“That’s true, but it’s also true that the only way to defeat such a strong-willed man is an ambush. I agree that if you suggest it right away, he will do all he can to stop you.” He cleared his throat before adding, “But not if you let some time pass and allow things to go back to normal.”
“No,” Rana said and shook her head frantically. “You’re not suggesting I go back to Shiraz and play the good little wife.”
He wished he could say she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. Did his little girl know that pushing her back to that man was the hardest thing he would ever have to do? But this was no time to be sentimental. He recalled an incident back in his youth, when he had watched the rescue of a fawn from a trap set for foxes. Hunters knew that, if the animal was touched by human hands, its mother would neither accept him back nor breast feed him. So they had to use metal prongs to take him out of the trap and the poor thing cried as they set it free. Rana reminded him of that gazelle. To cut the ties would cause pain, but the alternative was far worse.
“Trust me, this is the only practical plan. Ridiculous as the law is, you can’t leave the country without that damn piece of paper. And as you said yourself, if he becomes suspicious, he’ll never grant you permission.”
Rana shrugged. “Forget divorce. Can’t I just leave him?”
“We’ve been over this before. Life out there is harsh for a single mother.” He pointed a finger to the window. “If we are going to do this right, it’s imperative that you go back to your husband. The sooner, the better.”
Rana shook her head. “Vida and Marjan will be miserable without their father. Marjan may adapt, but Vida is so attached to her father that I’m not so sure she could handle the separation.”
“Oh, you’ll be surprised. The way kids handle hardships is mind-boggling.”
For a while neither of them spoke.
“I can’t believe how optimistic you sound,” Rana said at last and sounded tired. “I know my husband, and I promise you, he won’t let them go. Yalda needs medical care, not Vida nor Marjan. So, what makes you think he’ll send those two abroad?” Horror crept into her eyes. “The minute I turn my back, he will move in with this … this … woman!”
“Stop your silly imaginings. None of that is going to happen.” He then changed his tone to a more loving one, “If worse comes to worst, your mother and I will offer to keep the girls. Bet he’d prefer that over taking them to her.” His voice dropped and now it sounded as if he was talking to himself. “There hasn’t been a day since we left Shiraz that I haven’t thought about them,” he said. “A child deserves better, especially those two. The way I see it, he’ll fight you all he can. But once he knows you’re not coming back, he will send them to you, even if only to make your life abroad more difficult.”
Rana buried her face in her napkin and shook her head side to side.
“W ho knows why things happen?” he went on. “This could be the beginning of something better for all of you, the darkness before daybreak.”
Their server came back and refreshed their drinks.
Rana took another sip of water. “I think I need to talk to someone who could be impartial, a complete stranger, perhaps a professional.”
“Isn’t Eskandary professional enough?”
“That’s not what I mean. I need someone who can help me understand my own emotions. You know? Help me clear my head.”
“You mean a psychiatrist?” He couldn’t mask his surprise. Most people thought only crazy people needed analysts, and although he understood the need, it was hard to believe the suggestion had come from Rana.
She nodded.
He shook his head. “Not here. I mean, they’re out there, but I don’t know how good they are.” He scratched his chin. “We hardly have enough doctors at the Chehrazi hospital to deal with the mentally deranged, let alone consulting normal people.”
“So what are my options?”
“That’s one more reason for you to go abroad. Even if I found you a good doctor here, the minute you’re spotted around such a practice, people are going to label you insane.”
“I’ll be lucky to handle the daily life in my English, but discuss my emotional problems? Ha!”
“That can be fixed, too. You can always study, you know? Why not start with improving your English?”
Rana didn’t say a word.
“You will have months to focus on such basic tasks. With so many Americans in Shiraz, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You mean taking adult classes?” she said as if she had not taken him seriously.
“Not exactly.” He folded his napkin neatly and left it on the table. “You’re welcome to borrow my Lingaphone tapes and books. But also try to make new friends, or at least get back in touch with those American ladies at the officer’s club. It may do you good, get your mind off things, and teach you more about life in America.”
They visited the buffet and filled their plates, but neither seemed hungry and they did not talk during the forced bites they took. As they left the restaurant, the loving father did not put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, nor did he offer his elbow. Rana needed to learn to walk alone. Through Tehran’s crazy traffic, they rode in utter silence, each submerged in their own dark thoughts.
Rana sat on her bed and ran her father’s plan in her mind. Now that she had calmed down, she realized how difficult this must have been for him. For a man who often said a family should stay together, the mere idea of sending her away must be agonizing. Rana realized this was too big a decision to put on paper and to weigh the options, especially when one of the items on the “disadvantage” column was to abandon her daughters.
She tried to picture staying in Shiraz, but the image that came to her was far too gloomy. Would the Major even bother to come home occasionally, now that his secret was out? Would there be enough love in him for the girls, if he fathered a son? And what about other people? Would Moradi’s friends in Shiraz even care who his legal wife was? Wouldn’t they open their arms to his new woman? Rana had never been jealous; then again, what else could cause the bitter taste that came to her with the thought of those two together? She wouldn’t give self-pity a chance, but with so many bad sides to this situation, it was hard not to.
