Moon at Nine

by Deborah Ellis

But the very best part of the day was that Sadira was sitting right next to Farrin in the backseat.

  Farrin had arranged it all the week before, getting permission from Sadira’s father and presenting the idea to her own father in a way that she knew he would not refuse.

  ‘Sadira wants to learn more about the traditional way of life,’ Farrin told him.

  ‘She is an interesting girl, this friend of yours,’ her father said. Although he built modern houses and his style of living was modern, he thought of himself as a traditional man. Watching her father meet Sadira’s father, when they stopped to pick her up on the way out of Tehran, Farrin was reminded of this again. Her own dad had seemed almost jealous as he looked around the spartan yet restful front room of Sadira’s house.

  ‘Have you been to Shiraz?’ she asked her friend, who had been silently watching the world go by through the car window.

  ‘When I was small, I think,’ Sadira said. ‘Not that I remember.’

  ‘You’ll like it,’ Farrin said. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Like you, she almost added.

  Sadira was beautiful, and they were going to have two whole days together without school getting in the way. They would visit Farrin’s family the first day, and the second would be spent in the gardens, shrines, and coffee shops of one of Iran’s oldest cities.

  ‘Are you girls all right back there?’

  Her father turned around in the passenger seat. ‘You’re so quiet, I thought you might have both jumped out the window!’

  Farrin was mortified by her father’s attempt at humor, but Sadira handled it with grace.

  ‘I’ve been marveling at how big Tehran has become,’ she said. ‘We learned in history class that it started as a village that grew pomegranates. Now it covers all this land!’

  ‘You like to study history?’ Farrin’s father asked Sadira. ‘Well, let me tell you a thing or two about Iranian history.’

  Her father launched into a monologue about how Tehran’s population grew in the thirteenth century, when prisoners escaped execution by the Mongols and ran away to settle in the area. Her father had not gone far in school, but he read a lot and he remembered what he read.

  ‘Before that, they lived in underground houses – very clever, our ancestors! Being under the ground protected them from the heat in summer and the cold in winter.’

  That got her father started on his ideas of new kinds of buildings that could be developed for Iran, a blend of traditional wisdom and new technology. ‘Iran could be a world leader in housing design,’ he said.

  Sadira sat through it all and even asked polite and appropriate questions.

  ‘And then there is the whole developing area of solar power,’ her father said.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Ahmad.

  They had turned from the highway onto a dirt track that became less of a road the farther they drove. The road ended at the bottom of a gently rounded hill. Ahmad parked the car beside an assortment of pickup trucks, motorbikes, and horse carts. Everyone got out.

  Loaded down with boxes and baskets of food and gifts, they were just a few steps up the hill when a child’s voice called out, ‘They’re here!’

  From that moment on, and for the rest of the afternoon, Farrin felt like she was whirling in happy chaos.

  Her father’s whole extended family was there – aunts, uncles, sisters of aunts, grandparents, spouses, and so many cousins that Farrin could not keep up with all the names.

  Everyone was happy to see her. Everyone welcomed Sadira as if she were part of the family.

  Sadira made herself right at home, sitting with the women, playing with the new babies, helping to prepare the food, and learning how to clean wool and spin it with a hand spindle.

  ‘Your friend has a glow about her,’ Farrin’s grandmother said. She and Farrin were sitting together in the shade of a tent flap. Her grandmother was showing her a new embroidery stitch. ‘She’ll make a good mother.’

  Farrin laughed. ‘We have to get through school first. Sadira came in first in the midterm scores.’

  ‘She’s a smart girl, then,’ her grandmother said.

  ‘Can I tell you a secret?’ Farrin asked. ‘I came in second.’

  ‘You did? That’s my girl!’ Her grandmother gave her a hug. ‘Why is that a secret?’

  ‘Mum doesn’t want me to draw attention to myself,’ Farrin said, ‘because of who her family is.’

  ‘Go ahead and be proud. If your mother was thinking clearly, she would be proud of you too.’

