Veil of Roses

by Laura Fitzgerald

  I look into her confident eyes. What did they do to you? Did they rape you? Humiliate you? Force you to renounce your beliefs? You must have wondered if what had happened was even real or if you were going crazy. So soon back from America, you must have lain on a mattress in a sunless prison cell, with cockroaches crawling through your hair, and you could still smell the salt of the ocean, couldn’t you? You could still remember the breeze in your long black hair. You must still have remembered what it was like to watch your two daughters run open-armed into the waves. Did you remember lifting me up that day, Maman? Did I get knocked down by a wave and become afraid? Did you yank me out of the water and tuck me into you, into the person I knew best, the person with whom I always felt most safe? Did you think of that day at the beach, Maman Joon, when you were locked in that prison cell?

  Yes, my mother made a choice. And yes, it completely altered the course of her life in a horrible way. Once upon a time, the world was hers for the taking; the proof is in this photograph. And she would have wanted that for me and for Maryam. If she had any inkling of what was to come, I know with all my heart that she would not have made the choice she did.

  I forgive her. Unlike Maryam, I forgive our mother.

  I raise the picture to my lips and I gently kiss the image of my mother. Ardishir is right. I must keep this precious photograph forever. It is uniquely important to me.

  But the others—well, I know just the person to give them to.

  “Will you do me a favor?” I ask Ardishir.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  I reach into my suitcase and pull out an envelope that contains all my negatives. I hand them over.

  “I have a friend named Ike,” I tell him in a raspy voice. “And after I’m gone, I’d like you to give these to him. Maryam will know where to find him.”

  Ardishir nods at me. His eyes are wise and sad. Clearly, he has heard about Ike.

  “He’s opening a coffee shop soon, my friend is, and he told me once…that he’d display my work…and I thought maybe…”

  I cannot go on. I collapse into Ardishir and sob. “Oh, Ardishir, I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

  It is early the next morning. Maryam has broken the news to my parents. Ardishir has booked my return flight to Iran. And, with their kind urging that I should collect some last-minute memories, I find myself with my classmates in a rented minivan on the way to Lake Havasu City.

  It is a long seven-hour ride. Edgard, our driver, pushes the button on the van’s CD player to play Woody Guthrie’s track number four, “This Land Is Your Land.” It is fun the first time, and we sing along the second and third times as well, but after that we groan in protest and he ignores us and plays it perhaps literally one hundred times. Agata and Josef bicker. And Eva tells me every dirty joke she knows and explains each to me in excruciating detail.

  But once we arrive, the fun begins. We park the minivan near the London Bridge and have a Strongbow cider beer in one of the English pubs in the fake-London tourist village. I look forward to telling my girlfriends in Iran that I not only visited America but a little bit of England, too. A replica, anyway.

  Josef has rented for us a thirty-six-foot houseboat that comes with its own captain. It’s amazing. Here we are in the middle of the Mohave Desert and there is this huge blue-green lake nestled in the canyons. It’s a man-made lake, and I think this says so much about the American spirit. Give them a desert, they turn it into a lake.

  We tour the boat, touching everything. None of us has experienced such luxury before—there is even a Jacuzzi on deck! This boat has three stories and three bedrooms and is bigger than my home in Iran. Josef points out all the amenities, but he doesn’t need to worry about me overlooking anything. I have left Ardishir’s camera at home, but I tuck everything into my heart, to draw on later. I know this trip will be over all too soon.

  After we inspect the houseboat, we head upstairs to the sunshine. We line up side by side at the front of the boat as the captain takes our picture before setting off to find us a private cove to anchor for the evening. I smile at Eva beside me. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun. I fill my lungs with this fresh air and I luxuriate in the moment. I reach for Eva’s hand and she squeezes mine.

  “Come on,” she announces to everyone. “Let’s drink some more beer.” We pass the afternoon playing blackjack and throwing fishing lines into the water. Edgard and Josef catch three fish each, which the captain agrees to grill for our dinner. The others change into their bathing suits and go swimming off the side of the boat once we arrive at our private cove. I do not join them, for I don’t know how to float. At least, I don’t think I do. I may have learned as a child in America, but I would have forgotten as a girl in Iran. And so I cling to the side and shout encouragement to my friends. The sunlight glistens on the waves.

  When they tire of swimming, Agata and Josef disappear for a period of time. They come back up to the deck wearing thick terry-cloth robes. Later, Edgard and Carrie disappear for a time.

  “They’re going to have sex, you know,” Eva leans over in her deck chair to inform me.

  She is so predictable. “Good for them, Eva.”

  “Hey, let’s have our next beer in the hot tub,” she suggests. “It’s getting chilly up here.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Have you ever taken a hot tub before?”

  I laugh. “You know I haven’t.”

  “Then come on. You’ve got a lot of firsts and lasts yet to do before you go back.”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  “I brought an extra suit for you.”

  We descend to the bedroom we are sharing. She ruffles through her bag and tosses me a swimsuit.

  “Here, it’ll match your cowboy hat.”

  I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. It’s a pink bikini.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I stare at her in wonder. “Did I tell you about my mother? About how she wore a pink bikini like this when she lived in America?”

