanna was relieved, but the benefit of her massage was instantly erased. By the time Biddy woke up Hanna was dressed and was already running late for her appointment with Karim’s mother, so she quickly ushered her mother into the car, dropped her off at Karim’s place
and rushed off to see Fariba.

Karim opened the door and greeted her with a big smile.

“My mother has been impatiently waiting for you. She was talking all morning about her vintage car trip,” he said warmly.

Fariba was wearing a red, silk head scarf. Immaculately styled and made up there was the glamour of a movie legend about this woman.

“Ms Kelly, your chauffeur is ready,” Karim said jokingly.

“Hanna!” Fariba exclaimed. “I have been so excited in waiting for you, my children threatened to take me outside and make me wait for you on the door step.”

“Well, you can’t blame them for feeling jealous,” Hanna said, while Karim was helping his mother to the car.

It took considerably more effort to get Fariba into the ca
r than Hanna had anticipated. Although slim and petite, the patient was dead weight. Hanna took Karim discreetly aside to suggest that he come along to help lifting Fariba, but the otherwise dutiful son refused.

“My mother doesn’t want to get out of the car and sit somewhere in public,” he told her. “Since the stroke she says
she is stagnant for too long and she is looking forward to doing a sight-seeing tour. There is no need for you to get her out of the car. She feels very self-conscious in public places. Your company is more than enough for her.”

He turned around and walked back to the house, waved brief
ly and went inside.

“You must have men in every city waiting for you,” Fariba said after they had left the driveway.

“I wish there was that much interest,” Hanna told her. “Most men like the idea of a stewardess as a girlfriend, but the reality is quite different from their imagination. We suffer from mood swings and constant tiredness, so it doesn’t take long before the first few suitors give up because it is not worth their while.”

“I can’t believe that someone would say that abo
ut you,” Fariba contradicted.

“Trust me. As a species
, we cabin crew are hard work. The good guys who have the necessary patience are rare.”

“I would have taken you for a good judge of character,” Fariba was surprised. “Can’t you distinguish the good guys from the bad?”

“I thought I could but after the initial honeymoon period they turn into being very clingy or very needy. They either want me to stop flying and become a housewife or they become controlling in other ways and jealous when I am away.”

“I can see that that would not be good for you. A woman needs to be free and independent.
The times of ‘the Stepford Wives’ are thankfully over,” Fariba agreed. “My Karim probably appears clingy and controlling to you?” she asked. “I know he can be very intense and stubborn but trust me he has a good heart.”

“I know he has. He has been incredibly kind and helpful to me,” Hanna said, carefully avoiding eye contact with the
suddenly pushy mother.

“Just because he looks Persian people do treat him d
ifferently,” Fariba observed. “The girls he brings home are usually very nice and kind, but then they leave him and marry someone who is British.”

“I am sure that’s not the case,” Hanna disagreed.

“Why else do you think he is still single? If you know please tell me, I cannot think of one thing that is wrong with my son.”

“Fariba, I have only just met your son.”

“You have become very close in the last few days. The thought must have at least crossed your mind. This bond between you, my dear, is a very rare thing,” Fariba pressed on.

“Actually, for us cabin crew this is a rather common phenomenon,” Hanna replied. “I work with new colleagues every time I go to work. We become close friends quickly, only to be separated by the next work schedule and our private lives, let alone the geographic distances between our homes.”

“I never thought about it like that but Karim is stable and in one place, so it is already only half as difficult for you two to keep in touch as if it were one of your random colleagues. And so close to your family home. You must have formed an opinion or made a judgement about him one way or the other. Clinginess is an undervalued quality: we used to call it commitment.”

“I find your directness rather refreshing but this co
nversation is too weird, Fariba,” Hanna said.

“Now sweetheart don’t disappoint me. It honours you that you are careful with your words, but I know you have the guts to tell me what bothers you about him, and it is about time one of his dates told me so I can steer him in the right direction. I am not getting any younger and neither is he. I would like to see him settled. So would you please just tell me what he is doing wrong? I promise I won’t tell him that it is coming from you and I will not hold it against you – whate
ver you say. You must help me help him!”

