by Zoya Pirzad
Alice slammed down the fruit knife on the table even harder. ‘None of you understand!’
I laid out the eggplant in the strainer. My self-critical streak berated me: ‘Let it be a lesson to you never to show off again!’ I sprinkled salt on the eggplant. My generous streak came to my defense: ‘She wasn’t showing off, she was just talking about the things she likes.’ Some salt got into the cut and stung my finger. I sucked on the cut and looked at the sweet peas. That unrelenting critical streak challenged me again: ‘Since when do we ever talk about the things we like?’ My generous side searched for a counter-response.
Mother’s voice brought me back to attention. ‘Hey, where have you gone to, Clarice? Say something.’
Still sucking my finger, I wheeled around to face Mother. Just then the twins walked in. ‘Our homework is finished.’
I plucked my finger from my mouth, pointed at the door and shouted, ‘Out!’
The pair of them stared first at me, then looked to Mother, who was fanning herself, then to Alice, who was nonchalantly peeling an apple, and then stared back at me. They had figured out some time ago that when I had no energy, I would not oppose them. They both cocked their heads.
‘May we...’
‘...ask Emily...’
I cut them off. ‘Out!’
Mother turned back to Alice. ‘After all, you can’t see a person just one time and...’
‘Twice,’ Alice interjected.
‘However many times,’ said Mother. ‘If your father, God rest his soul, were alive...’
I closed my eyes and put my hand to my forehead. Should I tell Alice once again, ‘You are right’? The twins had not reached the end of the hallway when the doorbell rang.
‘Hello, Auntie Nina.’
‘Hello, Auntie Violette.’
‘What a pretty dress, Sophie!’
‘How wonderful you all dropped by!’
How wonderful you dropped by? Mother had such a look on her face that I was convinced she was going to pick a fight with them. Alice set the apple down on her dessert plate. ‘It’s Nina? How wonderful!’
Nina’s voice was calling from the hallway, ‘Where is the mistress of the house?’
I got to the hallway. I kept insisting that we sit in the living room, but Nina said no. ‘I have missed Hansel and Gretel’s cottage.’ She came into the kitchen. ‘Well, well! Mrs. Voskanian and Alice are here, too. Barev, Barev!’
Alice went up to Nina and Violette with open arms, and hugged and kissed each of them. Mother did not return Nina’s greeting. Violette looked around and said, ‘What a cute kitchen.’
Alice told Nina, ‘I was just telling Clarice how badly I miss you.’ Mother glowered at me and Nina and Violette and at the walls of the kitchen. I was about to ask if there were enough chairs for all of us when the doorbell rang again, and I heard Armineh and Arsineh’s voice in the hallway.
‘Hello, Uncle Emile.’
‘Hello, Mrs. Simonian.’
‘We were just coming to get you, Emily.’
‘Everyone’s in the kitchen.’
I had no time to think or move. The mother and her son were standing in the doorway of my kitchen.
For a moment there was silence. The only sound was Violette humming a tune under her breath. She had opened the window screen and with her back to us was smelling the sweet peas.
My sister was the first to speak. She went straight up to Mrs. Simonian and offered her hand. ‘Good afternoon. My name is Alice Voskanian, Clarice’s sister.’
The twins, who were standing behind the Simonians with Sophie and Emily, giggled and before my gaze could lock on theirs, they ran off. In a normal situation, the unusual tone of Alice’s self-introduction and her beefy body, in contrast to the little limbs of Mrs. Simonian, would have made me laugh.
Now Alice was shaking hands with Emile. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I have been looking forward to the opportunity of meeting you, sir, and your distinguished mother. Clarice has spoken highly of you.’
When had I spoken highly of them? Why was Alice speaking like a book? Why was the whole city gathered in my kitchen that afternoon?
A voice said, ‘What fragrant flowers!’
We all turned to the window. Violette in her red blouse, white flared skirt and hoop earrings was leaning back against the window frame. Backlit by the sunlight pouring in through the window, her hair looked even more flaxen than usual.
Once I had introduced everyone, I suggested we retire to the living room. Mrs. Simonian said that they were on their way to the Kuwaiti Bazaar and they had dropped in along the way because Emile wanted to give me something. Then she nodded to Nina and turned to Mother, who was asking something.
