Things We Left Unsaid

by Zoya Pirzad

  Garnik looked in my direction, waved and came up to me. ‘A man and his word! I told them I would get one for them, so I did.’

  I cleared the table and set the uniforms and the sewing basket on one of the chairs. ‘Every month some new toy is all the rage. If we bought them all, we’d go broke and the children would be spoiled. Not that they’re not already spoiled. Will you have coffee or sherbet?’

  Garnik sat down and took a large handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped his neck and forehead. ‘First water, then coffee, then sherbet! They only love toys while they are children, and they’re only children for a few years. Blink a couple of times and they’re all grown up, swimming in a sea of troubles, like us. And no one’s gone broke yet buying toys. Where’s Artoush?’

  I took out the pitcher from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard, poured the water, set the glass on the table and got the coffee pot. I measured out the coffee. ‘Sweet or medium? Where’s Nina?’

  Garnik drank the water in one go and put the empty glass down on the table. ‘She went to the bazaar with Violette to buy American sheets. Now that’s what’s going to make us go broke! Sweet, please. Artoush isn’t back yet?’

  I stood by the coffee pot to make sure it did not boil over. ‘I have to buy sheets, too.’ I poured the coffee into a cup and sat down with him at the table. ‘Shall I cut some Gata for you?’

  He drew the coffee cup toward him. ‘Did you have a fight?’

  The kids were counting loudly in the yard. ‘Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven...’

  Garnik sipped his coffee and asked, ‘Want to know how I knew, huh?’ He looked at me and laughed. ‘First of all, you’ve made coffee for me a hundred times and you know I like it sweet. Second, I asked you twice where Artoush is, and each time you changed the subject. What happened?’

  Should I tell him? Shouldn’t I tell him? I told him. ‘I’m at my wit’s end with Artoush playing politics.’

  In the yard, Sophie said, ‘Whoever gets to a hundred spins first is the winner.’

  Garnik watched me for a moment and played with his coffee cup, sliding it back and forth a few times. Then he looked out the window. ‘Well, everyone’s got to believe in something.’

  On more than one occasion, Artoush had said, ‘ARF supporters can’t see beyond the end of their nose.’ Each time Garnik had replied, ‘Doesn’t the end of our own nose take priority over the noses of other folks?’

  I got up and stirred the kidney beans. ‘It’s not a question of belief. It’s a question of selfishness. We women have to slave sun-up to sundown to get everything ready for you men, while you go on imagining you are building a better world. Meanwhile you have no consideration for your wives and no consideration for your children.’

  I went on lecturing about ‘we women’ and ‘you men’ for five minutes while Garnik listened quietly. The problem was that what I was saying did not seem entirely fair, even to me. I must have left something out. I was sure that I was somehow in the right, but I did not know how to say it without coming off like a nagging wife, whining and complaining after a quarrel with her husband.

  Garnik got up and went over to the stove. He lifted the lid off the pan and inhaled. ‘Mmm, smells delicious! Here’s what I’m thinking: if we selfish men, as you call us, don’t try to build, as you say, a better world, what would you have to cook in this pan? That is, if we still had pots and pans?’ Still holding the lid, he looked over at me. Then he cocked his head and smiled.

  In the yard the girls were shouting, ‘Ninety-eight, nighty-nine, one hundred, hooray!’ I was sure there must be a good answer to Garnik’s question. I was sure of it, but nothing came to mind. I asked, ‘Want some beans?’

  44

  Joop said, ‘I do hope, good sir, that you will, like myself and Alice, be happy and content with this decision. I have sent a correspondence to my mother and aunt in Holland. They too are happy and content. If you, good sir, be content and happy, Alice and I, too, are happy and content.’ Artoush loosened the knot of his tie and shifted position in the easy chair.

  The day before, Alice had said, ‘Tell Artoush to put on a tie. You dress up nice, too. With lipstick. Send the kids over to Nina’s, or, I don’t know, anywhere. Just so long as they don’t disturb us.’ It did not even occur to me to ask why she could not hold this little courtship dinner at her own house.

  To keep myself busy, I got up and offered sweets to everyone. Joop took one of the cream puffs that Alice had bought and did not touch the pastries I had made from scratch. ‘I like creamy puff. Shad-shad thanks.’ He looked at Alice and smiled.

