He held her tight and said, “To make sure nothing can ever come between us.”
“Nothing can.” And she sounded sure. “We can’t legitimize what can’t be justified.”
“You say that today, but what about years from now?” he had argued. ‘Lots of people have multiple marriages, it’s legal, you know. At least, it is in the eyes of Allah.”
He remembered the look in her eyes shaming him for the thought. “It is one thing for an uneducated man of the back alleys to take advantage of the Islamic law, but quite another for a man of your status to go backwards and practice his outdated right.”
Moradi wasn’t sure if it was the effect of wine or the guilt he felt toward Rana, but for the first time, he saw a point in what Parisa had said. Only one of his tens of friends had two wives, but even he had been too embarrassed to publicly announce it. He remembered Parisa’s soft hand on his cheek as she said, “My dear, dear man. We are united. We’re tied together far beyond the common law. What difference does it make if it’s on paper or not? We don’t need a document to tell us whom to love.” She held his hand in both of hers. “Of all people, I should know what a worthless promise marriage is.”
That was the only time Parisa had referred to her previous marriage and the expression on her face told him he should stop pushing.
Coming from a devout Muslim family, Moradi brought up the topic weeks later. “I fear that living in sin is bound to haunt us at some point.”
“All right,” she said. “Your God seems to be really bothered by this. So why don’t we go to the mosque and have the religious ceremony just so you’ll have nothing to fear?”
His initial reaction had been pure shock. “Absolutely not!” he exclaimed. “That’s those mullahs way to make prostitution religiously acceptable. I don’t want people to think of you as my mistress. I love you, for heaven’s sake!”
“I know you do,” she had said, wrapping her arms around him. “And I love you more, but to most people a second wife is the same as a mistress. To them I’m nothing but a home wrecker, the havoo, so to speak.” Her voice dropped as she added, “The only forgiveness we both need is your wife’s and I doubt if marrying you will accomplish that.”
Moradi smiled sadly at the remembrance of a quiet religious ceremony. No documents to keep, just a prayer. And that was how their relationship had remained. Clean in the eyes of Allah, yet somehow suspended. She was his, and yet not.
He wondered if Rana would be okay or if she would wake up and be sick. It would have been better to stay the night, but Rana gave him little reason to hang around. He took every chance to escape to Parisa’s, knowing all along that he was in the wrong. Oh, how he resented Rana for being so damn patient. She went on in her holy way, managed the house, took care of the children and never asked him where he spent his nights. Only Badri offered a semblance of understanding. “Had she paid as much attention to your needs as she does to her housekeeping, you’d never have a reason to look at another woman.” Maybe his sister was right, but the logic didn’t have enough power to clear his conscience.
Moradi parked the car in the alley and fumbled for his key to Parisa’s. The wooden door squeaked open and he went in without turning on the light.
“Is that you, Farhad?” Parisa called out from the kitchen. Her voice did not sound sleepy at all.
He saw her standing at the kitchen doorway. “What are you doing up so late?” The faint light behind her passed through a thin nightgown, revealing her figure that was beginning to show roundness in the middle. He was filled with the desire to hold her and forget all else.
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept wondering how the evening went, and if any of your colleagues gave you a hard time about me.”
Moradi held her tight and kissed her passionately. Her damp hair smelled of rose blossoms and her cheeks were cold. “W ho cares what they say?” he gently stroked her belly. “I didn’t want to be there in the first place. This is where I belong. With my true family.”
“I’m glad you went. You can’t hide forever. It’s important that they see you as the active officer they’ve come to know.” She turned off the kitchen light and leaned on him as they strolled down the dark hallway.
Later, he told her about Rana’s drinking and how he almost had to carry her home. “She’s miserable,” he said. “I know she is, but she’d die before admitting it.”
Parisa was silent and he wondered if she had fallen asleep.
Damn this small town. In Tehran people got divorced every second of every day, but in Shiraz divorce wasn’t too far from such disgraceful acts as stealing, cheating, and embezzlement.
He stared at Parisa’s calm expression, the cleft on her chin, the defined jaw line. Would she have agreed to their Islamic matrimony at the mosque if she had not been expecting his baby? He adored the unborn baby for putting an end to their sinful arrangement. But how long would she stay with him in the absence of a legal binding? He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Parisa. Wasn’t her main reason for refusing to marry him because, in case things didn’t work out, she would have an easier ending their relationship?
Moradi rolled on his back and stared at the pre-dawn sky outside the window. Badri had assured him this baby would be a boy. “She comes from a boy-bearing family as you and I do. And, if this is a boy, you ought to get her to accept your name legally.” Badri had always known how to get to him. “What will you call your boy? Would she use her maiden name or just give him a first name?”
“Who told you it’s a boy, any way?” Parisa had said and laughed at his silly concern. “But don’t worry, we can register the baby under your last name.”
Moradi felt a special connection with this baby. Now that Rana’s third had been a girl, here was a good chance at finally having the boy he’d always wanted. How ironic that he couldn’t publicly celebrate his son’s birth. Wasn’t that just how life was?
