by Rose Fox
When they prepared for bed later that night after getting a bit better acquainted, she asked her hesitantly in Arabic:
“Where do you come from? I mean to ask how you got to us.”
Aisha smiled. She undressed slowly without answering. She got into bed and covered herself with a blanket, and Abigail presumed that she hadn‘t understood her question. In the morning, Aisha sat up in bed and spoke, answering the question Abigail had asked many hours earlier.
“I was born in the Zagros Mountains almost forty-one years ago.”
“Where are the Zagros Mountains?”
“In Iran,” she replied and stared ahead into space as if hallucinating. She paused for a moment and then continued talking as if to herself.
“We lived near a stream that was a tributary of the Tigris River,” Abigail was excited.
“Wow, how beautiful! I’ve always dreamed of living near a river, in the mountains. It must be wonderful, right?”
Aisha glanced at her sharply and didn‘t appear to share Abigail’s enthusiasm.
“I recall it was a very hard life. It was bitterly cold in winter,” she sighed,
“My brother died there, in the snow.”
“How? What happened to him?”
“We were holed up in the house for many days because of the winter. It was unusually cold that year. My mother sent my brother, Roshan, out to fetch food or make contact with someone down below in the villages but, he never returned.” She paused for a moment.
“They found him, frozen to death, in the snow and brought him home.”
Abigail was silent. She didn’t know what to say. After a moment, she wondered out loud:
“Where were your neighbors?”
“People live alone in the mountains. I don’t remember meeting any friends. We lived in isolation, and mother hated being alone. Now, I realize that was the reason she sent me to Hormuz, near our Gulf. And she married me off to Ali, just so that I wouldn’t live a hard life like hers in the mountains.”
Abigail compared Aisha’s life with her life in the desert encampment in the Negev.
“We had two sons.”
“How old are they?” Abigail inquired.
Instead of answering, Aisha got up and disappeared into the bathroom. Abigail regretted asking her because she understood that she had touched on a sensitive point. She heard water running and when Aisha returned she did not continue relating her story.
“Please pass me the blouse on the chair and my galabiya,” she requested and pointed to her dark-colored dress. She got dressed, and a few minutes later they left the apartment.
“We will spend our time together wherever you wish, Rania. You give the lead; I will observe you and you – me.”
They wandered around together in the streets, window-shopped and ate lunch at a restaurant. Abigail watched her new friend, saw her taste in clothes and watched how she walked in the street, how she ate and listened to the way she spoke. Aisha entered a store Abigail did not know of in one of the alleys and came out holding a large shopping bag.
“This is a black dress,” she announced and Abigail assumed she had purchased clothes for herself and didn’t ask any questions.
They returned to the apartment in the evening and once more, after undressing, Aisha sat down in her nightdress and took up her story from exactly where she had left off in the morning.
“My husband, Ali, was almost never at home and when our son turned ten, he took him away with him.”
It was clear to Abigail that it was painful for her to talk about it. And she raised her arm to stop her, but Aisha didn’t notice her gesture and continued talking, enhancing the story with words in Persian.
“From the day that Ali joined his father, his boyhood ended, he grew up and matured too quickly.”
Aisha draped a scarf around her head, covered her long silken hair and gathered it at the nape of her neck.
“It’s a hijab,” she explained, “I cannot be without it.”
Abigail stared at her and began wondering about her strange behavior, almost questioning her sanity. She wanted to ask her something to better understand her behavior and noticed that Aisha was staring at her.
“Aisha, what are your sons doing now? Where are they?”
Aisha continued talking without addressing Abigail’s questions.
“Razeh, the younger one, also joined Ali, his brother and the three of them would disappear from the house for hours.”
Aisha was not listening to anything now. Her gaze was distant as she stared out into space and fastened the scarf under her neck, straightened out the tassels that adorned its sides and continued her story.
“For almost three years the three of them went out each day and returned home late at night.”
“Where did they go?” Abigail asked.
Aisha absentmindedly loosened the scarf she had just finished tying and her face grew flushed.
Just then, Abigail’s ring squeezed her finger, and the color of the stone grew darker. A shudder ran down Aisha’s back, and she drew in her breath noisily and continued speaking.
“One night, I heard knocking on the door and I went down to open it. It was winter and the snowflakes falling outside covered the two figures standing at the entrance.”
She wiped the flow of tears from her black eyes with the edge of her hijab tied under her chin.
“They pushed me aside, dragged them out of their beds and led them to a vehicle parked outside.”
She burst out sobbing.
“Even now, I remember the smoke the car left in its trail.”
Abigail did not dare say a word or try and stop her, and also understood she wouldn’t be able to.
“I was left alone and cried endlessly. A week later they came to fetch me.”
Abigail put her arm on her shoulder and drew her close. For now, she did not try to stop her because she was curious to hear what had happened. Aisha wept quietly and sniffed.
“They brought me to a large square surrounded by the Basij Militia and our Revolutionary Guards. Many people gathered there.” She sighed and rocked back and forth as if in prayer.