  Alice laughed and turned to me. ‘I’m teaching him Armenian.’ Then she pushed the dish of homemade sweets away. ‘He only likes cream puffs.’ She cocked her head and smiled at Joop.

  Mother, with a smile that looked pasted onto her face, said ‘Shad-shad lav,’ nodded, and peered into the narrow space separating Joop and Alice.

  Armen was in his room and the twins had gone bike-riding. I gave them money to buy bread from the Dairy and ‘whatever they felt like’ from the Store. Their eyes lit up.

  Joop was explaining in great detail the water-heating system in his house in Holland for Artoush. Artoush was listening carefully, whether to occupy the time, or because he was really interested, I could not tell.

  Looking up at the ceiling, Alice said, ‘I hear Emile and Violette are getting married.’ Ever since her marriage to Joop was semi-officially announced, Alice no longer looked in my face when speaking to me. At least it seemed like she was looking down at me, and since she was shorter than me, that took some doing. ‘Poor Violette, with that nutty mother-in-law. She probably imagines that the instant they marry, the lady midget is going to hand over all her jewels to her daughter-in-law on a silver platter.’

  Mother helped me set the dinner table and she talked nonstop as we walked back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room.

  ‘I always hoped Alice would get married in our church here in Abadan. God bless the cross in that altar! It has granted each and every favor I prayed for and every vow I made. For the safe delivery of your babies, for the setting of Armen’s broken arm; for the quick recovery of the twins when their tonsils were removed. And now, for this. You’ve made a ton of salad again? No one here eats that much salad. Still, it’s a good thing you did. These days Alice eats nothing but salad.’

  Armen and the twins were playing Chutes and Ladders on the kitchen table.

  ‘It was a four.’

  ‘Nuh-uh, it was a three.’

  ‘It was four, wasn’t it, Arsineh?’

  ‘It was four. No cheating, Armen!’

  ‘One, two, three, four. Swoop, up I go! Your turn, Arsineh.’

  Mother poured dressing on the salad. ‘I would hate Joop to think I am one of those mother-in-laws who butts into everything. If they want to marry in Holland, well, so be it. There’s no difference from one church to another.’

  Armineh said, ‘Nana, when you said church, it reminded me of a joke one of the sixth graders told today. Shall we tell them, Arsineh?’

  ‘Let’s tell them,’ said Arsineh. Then she warned Armen. ‘Your piece is right here, in this square. Above this big chute, here. No cheating, now! Go ahead, Armineh. Mommy, Nana, listen.’ And they began telling the joke, each jumping in amid the other’s words.

  ‘A naughty boy kept knocking on the church door.’

  ‘As soon as the priest opened the door, the boy would run away.’

  ‘Finally, the priest hides behind the door.’

  ‘As soon as the kid knocks...’

  ‘The priest jumps up and opens the door.’

  ‘The naughty boy is caught off guard, but asks...’

  ‘Pardon me, is Jesus home?’

  The twins both cracked up laughing. Armen said, ‘That’s an old one.’ Mother tried not to laugh. ‘We don’t joke about Jesus and the Church. It’s a sin.’

  I told the kids to put the game away, and I set the dish of
rice on the table. Mother began inspecting the platter of herbs. ‘I told Joop that they have to hold a party here in Abadan.’ I was hoping the platter would make its way to the dinner table before Mother had thrown half of the herbs into the garbage because she considered them ‘wilted.’

  ‘My girl’s no foundling that I would send her off to her husband’s home without a proper celebration. Hand me the platter, I’ll take it to the table. It’s a shame the Tahdig turned out soggy.’

  I ladled the Ghormeh-sabzi into two bowls and muttered to myself, ‘Just let Alice get married – in the church, outside the church, with a party, without a party. Just let her be married.’

  Mother came back laughing. ‘Did you hear what Joop said? He said...’

  I cut her off. ‘Take the casseroles while I arrange the Parinj on the serving dish.’

  Mother removed the cloth I’d wrapped around the pot lid to absorb the excess moisture from the Parinj. ‘Well, if we can’t have a wedding party, we’ll just have to do without. Why should we spend all that money just to feed people, anyway? Mmm, the Parinj is fantastic! Here, give me the dish. You’re tired, I’ll serve it.’

