Sky of Red Poppies

by Zohreh Ghahremani

  When I told Wan Fong that I wished to move closer to school, she told me about a vacancy in her building. The next day, I went to see the room. Small and dark as it felt, the rent seemed reasonable and it was conveniently located near my bus stop. I decided to take it. Hospitable as the Farhangs had been, they seemed relieved to see me go.

  Wan Fong helped me to buy what the room needed: bed sheets, a lamp, a trashcan and such, but deep down I knew what I needed most was not sold in stores. I decorated in familiar patterns and warm shades of autumn. I even hung a strand of glass beads on my mirror that resembled Persian turquoise. But still, somewhere inside I held on to the hope that one day my father would arrange for my return, that this lonely life was not going to last for long.

  Two months after I had left, Mitra finally emptied my mailbox at school and sent me Kyan's address. Wisconsin? Now for the first time since his move, I had some idea where that was. I held on to the address for a few days before I could will myself to write him. My letter was brief and while I tried to explain what had become of me, I gave no details. By now an expert in letting go, I had come to terms with the fact that we had no future together. An attempt to contact him, knowing he would not respond, might give me the closure I needed to move on.

  Kyan called the minute he received my letter.

  "Welcome to America, little lady," he said, his voice happy, full of energy and pumping life back into my soul. At first, our conversation was awkward, but the more I braced myself for his questions the less he asked and soon he had managed to bring me into a comfort zone where I could talk without fear. I told him all about my school, New York, and the few concerts, plays, and museums that I had enjoyed.

  "Wow!" he said and chuckled, "Bragging like a true New Yorker already?"

  I laughed, really laughed.

  How long had it been since I felt this way? It was as though I had just found a treasure that I had given up for lost. We spoke for some time and it wasn't until he had made me promise to stay in touch and hung up that I remembered my situation. How could I overlook my "one-way ticket," as Pedar had put it? Kyan's family expected him back in a year or so, not to mention the job already awaiting him at Tehran Clinic. And me? I was no longer his colleague. At this point, exile had knocked all the enthusiasm for a future out of me. Soon he would realize this, and then what?

  Still, alone and in love, I could not deny myself the pleasure of our conversations. Kyan planned to move to Chicago where he was to do his residency at University of Illinois. We spoke on the phone on a regular basis and, when I relocated to Chicago that November, my main reason was to be near him. Once again, Wan Fong helped me find a place. She connected me to her friend in Chicago, who would soon return to Malaysia and her landlady agreed to let me take her apartment.

  Aware that he had not committed to any permanent relationship, I didn't tell him when I would arrive. Chicago weather put all of Mashad's snow and ice to shame. I thought the city had a lot of charm, but it was cold, not just the weather, everything about it felt cold and distant. It was after I had settled into my small apartment on Oak Street that I called and let Kyan know. We had planned to meet at a coffee shop on Rush Street. Living close by, I decided to walk and still arrived ahead of schedule. I sat near the window and watched the early Christmas shoppers go by with their colorful packages.

  As the traffic light changed, I spotted Kyan, crossing the street among other pedestrians. Unable to remain calm another second, I rushed out of the cafe and met him halfway down the sidewalk. People stopped to stare as I wrapped my arms around him in his big-fat-down-jacket and shamelessly cried tears of joy. He held my shoulders tight and buried his face in my hair, his warm embrace more than making up for the coat I had left in the cafe. For hours to come we sat at a corner table, ordered coffee, and talked.

  Kyan stirred his coffee and said, "My friends in med school told me you had left."

  Maybe that was his way of telling me I could talk about what had happened but I still could not bring myself to discussing it. I nodded. "Call it a turning point!" I said and tried to smile.

  "So what's your plan now?"

  "I think I'd like to be a teacher, maybe biology?"

  I wasn't sure why I said that. I hated biology. If a teacher, I would rather share my love of literature with young people without messing up their minds. Kyan nodded several times, his calm demeanor unchanged. From then on, he let me talk about whatever I wanted to. He, in turn, told me about life in Wisconsin. With all that had passed, I saw how perfectly he fit into my life, as if it had been just the other day when we were together in the medical school's cafeteria.

