Moon Daughter
Page 15
The old woman must have caught the hint because she cleared her throat and said, “Are you really sure it was a full moon when you gave her the potion?”
Months had passed and Dayeh could not remember the details. She shook her head. “It looked full. But I can’t be sure.” She thought of that night. Indeed the moon had looked a full circle when, as instructed, she had brewed tea and placed the piece of paper with the prayer on it inside the teapot before pouring it in Rana’s cup. She must have done something wrong because Bibi’s predictions worked more than half the time.
“I’ve told you before, you must take extreme caution,” Bibi Moneer said. “If my instructions aren’t followed ‘hair-by-hair’ the prayers won’t work.”
They sat down on the felt mat. Bibi’s checkered bedroll was spread over the cement on the other half of the room. Dayeh noticed a single burner with a black teakettle steaming on top and didn’t hesitate to accept the glass of hot tea soon offered her.
After she had finished her tea, Bibi Moneer reached over and, taking her book, she paged through and read a few verses. The book ’s pages had yellowed and a few leaves came loose. She then tilted her head to the side and peered into Dayeh’s eyes as if trying to enter her mind. She finally put down the book and wagged a finger at her. “Life is only in God’s hands. You must never wish for anyone’s death!”
Startled, Dayeh pulled back a little and stared at her, wide-eyed.
The woman put the palms of her hands together. “I am a God fearing woman. I came here all the way from Yazd to live in the shadow of this saint,” she said and motioned in the general direction of the shrine. “I think I’ve made it clear that I can only help when the outcome promises to be good. You must never approach me with sinful thoughts, for I can’t help you with such dark intentions.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Dayeh said and sounded hurt. “I’m no less of a Muslim than you are, and I’ve never wished for anyone to die. Never, ever!”
Indeed, she had not. True that she couldn’t forgive what Parisa had done to her Rana, but death? Such a wish was too evil, even for that woman. What had Bibi Moneer foreseen? Doubts began to seep into her mind, spreading like a dark stain. Had she resented Parisa enough to wish her dead? Now she wasn’t sure. Still, that had definitely not been her reason for coming here today. On this visit she wanted to find out what was on Rana’s mind, why she no longer confided in her, and what secret she could possibly be keeping.
Bibi closed her beady eyes and rocked slowly as if she had gone into a trance. Minutes passed in utter silence. “I see a road.” She finally said, but stopped again. In the silence that followed, only the buzzing of a few flies could be heard.
Dayeh glanced out and saw Vida gathering pebbles. She had finished eating and was now playing in the hot midday sun.
A minute or two went by before Bibi opened her eyes. “a re you thinking of making a drastic change in your life?”
Dayeh shook her head.
The old fortuneteller nodded. “Good! Glad it’s not you. Because someone is stepping on a road that will lead to misfortune.”
A road? Dayeh didn’t know what to make of that. Could her nightlong prayers be answered and it was Parisa who would finally go away? Or was it the Major, leaving Rana and shaming the family with a divorce? She tried to shake away such dreadful thoughts. What if the prediction meant a combination of both? What if the Major and that woman went somewhere far and took the children, too?
“Is this traveller a man or a woman?”
Flies gathered on the bowl of sugar cubes and Bibi picked up a straw fan and shooed them. She mumbled a few prayers and closed her eyes again. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not even sure it’s a journey.” Then as if changing her mind, she added, “Actually, the road I see feels more like a decision and the only thing I can sense clearly is tears. Lots of tears.”
The loving nanny shuddered. She had seen more than enough tears already.
“Can’t you do something? I mean, couldn’t you stop this from happening?” Dayeh pleaded.
Bibi Moneer opened her eyes and stared at her through the gray film that old age had pulled over her pupils. She threw her head back. “Na!” She picked up her prayer beads, twirled it around her fingers while whispering verses in a rabic. Dayeh had not heard this prayer before and although she didn’t know the exact meaning of any a rabic prayers, this one sounded even more strange to her.
Finally, Bibi Moneer stood up to indicate the session was over. “This time I can’t help you.” She shook her head. “The avalanche has already left the mountain, it can only roll down and get bigger and I doubt anyone can stop it.” She raised her palms, the rosary dangling from her left hand. “All any of us can do is pray.”
Dayeh got up, pushed some folded money into the woman’s rough hand. Feeling disoriented from the shock, she struggled to put her shoes back on and called Vida over.
“I will pray for you,” the old woman said before they parted. Then as if a new thought had come to her, she pointed a finger at Vida, who had come closer and was now staring at them. Her voice turned into a mere whisper as she added, “And, I will pray for her, as well!”
Chapter
Twelve
ARUSTLING NOISE WOKE RANA. She realized she must have dozed off on the family room couch next to her sleeping baby. A thin, shiny film had formed on top of her tea and when she picked it up, it felt much too cold to drink. She looked around to see where the sound had come from and found her husband at the far end of the room, half hidden behind his newspaper.
“W hen did you come home?”
He lowered the paper and removed his reading glasses. “Not too long ago.” He looked around. “I wonder if any more of that tea is left.”
As if he had called a genie, the door opened momentarily and Banu walked in with two steaming glasses on a small silver tray.