  I passed her the dish and leaned back on the counter to drink the Vimto fruit cordial I had fixed for myself. Suggesting I was tired was just a pretext. Mother believed that only the Armenians of Julfa knew how to make authentic Parinj. She would have some hard-to-find parinj grain sent to her every year all the way from Isfahan. Since Mother had prepared it especially for this evening, she naturally wanted to be the one to arrange it on the platter, lest I wreck the presentation of this delicacy.

  The ice had melted in my glass and the Vimto was lukewarm. I could not be bothered to get myself more ice, but then remembered we would need ice for the dinner table, so went over to the refrigerator.

  Mother carefully laid out the chunks of meat on top of the Parinj. ‘It’s up to them. If they want to hold a celebration here, fine. If not, well, that’s fine too. Who are we to interfere?’

  I poured the ice into a crystal bowl. Mother tilted her head to the left and then to the right, assessing the arrangement of Parinj on the platter. ‘Let’s see if our dear son-in-law likes Parinj or not.’ She picked up the dish and headed for the door. ‘But I do wish they would have a little party.’ The twins ran in.

  ‘Mommy!’

  ‘Mommy!’

  ‘Look what he’s brought!’

  ‘See what he brought?’

  Joop had brought gifts for the twins – a boy doll and a girl doll. I picked up the ice bowl and went with the kids and their dolls to the living room. ‘Please have a seat at the table, everyone,’ I announced. I thanked Joop for the dolls and signaled the children to do likewise.

  Armineh went up to Joop, offered him her cheek to kiss, and said, ‘Thanks.’

  Alice said, ‘Say “Thank you, Uncle Joop.” ’

  Arsineh offered her cheek and said, ‘Thank you, Uncle Joop.’

  Joop kissed them both and Artoush asked them, ‘What have you named the dolls?’

  The twins looked at each other and announced at the same time, ‘We have to think about it.’

  Armen came into the room holding a brand new shiny tape recorder; everyone said, almost in unison, ‘Wow, fabulous!’ Joop blushed and Armen went over to shake his hand and thank him. Joop said, ‘You welcome, you welcome,’ several times in reply.

  Joop complimented the Parinj over dinner, and Mother replied in Armenian, ‘Anoush, anoush.’

  Alice translated for him: ‘It means “May it nourish your soul.” ’

  Then Mother explained, with Alice’s help, that Parinj is made from a grain like cracked wheat or barley, that we first sauté and then cook with meat and plenty of sautéed onions and turmeric until it makes something like a pilaf. While it steams, it has to be constantly stirred to keep from sticking to the pan. Alice, who was by now tired of translating Mother’s recipe, said, ‘Okay, enough already! No one is going to enter a cooking contest tomorrow.’

  When it came time to say goodbye Joop kissed the twins, and Armineh announced, ‘We have chosen a name for the dolls.’

  Arsineh whispered in my ear, ‘What was Uncle Joop’s last name? Don’t say it out loud.’ I told her and she ran over to Armineh and whispered in her ear.

  Arsineh held the boy doll out to us. ‘Mr. Joop Hansen.’

  Armineh held the girl doll out to us. ‘Mrs. Alice Hansen.’ It was Alice who laughed the loudest of us all.

  When Joop offered his hand, instead of shaking it, I stepped closer, gave him a hug, kissed both of his cheeks and congratulated him. Artoush and my mother were certainly surprised. And Alice? God only knows what she thought, but I did not care. All I knew was that I was very much obliged to Mr. Joop Hansen.

  That night I told the twins a story about a girl who had done something bad and then dreamt she was turned into a frog. She was very frightened and, in the morning when she got up and saw she was not a frog, she was so happy she decided not to do bad things anymore.

  Armineh yawned and said, ‘That was a strange story.’

  Arsineh said, ‘But it was a bit silly. Wasn’t it, Armineh?’ Armineh had fallen asleep.

  I read ‘Three Apples Fell from the Sky’ with Arsineh and then turned out their light. I came out into the hallway, thinking, ‘Arsineh is right; it was a silly story.’ I headed for the living room.

  After the guests had gone, Artoush rubbed his stomach and laughed. ‘I ate so much Parinj that I’m going to burst. I’m off to bed.’ And off he went to the bedroom.

