Moon at Nine

by Deborah Ellis

‘The book of Psalms,’ said Sadira. ‘I don’t know which one, but I believe you have made an error, Rabbi. I believe the correct version is, ‘Tears may linger at nightfall.’’

  ‘She is correct, Rabbi,’ said Haj Nadir. ‘The word is ‘linger.’’

  ‘I concede to the correction,’ the rabbi said with a smile and a slight bow of the head.

  Now it was Sadira’s turn.

  ‘Those whose sins have perished, whose doubts are destroyed, who are self restrained and are intent on the welfare of all other beings, these obtain God’s everlasting joy.’

  That one stumped both Haj Nadir and the Rabbi. Ahmad had the answer.

  ‘That is from the Bhagavad Gita,’ he said. ‘For a few years I was a refugee in India, before being a refugee in Pakistan and now a refugee in Iran. I studied the Hindu holy book, in my small way, of course.’

  ‘That is the only way to study holy books,’ the rabbi said. ‘We can spend a lifetime in study and still understand very little by the end of our days.’

  Then what’s the point? Farrin wanted to ask, but didn’t.

  ‘We do this study to bring us closer to the infinite goodness of God,’ Haj Nadir said, almost as if Farrin had spoken. ‘Ahmad, do you have a quote you would like to share with us?’

  Ahmad thought for a moment before he said, ‘‘Much silence and a good disposition, there are no two works better than these.’’

  ‘That’s from the Hadith,’ Farrin announced, surprised that she knew. Something from her religion classes at school had obviously stuck with her.

  Then it was her turn to come up with a quote and she mentally kicked herself for opening her mouth. The only quotes that came into her head were from The Night Stalker and Elvis Presley, and she didn’t think ‘You Ain’t Nothin’ But A Hound Dog’ would fit the mood of the afternoon.

  Finally, she had one. It was the verse from Proverbs that Principal Kobra was fond of quoting in front of her students.

  ‘‘Even a fool, if he holds his peace, is thought wise; keep your mouth shut and show your good sense.’’

  For a moment, the little room was quiet, and Farrin was suddenly afraid she had offended everyone. But then they laughed, and the rabbi guessed correctly that the quote came from the book of Proverbs.

  ‘Rabbi Sayyed and I have been playing this game since we were boys,’ Haj Nadir said. ‘We played it with our fathers, who played it when they were boys with their fathers, who played it when they were boys with their fathers.’

  ‘I hope this tradition can continue between our two families,’ Rabbi Sayyed said. ‘Your good sons have passed on. My children have gone to Israel. But your daughter is becoming a learned woman and a blessing upon you. She will find a way for the game to continue.’

  ‘Perhaps Farrin will take up the game, and it can continue, passed now from mother to daughter for generations to come.’

  Farrin helped gather up the tea things and take them out to the little kitchen, leaving the adults to talk. ‘Father is so much better today than he has been in a long time,’ Sadira said. ‘I think it is because he likes you, and it does him good to see me happy.’

  Sadira’s house was in the southern part of Tehran, a small section in a huge sprawl of tiny homes and apartment buildings. Ahmad had parked the car several blocks away. The streets around Sadira’s house were wide enough only for people, bicycles, and motorbikes.

  They washed up and chopped vegetables for the evening meal. The stove, like the house, was small – just two gas burners and no oven. There was no fridge, and the room’s only light came in through a small window.

  ‘You don’t have a light in here?’

  ‘The only electricity we use is in my room, so that I can have a proper light to study.’

  ‘You don’t use electricity in the rest of the house?’ Farrin had never heard of such a thing. ‘How do you have light at night?’ She guessed there was no television set, either.

  ‘We have kerosene lamps,’ Sadira said. ‘Up until this year, at night I would go out to the streetlight in the next block and study. There are several serious students in this block – girl students – and we would sit together. But then some neighborhood boys decided that they deserved our spot more than we did. So my father consented to an electric light in my room.’

  ‘You studied under a streetlight?’