Hanna sighed deeply.

“I guess in my case it is bad timing. I am just not entirely sure what he is capable of,” Hanna confessed. “He has strong opinions and a definite edge to him. He comes across as a bit stiff and rigid.”

“Karim is nothing but gentle and caring,” Fariba argued.

“Well, as his mother you would see it that way.”

Fariba laughed heartily. “
Yes, it’s the Jewish stereotype I’m afraid but I am very honest about it.”

“I didn’t even know you were Jewish!
By religion or by culture?”

“Both. We learnt to hide it when we were liv
ing in Iran. Not that it always was necessary to do so, of course. I don’t want you to think badly of my home country just because of its current government. We were rather a large and accepted minority there once. I have always maintained that the louder you shout about your beliefs the more difficult it will be for others to come near you, so we kept it private and out of the public eye.” Fariba said matter of factly. “If you are born a Jew you will always be a Jew.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The rabbis can try and make you believe in Moses and the parting seas, the burning bush and the Kabbalah, but if you don’t think that any of it ever really happened you are still one of the chosen people, in their books,” Fariba explained. “You can convert, cut off your beard and curls, eat pork – but if you were born to a Jewish mother you are part of the tribe forever: so why the need to advertise?”

“I guess you’re right,” Hanna replied but kept her eyes on the traffic.

“Forget about religion and culture. Tell me more about my son!”

“There is nothing to tell,” Hanna said firmly now to stop the interrogation. “Enough said.”

“I like your resolve,” Fariba said amused. “All I want to say is that you should not dismiss Karim too easily. He is a nice boy and you have nothing to fear from him.”

“Why are you so keen on the idea of me and your son? I am not Jewish, I live an unsteady live, and I am probably too old to have children. Where do you see the big advantage that I am missing?” Hanna asked outright.

“The advantage, my darling, lies in your good heart and in the fact that Karim seems to have taken a shine to you. In an ideal world he would be marrying a Jewish girl a few years younger and she would worship the ground he walks on and bear him a few bubbeles, but once you transfer that ideal in to real life you find those perfect women are often dull, selfish or needy, and lack the spirit and warmth I want for my son. Maybe I don’t show it, but as a mother I am as overbearing as they come and I rarely approve of his girlfriends. If you don’t believe me, ask him. He will tell you.”

“He said yo
u would like me,” Hanna said. “He said you liked all of his girlfriends in the past.”

“That was a very over confident statement. You were lucky,” Fariba said with a wink. “Now, do you have enough time to drive towards Clay Hill? I have not been that way for
ages and the weather is so beautiful today, there will be extraordinary views.”

“Absolutely,” Hanna said.

“Do you have any music in this car?” Fariba asked. “I wouldn’t mind listening to some and blast it really loud. Put on whatever you like, anything will do. My grandchildren are keeping me modern. I know all the stars: Lady Gaga, Rihanna and will.i.am.”

“It will have to be the radio, I am afraid. I have CD’s, but they are all Buddhist chanting.”

Fariba said no more about her son and a prospective relationship but talked about the heyday of her life in Iran under the rule of the Shah: parties, stimulating intellectual discussions and cultural events. Some of it sounded a little bit too polished and picture perfect to ring completely true, yet Hanna had to admit that Fariba was a born entertainer and the many stories she had to share were more than enough for two or three lifetimes: helping a friend to elope, attending her first Indian wedding, reading forbidden books, watching banned films, listening to a French woman explain about the ‘loose’ western sexual morals, resistance groups, secretly feeding her starving Muslim friend during Ramadan. It was obvious Fariba had lived her life to the full and Hanna thought it was lucky that she had lived to tell the tales – and remembered them all, more or less truthfully.

“We were starting to get worried,” said Karim as he greeted them back home eventually. “Did you have a good time?”

“Karim, you will have to marry this one. You can’t put a price on a vintage car driver like that,” Fariba said in the direction of Hanna, rather than that of her son.