by Zoya Pirzad
I had just sat down and was busy greeting acquaintances when Artoush tapped my shoulder and gestured toward the stairs leading up to the stage. ‘Manya.’ Manya was waving to me from the top step to come over.
I told Artoush to save my place and went backstage. The choir girls in their uniform white blouses and navy blue skirts, and the choir boys in their white shirts and navy blue pants, were talking non-stop, raising a racket. Mr. Zhora, the music teacher, kept saying ‘Quiiiii-et,’ to no avail.
As usual, Manya was a bag of nerves but very excited. She tightened the ribbon in the hair of a little red-headed girl and said, ‘Off you go, stand in your spot and don’t fidget so much. Your ribbon comes undone minute by minute.’ Then she turned round to me. ‘Any news from Emily Simonian?’
A few days before, Armineh and Arsineh had been constantly talking about her: ‘Emily didn’t come to school today.’
‘Miss Manya said that if Emily doesn’t come tomorrow, we’ll have to find another Cinderella.’
‘One of the seventh graders will be Cinderella.’
‘We thought Emily made a prettier Cinderella.’
‘No, I’ve no news,’ I said. ‘I heard you substituted one of the seventh graders for her?’
Manya grabbed the arm of a little girl who was holding the stage curtain open, waving to the crowd. ‘Hey, you naughty creature! Who told you to come up here? Run along to the dressing room until it’s your turn to go on.’ She gave the girl an affectionate pinch on the cheek and the girl, decked in a colorful regional costume with layered skirt, ran off laughing. Manya looked around her. ‘Yep, I found a new Cinderella,’ and she pointed out a girl in a long green skirt standing by the dressing room door and tying on her bandana at a jaunty angle. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she?’ I looked at the girl, who looked up at me and smiled.
Manya explained, ‘I was so busy this week I didn’t get a chance to telephone the Simonians.’ Then she shouted to the new Cinderella, ‘Jasmine, dear. We don’t tie our bandana at an angle. Cinderella was not so coquettish before she went to the Prince’s palace.’ Then she turned to me. ‘My problem now is not Cinderella. My calamity for the evening is the Prince. The mother of the Prince has just phoned to say her son has come down with the measles. Now I’m pulling my hair out trying to figure out what to do.’
‘Surely you don’t want to saddle me with the role of the Prince?’ You never could tell with Manya.
She chuckled. ‘Not a bad idea, at that. You’re tall and charming enough.’ Then she turned serious. ‘Listen. Armen came to all the rehearsals, especially the scenes with Cinderella and the Prince. Sometimes he would prompt the kids when they muffed their lines. I can’t think of anyone better for the job than Armen. I sent for the costume from the measles’ victim, and it will fit Armen – they’re about the same size. By the time the chorus and the poetry reading and the dancing are finished...’ She was looking at her watch. ‘Then we have the student prizes to give out and...the way I figure, we have a little bit over an hour. We might even be able to rehearse it through once. It’s not a bad idea, is it?’
I stepped aside to avoid getting hit by a microphone making its way to center stage and said, ‘It’s not a bad idea at all. If only Armen would agree.’
Manya laughed and put her hand on my back. ‘You go find him and send him up here. Leave the rest to me.’
I walked down the centre aisle between the rows of chairs, which were now almost full, thinking that she might have a chance getting him to agree, at that. Even though Armen was a marvel of unwavering stubbornness when he did not want to do something, Manya was a miracle-worker when it came to getting what she wanted done. I remembered how she had cajoled our grouchy Church priest into playing the role of the Bishop for the New Year’s play a few years before.
I looked for Armen. He was arranging bottles of Pepsi and Canada Dry in the ice chest at the buffet table. I told him to go see Miss Manya backstage, and when I returned to my seat, Nina was sitting there, next to Artoush. She picked up her purse from the adjacent seat. ‘Here, I saved you a spot. Okay, so tell me what’s happening.’
I asked her, ‘Where’s Garnik?’
To which she swiftly replied, ‘He’s away in Ahvaz on business for a few days. Why isn’t anyone answering the Simonians’ phone?’
I looked around. Violette wasn’t there.