  ‘In this area, it is not unusual. But the light is not good for reading. I would get headaches.’

  As Sadira prepared everything for supper, Farrin tried to copy her, but her own hands were clumsy and held the knife awkwardly. Farrin’s family had always had servants in the kitchen, so she never learned how to do even the simplest of things. It was fun, helping Sadira.

  They finished their work, then Sadira took Farrin to see her room, the only other room in the house.

  ‘My father sleeps and studies in the front room where we were,’ Sadira said. ‘This is where I study and sleep.’

  Sadira’s room looked much like the front room but with a bit more color. The floor cushions were encased in a delicate green-blue material that reminded Farrin of the color of a clear sky at sunrise. A small cupboard held Sadira’s belongings.

  ‘Can I show you something? It’s sort of a secret. Although you already sort of know about it from the first day I met you.’

  ‘Of course, you can tell me. I won’t say a word.’

  Sadira opened her cupboard door. Inside, the tidy shelves held folded clothes and well-arranged books. It made Farrin want to tidy her own room.

  Sadira lifted a santour out of the cupboard and put it on the floor. She opened the drawstring on a cloth bag and took out the little hammers used to strike the strings.

  ‘It was my mother’s, Sadira said. ‘She was an expert player. She taught me. When I play it now, it’s like she’s beside me. We lost almost everything when our house was bombed, but the santour was hardly damaged. Just here,’ she added, showing Farrin the corner that had some dents and scuff marks. ‘I know it’s not exactly allowed by the government, but my father thinks that rule will change. He likes it when I play, as long as I do it quietly, because it reminds him of happier days.

  ‘Will you play something for me?’

  ‘In a moment. I have to tell you that there’s more to my secret. Not even my father knows. I take Iranian classical music and I blend it with modern music, like rock and roll from the Turkish stations on the radio. Do you know the Rolling Stones?’

  The Rolling Stones was one of the bands her parents played at their parties. Farrin knew them quite well.

  ‘This is my version of ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want,’’ Sadira said. She began to play quietly. The combination of the beautiful Iranian notes and trills with the hard rock beat of the song was something Farrin had never heard before.

  ‘It’s wonderful!’ said Farrin. ‘You should do that on the radio. People would love it.’

  ‘People might love it, but the government would hate it. Maybe someday. My father says things are always changing, that we learn from history that nothing ever stays the same for very long.’

  ‘Now I’ll tell you a secret,’ Farrin said. ‘I’m writing a book. I’m planning on making it into a movie or a television show when it’s done. Maybe you could write the music for it.’

  ‘What sort of book?’

  ‘It’s about an Iranian girl who fights demons. Iranian demons, mostly – like ghouls and djinn – but also other demons, like vampires and things.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’ Farrin asked, a little disappointed that Sadira didn’t seem to get it. ‘Why would I write the book?’

  ‘No, why does the girl fight the demons?’ Sadira asked. ‘Does she want their power so that she can do evil things herself, or does she want to make the world a kinder place?’

  Farrin thought for a moment. She had never considered that question. She liked the idea of having lots of power, since she never felt as though she had any, but, then … what would she do wi
th the power once she had it? Making the world better might be fun, she decided.

  ‘She’s fighting to improve things,’ Farrin said. ‘She’s more like Rabia, the Head Girl, than Pargol.’

  ‘Could I do it with you?’ Sadira asked.

  ‘You want to write the story with me?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I have enough imagination. But I would like to fight demons with you. Could you put me in the book? Could the story be about two girls who fight demons?’

  Farrin’s mind was in a whirl. ‘We’ll make a club,’ she said, getting excited. This is what friends did in stories. They made clubs, like her mother and her tea-drinking, Shah-loving friends. Only Farrin and Sadira’s club would be fun and useful, not silly and pointless.

  ‘A demon-hunting club,’ Sadira agreed. ‘But no silly rules or officers. We’ll just look for demons wherever we go and deal with them on the spot.’

