"I was sure we'd lost her," she went on. "Who knew she'd pull through?" Shireen's mother sounded so cold that for a second I had a feeling she would have preferred losing her. "That's human nature for you. Tough as a rock and able to tolerate just about anything." She shook her head. "I bet by now she has adapted to their grisly ways."
She took a tiny cucumber from the fruit bowl, peeled and cut it in sections before putting it on my plate. That used to be Shireen's favorite snack.
"She teaches, you know," Mrs. Payan said.
"Who?"
"You mean, whom does she teach? Other inmates, young prostitutes, whoever's willing to learn. She says it helps her days go by."
That description matched the Shireen I knew, arisen from the ashes of her loved ones, having lost all, yet willing to share what was left. No one but my Shireen would even think of using her empty days to edify a young prostitute.
Mrs. Payan's hospitality went beyond tradition. While she offered me food I received a tender message of affection in the movement of her hands. Each time Shireen's name was mentioned, she'd find something else to offer. I wondered if it was me she fed, or if those loving morsels were in fact meant for her daughter. What went through a mother's mind if her children were never to fill her home again? Would her arms remember the embrace?
How ironic that the more Mrs. Payan tried to reassure me, the more troubled I became. I was not Shireen, never was, and never would be. This country had made a doctor out of me, someone to save lives, but I had yet to touch a life, let alone save one. Some friend I was, sitting on the sideline and watching such a unique soul waste away.
"How much is her bail?" I asked.
"Oh, we have a better word than 'bail' now," Shireen's father responded with bitter sarcasm. "It seems they prefer the term 're-purchasing time' nowadays."
"How much?"
"Who cares, my dear? As they say, 'when you're drowned, the depth of water makes no difference!'"
I did not laugh at his anecdote, and continued to stare at him.
"Fifty-thousand tumans," Mrs. Payan answered for him. "More than our house is worth. Payan is set on selling everything, even these rugs." She motioned to the Persian rug under our feet.
A new thought flashed in my mind, though I wasn't sure how practical it might be. I put the glass of tea down. "I'd love to stay, but I can't." I got up to leave.
"You've only just arrived," Mrs. Payan said, disappointed. "Can't you stay a bit longer? Have more tea maybe?"
I shook my head. "I promise I'll come again soon." I bent down and kissed her.
"It was good of you to come, Roya-joon," she said.
On the ride home, I thought about the person I had become. Maybe the hardened clay was not as ugly as I had thought. Maybe what I resented was the color my father had painted me. The time had come to sand away some of that dreadful stain.
The hallway phone would not cease ringing and, in a house full of servants, I seemed to be the only one to hear it. I closed my book with fury. Pedar's voice came through the receiver. "Is that you, Roya?"
"Yes, hello."
He was calling from a place near the farms. "I can't find my keys. I must have left them somewhere in my room. I'll hold on while you go and check please."
Pedar never used to forget, but Dr. Ghareeb had cautioned us about a possible loss of memory due to opium. I went to his room and found the keychain on his nightstand.
"Don't worry, Pedar," I said back in the hallway, "I've got them."
"Good girl," he said and I could hear him taking a deep breath. "You'll find my robe hanging in the closet. Just drop the keys in its pocket, I won't be needing them until tomorrow when I return."
"Will do."
He hesitated for a few seconds and then in a self-conscious tone added, "And you don't have to mention this to anyone." Was my father embarrassed? I smiled at the thought.
Maybe if Pedar had not left his keys behind, my far-fetched plan would remain just that. But the opportunity that had presented itself could only be divine intervention. As my grandmother once said, sometimes God puts you to a task.
I had never considered committing theft. Even if I had, the last person I'd steal from would be my father. Now, with those keys in my hand, the temptation was too strong to resist. No doubt I'd be found out, but if I acted fast enough, by the time Pedar realized, Shireen would be free. Pedar could keep his precious opium and his shiny gold coins. But that money waiting there for what he called, "The God-forbid-day," could buy back my friend's life. As far as I was concerned, the God-forbid-day had already arrived.