She tried hard to take herself out of the equation. At this moment, what mattered the most was Yalda. Rana had brought her into this world and might even be responsible for her problem. The least a mother could do was to give her a chance at a normal life. The thought of Yalda’s tiny legs stabbed at her heart. Would Yalda walk without help? What if the discrepancy in her legs became worse? In a society that did their best to keep the crippled out of sight, how would people treat a young girl who limped?
Rana recalled an old classmate who had only one hand. Once, when they were little, the girl had raised her dangling empty sleeve and had shown Rana the stump. Her arm ended just below the right elbow and had a mole where the skin gathered. She had allowed Rana to touch it. The soft flesh over the stump had felt the same as her grandma’s double chin. The image was seared in her mind. Then in their junior year the girl had come to school with an artificial hand concealed under a white glove. The adult size prosthesis was too big for her frame and though she seemed proud, others stared at it with pity. Classmates often shared their treats with the girl, as if to hand out a portion of their own good fortune. No, this society wouldn’t let Yalda forget her difference. She would grow up to feel inadequate. Rana had to prevent that.
A bright moon moved inside the window frame, spilling its silver light. No wonder the moon—mah—was a metaphor for beauty. Rana softly whispered the words of Dayeh’s chant, “I have a daughter shah doesn’t have. She has a face mah doesn’t have.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Moradi,” the high-pitched voice of Badri’s maid blasted through the receiver. “The young ladies are out. Would you like to speak to Badri Khanoom?”
Rana hesitated for a few seconds. “Yes, please.”
<
br /> The maid’s slippers shuffled away and soon she heard the approach of Badri’s spike heels on the marble floor.
“Allo?”
“Hello, Badri-joon.”
“Oh, hello. What a surprise,” Badri said, pretending she had no idea who was calling.
“How are you?” Rana asked politely.
“I’m okay. I mean tired, but okay.” She hesitated before adding, “I can’t imagine how those mothers of four manage to survive, but I shouldn’t complain. After all, my nieces aren’t going to be here forever.”
Rana had prepared for the woman’s sting and tried to sound courteous. “It must be hard. Thank you for doing this.”
“I’d do anything for my brother.”
“How are my girls?”
“Fine. Constantly inviting their friends over, going to school, you know…”
“Does Vida still wake up at night?”
“No. Not since I told her she’s too old for that. All she needed was a little discipline.”
Rana’s heart sank. Vida’s frequent nightmares woke her up and she used to crawl into her mother’s bed in the middle of the night. The image was so vivid she could almost feel the tiny cold feet touching her. Rana had spoken to the pediatrician about it and was told to cuddle her, comfort her and take her back to her own bed with a soothing story. What did Badri mean by “discipline?”
“I happen to miss the girls every time. W hen would be a good time to call them?”
Badri did not respond right away. After a few seconds she lowered her voice. “I think it’s best to leave them alone for now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No need to shout, dear. I’m not the one who abandoned them.”
“Abandon? I’ve not abandoned anyone.”
“No?”
“No!”
“Call it what you want, dear, but they’re just getting used to life without you. Your calls only confuse them. Each time they talk to you, I have to deal with Vida’s moods for days. Surely, you don’t want to make them more miserable.”
Rana swallowed her anger and used an equally fake tone. “You’re right. It’s not worth upsetting them.” W hen Badri did not respond she added, “They’ve been good for all this time, I guess one more week won’t matter.” She could not believe her own words. For an entire week, she had debated if, or when, she would return to Shiraz. Now, unbeknownst to herself, she sounded as if a decision had been made.
“One more week of what?”
“Of being a guest at your house. We will be back next week. I don’t know the exact time because my father has the tickets. I really called to see if they wanted anything special from Tehran.”
Words were pouring out at their own will. Rana had a hard time with lies, even little white ones. W hen did she become so good at this?
Badri was silent and Rana hoped it was from shock.
“Also, would you need anything from here?” she asked sweetly. “Just name it. It’s the least I can do in return for all the trouble my absence may have caused.” She smiled at how easy it was to beat Badri at her own game. Living with her parents again, and in particular watching her mother through the eyes of a married woman, had been most educational. Her mother manipulated others in exactly the same way as Badri did. How unfair it was that women who put their own interests above everyone else’s often had it easier than the nurturing ones.
“You’re coming back?” Badri’s voice screeched. “I mean, so soon?”
“Not soon enough, dear. I miss my home and my own family.” Rana smiled at how innocent and sincere those words sounded. Playing a role didn’t seem half as hard as she had imagined. It was about time the Moradis finally had a taste of their own medicine.
Chapter
Six
ONLY AFTER THE PLANE HAD TOUCHED DOWN at the Shiraz airport did Rana appreciate the weight of her mission. It had been one thing to plot and plan, but quite another to act the part. Theoretically speaking, it sounded sensible to go back and act as the wife returning from a long trip, but suddenly the idea that she was not the only woman in Farhad Moradi’s life was too much to bear. Returning to a city that sheltered her husband and his other woman, she wasn’t sure he would remain prudent about his double life. How far could she go with acting? Mr. Eskandary and her father were the only others who knew about her new role. Her father had made her promise not to discuss the plan with anyone, not even Dayeh.