  Eva shakes her head slowly, realizing that for some reason, this is a big deal for me.

  “Eva, my mother wore a pink bikini!”

  “And…?” She looks at me like, Yeah, so what?

  “I should have married Masoud,” I say miserably, and sink onto my bed.

  Eva shakes her head in disagreement. “He’s an asshole. You did the right thing. I’m just sorry I even got involved. If it wasn’t for me running that stupid personals ad, you’d be married to Haroun by now.”

  I have to laugh. “Who would have thought Haroun would turn out to be the keeper?”

  We share a laugh at his expense. But it is short-lived. I pick up Eva’s pink bikini and smooth it out on my leg. It’s tiny. Tinier even than the underwear I have on.

  “You know why I quit teaching in Iran?”

  Eva shakes her head.

  Tears well just thinking about it. “I couldn’t do those ceremonies anymore. I got sick for days every time I had to help a girl get ready.”

  “What ceremonies?”

  “When a girl turns nine, our school officials hold a ceremony for her. It was my job to prepare her. I had to dress these girls in a white hejab that covered their whole bodies.”

  Eva swigs her beer. “There’s nothing to cover at the age of nine!”

  “I was to tell them to listen carefully to the religious men who would speak to them in the ceremony, who would tell them that from this day on, they cannot run about freely. They cannot laugh too loudly; they are not allowed to play with boys anymore except for their brothers. They must cover themselves anytime they go out in public, anytime they will be around men.”

  My voice drops to a whisper. “I hated it. Every time I wrapped those white hejab around them, I felt like I was smothering whatever it was that was special about them, whatever hopes and dreams they had.”

  “Maybe you were just telling them to tuck their dreams away somewhere safe, for when the day came tha
t they could live the life they choose.”

  I hand the pink bikini back to Eva. There is no way I can wear it.

  “That day will never come,” I say bitterly. “Not for them and not for me.”

  The next day, Agata and Josef announce they want to leave Lake Havasu City and make the two-hour drive to Las Vegas and get married, with us as their witnesses. They tell us they have already booked our hotel rooms at The Venetian.

  “Now-a you can tell-a everyone zat you visited America, England, and Italy!” Agata tells me, as if she were doing this all for me.

  “I have to get back,” I tell her regretfully. Las Vegas is in the other direction from Tucson.

  “We can get back tomorrow, can’t we?” Edgard asks hopefully. He turns to me with a pleading look. “I’ve been wanting to go to Las Vegas ever since I got to America, Tami.”

  “Let me ask my sister.”

  “Don’t ask her,” Eva instructs. “Just call her once we’re there.”

  I really want to go. I really want to see Las Vegas, the City of Sin, with Eva, who has tried so hard to corrupt me.

  “Maryam’s working today,” I tell her. “Maybe I could leave a message for her at home.”

  Eva grins. “Maybe you could.”

  I tell Maryam in the message that there has been a slight change of plans, and I am sorry but I am going with my friends to The Venetian in Las Vegas and I will not be home until Wednesday night. I hang up the phone and smile broadly at Eva.

  She winks at me.

  And off we go.

  For all of us, this is our first time in Las Vegas. I am sure we look like the new-to-America tourists that we are. Collectively, we view the extravagance of Las Vegas with a mix of delight and disgust. Agata informs us that the energy required to run the Dancing Fountains at Bellagio for one hour could feed a family of six in Poland for a month. Edgard tells us that the tips collected in one hour by a gondolier at The Venetian could vaccinate an entire village in Peru.

  I walk arm in arm with Eva. The minutes are ticking by. I feel an intense need to keep her close, to touch her and bask in her laughter. I am certain I will never meet anyone like Eva ever again.

  Ahead of us walk Josef and Agata, also arm in arm. Suddenly they stop and Agata points to a wedding chapel up the block.

  “Zis ees eet!” Agata declares.

  Danny wrinkles his nose. “An Elvis Presley wedding?”

  “Love me tender, love me sweet,” Josef croons to Agata. He sings very off-key.

  They take each other for a-better and-a zee worse, in seeckness and in-a zee health, for as long as zee both-a shall live. We clap as Elvis pronounces them husband and wife and we cheer as they kiss and walk down the little aisle out of the chapel to the tune of “Burning Love.” A hunk, a hunk of burning love.

  While they are off consummating their marriage in the next room over, the four of us break out the champagne and hold our own little party while we wait for them to join us for a celebration dinner.

  Eva knows how to keep a party fun. She turns on the country-music video channel and teaches me some more line dancing. Edgard and Carrie practice their two-step. The four of us have great fun toppling into one another often as we try to dance between the beds and the television. I relish the unrestrained laughter of my friends, and I want very much to keep it going, to hold this day in my heart forever.

  So when Eva urges Carrie and me to learn her new pole-dancing moves, for once I am willing. For once, I will not be the spoilsport. We have no poles, of course, so we only pretend we do. Feeling fuzzy from my drinks, I tip to the side three times in a row as I try the bend-and-thrust and fall against Carrie each time. Finally, she and I fall to the floor, howling in laughter while Eva pole dances by herself. Edgard sits on a chair at the desk and covers his eyes in mock horror.