  They all sat together for the evening meal on rugs spread out on the ground. The women sat on one side, and the men sat on the other.

  Farrin sat beside Sadira on a rug made by her great-great-grandmother. The night sky was right above them. The good Iranian ground was below them. They ate bread baked on hot stones and stew with goat meat and chickpeas. The air was full of laughter, storytelling, and music. Sadira played a tune on a santour the family provided. Everyone seemed to like her.

  When there was a break in the music, Farrin’s father turned to her grandfather and asked, ‘Is it getting easier for you? Are you being left alone?’

  ‘It was bad under the Shah, and it is bad under the new government,’ her grandfather said. ‘I try to ignore all that. I have enough trouble with my goats and my sheep.’

  ‘I ask you this every year,’ her father said, ‘and I’m asking you again. Come and live with us. We have plenty of room. Or let me build you a house.’

  Farrin heard this exchange every year. She knew her grandfather would decline her father’s offer. ‘There are more important things than comfort,’ he would say. ‘There are more important things than safety.’

  She didn’t need to hear it again. She motioned to Sadira to follow her away from the crowd.

  ‘Don’t go too far, girls,’ her grandmother said. ‘There are sometimes wolves in these hills.’

  They stayed within sight of the family but went far enough away to have some privacy.

  ‘I like your family,’ Sadira said.

  ‘They like you too,’ said Farrin.

  The moon rose over the trees. It was full and round. Its rays stroked Sadira’s face, making it glow. The sight took Farrin’s breath away.

  Behind them, the family started up another song. The drums beat out something soft and ancient. The flute caught the breeze and the notes drifted close, then the wind shifted and the melody floated away again.

  On top of the little hill, Farrin could see across into the valleys, where tiny villages and nomad camps sparkled with lanterns and cook fires.

  She and Sadira were at the top of the world. They were floating above the smallness and fear and hatred and ugliness. There was no one around to put them down or hurt them or hold them back. There was just the world, the moon, and each other.

  Farrin did not know what made her do it. There was no thought in her head of it before it happened. Her body moved without letting her mind know what it was doing.

  She turned slightly toward Sadira. Sadira had already turned slightly toward her. Their heads moved close together, and, for the softest, slightest, most heavenly of moments, their lips touched in a kiss.

  Then they just sat and watched the moon move across the sky. They did not speak. The moon spoke for them.

  ELEVEN

  SOUNDS OF THE morning filtered into the tent.

  They were cheerful sounds – of children playing and others doing light work. The scents of wood smoke mingled with the scents of the animal skins that made up the tent and the musty smell of the old wool blanket wrapped around Farrin. She kept her eyes closed for a while longer, wanting to stretch out this moment.

  Farrin always slept well when she visited her grandparents. Maybe it was the fresh air. Maybe it was the novelty of sharing her sleeping space with a bunch of other women and children, all cozy on rugs and mats.

  Slowly, Farrin started to wake up. She could feel someone close beside her and she knew it was Sadira. Everyone else had alread
y left the tent. She buried her face in Sadira’s hair, breathing in the slight scent of jasmine. Her arms were around Sadira, and Sadira’s arms were around her.

  There was no better place in the world.

  ‘You two had better hurry before all the food is – ’

  Farrin’s grandmother stood over Farrin and Sadira, looking down at the way they were together.

  The look on her grandmother’s face made them pull apart.

  ‘Good morning, Grandmother,’ Farrin said, trying to sound like she normally would. ‘Did you have a good sleep?’

  She kept her hand in Sadira’s. She didn’t think to move it.

  Her grandmother closed the tent flap and came close to them so that she could speak quietly.

  ‘I have been told that your mother is dead,’ she said to Sadira. To Farrin, she said, ‘And your mother is …’ There was no need to finish that sentence. ‘So perhaps no one has spoken to you about such things.’

  ‘What things, Grandmother?’