Nina pulled my sleeve. ‘Yoo hoo...! As I was saying, they don’t answer their phone. Violette’s whimpering like a whipped puppy. I tried everything to get her to come tonight, but she stayed at home, waiting for Emile to call.’
The spotlights lit up the stage and Nina, along with the rest of the crowd, had to be quiet. The curtain opened and Manya came to the microphone to welcome everyone. Watching Manya, I worried why the Simonians were not answering their phone. Maybe something serious had happened to them. Maybe they were really ill? I should have looked in on them. Why hadn’t they called us up themselves?
The welcome speech was over and everyone clapped. Vazgen Hairapetian came to the microphone and presented the annual school report. Why should the Simonians have called us? The chorus sang all the usual songs that were performed every year: ‘The Majestic Mountains of My Homeland,’ ‘Farewell Alma Mater,’ and a short aria from Anoush. Was I upset at my own foolishness, or at Emile and his mother? Armineh and Arsineh turned with the seasons, spring, fall, summer, winter, and recited the poem without any mistakes. I forgot to tell the school photographer to take their pictures! Why should I be upset with Emile? Or with his mother? One boy, as he came up to the microphone, tripped over the cable and almost fell over. The crowd, me included, first held its breath, and then burst out laughing when the little boy, from up there on the stage, turned to his mother and father and called out to them, ‘It wasn’t my fault!’ When he finished reciting his poem, he got the most applause of all.
A fifteen-minute intermission was announced and Nina started up again. ‘Violette was right. That lady midget was the one who fanned the flames of destruction. She was jealous. Of Violette – how pretty she is, how young, how Emile fell in love with her. What should we do now? You have to help. Go talk to his mother. You have to...’
I was about to shout, ‘Leave me out of it!’ when Artoush lifted me by the arm. ‘Come here, I need you to do something.’
We went to the buffet. Artoush bought a drink from a girl wearing one of the red usherette armbands and gave it to me. The drink was sweet, and it made me feel better.
The girl said, ‘Hello, Mrs. Ayvazian. Did you see Armen dressed as the Prince?’
I looked at her and remembered she had come to our house a couple of times with the twins. Armen called her Roubina, the rotund. I smiled. ‘How are you, Roubina?’
She closed her eyes and said, ‘He’s just like a real prince.’ Then she opened her eyes, blinked a few times and went over to help a man who had by now asked her twice, ‘Two mortadella sandwiches, please.’
I turned round to Artoush. ‘What did you need me for?’
He shook hands with one of the teachers and exchanged greetings. Then he told me, ‘Nothing. I just wanted to rescue you from Nina.’
Vazgen Hairapetian gave out the prizes to the star pupils. Armineh and Arsineh both got one and, together, ran up to us. Arsineh sat next to me and Armineh sat next to Artoush to show off their prizes. They received books – for Armineh, an Armenian translation of Gulliver’s Travels; for Arsineh, Little Lord Fauntleroy. Nina was fidgeting in her chair, hoping to talk more, but she did not get the chance. The lights in the schoolyard went dark, the curtain lifted and the play began.
Armen and the girl Manya had pointed out to me – she had mentioned her name, but I could not recall it – played the role of the Prince and Cinderella so well that they got three ovations and numerous bravos from the crowd. Armen, wearing black tights and a waistcoat lavishly adorned with gold brocade, strutted up and down the stage so convincingly that he looked as if he was in a real castle. When he bowed to Cinder
ella and they danced together, I marveled. ‘How did he learn to do that?’ Then I thought, ‘Is this my “poor little baby”?’ And then I wondered, ‘Where did all the years go?’
When the Chevy started up on the first try, Armen and the twins said, ‘Long live dear ole Chevy!’
Artoush gleefully announced, ‘Now we’ll have dinner at the Club to celebrate my girls coming top of their class and my son becoming a first-class actor.’ The kids said, ‘Goody, goody!’ We laughed along with them and I forgot I had promised Nina to drop in on the Simonians as soon as I got home.
From the school all the way to the Golestan Club the twins talked non-stop about the ceremonies and everything that had happened behind the scenes or in the dressing room. When they praised their brother’s acting, Armen said, ‘It wasn’t so hard.’