Alice threw Emile and his mother a contemptuous glance, which neither of them noticed, grabbed Nina by the waist and headed for the living room. ‘I’m glad to see you. I was going to call you tonight.’
Mother was talking to Mrs. Simonian. ‘Your late father was a friend of my late father. My parents were invited to your wedding. Not me, of course, as I was just a child, but...’
I repeated my suggestion that we go to the living room. Mrs. Simonian muttered something inaudible and turned back to her son. I also turned back to her son. Our gaze followed Emile’s gaze all the way to the window. Violette was twirling a white sweet pea in her hand and smiling.
Mother said, ‘It was a pity you had to sell that beautiful, large house. I was telling Clarice the other day...’
Mrs. Simonian said, ‘Emile!’
Mother said, ‘I was telling Clarice...’
Mrs. Simonian repeated Emile’s name a bit louder, then turned around and stalked out of the kitchen.
Practically running, Emile trailed after his mother, and I practically ran after him into the yard. In the middle of the path, he turned around and held out a package to me. ‘Yesterday I opened a box of books and...’
Mrs. Simonian yelled, ‘Emily!’
I reached out, took the package, and looked at it. When I looked up again, no one was in the yard and the gate was half open. I returned to the kitchen.
Mother was wiping the counter with a cloth. It was Mother’s habit to work quickly, but when she was angry her movements became jerky and rapid, like in a silent film. Violette was staring at Mother. When she saw me, she marveled, ‘How quickly she works. By the way, your neighbor is such a cute little woman. But she seemed to be mad about something, no?’
Mother spun around to Violette. ‘Of course she was mad. She was mad because I asked why she sold such a pretty house. She was mad because she realized I know her whole life story, top to bottom, and she can’t put on her airs in front of me. She was mad because I said that I was a child at the time of her marriage. I wasn’t lying, though.’ She turned her back on us and once again laid into the counter with all her might.
Violette, her mouth half-open, watched Mother’s hands for a few seconds, making rapid swirls on the counter. Then she brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. ‘I see, so that’s why she got mad.’
I took the cloth from Mother’s hands and sent her with Violette to the living room. When I was alone, I pressed both hands to my head for a moment, drew a deep breath, then set out the coffee cups on the tray and the coffee pot on the stove. I did not feel well at all. I was tired and mad, indignant even. At Alice? At Mother? At Nina, who had turned up unannounced, or at myself, for running after Emile and his mother? The coffee began bubbling up the sides of the coffee pot. As the ripple in the coffee pot drew smaller and smaller, my breathing sped up. Right at the moment when I should have turned the burner off, two voices said in unison, ‘Mommm-mmmy! May we...’
I turned around and shouted, ‘No, you may not!’
At the sound of the coffee boiling over, I spun around, looked at the half-empty coffee pot and the dirty stove top, and closed my eyes.
I heard Armineh’s voice in the hallway. ‘She got angry because the coffee boiled over.’
/> Arsineh said, ‘No, she was angry first, then the coffee boiled over.’ I rinsed the coffee pot under the faucet and measured out the coffee, the sugar, and the water again.
When I came into the living room with a tray, Alice was telling Nina, ‘What trouble? It’s no trouble at all. I’ll call Garnik right now.’ When she spotted me, she said, ‘We’ve arranged to eat dinner together. Will you phone Garnik?’ I do not know what look she saw in my eyes, but she added, ‘I’ll call him myself.’ And she went into the hall.
I set the coffee cups out on the table, sat down next to Nina and tried to listen to what she was saying. Mother was sitting on the edge of one of the dining chairs. Her lips tightly pursed, she was staring at the carpet.
Alice came back into the room. ‘Garnik said he’s caught a cold and is afraid to give it to us. He said Nina and Violette needn’t worry. Have fun, he said. Really, what a wonderful man!’ Then she looked at me. ‘Scoot over. I have something to tell Nina.’
I was about to get up when the sound of yelling and shouting suddenly filled the hallway. Then the loud slamming of a door, and the breaking of glass. Then Sophie screaming: ‘Ouch! My hand, my hand!’
We all ran to the hallway. The transom window above Armen’s door was broken, and shattered glass lay scattered all over the floor. Sophie, pressing her wrist to her body, was screaming, while the twins were yelling, ‘Sophie cut her hand!’