I lay on my bed, thinking about the stacks of money safely locked in the big storage closet, and the more I thought, the easier my plan seemed. All I needed now was the key to the big closet.
With Rajab gone, the only other key to the big closet was my aunt's. But she had already gone to bed and, judging by the late hour, so had everyone else. I sat up and tried to figure out the best way to execute my plan.
Barefoot, I tiptoed down the hallway and saw a faint light coming from under Auntie's door. So she was up, perhaps reading. I knocked.
"Come in," she called out, sounding drowsy.
"Sorry to disturb you," I said as I entered her room. Holding my belly with both hands, I moaned, "It's that time, Auntie."
Like all other months, I knew she would immediately suggest the one remedy she knew, a drink of hot water and diluted rock candy. But this time, I proceeded to ask, "Could I borrow your key to get some more rock candy?"
Auntie sat up and was about to get out of bed, but I rushed over and put my hands on her shoulders. "Please don't get up. I can do this."
She leaned back and, reaching under her pillow, she mumbled, "I could swear I just filled that jar." She handed me the key. "The maids must be putting it in their tea."
"I'll be right back," I said and left.
Outside the room, I opened my fist and studied the silver key, finding it hard to believe that I really had it. The smooth surface, the oval head and the old-fashioned shape. Cold mosaic against my feet calmed my nerves. I opened the padlock and turned on the bare light bulb dangling from the storage room's ceiling. To my left, large burlap sacks of rice, flour, and sugar leaned against the wall. No wonder Auntie locked up all this food. A dishonest servant could steal a fortune here.
On the white shelves sat rows and rows of bottles: olive oil, lemon juice, rose water, and jars of preserves. The air was saturated with a mix of lavender soap, dried herbs and turmeric. I scanned the room, and all of a sudden, the entire contents of the storage room faded to become a backdrop for Pedar's safe. My vision was consumed with the black box with gold paisley designs, and a fish-shaped keyhole. I stared at it, unable to touch, as if it were a time bomb about to explode. My heart racing, my face felt too hot.
Aware that if I took too long, my aunt would be tempted to help, so I found the big tin marked Rock Candy, took a couple of long sticks, and turned off the light. Closing the narrow doors, I latched them together and passed the padlock through, without locking it.
The lamp on Auntie's nightstand was still on when I returned her
key.
"Found what you needed?" she asked, her voice indicating that she was about to doze off.
"Yes, thank you," I said and headed for the kitchen. Might as well complete my little act. Besides, maybe warmed rock candy could settle my nervous stomach.
I lay in bed with my eyes fixated on the fluorescent green of my alarm clock. Its arms did not move fast enough. Finally, someone turned off the garden lights and the house submerged into a silence that was only interrupted by a cat's mew in the distance.
I removed my pillowcase and grabbed a flashlight along with my father's keys. As I slid the open lock through the hooks on the door, the palms of my hands were covered in sticky sweat and I feared I might drop it. Feeling my way in the dark to the iron box, I decided not to move it for fear I might hit something and wake everyone up. I turned the key with cau
tion.
Ding!
The wretched bell made me jump. Damn! I had forgotten all about that. I waited, listening to my own rapid breathing and the thump-thump in my ears. I don't know how long I paused, afraid to move, but when no sound came from the rooms, I continued.
Using the flashlight, I inspected the inside of the box. Under its circle of light, I saw my father's packs of opium, a stack of documents and under those lay bundles of crisp thousand-tuman bills. I picked one up and felt silly for having brought a pillowcase to carry them. The money looked and felt brand new, and each pack was held together with a brown paper band. I flipped through and figured there must be at least fifty in each, maybe even a hundred. A quick calculation told me all I needed was one pack. The less I took, the longer it might take Pedar to find out.
I placed the other items back in the safe, making sure they were in the order I had found them. I locked the box, and the big closet, and went to put Pedar's keys back in his pocket.