  ‘And not tell anyone,’ added Farrin. ‘We’ll be protecting the world and no one else will know about it. They’ll go on about their ordinary lives, completely unaware that they have just been saved from a horrible, eternal death by two beautiful young girls who are still in high school.’

  ‘And you will write down all our adventures in your book, but like a story, so that no one will know they are true. You could be like Dr. Watson writing about Sherlock Holmes.’

  Farrin was shocked. ‘You know about Sherlock Holmes? Your father allows you to read those books?’

  Sadira laughed. ‘My father is a cleric and a very holy man, so some people believe he thinks only about God. Well, of course he does do a lot of thinking about God. My mother once told me that he used to be stern and narrow-minded.’

  ‘What changed him?’

  ‘He was sent to prison by the Shah. He was held there all alone for a very long time. The secret police force would only take him out of his cell to torture him. He had to rely on his mind and his faith to see him through. That’s when he came to the conclusion that God gave us brains to be able to learn and think for ourselves. But he generally doesn’t notice what I read. When he was going through that sad time, I read anything I could find, just so I wouldn’t feel so lonely.’

  ‘You won’t be lonely ever again,’ Farrin said. ‘It’s a pact, then – we’re the Demon-hunting Girls of Iran!’

  Sadira grabbed hold of Farrin’s hands, squeezed them tightly, and then released them.

  It was over in a moment, but Farrin felt that her hands were now magical, full of electricity and special powers.

  They left Sadira’s room to finish preparing the evening meal. Farrin enjoyed cooking with her friend, and vowed to herself to learn more from their cook at home, so that Sadira would be impressed.

  As they worked and talked, Farrin overheard bits of the men’s conversation in the front room. The men were discussing the war in Afghanistan and the war with Iraq. She heard Ahmad’s voice contributing to the discussion, and she was glad he was not outside, sitting alone in the car.

  The rabbi left before the meal was ready. He had to go home to his own Sabbath dinner.

  After supper, Farrin and Sadira went with the others to the mosque and sat with the other women during the service. Ahmad was with the men.

  After the service, the girls waited outside for the men to finish talking and come to find them.

  ‘Look at that moon,’ Sadira said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a moon so bright.’

  ‘It’s shining right down on us like a spotlight,’ Farrin said.

  It was strange. She knew that the square outside the mosque was crowded with worshippers and the streets were full of noisy cars, but it felt like she and Sadira were all alone in Tehran.

  ‘It’s shining down on the two of us,’ Sadira said.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost nine o’clock,’ she added. ‘Let’s make another pact. Let’s look at the moon every night at nine, and that way, if we are not physically together, we will be together in spirit.’

  ‘The nine o’clock moon,’ Farrin agreed, holding still but wanting to swirl and dance all over the square. ‘Every night,’ she promised.

  Then the men appeared and broke the spell.

  ‘You look like you’ve had a good day,’ Ahmad said as he drove her home.

  Farrin watched Tehran go past her window.

  ‘The best,’ she said. ‘I had the best day.’

  She was answering Ahmad, but she was talking to Sadira.

  From her window she could see the moon, bright and full, shining down on Iran. Sadira can see the same moon, she thought. She checked her watch. It was just nine o’clock.

  The nine o’clock moon, she thought.

  Every night. Every night.

  EIGHT

  THE WHOLE SCHOOL was assembled in the gymnasium.

  They all stood. It was the only way that everyone could fit.

  An assembly of this sort would usually take place outside, but in the school yard it would not have been possible for the students to see the small television screen.

  Even in the gym with the lights dimmed, the screen was difficult to see. Farrin stood with her class in straight rows toward the back, sternly guarded by Pargol. Sadira was three rows behind her.

  The gym was hot. The school community had been assembled for a while, waiting for the Ayatollah Khomeini to speak. They waited in silence while the newscasters droned on and on, filling in airtime until the leader was ready.

  The juniors were starting to get restless when the Ayatollah finally appeared.