  Later Kyan walked me to my new place on Oak Street, holding my hand, hovering over me and making sure I did not slide on the shield of ice that covered the sidewalk. For the first time since my arrival, I appreciated my newfound liberty. So far, America's comfort and glamour had failed to impress me, but the freedom in that simple walk spoke volumes. I thought of Shireen and how she had been locked up in her room for such an act, how her father had repeatedly called her "A bad girl." Now a universe away, the unfair punishments for such innocence seemed beyond unfair. I tried hard to remain happy, focus on the beauty of the moment, and I held on tighter to Kyan's hand.

  At the front steps of number 160 Kyan held my face between his hands and kissed me for the first time. "Don't be so nervous, Roya," he said and adjusted my wool scarf around my neck. "I'm not your father, and I won't judge you. If there's one thing you can be sure of, it's the fact that I'd never do anything to hurt you."

  It took me months before I truly believed that. Then one day, I caught myself telling a joke and realized I had healed enough to chat, laugh, and enjoy being alive.

  Having failed to please Pedar, I realized the 'doctor dream' had never been mine. With my passion for poetry and literature, the choice was clear; still it took me a while before I decided to become a teacher. Kyan encouraged me to enroll in a teacher's training course. I began the program alongside my studies of American literature.

  Auntie called on a regular basis and filled me in on the family news. Mitra had been promoted to head of her department, Reza was out so much she couldn't tell me what he was up to, and Pedar stayed home more than Auntie wanted him to. She sounded distant, or perhaps just tired or sad.

  A month later, Kyan asked me to marry him. When he presented me with the lovely ring he had bought, I took that to mean he had either known what my answer would be or had become too American. I said yes before he was finished with his clumsy speech. That day, we called home to ask for both families' blessings. Auntie did not sound surprised as I had already mentioned meeting Kyan and she sounded happy to hear this. I told her, "I'm also holding you to your old promise for obtaining Pedar's permission." This gave her a chuckle and she said she would. But neither of them called back in the days to come. At this point I had learned not to expect much.

  Kyan and I were married in a civil ceremony at the Town Hall. Two of our American friends stood witness and that evening we would go out to dinner with a few others. Before the Justice of Peace had arrived, I looked around the cold hall and its meager furnishing. Visions of Mitra's elaborate wedding came to me. Oh, how Auntie had resented not being able to do things her way. What would Auntie say to this?

  I studied my reflection in the hall window: my simple yellow suit, the tiny hat, and the bouquet of white roses that Kyan had bought from the corner florist. Shireen's voice rang in my ears, "All that frill is nothing but an imitation of the western fashion." Secretly, I couldn't help but wish for some of that "imitation". I tried to push such thoughts away. After all, I was about to marry the best guy I had ever known.

  A few days later, I sent a brief report and a few photographs to my aunt. She didn't call, but the following week I received her card, congratulating us on behalf of the entire family. "Doctor Kyan seems really nice," she wrote, "everyone here approves of your choice." I had to assume that "everyone" also included Pedar.


  A few months into my marriage, a large package arrived from home with another letter from Auntie.

  "Tradition is for the bride to furnish her new home," she wrote, "But what could we send you that America doesn't have better? Your father wants you to have this silk Persian rug, which belonged to your grandmother - may she rest in peace. He has also forwarded money to your account for whatever else your new home may need. A smaller package is tucked inside the rug. The pearls are your mom's, with matching earrings from me. Wear them in good health. The box of baklava is to be enj oyed by both of you as well as your friends. May life always offer you something sweet."

  I pictured Auntie's hands and could almost see her crooked fingers as she put all that together, perhaps shedding tears for not seeing her pet niece. God I missed her.

  There was also a card from Mitra attached to a package containing a silver platter from Isfahan. I searched among the wrappings for a note from Pedar, or from Reza, but there was none. Pedar had long made himself clear, but Reza? His roundabout messages were bad enough, but this time I expected more. The Reza I knew would be too excited to keep quiet, especially when I had mentioned that wedding photographs were the products of his handy camera. Where was he?