Back in my room, I wrapped the money in a newspaper, tucked it inside a book and placed the book in my large brown handbag. For hours, I stared at the darkness outside my window, and wondered if the night would ever end.
The next morning, I snuck into Pedar's room before anyone was up and, using the phone on his bedside, I dialed the Payans' number. "Mrs. Payan, it's Roya," I whispered.
She sounded half asleep. "Wait a minute," she said and I heard the rustling of bedcovers. "Something wrong, dear?"
"No. I'm coming over in about half an hour. I have the money for Shireen's bail."
She did not respond and I wondered if she had understood me. Maybe she was too overwhelmed to talk.
"Mrs. Payan?"
"Don't!" she said. "I don't want you to come here." And she hung up.
She couldn't mean that. I put the receiver down, baffled at her response and decided I would explain more later on. This wasn't a loan that she had to worry about paying back. There would be no strings. Who else would make her such an offer?
I returned to my room, dressed and then went to find Auntie. She sat by the samovar in the family room, preparing tea for breakfast.
"I'll be going earlier today. I have an important test."
"Eat something," she said and kept working on the samovar.
I assured her I would buy something at school.
There would be no taxis on Golestan Avenue at such an early hour, so I started to walk toward Jaam Street and just then, a cab turned the corner and I saw the taxi light on its roof. I waved at it frantically.
Rushing into its back seat, I gave the Payans' address and we were off.
For the first time since the evening before, I became conscious of my vulnerability. No longer in the safety of my home, I began to doubt my decision. Here I was in a cab, out on the street, taking stolen money to a family the media had called "terrorists."
How did Pedar's obedient daughter get here?
I looked around for something to take my mind off the money in my handbag. Here and there were signs indicating the street had begun to awaken; the greengrocer sweeping his storefront, the policeman getting settled on his platform, the owner of the corner bookstore rolling up the tin shade of his display windows. We stopped at a red light and I had the feeling the cab driver was watching me. I looked up, but all I could see were a pair of oversized sunglasses filling his rearview mirror. My heart dropped.
Looking away, I thought anyone could be wearing those, but just then, the driver made a wrong turn. Now we were headed south, while Shireen's parents lived north.
Come on, Roya. You're being paranoid. Taxis make such detours all the time just to make a bit more money.
"Excuse me," I said in a shaky voice. "Aren't we going in the wrong direction?"
He glanced at me again without a word. When he got off Pahlavi Avenue and turned into a cobblestone street, I knew we were nowhere near the Payan's.
"Where are you going?" I said, this time in a more aggressive tone.
Again, he did not respond, but I heard a click and saw the buttons go down to lock the passenger doors.
"Stop the car!" I said. "I'll get off right here." The taxi picked up speed.
I reached over to roll down my window and realized the handle had been removed. "I said stop!" I shouted and began to pound the back of his seat. Horrible images of kidnapping and rape ran through my mind.
"Don't worry, miss," he said. "They're probably just going to ask you a few questions." His polite explanation added to my horror. The word they, could only mean one thing.
"Put your head on your knees," the driver commanded.
"What?"
"Routine procedure, and I think you'd better comply." "I need to see your ID," I said.
He chuckled. "You'll just have to take my word for it." When I didn't move, he pulled to the curb in an empty street, turned around, and tapped on something on his chest. "The only proof I have is this." He opened the front of his jacket just enough for me to see. Knowing he carried a gun, I put my head down and he threw a heavy blanket over me. It smelled of old shoes and sweat, making it hard to breathe.
I was finished. SAVAK must have listened in on my phone call. That's why this taxi showed up. Even if this proved to be a routine questioning, once they found all that money on me, I would be making headline news. I could just hear people's disbelief at such theft being committed by little mousey Roya. I saw the veins pop on Pedar's forehead, Auntie beating her chest. And Kyan, I'd never see him again, not after going back on my promise in such a scandalous way. My whole world was going up in flames and I had no means of stopping the fire I had just ignited.