We got to the Club, and on our way through the door, Armineh turned to me. ‘Did you tell the photographer to take pictures of us?’
‘Lots and lots of pictures?’ asked Arsineh.
Mortified, I was fumbling for some way to explain when Artoush piped up, ‘I told him.’ He walked into the dining room, the twins holding his hands and jumping up and down on either side of him. For a few seconds I stood stock still, watching him from behind.
The dining hall was not crowded. We were sitting at our table reading the menu when a high-pitched voice cried out, ‘Good evening!’ The bow in Mrs. Nurollahi’s hair was light blue with tiny brown flowers.
Artoush stood up and offered her a chair. Mrs. Nurollahi asked, ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I? I saw you come in, and I thought I’d come over and say hello. I was on my way to see Mr. Saadat about the arrangements for next Friday’s talk.’
She stroked the twins’ hair and smiled at Armen. Artoush, out of politeness I imagine, asked about the topic of her talk. ‘The History of Women’s Rights,’ Mrs. Nurollahi answered, and looked at me. ‘You probably don’t have time, but I would be delighted and honored if you could come.’ With a final pat on the twins’ heads, she said goodbye and left.
As we ordered our food, Armineh asked, ‘Mommy, what does “women’s rights” mean?’
Arsineh repeated the question, ‘What are “women’s rights”?’
I handed the menu back to the waiter and told them, ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’
I looked over at Mrs. Nurollahi, who was by the door of the dining hall talking to Mr. Saadat. I remembered that I had a blouse and skirt of the same material as Mrs. Nurollahi’s dress. Artoush said something and the children laughed.
Armen asked, ‘Did you hear that, Mom?’
I said, ‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ and got up.
Mrs. Nurollahi was not at all surprised to see me again, in fact she almost seemed to expect it. When I asked her how I could help her with the work of their society, she looked at me and smiled. ‘There’s a lot you could do. We’ll talk about it on Friday.’
‘We’ll talk on Friday,’ I said and went back to our table.
As Artoush pulled up by our front gate to let us out of the car, the twins and I shot a glance across the street. Artoush parked the car in the garage and Armen collected the Four Seasons dresses from the trunk. The gate to G-4 was wide open.
Armineh asked softly, ‘Mom, can we look in on Emily tomorrow?’
Arsineh pleaded, ‘Please, please, let us look in on her?’
I ran my hands through their curly hair. ‘Sure, we will look in on them tomorrow.’
47
When I woke up, the sun’s rays were reflecting off the mirror on the vanity table. I remembered Artoush whispering in my ear as he left for work, ‘Sleep. The kids have no school today.’ I put my hands behind my head and watched the play of light and shadow in the mirror. The sparrows in the yard were chirping. ‘Today I got up later than you,’ I told them out loud, and laughed to myself.
Was it the chirping sparrows, the light show in the mirror, or the coolness of the room that made me feel so wonderful? Whatever it was, it was nice. I felt good. I threw off the sheets and got up.
I opened the wardrobe and looked through my clothes – the ones I usually wore at home, then the ones I hardly ever wore. I took out a flower-print spaghetti-strap dress I had worn only a couple of times, because Mother and Alice had told me, ‘It’s too revealing.’ I brushed my hair in front of the mirror and rubbed my hands together. There was no dryness or chapping.
I headed for the kitchen, repeating a couple of lines from the Cinderella play that Armen had delivered with such grand gestures and regal bearing, ‘Who is this vision of loveliness coming hither? Ahhh, the girl of my dreams!’ I laughed out loud and peeked into the girls’ room. Their beds were empty. I went to Armen’s room, and his bed was empty. On the kitchen table stood three half-empty glasses of milk. I cleared the glasses and just as I was wondering where they had disappeared to, the three of them turned up together.
Armineh said, ‘There’s no one in G-4!’
Arsineh said, ‘Neither Emily, nor her father, nor her grandmother!’
Armen said, ‘I think they have moved out.’
One of the glasses fell from my hands onto the tile floor. The twins shrieked, ‘Oh no!’ and jumped back.