  ‘You two are friends. Fine. That is a good thing. But make sure your friendship is just a friendship. Don’t make it into something unnatural, something ugly. You should not hold onto each other like that. No man will want to marry you if you act like that with another girl. Don’t do it! Your future will be crushed! This time, fine, you didn’t know. There should not be another time. That is my message to you. Now you have heard it, there is no more need to talk about it.’ She headed out of the tent, saying over her shoulder, ‘Breakfast is ready.’

  She left them alone.

  ‘I guess we’d better get up,’ Farrin said.

  They got up from the mats and began to fold their blankets.

  ‘She looked mad,’ Sadira said. ‘I’m sorry about that. I don’t want your grandmother to be mad at you.’

  They folded the rest of the blankets in silence, and tidied up the other beds.

  Just before they left the tent, Farrin turned to Sadira and said, ‘I’m not sorry.’

  They smiled at each other and went out into the day.

  When they joined the others, all was the same as it was the night before. Farrin’s father was in a great mood, women were busy with little tasks, and the men were already settled into smoking and talking.

  Farrin and Sadira joined different groups of women doing different things. Sadira sat with the women milking goats, getting a lesson. Farrin helped the women chopping vegetables.

  She looked up from her pile of onions to see her grandmother and father deep in conversation away from the others. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she watched her dad gesture with his arms and his mother gesture back. When they both turned to look at her, she quickly glanced away.

  Soon after, they all got back in the car and drove away.

  Inside the car, the quiet seemed uneasy. The girls looked at each other across the backseat, but neither felt like talking.

  This whole trip is going to be ruined, Farrin thought. She had to ask.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  After a long silence her father sighed and said, ‘No. Your grandmother is mad at me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She wanted me to agree to a marriage for you with a cousin’s son. I refused. So she’s mad.’

  ‘She found a husband for me?’

  ‘She said it was my duty as your father to get you locked into a marriage, and if I wasn’t going to do it, then she would. I told her no. So, she’s angry. But that’s better than the alternative.’

  ‘Which boy was it? Was he creepy?’

  ‘The boy seemed fine,’ her father said. ‘Serious, hard-working. I had nothing against the boy. No, it’s better to have my mother angry at me than your mother angry at me. Can you imagine your mother’s reaction if I arranged a marriage for you without her input – and to someone from my side of the family? No. I see my mother once a year, twice at most. I can live with her anger. But your mother is hard enough to live with as it is.’

  Relieved, Farrin grinned at Sadira.

  Her father laughed. ‘We are on a holiday, are we not? So, let’s have a good time. Ahmad, my good man, see if you can find anything worth listening to on the radio.’

  Ahmad picked up a Turkish music station and cranked up the volume. They sped off down the highway, and it was a holiday once again.

  When they arrived in Shiraz, Ahmad parked the car near Azadi Park.

  ‘I have business to attend to,’ her father said. ‘Ahmad will come with me. Can I trust the two of you to enjoy yourselves and be back here by two o’clock? It’s a long drive back to Tehran.’

  ‘I know my way around,’ Farrin reminded him. ‘We’ll stay in the center of the city.’

  He pointed to a statue surrounded by flower gardens and benches. ‘We will meet back at those benches,’ he said. He handed Farrin some money. ‘Have a nice lunch and a good time.’

  The girls climbed out of the car and watched the men drive off.

  ‘We’re free,’ Farrin said. ‘We’re on our own in a strange city, and we have money to spend – we can do anything!’ She took hold of Sadira’s hand and they headed across the Esfahan Gate Bridge and into the old city.

  Shiraz was beautiful, just as Farrin remembered it. The gardens were in bloom, the coffee houses were crowded with people enjoying the day, and the shops were full of books and clothes and pretty things to look at.

  There was too much to see to waste time sitting in a restaurant for lunch, so they bought snacks from the street vendors and ate while they walked. They topped it off with saffron ice-cream cones, then headed to the Tomb of Hafez.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m really here,’ Sadira said. ‘I’ve been reading his poems ever since I first learned to read. And now I’m here.’