  ‘It is with a heart of bitterness that I announce an end to the war with Iraq,’ he said. ‘I would like to repeat this. The war with Iraq is now at an end.’

  There was silence in the gym. Principal Kobra turned the volume up on the television. This increased the sound of static as much as it increased the sound of Khomeini’s words.

  ‘Over one million of our Iranian brothers and sisters have died in this conflict. Millions more have been wounded, and millions have had to flee their homes,’ the Ayatollah added. ‘It was not a war we started. It was not a war we wanted. It was a war started by Saddam Hussein and backed by the United States of America. One million Iranians dead! So the end to this terrible war is not a time for celebration but for mourning.’

  The camera then zoomed in on the Iranian president’s face. ‘We will abide by the ceasefire completely.’

  The Speaker of the Iranian Parliament added, ‘There should be no violations on the front, and God forbid not one unauthorized bullet should be shot.’

  Then Ayatollah Khomeini reappeared.

  ‘The end of the war does not mean the Iranian revolution is without enemies. We know that there are forces inside our country that colluded with Saddam Hussein, that collude still with the Americans. They are betrayers of the revolution and all that Iran stands for. I would like now to speak directly to those enemies. If you thought you were safe because we were busy fighting for our lives against the imperialist lackeys who would bring crashing down everything we have built, know this – the revolution is stronger now, Iran is stronger now, and the Iranian people are stronger now than ever before. We will hunt down these enemies of the state, and we will deal with them in a way that will leave no doubt in the minds of everyone who is in control of Iran.’

  Farrin got a cold feeling as the speech went on. She tried to talk herself out of it. Surely Ayatollah Khomeini was talking about people who were plotting against him and the other leaders of the revolution – really plotting, not pouring tea for bored, privileged ladies like her mother did.

  But what if people like her mother were the sort of enemies the Ayatollah meant? Farrin didn’t think she could classify her mother as a good person; she did some charity work, but only when others were looking and only as little as she could get away with. But did that make her a bad person? Or just a frivolous one? And while it was not exactly good to be frivolous, surely it was not a crime, either. If the Ayatollah went around gathering up all the frivolous people in
Iran, surely the country would be more in prison than out of it. Not that Iran has many frivolous people, she thought quickly, in case someone was able to read her thoughts and say she was being critical. She only meant that her mother might like the Shah more than the Ayatollah, but was that really a danger to the nation? Around and around the thoughts went in Farrin’s head.

  When the Ayatollah stopped speaking and the screen went dark, Principal Kobra picked up where he left off, telling the students to be vigilant and to report to the authorities any suspicious activity. At that, Farrin had heard enough. The chill she felt changed to a stifling heat, and she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  From far away she could hear the students gasp and Pargol sneer at her to quit being so dramatic. Then she felt a cool cloth bathe her wrists and neck. She opened her eyes. Sadira was bending over her, and behind her a ring of faces laughed down at her.

  Pargol’s face was in the ring. But she wasn’t laughing.

  ‘How many brothers did you sacrifice for the war?’ Pargol asked. ‘Is your father still alive? Was your house bombed? No. Nothing happened to you. So get up. Shame on you for drawing such unseemly attention to yourself.’

  Sadira helped Farrin stand.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sadira asked.

  Farrin nodded.

  ‘Something is wrong,’ Sadira said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Not here,’ Farrin managed to whisper.

  They filed back to class, where their teacher dismissed them early. ‘Many of you will have graves to visit,’ the teacher said. ‘This is not time off to laugh and play in the streets. Remember what our Ayatollah said. This is a time of mourning. I trust that you will all conduct yourselves accordingly.’

  She glared right at Farrin. It was so unjust.

  Farrin took time to fill her book bag, hoping to find the chance to talk with Sadira without Pargol listening in. But Pargol did not cooperate. She sneered at both girls. Then, with a jerk of her head, Pargol motioned for Sadira to leave the classroom.

  Sadira glanced first at Farrin, who nodded that it was okay for Sadira to go ahead.