The car finally left the bumpy cobblestone and as I heard gravel hitting the sides, I thought we must either be in another alley, or worse, had left town. Before I had worked my way into total despair, the car stopped and the driver killed the engine. When he opened the door and took the blanket off me, the cloud of dust behind the car made me cough. Squinting against the bright sunlight, I saw we were in front of a nondescript building with whitewashed walls. The driver nodded to the door and motioned me forward. As I left the alley and went up the steps to what looked like a house with no number, I wondered if I would ever climb back down those stairs.
There was a long wooden table in the hallway with a policeman standing by, and a rather large woman sitting behind it. When we reached the table, the woman stood and her beady eyes studied me head to toe.
"Put your bag down and spread your arms," she said. Something in her rude tone reminded me of the vice principal of long ago and, closer, I smelled the same body odor. While her clammy hands ran up and down my limbs for a body search, I felt as if she were molesting me. Sweat ran down my back and I knew she could feel me trembling. Meanwhile, the policeman had dumped the contents of my bag onto the table and laid them out for visibility.
The woman went behind her desk and, picking up the bundle of cash, looked at me with a smirk. "A bit more than cab fare, isn't it?" And she flipped the notes as if doing a quick count. She put them in the plastic box on the table and continued her search. Unzipping my wallet, she went through student cards, photos, and every little scrap of paper in its pockets.
"Well, well," she said, holding a piece of paper up to the light and reading, "If I shall rise..."
Damn! That verse must have been there ever since Shireen's mother had given it to me. I prayed the woman wasn't smart enough to make the connection.
The rest of her search went quicker. Finally she gave back my personal effects, all except for the money and the piece of paper with Shireen's handwriting.
A uniformed guard ushered me to a smaller room halfway down a long corridor. He pushed the door open and waited for me to go in. The room's meager furniture consisted of a rickety metal table and three folding chairs. The fluorescent ceiling light buzzed constantly, and the muggy air reminded me of a bathhouse. The guard glanced at me before closing the door. I wanted to call and tell him I needed to use the bathroom, but thought
it best to keep quiet. I heard the key turn. Was this going to be my cell?
I tried to evaluate my situation and be realistic about it. I pictured men with earphones, listening in, tracing my call. Did Mrs. Payan hang up, or had they cut her off?
Lowering my body onto one of the chairs, I held my head with both hands and tried to estimate the gravity of my crime. Considering that this money was intended for the release of someone they considered "involved in terrorist activities" wouldn't they put my action in the same category? And if so, would my fate be any different from that of Ali, Eemon, or Shireen's? The thought of such possibility tightened my stomach and I needed to throw up, except there was nothing in my stomach.
One minute I saw myself as Alieh, disappearing into a ditch until God knows when someone would find my remains, and the next, I was shipped to Tehran to join the prostitutes and thieves in the women's penitentiary. Would I see Shireen, or were they going to take me where no one was allowed to visit, my only connection to the world a barred window? It was no comfort to realize that my biggest fear was still of Pedar, what my capture might do to him, or worse, what he would do to me.
To be sure, I had broken all of Pedar's rules. One way or another, I had feared him all my life, but I couldn't stretch my imagination enough to picture how he might react to this. I was too old for physical punishment, he would never resort to financial threats, and he honored the family too much to expel me. So how could he possibly treat me worse than SAVAK might?
Every now and then, I heard footsteps in the hallway and my whole body tensed in anticipation. When no one opened the door for what felt like an eternity, I decided they were just going to let me rot there. I didn't know which was worse, the clos ed door, or all the horrible possibilities that might walk through it?
By now, they must have called Pedar. Dear God, maybe it was best if SAVAK just kept me here and I wouldn't have to face my father ever again.
Eighteen
THE SOUND OF A KEY turning in the door gave me such a jolt, it might just as well have been an explosion. I stood erect, like a soldier on guard, pressing my hands to my sides in anticipation of the worst.
Sky of Red Poppies Page 20