  Twenty

  This is THE THIRD TIME I've tried and I demand to know what's going on," I yelled at Rajab over the phone. "I'm not going to hang up until I've spoken to one of them." "Sorry, Miss Roya, but they're out. Your aunt is at a luncheon and the Master has gone to the farm."

  "Then go and get agha Reza. Tell him it's urgent."

  I heard a muffled cough.

  "Rajaaab!"

  He sniffed. No, this wasn't a sniff, he was crying. Sobbing.

  "What has happened, Rajab?" My voice was shaking and I felt a knot in my stomach. "Answer me!" I must have said that loud enough to pull Kyan out of his study.

  "What is it, Roya?"

  I looked at him and shook my head violently.

  "Give me that." And he took the phone. "Alio?"

  I thought I heard more crying on the other end, but Kyan walked away as far as the squiggly cord would let him.

  "I see." he said, but sounded confused.

  I followed him and pulled at his sleeve.

  He raised a hand in the air to hush me. "When did this happen?"

  "Is my father okay?" I begged.

  He nodded absent-mindedly and continued to listen. Another long pause and now his face had lost color and he took another step away. Whatever Rajab was telling my husband he didn't want me to hear it. Unable to stand the suspense I lunged forward and grabbed the receiver. Rajab was going on and on, his words minced amid sobs.

  "Ay doctor-jan, we are ruined. Master's son was like my own..."

  Kyan took the phone away but I could still hear Rajab wailing.

  My knees had turned awfully soft. Aware that I was about to lose my balance, I welcomed being pulled into a deep black hole.

  Reza, who had never been sick more than a day, the boy whose aim in life was to make everyone laugh, the young man who worshipped his father enough to stay away from trouble, my Reza was gone. Here I was, lying on some hospital bed in the suburbs of Chicago knowing more with each passing day that I'd never see him again.

  How long had I been there? Two days? Three? "He wasn't even involved in anything," I kept on saying more to myself, still hoping for this to be a huge misunderstanding. The sedatives made me drowsy, but there was no cure for the stab wound I felt inside.

  "An innocent victim of the recent riots," was how Kyan had described Reza's tragic fate. He tried in so many words to help me understand how innocent bystanders could be harmed in crossfire. "Reza was not involved in the actual demonstration," he assured me, "but as the crowd gathered behind the line of armed officers, he stepped in to help a victim..." This was where I would invariably stop listening. That was my Reza, stepping in to help. I pictured his body soaked in a pool of blood and could not bring myself to ask if anyone had been brave enough to try and help him. As if losing his life wasn't bad enough, my only brother had to lose it for no reason.

  "No reason!" I said out loud, my voice now unfamiliar and hoarse.

  Kyan took a tissue and wiped my cheeks. "You can't go on like this, honey."

  "No reason," I said, this time in a whisper, and let more tears flow. My Reza would never see Chicago's magnificent highways; we would not go to the top of John Hancock's to peek at the city through those telescopes. He'd never be a guest at my home, an uncle to my unborn child. Everyone had said I should be happy the shock did not end my pregnancy, but happiness had never seemed so inaccessible before.

  For months, I had pictured Reza on the other side of the planet, living, laughing, and bringing joy to those around him. I used the camera he had given me and took odd pictures of what I thought he'd find funny. That was my way to let him know how I missed him. What now?

  "There's no one to send silly pictures to," I said amid tears. "Think about your condition." Kyan gave my belly a gentle stroke.

  "My condition? Who cares about my condition?" And I cried like a child crying over a broken toy. "I want my brother!"

  "Don't do this to yourself," he said and as he hugged my head, I felt him trembling.

  Six whole months and they had managed to keep it a secret from me. "Reza says he hates phone calls." Why did I believe such a ridiculous excuse? Then again, what made me believe them now? Somehow, Reza's zest for life made it impossible to believe his would ever end. I had assumed Pedar's refusal to come to the phone meant he was still upset with me. Now I wondered what was left of my poor father.