“Eavesdropping again?” the Major said, glaring at the girl.
“No, sir. Khanoom hadn’t touched her tea, and I knew she’d be up by now.”
“Thank you, Banu,” Rana said, taking one of the two glasses from the tray. “Would you take Yalda to her room?”
Banu put the tray down and picked up the baby. Rana noticed the girl’s trembling hands when she cuddled the baby and scurried past the Major, as though fearing he might strike her.
“Have you spoken to Dr. Fard lately?” Moradi asked.
Rana knew right away where this conversation was going and despite her preparations for this talk, she felt the blood rush to her face. “Why?” She was surprised at her own calm voice.
“He called a couple of days ago to discuss the baby.”
Rana noticed yet another peculiarity in the way he spoke about Yalda. Not once had he called her by name and still had not registered the birth.
Moradi cleared his throat and went on, “He thinks we should take her abroad for a second opinion.”
Rana held her breath. We? She prayed he wasn’t thinking of going. That would mess up the entire plan. She tried to remain calm but his words echoed. A couple of days ago? He had been on a job assignment till now. Or had he?
Moradi checked his watch then removed it and started fiddling with the knob.
“I had to think about it.” His words had a condescending tone as if to imply he was the only one capable of thinking. “He says in America they may be able to do something about that leg, and recommends seeing a specialist and looking into ways to fix it.”
Rana shuddered at his phrasing. It sounded as if he was talking about a repair job, a leaking faucet or a crack in the driveway. He put his watch back on and said, “I’m wondering how much such a trip would cost.”
Even without looking, Rana could sense the curiosity in his stare. She shrugged. “Probably more than we can afford.” And she hoped her opposition would only make him more determined to follow through. “Especially if it involves seeing a specialist.” While saying the words, she couldn’t help but
wonder which cost more, a trip abroad or having a dual life?
He shrugged. “I think the doctors in America ought to be better than the ones they send here. Look at Nemazee Hospital. The place is practically run by Americans. But if these guys were any good, they’d find jobs back in their own country.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said. Years of good care at Nemazee had gained Rana’s trust, but she realized that might be the wrong argument. She forced a smile. “Any way, a consultation won’t hurt and a trip may be good for us,” she said calmly and couldn’t believe her own voice.
Moradi shook his head, “My work won’t allow me a prolonged absence. Not this year, any way.”
Rana’s exhale of relief came out sounding like a sigh. So he wasn’t planning to go, but was it really work that kept him here? Why does it still matter? She studied him across the room and wondered how two people, who once acted as one, could be so torn apart?
Moradi went on, “I don’t think you can manage such a trip alone, especially not while dragging a baby along.” W hen Rana didn’t respond, he continued, “The fact that your English has improved helps, but in a strange country, language isn’t the only problem.”
Rana wondered how he could know that. He had never been abroad.
“W here will you stay?” he went on. “A woman alone? We don’t know any men in America to help you in case there’s a problem.”
Rana did her best to appear calm. He mustn’t detect the rising rage within her.
“Why don’t you talk to Papa about this?’ she said. “He’s a doctor and has been abroad. He may have good suggestions.”
“I’ve thought of that.” He frowned and swallowed, as if the idea gave him heartburn.
Somehow his pause carried more weight than Rana cared for. She doubted the two had spoken since her return from Tehran. The unpleasant memories of the past few months came back and with that, the foggy image of that woman became more visible. Moradi claimed he was away on an assignment, but for all she knew he could have been right here in Shiraz, with his Parisa. Images of the two together filled her mind and she struggled to push them away and remain calm.
“I’m in no position to ask for a favor,” Moradi said at last. “But you could.”
Rana just stared at him.
“He favors you, so maybe if you asked, he’d agree to accompany you.” This was the first time he had made a remark about to recent change in his relationship to her father. Rana realized that his mellowed tone was the closest he could come to showing remorse.
Moradi cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I also think it would be best for me to move out of this house.”
Rana stared at him. The announcement was so unexpected that for a second she thought she must have misunderstood him.
He looked away. “I’m on assignments most of the time any way. And, we’re not—”
The door burst open and Banu staggered in, “Ma’am! Marjan khanoom is very sick.” The girl’s face had turned crimson and the way she panted made it clear she had run all the way down. Rana dropped the cup she was holding, flew out the door and ran up the steps two at a time.
A sour odor filled Marjan’s room. She was lying on the carpet, where she had vomited, her cheek touching the mess.
Rana screamed. “Bemeeram” - may I die!” and dropped on the floor next to her daughter, lifting her head and resting it on her lap.
“What happened to you, my love?”
Marjan did not respond. Her eyes were closed and bits of food were stuck to her hair.
Rana touched her forehead. It felt a little warm, but not enough to explain her unconscious state.
“I’ll rush her to the hospital myself,” Moradi said from behind and before Rana knew it, he had picked up the child and was out the door. Rana followed, unaware of being in her slippers, or that she was leaving her baby with a careless maid. All she could think about was the fall Marjan had taken the day before and prayed this had nothing to do with it.
Moradi put Marjan on the backseat. “You sit with her,” he shouted before jumping behind the wheel.