The contrasts in this dual life overwhelmed him. Sometimes his existence seemed so uninhibited and yet restrained, as if he lived the life of a caged bird. The world out there offered more than he was allowed to have. He was reminded of a verse he had heard in an old song.
I’m not asking you to free me from the confine
Take my cage to a garden and enchant this heart of mine.
He shut his eyes and tried to submerge into the darkness of sleep, but with each breath, he felt the bars of his cage closing in a little more.
Chapter
Nine
RANA WONDERED IF ANYONE ELSE WAS HOME. A bright sun spread its warmth over her bed and the house was much too quiet. She checked the time on her alarm clock and figured Dayeh must have sent the girls to school. She reached for her robe and went to the window. The Jeep was not there. She thought Farhad must have gone to work while she was asleep.
In the kitchen, she found Dayeh sitting down, one arm cradling Yalda and the other hand holding her bottle. “Good morning ,” she said cheerfully.
“Good morning, sleepy maman!”
Rana bent down and kissed first the top of her baby’s head and then Dayeh’s. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. W hen Dayeh didn’t speak, Rana said playfully, “So, are you going to tell me what happened here last night or do I have to pull it out of you?”
Dayeh shrugged. “What’s there to tell? You know very well that every time you touch that poison, you pass out,” she said in the authoritative manner saved to discipline a child. “There’s a reason Islam forbids drinking.”
Rana smiled at the realization that she was being scolded. She knew that for the next twenty-four hours, her old nanny would consider her tainted and would make sure to separate her dishes from the rest of the family’s.
“So, was it you who put me to bed?”
Dayeh gave her a knowing look. “Not me, dear. Your husband did that.”
“Oh?” Rana said and tried to read the woman’s face for signs of what else might have happened. Before she could ask any more questions, the p
hone rang. It was her father. He went through the routine of asking after every member of the family.
“Farhad and I went to the officer’s dance last night. In fact, I just woke up.” Rana said a bit too cheerfully.
Her father hesitated for a few seconds. “Is he there? Is that why you’re talking funny?”
“No, but Dayeh is here.”
This had been their code. Any time someone’s presence prevented her from speaking about their plan, she mentioned it early in the conversation. This was the first time in her life that she had kept a secret from Dayeh, but her father had absolutely forbidden discussing the plan with anyone. “Not even your friend Minoo,” he had said. “Why take a chance?”
Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Can you send her away?”
“Sure,” Rana maintained her cheerful tone. “But since Maman is asleep, maybe I could call back in about half an hour and tell both of you about last night’s party.”
Lies, lies and more lies! She hoped her father understood what she meant.
Dayeh made a face. “Half an hour? Ha! If I know your mother, she’ll sleep till noon.”
Rana exchanged a few more trivial sentences with her father before hanging up. W hen she had finished her tea, she said, “I’d love a good, hot bath, but my hair needs washing to get rid of last night’s hairspray, and I’m all out of shampoo.” The bottle was finished and Rana reached for the baby and taking her in her arms, she kissed Yalda’s cheek several times. She sat down again and used her usual loving tone. “Won’t you be a dear and go to the corner store for me, please?”
Dayeh put the empty bottle down and shook her head. “You were never known for being patient.” She took some money out of a jar on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as Rana heard the front door being locked, she dialed her father’s office. He picked up on the first ring.
“It’s me, Papa.”
“Good. I wanted to know if my friend sent that man around?”
“The telephone guy?” She chuckled. “Yes. And I must say, Papa, you are cautious enough for both of us. But he assured me the lines weren’t tampered with.”
“Good. Have him check it periodically. You never know.”
For a man who didn’t have a mystery about him, her father certainly knew what to do.
He cleared his throat. “I just spoke to Dr. Fard. He is planning to call your husband and discuss the issue. He will pose it as a suggestion based on a recent physical exam, as though you know nothing about this.”
“I thought I was supposed to bring it up.”
“Trust me, it’ll work better this way. Men like to make big decisions. If sending the baby to America is his idea, he may even encourage you to go.”
“And what will we do about Vida and Marjan?”
“I’ll make a birthday gift of a ticket for Marjan and it’ll be your job to make a case of how left out Vida may feel.”
“What makes you think he’ll buy that?”
“He probably won’t. But his sister will,” he said and chuckled. By now everyone knew how Badri had reacted to the girls’ extended stay at her house.
“Where will we be going?” she asked.
“Dr. Fard has already spoken to a specialist in Chicago.” “Chicago? Doesn’t your aunt live in New York?”
“She does, but unfortunately the only specialist Dr. Fard personally knows is in Chicago. He says the Children’s Memorial Hospital there is the best place to take her.”
“A hospital?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll be an outpatient. The place sounds like that Mayo Clinic everyone brags about. They do a lot of consultations and are known for their complete check ups.” W hen Rana did not respond, he added, “You don’t have to go there if you’re not comfortable. But we needed the appointment to set the stage for your trip.”
More silence followed and her father explained, “Mr. Eskandary also believes that an official appointment with a known institution will make it easier to get visas. Once you’re in the United States, you can go any where you want.”