Armen came to me, ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘You all be careful.’ I got the broom and dustpan from the corner. Where had they gone? Why had they gone? When?
The twins were jumping in one another’s sentences: ‘Emily must have been very sick, and they took her to the hospital in Tehran.’
‘But then where’s the furniture?’
‘Maybe the grandmother is sick.’
‘But then where’s the furniture?’
‘They must have moved out yesterday while we were gone.’
Armen picked up two shards of glass and tossed them in the garbage pail, telling the twins, ‘You two jabber too much. Out of the kitchen, before you cut yourselves.’
When Artoush came home that evening, he knew no more than this: Emile had resigned. No one knew why he had resigned or where he had gone.
We were eating dinner when the phone rang. Armen jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’ The twins looked at each other and smirked, and when I asked them, ‘What is it now?’ they both grew serious and replied in unison, ‘Nothing.’
Armen returned to the kitchen to say, ‘Aunt Nina for you.’
Nina did not sound like her usual happy self and her voice was not ringing. ‘What a disaster! Have you heard? The jerk just upped and left without a word and since then, Violette has been pacing round the house, crying and cursing and shaking her fist at heaven and earth. Thank God Garnik won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. But when he comes back, what then?! If this girl does something awful to herself, how will I answer her mother? I just don’t know what to do!’
I tried to calm her down and asked, ‘Were things really as serious as that?’ Immediately I regretted saying it. If things had not been that serious, Mrs. Simonian would not have just packed up and left town. Nina recounted in detail what Emile had said to Violette and what Violette had said to him. All the while I was wondering how many times the mother had moved by now because of her son. Would it always happen so suddenly? Maybe not. Had she done the right thing, or not? Maybe if Emile married Violette, things would not turn out all that bad. Or maybe they would. Still, she should not have intervened. But maybe she knew her son quite well and had no choice but to intervene? Nina’s voice freed me from the grip of all the shoulds and maybes.
‘Can Sophie stay with you for a few days? I have to go with Violette to Tehran.’
Of course Sophie could stay with us, I said. And if I could do anything else, she should let me know. Distracted, Nina thanked me and said goodbye. I put the receiver down.
As I hung up, Artoush and Armen were leaving the kitchen. Armen said, ‘Dear ole Chevy is sick again. We’re taking the doctor to look him over.’ He went with Artoush to the garage. I leaned on the telephone table, thinking of the
Simonians. How swiftly they had come, and how swiftly they were gone. Like the rain in Abadan – as soon as you notice it might be raining, the rain stops. It would be better if Mother and Alice did not get wind of this, I thought. I had no patience for Alice’s opinions on the matter, or Mother’s I-knew-from-the-very-beginnings. I heard the twins talking in the kitchen.
‘Do you remember how she told us to throw tomatoes at Mr. Zhora?’
‘Yeah. Good thing we didn’t listen to her.’
‘But she threw one! And she blamed it on one of the eighth graders.’
‘Yeah. And she pulled the chair out from under Roubina in the lunch room. Then she claimed, “I didn’t do it on purpose.” But she did do it on purpose, didn’t she?’
‘Yeah, she did it on purpose. She also poked that hole in the arm chair, didn’t she?’
‘Yeah. The reason she made friends with us in the first place was on account of Armen. And she didn’t even like Rapunzel one teeny bit.’
‘It’s terrible how she cut up Rapunzel’s red dress. Why did you let her?’
‘Because she said it wasn’t pretty.’
‘She cut up her own blouse, too, the white one with the puffy sleeves.’
‘She got us to taunt Marguerita in the school yard: “Marguerita, like a cheetah.” ’
‘That was not a nice thing we did.’
‘No, it was not a nice thing we did.’
48
The kids had gone to the pool with Sophie, and Armen was at a friend’s house. I was waiting for Mother and Alice, who had come back late the night before from Tehran.
The phone rang. I picked up the receiver and glanced at myself in the hall mirror. Was it my imagination, or had I put on some weight? I said, ‘Hello? Yes? Who is it?’ But there was no answer. I put down the receiver and opened the door for Mother and Alice. Mother kissed my cheek and Alice gave me a big hug.