Rana didn’t know how her husband managed to fill out Marjan’s registration forms. Now that the paramedics had wheeled her in for x-rays, the parents were told to wait in a small room.
On the way to the hospital, Rana had tried to tell her husband about Marjan’s fall from the swing, but she wasn’t sure her words could be understood amid her uncontrollable sobs. With each bit of information, he had grunted, hit the steering wheel or glared at her through the rearview mirror, but he did not utter a word and didn’t need to.
After they had taken Marjan away and as soon as the two were alone, he started to pace the small area. “Why didn’t somebody bring her here yesterday?” he asked in an accusing tone.
Rana stared at him from behind a shield of tears. “She was fine yesterday.”
“Fine?” His face was flushed and he pointed to the hallway. “You call that fine?”
“She wasn’t like this,” Rana said and sounded defensive. “Nobody takes a kid to the hospital for every little bump!”
“You call that black egg on her forehead a ‘little bump’?”
“Kathy iced it down. We did what we thought was needed. Kids fall all the time. Claire was hurt too.”
“You should have known better,” he said.
Rana covered both ears with the palms of her hands. This wasn’t going any where. Worried sick for her child, the last thing she needed was to feel guilty.
Moradi found a magazine, sat with his back to her and started reading. She was grateful he had finally shut up.
Marjan’s pale face amid white sheets wouldn’t leave Rana. W hen they put her on the gurney and took her away, she felt a painful tug, as if they were taking her heart out of her chest. She realized how this child in her serene way had been a little adult, her quiet presence a comfort, her sad eyes understanding her mother’s pain. Funny how some children were never a child. Marjan’s old soul had always been evident. Those dark eyes had forever understood. Rana thought of all the unspoken words and realized what a special place her oldest daughter had in her heart. She prayed silently, even made bargains with God. “If you save my daughter, I promise to help many poor children …”
Now and then the sound of footsteps outside broke the room’s silence, a phone rang in the distance, or the speakers made a muted announcement. For a long time no one came in. W hen the door finally squeaked open, a nurse in a blue uniform peeked in. “Moradi?” she said, facing the Major as if Rana didn’t exist. They both jumped out of their seats. “The doctor would like to see you now.”
Rana dashed past her before she could be stopped. The young nurse soon caught up and opened the door to a room down the hallway. Moradi followed.
A middle-aged woman in a white lab coat greeted them. “I’m Dr. Mehrzad.” She shook hands with them and offered them seats. “I have spent the past two hours in the operating room with your daughter.”
“Operating roo…?” Rana’s voice broke.
Moradi raised a hand to stop her. “Let the doctor speak.”
But Dr. Mehrzad seemed in no rush to say more. She nodded with understanding and said to Rana, “It’s alright. I’m a mother, too. You have every right to be upset.”
A few seconds passed and this time, it was Moradi who showed no patience. “Well?” he said and they both stared at the doctor’s weathered face.
Dr. Mehrzad looked at Rana, then the Major and shook her head. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
No one responded as they both continued to stare at her.
“I’ve done everything I could,” the doctor said.
“a re you a pediatrician?” Moradi asked and did not seem to care how rude he sounded. He said the words as if to mean such a report would only be valid if it came from a children’s specialist.
The doctor’s calm expression did not change. “No, sir. I’m a neurosurgeon.”
Rana gasped.
A heavy silence fell. With each passing minute, the gravity of the situation intensified and Rana could hear her heart racing. The doctor maintained her calm tone, but Rana knew her bucket of patience was full, that each word was another drop that it could no longer take.
“Such incidents are not uncommon,” Dr. Mehrzad said, “ but we usually expect to see them following a more severe trauma. Falling off a swing is not a major accident, but she must have hit her head really hard on that tree.”
“What can be done now? That’s what I’d like to know.” The Major’s voice maintained its authoritative tone, as if ordering action.
“We have successfully drained the hematoma and relieved the pressure on her brain.”
“And?”
The doctor shook her head. “Unfortunately, she’s still in a coma.”
Rana could not hold her scream. This time, Moradi walked over to her, but before he could touch her arm, Rana stood and pulled away. This put her near the doctor, who caught her just as her knees folded. Rana felt the woman’s arms around her, holding the weight she could no longer support.
Rana opened her eyes to the fuzzy image of Dr. Mehrzad. She stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and as her mind darted back to Marjan, she begged to be taken to her daughter.
The doctor put a hand on her shoulder. “I think you should rest a little longer.”
“I want to see my Marjan,” she begged and sat up, still dizzy.
“You do understand, she won’t even know you’re there.”
Rana nodded sadly.
The doctor walked with Rana and she pushed a button to open the doors to a restricted area. They entered a cold room and the doctor drew back a canvas curtain. Marjan lay on a narrow cot, a white blanket tucked tightly around her, her head propped on two large pillows. The vision of all the mornings when she had found her child sleeping face down, her pillows tossed to the floor again, rushed back to Rana. How resigned she seemed now. If it weren’t for the bandage around her head, or the tubes in her nose, one could assume the child was peacefully asleep. Her long eyelashes cast a fan-shaped shadow over her pale cheeks.