  My mind flew back to that day in Golsara and Reza's words hit me harder than when he had first spoken them. They'll get you where it hurts. I ran the figures in my head. They must have taken him shortly after I had left. Hit-and-run, that's what I'd done to him, causing trouble for the family just to be tucked away safely in another world.

  "They took him in retaliation for my escape," I said out loud, as if to test that grim possibility.

  "Don't be silly," Kyan said. "You hadn't done anything and your departure wasn't exactly an escape, either. We aren't even sure if he really stayed uninvolved."

  "You don't know Reza. He doesn't." I stopped and it took me a while to realize I could no longer speak of my brother in present terms. "He never did anything that might upset Pedar. He worshipped the man."

  My father's image filled my mind. I couldn't begin to imagine how he dealt with the loss of his only son. Did he ever wish it had been me, instead? Dumbstruck, I realized nothing could ease my pain. Reza and I were supposed to grow old together, have families, watch our children play, fight, and be friends. His loss was nowhere in that plan. Unable to deal with my grief, I now had a remote understanding of how Shireen's family had felt for their multiple losses. If all the love, comfort, and modern medicines failed to help me, how did Shireen survive from one day to the next?

  After I had returned to our apartment, Mitra phoned, but I could not take her call. I was done talking, done crying, done understanding. How strange it felt to know, to be certain, that I was losing my mind. From that day on, Kyan took the calls. I didn't even care what kind of excuses he came up with. He stayed home for a week, and judging from the way he never left my side, I had a feeling he feared for my life. Sometimes I heard him on the phone, talking to my aunt, and sounding as if he had known her all his life.

  "Yes, Auntie, she's going to be okay, at least, I hope she is." He also told her about my pregnancy. "Due in four months, yes, that was very lucky and now it looks as if she'll carry full-term."

  Pedar never called, though I received messages through Kyan, who had received them from either my aunt or Mitra. "I don't blame her any more," he had said. "She was too young to know and too caring to stay away." Oh, they could bring as many of those pathetic messages as they wanted to, but as long as my father refused to talk to me, none of it meant a thing.

  As my doctor discontinued some of my medications, I adj
usted to a sleep disorder. After Kyan had gone to sleep, I would roam around the house with my painful thoughts, the worst of which were of Pedar and his loneliness. Was Mitra's presence enough to make up for the absence of his other kids? It was with such thoughts that one night an old poem came back to me.

  "There is so much pain gathered in my heart,

  That if from this maze I should survive

  I'll limp my way to the portal of existence

  And not allow one soul to come alive."

  That night, hard as I tried, I didn't sleep at all. What was I doing? I tossed and turned and stared into the darkness, listening to Kyan's soft snores. By breakfast, I had made up my mind.

  "We should never have children," I said.

  Motioning to my bulging middle, he chuckled. "Isn't it a bit late for that?" But when I didn't laugh and repeated it in my firm tone, he suggested I needed to seek professional help. Later on my doctor agreed with him.

  After numerous sessions with a psychiatrist I reached a semblance of recovery, but following another sleepless night, I announced my decision to go home for a visit.

  "Bad idea," Kyan said and this time he sounded furious. "What purpose would that serve?" he asked and gave a sigh of resignation. "Suppose SAVAK takes you, too. What then?" He pointed to my belly. "In case you've forgotten, that is my baby, too."

  "I want to see my father before he dies." There, I had finally said what was bothering me the most.

  Kyan lowered his voice and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "He's not dying, honey. Your aunt assured me he's okay. He has retired and is well cared for." He thought for a moment. "Besides, from what I hear, a lot is happening over there. Soon the Shah may be leaving. There could even be a revolution. This is hardly the time to even think about going back." He sounded so firm that I had a feeling he spoke on everyone's behalf. I could almost hear my aunt's voice, "Promise me you won't let her do such a foolish thing."

  I did not have the energy to argue and decided to drop the subject for the time being.