“A word that passes through thirty-two teeth will soon pass through thirty-two cities,” he had reasoned. “You know I’d trust your mother with my life, but she can’t handle secrets.”
With Dayeh carrying Yalda and trailing behind, Rana made her way through the crowded terminal as if this were part of a strange dream. She remembered the many times her husband had been there, carrying a bunch of roses wrapped in cellophane. Her eyes scanned the area in search of a tall figure in khaki uniform, but managed to push the image away as quickly as it had come to her. They left the transit area and she asked the young porter who carried their suitcases to find them a taxi.
They were soon on their way in the back seat of a rather small cab. The lumpy seat felt warm from the previous passenger and the cabin smelled like an ashtray. Rana smiled at how the driver carried his items of endearment. Prayer beads hung from the rear-view mirror, while pictures of his children, a large calligraphy of Allah, and a peacock feather in a small vase were all taped to the dashboard. Outside, a ring of stone mountains circled the city, and Rana marveled at their magnificent colors ranging from purple to orange. Shiraz’s deep blue sky was a welcome change from the smoggy gray of Tehran’s.
“Oh, how I love this city,” she said mostly to herself as they drove to town.
The driver eyed her in his mirror. “Shiraz does that to people, kakoo, ” he replied in his deep local accent.
“You said it,” Dayeh joined in. “One breath of this air, and I’m young again.” And she giggled.
Located further south than Tehran, Shiraz enjoyed a warmer climate. The roses along Zand Boulevard were already in full bloom and the spring air was heavy with the fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine. The mere sight of tall Cypress trees took Rana back to the first time she had set eyes on them. What a contrast this was to Tehran’s arid streets, few dust-covered shade trees and abundance of tall buildings. By now she felt her roots in this city, as if it had been a part of her entire life. The driver had a point. Shiraz did that to people.
Each time they returned from a trip, Marjan used to point out the familiar surroundings with cheer. “That’s my school, and this is the Gas circle,” she would shout as though discovering a new land. Both girls had a deep Shirazi accent, dragging their words the southern way and Rana loved hearing it. Soon those chirps would fill her senses. She took a deep breath, hoping to lift the heavy weight of memories from her chest. The town she loved would soon cease to be hers. Then again, had it ever belonged to her?
They neared the familiar neighborhood with its rows of sculpted iron doors in all colors and honeysuckle draped over brick walls. A sudden anxiety rose within her. She had mentioned the day of her arrival to Badri, but not wanting to be met at the airport, she had withheld the time. What if her husband was home?
The taxi stopped in front of their house and Rana searched her overstuffed purse for her keys. Banu wouldn’t be back for another day and she figured even if the Major was home, it would be awkward to ring the bell and have him answer it. Only after the heavy gate opened and she didn’t find his car in the driveway did she relax. The driver put their suitcases in the garden and left. Rana took the baby and walked to the building while Dayeh shut the gate.
The garden never had many flowers, but now it looked utterly bare. The gravel driveway was covered with a layer of dead leaves and Rana saw no tire-tracks. The small patch of lawn had started to turn brown and the few remaining geraniums seemed neglected and sad.
“I don’t believe a single soul has been here since we left,” sh
e said to Dayeh.
“Could be,” Dayeh said while dragging one of the suitcases. “Badri-khanoom has a key. You’d think she would have brought Banu to do a few things around the house while we were gone.”
“The place smells like a grave.”
Dayeh chuckled. “Oh, the things you come up with, Miss Rana! How would you know what a grave—God forbid—smells like?”
Rana did not laugh.
The hallway felt warm and gave out the musty odor of a bath-house. Dayeh went into the family room, pushed the curtains aside and opened a window. “Oo, it’s good to be home,” she said as she roamed around, looking relieved, touching furniture and seeming to enjoy her reunion with familiar objects. Rana wished she could share the enthusiasm, but she was as cautious as she had been at her parent’s home, even worse, as if she were trespassing.
“Would you look at these filthy windows?” Dayeh exclaimed. “It must have rained a lot. I hope that girl shows up soon to help me clean.” She took the smaller suitcase and disappeared into the nursery.
Rana turned to her baby, who had just opened her eyes. “Well, Yalda khanoom,” she whispered. “This is where you were born. You may call it home, though I don’t know for how long.” She smiled at how she had picked up her mother’s habit of a one-way conversation with the infant. “Better get ready to play with your big sisters—you do remember you have two, don’t you?” She hesitated before adding, “And, a father, who …” she stopped mid-sentence. No, she couldn’t finish it with, “who loves you very much.”
The baby closed her eyes again. Rana kissed the softness at the top of her head and put the sleeping infant on the couch. The scene from the last time she had seen her husband came back to her. It was here where it all began, where she agreed to go to Tehran with her parents. W hen she had asked Dayeh to pack that small suitcase, neither of them had any idea when, if ever, they might return. As if the past few months had been a time tunnel, she now felt older, more tired, and far less emotional. She wrapped her arms around herself and embraced the vision of her daughters. Except for those two, there was nothing here worthy of a return.
Moon Daughter Page 9