Rana wasn’t prepared for this to happen so soon. What had started as a mere idea was fast turning into a reality. To her, the United States was a vast land with cities full of horrid skyscrapers, not to mention deserts and canyons where cowboys and Indians fought. The idea of living there made her cringe. She was no longer sure she wanted a divorce. Last night had made her realize how much she had cared for her husband. He may have asked her to go just to save face, but she had felt a strange connection, and when they danced it felt good to be held in his arms. Maybe that’s as much as she should expect. She had to put Vida and Marjan’s happiness before her own pride. He had been a good father, so what gave her the right to take them away?
“Are you still there, Rana?” Her father sounded concerned.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“I want you to call Dr. Fard and make one more appointment before we break this to Farhad. You can also give him an idea of a good time to reach your husband.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, aware that she could not go back on her word, not after her father had gone to so much trouble to plan everything. And she owed it to Yalda to go through with a consultation.
“Let me know how things go. And, please, beware of the walls that have mice.”
“I know. I’ve been very careful.”
“How’s your English coming along?”
Rana exhaled at the change of subject. “You won’t believe how quickly I’m learning,” she said in a more cheerful tone. “Thanks to Kathy, I can read simple storybooks.”
“That’s great.”
“Kathy has been a true friend and now that I understand her language better, I really enjoy her company. Sometimes she takes me to the American Club to watch a movie as well.”
“Good. That’s really good. Keep it up.” There was a slight hesitation before he asked, “How are things between the two of you? He’s not mistreating you, is he?”
Rana didn’t know how to respond. Her husband’s attitude had changed a little, but not enough to validate altering her usual report. She could not possibly admit how she harbored a secret hope, not while her silly notions had no solid ground. Farhad had given her no sign that he cared enough. W hen he hung around and spent time with the children, she became optimistic, but the minute he went out the door, Rana knew better than to hope.
“Everything is fine,” she said at last. “I don’t think he suspects a thing.”
“Good. How about the others?”
“No one knows. Not even Dayeh.” She smiled before saying, “In fact, I think she’s beginning to forgive Farhad.”
He laughed. “That I’ve got to see with my own eyes.”
Rana heard the key in the front door. “I think Dayeh is back. I’ll say goodbye.”
“Goodbye. I leave you in God’s hands, my dear.”
As soon as she hung up, Banu walked in. “Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late, the traffic was really bad and my bus …”
Rana didn’t listen to the rest. The sad tone of her father’s words stayed with her. “I leave you in God’s hands.” Those were the words he used exclusively before a trip that might separate them for a long time.
The pediatrician’s office was as crowded as ever. Rana covered the sleeping baby’s face with the thin blanket and hoped it offered some protection against the germs floating in the waiting room. Kids ran around dragging plastic toys while sneezing, coughing, or drooling on them. A little boy stared at her and wiped his nose with the back of one hand. Two mothers were engaged in a loud conversation and a man sat in the corner, reading a book.
Finally a nurse called out, “Moradi?”
Rana got to her feet and followed the nurse down a hallway that smelled of rubbing alcohol. The nurse opened the door to the tiny familiar room and placed Yalda’s chart on the side table. “Remove everything except diapers. The doctor will be in soon.” She left and closed the door behin
d her.
The room was too cold to undress a baby. Rana took a tissue from the box on the table, wiped the plastic cover of the examination table and put the baby down. Today Yalda didn’t have her swaddling wrap. Instead, she was dressed in pink flannel pants and a fuzzy sweater. The pants were loose and comfortable. She stared at the baby’s left leg, where only the toes were visible from under the pants, a contrast to the whole foot showing on the right. Lately whenever she looked at Yalda, that leg seemed to be all Rana saw and each time she did, a cold hand clutched at her heart. She removed the baby’s clothes without waking her. The worry that her babies might catch something in the pediatrician’s office wasn’t new, but Rana was even more concerned with this one, as if the slight deformity made her more prone to illness.
Why did doctors keep you waiting so long when you already had an appointment? She studied the same old objects on the counter: A box of latex gloves, the jar full of cotton swabs and tongue depressors. On the opposite wall hung the picture of a brown dog. It had been there for years. Nothing seemed to change about this place, except that the babies grew older and the doctor grew old.
Finally, Dr. Fard came in, all smiles, all good comments and reassuring as usual. Yalda fussed a little while Dr. Fard listened to her heart, tapped on her knees, bent her legs and flexed her feet. He measured the baby’s height before focusing on her legs. He stretched each leg as much as the baby would let him, motioned to Rana to hold them and measured the length from knee to heel several times. Finally satisfied, he updated the chart.
“She’s a strong little thing,” he said at last, and stroked Yalda’s cheek with the back of his finger. “Good news is that both legs are growing, and they are doing so at a similar rate.”
This did not sound clear enough to Rana. “Does that mean the difference will stay the same?”
Dr. Fard nodded. “That’s the bad news. However, the fact that the affected leg continues to grow confirms my initial diagnosis that there’s nothing else wrong with it, and that the discrepancy is the result of some local interference rather than a systemic problem or other paralytic deformities.”
Moon Daughter Page 12