  So I sat on the sofa, in front of a blank television screen, and stretched out my feet on the coffee table. My hand found its way to my hair and began to twirl. I was not tired, I felt good. Why? Was it because I’d washed all the dishes and dusted the living room, and because the rooms were, as Mother would say, spick and span? Or was it because Alice was finally getting married, and Joop really seemed – contrary to Mother’s and my first impressions – like a good, kind man? Maybe it was also because Artoush had come home earlier than usual the day before with a flower box full of pink and white sweet peas. At first I stared for a moment at the flowers. Then I went up to him, and when he hugged me, I burst into tears.

  I turned out the living room light and told myself, ‘Maybe it’s because you woke up this morning and saw you were not a frog.’

  45

  It was ten in the morning.

  Nina was on the phone. ‘You see how Miss Clever Wiles had everything under control the whole time? Clueless me! I thought she didn’t know how to go about things and was going to need my help. The only thing left now is for us to formally meet the future mother-in-law. Day after tomorrow is the kids’ end-of-year celebration. I was thinking about inviting them the Thursday after that. You and Artoush have to be there! Alice and your mother will be back from Tehran by Thursday, won’t they?’

  I confirmed they would.

  ‘Then give me the number of the Simonians so I can invite them.’

  ‘Don’t you remember your old phone number?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The phone number of G-4. Have you forgotten it?’

  She laughed so loud that I had to hold the receiver away from my ear. ‘As your mother says, “Call me an ass!” I was never so on the ball that I can now afford...’ Finally, she said goodbye.

  I put the receiver down and went to the living room. The sewing machine was set out on the dining table. I was making the twins’ costumes for the end-of-year celebration. I had bought pink silk for spring, red cotton for summer, orange taffeta for fall, and white calico for winter. I sewed strips of rabbit fur to the sleeves and hem of winter’s dress. One of Artoush’s relatives from Tabriz had brought us the rabbit fur years ago. I remembered how Alice and I had laughed about that. ‘What sane person would bring fur as a souvenir to Abadan?’

  ‘Hang on to it,’ Mother urged. ‘You never know when it may come in handy.’

  I made a crown of wheat spikes for fall. You
ma had brought me the wheat spikes after I gave her a detailed description of what it was I was looking for.

  The house was cool and quiet, filled with the smell of the almond cake I was baking in the oven. I glued the spikes together and wondered why I had failed to mention to Nina that I had had no contact with the Simonians lately. I knew that Emily had been absent from school for a few days. When the twins asked, ‘Maybe she’s sick – may we go look in on her?’ I said no. And when Artoush mentioned that ‘Emile hasn’t been to work for a few days – don’t you want to look in on them?’ I said no. The twins frowned and Artoush just raised his eyebrows and left it at that.

  I sewed blue and pink artificial flowers on a wide ribbon that Armineh was supposed to tie around her head to go with the dress for spring. Why didn’t I want to go over to the Simonians? Maybe I did not want to get caught up in their predicament. If I went over and got sucked into the argument, whose side would I take? The mother’s or the son’s? I glued together the two ends of the tall crown of cotton balls I had made to go with winter’s dress, and looked out the window.

  The Simonians had come to seem surreal to me. For several days now, this family of three seemed so remote from me, or maybe it was I who was distant from them. I felt the whole adventure had been like a movie, a movie I saw long, long ago and had no particular desire to see again. There was a breeze blowing outside, and through the branches of the Msasa trees, you could catch a wavering glimpse of the living room window of G-4.

  I had not yet figured out what to do for summer’s headband. If I glued flowers on it, it would look the same as spring. Besides flowers, what would make for a good summer symbol? I couldn’t think of anything. ‘I’ll decide what to do about it later.’

  No, I don’t feel like going over to the Simonians. It’s better if I don’t intervene. As I looked down at the dresses, an idea hit me – a crown of boxwood for summer.

  46

  The school yard was all decorated, small colored lights hanging from the trees, children’s paintings covering the walls. The stage with its green velvet curtain was set up at the end of the yard, and rows of chairs were neatly lined up from the foot of the stage nearly to the gate. Armen was one of the ushers, whose job was to guide parents and guests to their seats and staff the buffet table.