“An hour later, a car arrived and they got out. They were tied together with their arms behind them.”
Abigail raised a hand to her lips, understanding that what was to follow was frightening.
“My sons, Ali, and Razeh looked at me. They saw me!” She was almost screaming,
“I’m sure of that and I did not cry – out of respect for them.”
“Did they kill them?! Why?” Abigail burst out and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“They accused them of treason and read out their sentence after finding them guilty of espionage… and I knew nothing.” She said in a rather loud voice.
“They let me go home, but I couldn’t.”
“So, where did you go?”
“I wandered aimlessly, to wherever the winds would lead me. I remember that I ate the fruit I picked from trees in people’s yards. I also recall that I reached the shores of the Caspian Sea.”
Suddenly she grew silent and turned to look at Abigail.
“You’re a good listener,” She said as she sniffed and laughed with tears in her eyes.
”Oh, Aisha.”
“I have never talked or told anyone about it.”
Abigail kept quiet. She was curious to know how Aisha came to be serving in the ‘Mossad’ or when people reached her on the shore of the Caspian Sea, but Aisha stopped telling the story. She took off the black galabiya and the expression of suffering, which had covered her face a minute earlier, disappeared. Once again, a warning sign entered Abigail’s mind whether the whole sad affair was just a cover story. She glanced at the stone in her ring and saw it had become almost transparent again, indicating a decrease in energy and, perhaps, the credibility of the story.
“They said that we would spend a few days together,” Aisha said, “You will learn my habits, see how I dress and how I behave,” she explaine
d but, it was hard for Abigail to shake off the story she had just heard.
Aisha switched off the light and Abigail continued lying awake, thinking about Aisha’s sad story. When she had almost fallen asleep, the light was turned on and Aisha, sat up, put her feet down on the floor and looked at Abigail.
“Are you awake? Haven’t you fallen asleep yet?” She whispered and, without waiting for a response, she crawled into Abigail’s bed, pushed her feet under the blanket and cuddled up to her.
“You’re shaking,” Abigail remarked.
“Yes.”
Abigail moved to make room for her but, she was reluctant and had reservations about her, which Aisha could sense.
“You are probably wondering how they rescued me, aren’t you. No, don’t answer me, I can tell.”
Abigail was silent.
“Of course they helped me,” she said and sat up in bed. “They supported me and did everything to make me want to continue living and they gave meaning to my life.”
“They? Who are they?” Abigail inquired.
Aisha got out of bed and went to sit on a chair.
“I heard of a small village in the Tatra Mountains on the border of Iran and Azerbaijan.” She stared at Abigail and hesitated whether to continue speaking.
“Although the village was in Azerbaijan, the people were different from the Azeris.”
“Azeris?”
“Yes, the native population of Azerbaijan. I knew that almost all the inhabitants of the village had been harmed or hurt by the regime’s soldiers, the Iranian Revolutionary Guards. There were many sick and wounded.”
Now, Abigail understood that, at last, she heard something in Aisha’s story that was verifiable, and she asked at once:
“How long did you live in that village? Tell me about it.”
It seemed that her memories of the place were good ones because this time she answered willingly.
“Oh, that village. I lived there for many days, a great many, and life there was good. I felt that they loved me. I have to tell you that the tragic stories they told me only served to strengthen me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, almost every evening I heard a story that made life worthwhile.”
Then, she lowered her voice,
“Swear that you will never tell anyone this story about the village.”
“I swear,” Abigail promised, crossing her heart with two fingers, as she whispered, ‘for now’ to qualify her oath.
“Good, I trust you,” Aisha accepted.
“There were some who were lame, some without legs and others who were just crazy. Some could not free themselves from the shock of the annihilation of their families or the horrors they had seen and remained confused and insane. In short, they were all broken in body and soul, all of them. Many died during the time I spent there.”
“Did many not survive?”
“Yes. There was a time when I was amazed how easily they died.”
Abigail tried to imagine how such a village conducted its daily life when the connection between the people, who dwelled there, was their disability and their difficulties.
“Where exactly is that village located and what is its name?”
“It has no name. You can reach it on a hidden trail on the left of a large lake. This lake is trapped in a hollow on the lower slopes of the Tatra Mountains. Rania, you have no idea how astonishing the lake is.”
“Ah, can you see the trail when you reach the lake?”
“No, it isn’t visible even when you stand on the highest part of it and look down.”
“And what if I want to go to that village?”
“If you intend to reach that village, forget about it. Those people don’t have the patience for regular people. They are likely to hurt you as soon as you arrive.”
“Is that so?! So, how did you get to them?”
“Because of another mother, who stood beside me at our children’s execution. She brought me to them.”
“Ah, I prefer to do without them,” Abigail laughed. She was disappointed but still didn’t believe her.
Aisha noticed the disappointment on Abigail’s face.
“Perhaps you should go there. Those people, they are all spies and terrorists, and they are the ones who made me one of them. If they accept you – it will only be to your advantage.”