  Pools and gardens surrounded the carved marble pavilion. Underneath the archway, a large book was open on a pedestal. One by one, visitors to the shrine went up to the book, closed it and opened it again at random. They bent down closely to read what it said.

  ‘Shall we do the faal-e Hafez?’ Farrin suggested. ‘I’ve always wanted to, but the other times I was here it never seemed right.’

  They got into the line of people waiting to learn their future.

  There was an old belief that, if you opened a volume of Hafez at random, particularly at his shrine, closed your eyes, and put your finger down on a page, the words would reveal what the future held.

  The girls watched the others ahead of them, reading and reacting to the words. Some seemed happy, others confused. One woman appeared quite upset by what she read, and scuttled away.

  When it came to their turn, Sadira suggested, ‘Let’s do it together. I want to be your friend always, so let’s see what the future holds for us both.’

  They closed the heavy volume. Then, with both hands on the book, they opened it. Eyes closed, hands clasped, fingers pointed, they plunged their hands together into the text of the great poet.

  ‘You read it,’ Sadira said.

  Farrin bent down to see the words better.

  ‘No death invades a heart that comes alive in love:

  Our immortality is etched in the book of life.’

  She straightened up again.

  ‘Those are the most beautiful words I have ever read,’ she said.

  They didn’t talk much after that. They wandered into the garden behind the shrine and sat surrounded by flowers and birds, by people reading on benches, and by families having picnics in the grass. The day was calm and peaceful.

  ‘The rest of our lives could be like this,’ Farrin said. ‘We could be together and work hard and then, whenever we get the chance, sit on a bench in a garden and just be quiet.’

  ‘That would be the best life,’ Sadira said. ‘We don’t have to marry. We will qualify for places at a university, and then we will be professionals, earning our own money. We won’t be bothering anyone. It will be a very lucky life.’

  They stayed in the garden as long as they could, then had to hurry b
ack to the park to meet Farrin’s father.

  Ahmad and her father were waiting for them. ‘We finished our meeting early. Don’t worry – you are not late. Did you have a good time?’

  Back in the car, they headed out of Shiraz. Traffic was heavy, and they moved quite slowly.

  ‘Take the next turn,’ her father told Ahmad. ‘We’ll go through the village and pick up the highway north of here. Maybe this traffic jam will have cleared up by then.’

  They turned off the highway. The golden rocks and sand were broken up here and there with small nomad camps and shepherds with their flocks of sheep. Small market stalls along the road turned into small homes, then into slightly bigger homes as they neared the village.

  Ahmad turned a corner, and then they saw the crowd.

  ‘Turn around,’ Farrin’s father said. ‘I don’t know what this is, and I don’t want to know.’

  Ahmad tried to make a three-point turn on the narrow country roadway, but the car behind him would not give him enough room. An oncoming car boxed them in so that their vehicle was stuck in the road sideways, with no room to go anywhere.

  Farrin’s father left the car to direct traffic, but it was no use. Speeding up the side of the road came one of the white trucks belonging to the Revolutionary Guard. The guardsmen jumped off the back of the truck and started ordering people out of their cars. One of them pointed his rifle right at Farrin’s face through the window.

  ‘Girls, get out of the car and stand with your father,’ Ahmad said. ‘Do what the soldiers tell you. Move easy, now. Nothing sudden.’

  Both girls got out Farrin’s side of the car. They joined the others who were hustled along the side of the road and into the village. Farrin’s father put a protective arm around both girls.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Farrin asked him.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ her father said. ‘Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. They haven’t told us that we’re under arrest, so let’s just do what they say and keep calm.’

  The Revolutionary Guard marched everyone to the village square. Farrin’s father guided the girls to a spot in the crowd where they could stand behind taller people and not be seen. Farrin checked her head covering to be sure no hair was showing, although the guards appeared to be focused on something else.