I could not breathe. God forbid it cut the poor child’s artery!
Nina gripped my arm. ‘Dear Jesus, Lord, and Savior! Oh no, what’s happening to me?! What will I do?’
Sophie was bent over double, screaming, and would not let go of her wrist. The twins were hanging onto each other, crying. Mother was behind us, slapping her cheeks, saying, ‘Satan, be cursed!’
Alice bounded up to Sophie with unexpected alacrity for such a heavy-set body, yanked on Sophie’s arm and yelled, ‘Let go. Let me see what happened.’
Everyone was suddenly quiet and Alice lifted Sophie’s wrist. She held it up at an angle where everyone could see the little scrape.
Alice bent over and stared Sophie in the face. ‘Two days ago they brought a little mouse to the hospital who had suffered a similar misfortune. Do you know what happened?’ Sophie looked at Alice with her tear-stained eyes and Alice said, ‘It died,’ and gave a laugh.
Nina let go of my forearm, went over to hug Sophie and said, ‘Thanks be to God!’
Mother left off slapping herself and said, ‘Thanks be to God!’
In my heart, I echoed, ‘Thanks be to God!’
The twins hugged Sophie, who said with pouting lips, ‘Ouch!’
Alice came over to Nina. ‘Clarice will put some antiseptic on it now. Come, I have to tell you the rest.’
Sophie, seeing her mother leave, started to cry again.
I went into the bathroom, got the bottle of Dettol and a cotton ball from the medicine cabinet, and returned to the hallway. Sophie was still crying. Nina was hugging her again. The twins were shouting at Armen’s closed door, ‘It was your fault.’
Armen yelled from inside his room, ‘I had nothing to do with it.’ And Mother was yelling at the kids, ‘Quiet!’
I noticed Violette at the hallway mirror, holding a decorative hairpin in her teeth and straightening up her hair. Where had she been all this time?
Alice shouted at me, ‘Hurry up, will you? You sure are taking your sweet time.’ And she snatched the Dettol and the cotton wool from my hand.
The front door opened and Artoush walked in with Emile.
‘We thought we’d sneak in a game of chess before dinner...’ ventured Artoush. Emile, as if he were reading my mind, offered, ‘Mother’s headache has recurred and...we did not go to the bazaar.’ Then they both saw the glass on the floor.
Sophie, seeing there were fresh onlookers, began to cry once again, and Alice quickly dabbed the scrape with antiseptic. Nina and the twins and Mother together recounted the incident for Emile and Artoush.
My eyes settled on Violette. She smiled and the hairpin fell from her mouth onto the floor. Her hand went to cover her mouth as she said, ‘Whoops.’ She bent over and picked up the hairpin. Through the open collar of her blouse, I saw her black lace camisole. How white her skin was!
I was cleaning the coffee stains off the stove and thinking what to make for dinner for all these people, and wondering why I should have to make dinner for them, and by what right had Alice invited all these guests to my house, and what the devil was wrong with Armen, and why were the twins making so much noise, and why does Nina laugh so loud, when Artoush came up behind me and said, ‘What’s for dinner?’
I tossed the washcloth into the sink. ‘Nothing. Go get something from the Annex.’
He was surprised at first. Then it seemed to make him happy. ‘The curry at the Annex is not bad.’ Then he seemed to recall that he did not like spicy food. ‘I’ll get fish and chips as well. How many are we? I’ll take a count.’ And he left the kitchen.
The kids loved the fish and chips at the Annex restaurant. I had made it for them myself a couple of times, but each time they pouted. ‘It’s not as tasty as at the Annex.’
After acting up for a minute or two, the Chevrolet finally started up and headed off, and Mother came into the kitchen. ‘So the Doc got his wish and went out to get food, huh? He’s probably gone out to get Döner Kebab. Hmmph! Or samosas, which a whole host of flies have marched over. Disgusting!’
Violette came into the kitchen. She was pulling on the strap of her camisole to adjust it. ‘They said they are going to get food from the Anicks? I went with Nina and Garnik to the Anicks last night and had curry. It was delicious.’
Mother, as if taking the precise measurement of Violette’s height, looked her over from the top of her hair – which seemed deliberately out of place – to the tips of her high heels. ‘Not Anicks, but Annex. Their food is all right, for people who have never tasted home cooking.’ Louder and with more emphasis than the two previous times, she repeated her ‘Hmmph!’ and ‘Disgusting!’ and left the kitchen.