Abigail shrugged. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with such suspicious people, who were so physically disabled and mentally distressed.
Aisha went back to bed and fell asleep in a few minutes. Abigail continued lying with her eyes open, thinking about the stories she had heard and wondering about the nameless village. She only fell asleep at dawn.
Aisha arose early in the morning, but Abigail had difficulty opening her eyes. She continued sleeping until Aisha called out her name. When she opened her eyes, she saw Aisha spreading out a black headscarf and waving it in front of her eyes.
“I bought this for you yesterday,” She announced. “Come sit on the bed.”
Abigail allowed Aisha to cover her face with the fabric and saw how she smiled.
“Get up, and put on your new dress, your galabiya.”
Abigail yawned noisily and dressed slowly in front of the mirror in the room. When she saw her reflection, she drew closer to the mirror as she screwed up her eyes at the sight of the figure in black.
“It looks good on you,” Aisha laughed.
“Really? How can you tell? It completely covers me from top to toe.”
“In my homeland, in Iran, women also wear a chador,” Aisha explained, “It’s a single garment that covers the whole head and body.”
“Chador?” Abigail repeated, her voice sounding muffled from behind the scarf.
“Yeah! Just what I need, right now.”
She twisted her body back and forth and checked out her appearance in the galabiya that completely covered her.
“Aisha, how does someone chase or flirt with a woman who looks like this?”
“But that’s the whole idea! What is there to understand here? They cover her purposely so that men won’t see what’s underneath the bulky galabiya. The custom is to do everything to hide us. Only the husband is permitted to woo her.”
“Ah, yes? That reminds me to ask you if women in your country are allowed to work outside the home.”
“Work outside? Of course not! A woman’s place is in the home. There are children and a husband to serve, you know that, right?”
“Ah, so it’s superfluous to ask if women work as waitresses, lawyers or salesladies.”
“Oh, Rania?”
On Tuesday, they went out with a list Aisha had prepared,
“Today we will make Khoresh Badmajan with chicken quarters for lunch,” She announced.
“What did you call it, Khorsh Baminjan with chicken?”
Aisha laughed.
“No, listen, repeat after me, Khoresh Badmajan.”
When they entered the supermarket, Aisha looked around and gave Abigail the list she had prepared.
“Let’s divide the work. I will go and select the chicken quarters, and you get the vegetables on this list, okay?”
Abigail wandered down the aisles of counters and collected eggplant, tomatoes, peppers, onions and garlic and Aisha returned with chickpeas, tomato paste, two bottles of oil and chicken soup powder. When she placed the purchases in the shopping cart, she was surprised to notice something.
“Did I forget to put hot green peppers on the list?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, I’ll bring some right away.”
They returned to the apartment a half an hour later and put the shopping bags down around them. They enjoyed the excitement of preparing the dish and Abigail helped Aisha but announced that on the following day, she would do the cooking and Aisha could assist her.
“That’s fine, no problem, only now, let’s concentrate on the food,” and Aisha added. “Peel the eggplants and cube them.” She brought a paper-lined baking pan c
loser. Abigail spread the cubed eggplant on it, sprinkled it with oil and put the pan into the preheated oven.
“What’s next?”
“Now it’s the turn of the onions and peppers. Cube the onions and I’ll slice the peppers, and we’ll fry all that in this frying pan. The oil in it is already hot.”
When the aroma of frying onion and peppers filled the kitchen, Aisha grated ripe tomatoes, added tomato paste to them and poured the mixture into the deep frying pan for five minutes more.
“Did we forget the garlic and the chickpeas?” Abigail asked.
“No, we haven’t forgotten anything. I will put the chicken legs in the pan on top of the chickpeas and the garlic, and you can add the spices.”
Abigail sprinkled the salt, black pepper, paprika, added the halved lemon and bay leaves while the water bubbled and boiled in the kettle.
“Ah, should I add water?” Abigail asked.
“Yes, but first pour water over the tea bags in the empty cups,” then added, “I hope there are four cups of boiling water left in the kettle for our dish.”
Abigail poured two cups of tea and then measured four cups of boiling water and poured them into the simmering pan.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Aisha exclaimed, “we have to add the eggplant cubes in the oven to the skillet.”
Just then, they heard knocking on the door and apprehension spread on Aisha’s face. It was one hard rap followed by three weaker ones, and then a key turned in the lock. Barak entered and called out:
“Wow, what a great smell! It’s torture to come here without being invited."
“What do you mean by uninvited? We’ve been waiting for you. Come and sit down and enjoy some genuine Persian cuisine.” Abigail exclaimed.
“So Abi…, Rania, are you already an expert in Persian cooking?
“Of course.”
“I am overjoyed, but wouldn‘t it be a pity not to let San try out a Persian meal?”
“San? With a name like that he should be eating Japanese food.” Aisha stated.
“Chinese food,” Barak quickly corrected her and called San.
“Come, San, you won’t believe what a great meal awaits us here,” and ten minutes later the four of them were sitting around the table.