  I am in the middle of a gulp of champagne when there is a knock on the door. Eva slinks her way over, dancing suggestively the whole way. As she opens the door, she yells, “I hope you did a pole dance for your new husband, or you’re going to have to do it right here, right now, in front of all of us.”

  The rest of us laugh at her. But then I see her laughter turn to confusion, and when I look past her, I see the reason why.

  It is not Agata and Josef who are at the door.

  It is Ike.

  Finally, finally, there is a knock at the door and it is Ike.

  It is Ike, and I have been drinking, which causes me to think that nonsensical things make perfect sense. That is the only reason I can imagine why it suddenly seems smart to throw my champagne glass at the table five feet away, to dive across the bed and to roll off it onto the floor by the window and try to hide from him.

  This might have worked if it was pitch black in the room and if he hadn’t already seen me. But it’s not and he has and so this is a really stupid thing to do.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” He stands in the narrow aisle between the bed and the window, looking down at me in disbelief.

  “A clever trick?” I offer.

  He shakes his head and smiles at me.

  “I’m going back to Iran on Thursday,” I tell him.

  “So I heard.” His eyes are burning blue.

  “This is my going-away party. We were pole dancing. Right, Eva?” I pop my head up so I can see over the bed, and find everyone looking at me like I’m crazy.

  “Focus, Tami,” Eva orders me. “Ike came all this way to see you. Maybe he has something to say.”

  “Oh!” I exclaim, and turn to him. “Did you come here to see me?”

  “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  I consider this. “I might be.” I think a little longer. “Yes,” I decide. “I’m almost certain that I am. Would you like a drink, Ike?”

  “Oh, my God.” He laughs. “You’re trashed.”

  “I am not trash!” I say indignantly.

  “You have no tolerance.”

  “I am very tolerant!”

  He turns to Eva. “How much did she drink?”

  Eva shrugs. “Not much. We only had two bottles between the four of us, and the second one’s still half full. She’s just a lightweight.”

  Ike looks back to me with an amused expression. He holds out his hand. “Up you go, Drunk Girl.”

  I reach for him and yank playfully, just hard enough that he loses his balance and falls on top of me. We are wedged into a very tight space and I have never had a man on top of me like this and all I can do is laugh and laugh. Ike pushes himself up so he can look at me. His face is inches from mine.

  “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he asks.

  I giggle. “You have big nostrils.”

  “Jesus Christ.” He springs back up and crosses to the other side of the room. All of a sudden, the strangeness of the situation hits me and I try to shake the fuzziness from my brain.

  I get up from the floor, stand up straight, and smooth my skirt and sweater. I look at Ike and the others while I pat down my hair. Everyone looks so serious.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally ask him.

  He tilts his head and looks at Eva. Eva’s eyes twinkle back at him.

  “Eva, did you arrange this?”

  She shakes her head, not taking her eyes off Ike.

  Ike turns to me. “Maryam came to see me at Starbucks.”

  My heartbeat quickens to the point that I feel I might pass out. I am instantly sober.

  Ike motions me over with his pointing finger. “Come here, Persian Girl.”

  I shake my head and look at the others. Carrie sits on Edgard’s lap. Eva leans against the dresser with her arms crossed. She makes big eyes at me and gestures with her head toward Ike. Get over there, she is telling me.

  I swallow hard and reluctantly start over to him. He meets me halfway, takes my hand, and leads me to the bed. We sit side by side, our legs touching. It is all so very awkward. He holds my hand tightly, like he never wants to let me go.

  All I
can do is fight back tears as I imagine what Maryam must have told him and how mad it must have made him to learn I lied to him the entire time.

  But he’s here. He can’t be too mad. This thought alone keeps me from crying in shame.

  After a long moment, he exhales loudly. His face is so pale, his eyes so frightened. This is a look I have never seen from him before.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on,” I say quietly.

  He nods and takes a deep breath. Then he shifts on the bed so he faces me directly. It is like the others are no longer there. His eyes search mine, searching for I don’t know what.

  “You should have told me,” he chokes out.

  “I didn’t know how.” I swallow hard.

  His eyes moisten. “This last week has been the worst week of my life.”

  “Mine, too,” I whisper.

  Ike reaches his hand to my chin and pinches it lightly. “Tami, don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

  My heart lurches.

  We are interrupted by a knock at the door. Eva rushes to get it and shushes Agata, who bursts into the room with Josef, ready to go for the dinner party we have planned. Agata’s eyes fall on Ike.

  “Oh,” she murmurs, and pulls Josef against the wall so Ike and I can continue.

  “That’s Agata and Josef,” I inform Ike. “They just got married.”

  “Congratulations,” he tells them curtly, and turns back to me. “So let’s talk about us.”

  I gulp a huge breath of air. Ike grips my hand and shakes his head. “I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you, Tami. I know we haven’t known each other long, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I love you. Totally and completely, I love you.”

  Tears fill my eyes. He reaches for both my hands, and holds them so gently. He strokes his thumb across the back of my hand just like my father did when I was a child.