Violette laughed. ‘My English is wretched.’ Then she asked, ‘Are you making salad? Shall I help?’
If it were some other time, I would certainly have said, ‘Don’t trouble yourself; I’ll make it.’ But this was no other time. I set a fat onion on the table and said, ‘Peel this.’
26
My day began badly.
When Artoush asked, ‘Have you seen my glasses?’ I shot right back with, ‘Is there a big sign on my forehead that says “Bureau of Lost and Found”?’
I had no bread to make sandwiches for the kids’ recess snack. I gave the twins money to buy crackers, and their eyes lit up. ‘No chips or other junk food. Only crackers, and only after lunch.’ I tried to remember what the school cafeteria was serving for lunch that day, and whether it was a dish the children liked or not. I could not remember the lunch menu schedule, but I did remember what Nina would say. If I said something like, ‘They are serving lamb shanks today and the kids don’t like it,’ Nina would frown and reply, ‘If they don’t like it, tough. A child should learn to eat whatever is put in front of him.’ I smoothed out a wrinkle near the hem of Arsineh’s uniform, wondering if Nina might not be right.
Armen tucked the money in his pocket and left the house without saying goodbye. He had argued several times with the twins, had not spoken to me or his father, and had barely eaten anything since the day before. I could not work up the energy to lecture him about not leaving the school grounds again during recess to buy a snack. ‘Only Mama’s boys bring their snacks from home,’ the high-school-age boys would say. So, to prove their manhood, they would appoint one boy each day to sneak off the school premises and buy Lavash for everyone at the nearby bakery. God only knows how many times I had to go to the Principal’s office because Armen was the one who had slipped out. Each time he promised not to do it again, but he was a habitual offender.
I went out to the yard hand in hand w
ith the twins. Halfway down the path, I gestured toward Armen, his back to us as he opened the gate. ‘Now what’s the matter with him?’
The twins looked at each other, then at me, and finally shrugged their shoulders. I asked, ‘Is it because Emily did not come over last night?’ This time they avoided looking at one another and tried not to laugh.
The school bus picked up the kids and headed off, the sound of the engine fading farther and farther away. I closed the gate, walked up the path, and came inside. I was about to close the front door and breathe a sigh of relief about being alone until the afternoon, when I heard the faint whirring of the Chevrolet’s ignition.
The Chevy’s failure to start was part of our daily ritual. Artoush would open the hood, engrossed in the old, and in places rusty, guts of the machine. Then he would play with some of the hoses, which connected something to something else (and I was fairly sure that Artoush did not know either). ‘It won’t start?’ I would ask Artoush, and he would say, ‘Hmmm.’ I would stare at the engine with him for a few seconds, thinking of it as a terminal patient, kept alive with transfusions and drugs. ‘Shall I call a taxi, or call Mr. Saeed?’ were my next lines. If Artoush was late, he would say ‘Taxi,’ the way a surgeon might tell a nurse, ‘Scalpel.’ And if he was in no hurry, and the car could not be coaxed into coasting by fits and starts to the repair shop, he would say, ‘Call up Mr. Saeed,’ the way a surgeon might tell a nurse, ‘Give him a pint of blood.’
Mr. Saeed was the owner of a repair shop near Cinema Khorshid. Every time he saw Artoush and his Chevrolet, he would laugh, clap his blackened hands to his head with its even blacker frizzy hair and say, ‘Dear ole Chevy broke down again?’ Mr. Saeed would come stand over the Chevy, and nearly every time he did, he would tell me, out of Artoush’s earshot, ‘Mrs. Doc – pardon me for meddling – but if you just nag a bit at your husband like other ladies do, the Doc will certainly buy the latest top-of-the-line model.’ And when I explained that the Doc had grown rather fond of this car, Mr. Saeed would shake his head and mutter, ‘Well, if you want to know the truth, I can’t make head or tail out of you and the Doc. Customers from the Oil Company, as soon as things take off and they get a salary raise and a Grade increase, go right out and trade in their house and car for better ones. But the two of you...’ I would take him tea or sherbet and tell him, ‘Salary and rank don’t decide what house you live in or the car you drive.’
