“Uha.” Banu nodded several times like a goat. “But I don’t think he’ll be coming home tonight. Leila said the woman was due back today from the hospital.”
Dayeh picked up a few breadcrumbs from the rug, put them back in the tray, and pulled her aching body up.
“Go to bed now. I want you up early in the morning,” she said to end the conversation. There would always be time to chat, but for now she needed Banu out of the way to have a good talk with Rana.
Rana let the visions of the obscure scene across the Khalili garden circle her mind. She knew that sitting in the semi-dark room to mull over her half-knowledge would only keep her up all night, but she couldn’t stop. A million new questions came to her mind, but how was she to ask Banu or Dayeh without revealing the fact that she’d been spying on her own husband?
She turned on the small lamp next to her, picked up a magazine and began to page through. The pages were blurry and no matter where she looked, she saw only her husband adoringly supporting that woman up the stairs and into their love nest. She recalled Parisa’s profile at the door, her body leaning back, standing sideways to reveal a flat tummy. Maybe if she blinked really hard, the images would go away, but they continued to pop out of the magazine pages, danced around the room and circled in her head. Oh, if only she could scream and get it all out! She threw the magazine aside and picked up her book. The printed words marched on the page like a row of little ants.
Rana’s mind had become so exhausted that when the bright light came on without Dayeh bothering to ask permission, she covered her eyes in protest. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you, is what,” Dayeh said with sarcasm. “You’ll lose precious eyesight reading like that,” she went on with authority. “It’s one thing to sit there in the dark and brood over the demon in your husband and quite another to try reading in the dark.” She picked up the magazine Rana had tossed to the floor. “Care for more tea?”
Rana shook her head.
Dayeh stood next to the couch for a few seconds before slumping down on the carpet. “Oh, child,” she began with a sigh and put her elbow on the coffee table to support her. “Will you talk to me while I’ve got a few days left, or am I already as good as dead to you?”
Rana gave her a sad smile. Dayeh had become an expert in using that martyr’s tone, making her think of the worst just to get an answer. Maybe she had learned this from Rana’s mother and her fainting episodes, a drastic approach that ultimately made everyone take notice. True that Rana had strict orders to keep her nanny in the dark, but she could now sense the distance she had unwillingly created. Soon their intimate talks would be impossible.
She frowned. “Don’t you dare use such words.”
“Why not just say ‘shut up Dayeh and watch Rana suffer because she doesn’t trust you any more?’”
Rana reached over, put her hand on Dayeh’s cheek and gave it a loving stroke. Age had drawn a gray ring around the pupils of her eyes and the deep lines that radiated around her eyelids made it seem as if she squinted all the time. When had she turned so old? Rana remembered the same expression on a much younger face of the woman who tucked her in at nights, whispering soothing words. These shriveled lips bore no resemblance to the young mouth that had sung to a sleepy little Rana. Could one’s face collapse under the heavy burden of life? Or was it the tears that, like a river, left a deep groove on their paths? The bitter truth in Dayeh’s remark filled Rana’s heart with anxiety. Indeed, the time to talk was now or never. She didn’t have to tell all, but keeping one secret didn’t mean they couldn’t remain close.
“Oh, Dayeh-joon, you know I trust you.”
“Know? And how do I know that when you don’t talk to me for months?”
Rana laughed light-heartedly. “We’re talking right now, aren’t we?”
Dayeh turned her face away and muttered, “Don’t you mock me, child.” She clasped her arms around her knees and rocked side-to-side as if to draw comfort from the gentle movement. “When you let someone into your heart, you absorb their joy as well as their pain.” She gave out a deep sigh. “Lately, my heart has been tormented by what goes on inside you, and it kills me not to know the cause of it.”
Rana felt a shiver, but she would not allow herself to become too emotional. This was how Dayeh would remember her for years to come. Rana had to assure her that she was fine. She watched the tears slide down her old nanny’s sunken cheeks and through deep wrinkles until they finally disappeared into the white scarf around her neck. She longed to hold that arched torso in her arms, but did not dare for fear she, too, might cry.
“Let me tell you,” the old nanny finally said. “Sorrows can kill if we don’t vent them. Dark secrets to the heart are like flame to a candle, they make you melt silently. But words are the fan that blows out that flame.” As if pleased with her poetic analogy, she raised her eyebrows and nodded, “That’s why you need to talk, child. That’s why!”
Rana looked out into the garden without a word.
“You think I know nothing?” Dayeh went on. “Let me tell you, child. In a small town, gossip circles like the whirlwind, and it reaches the common man first. It’s no longer a secret that the cursed shrew carried your husband’s illegitimate child.”
She paused, sniffed hard, and using the corner of her scarf wiped her face.
Rana just sat there, hoping her face showed no emotion.
“You know?” Dayeh went on, “Losing that baby serves them both right because it happened to be a boy.” She gave out a nervous chuckle.
Rana stared at her nanny. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“I’d be the last to want to bring you any of this, but I’ve seen how you hang your head about having no sons. It’s about time your husband realized that maybe God doesn’t want to give him a son.”
The sadness Rana felt surprised even her. If this was war, the enemy had ended up far less than victorious. She recalled the day she lost Marjan and her eyes welled with tears at the remembrance. Oh, how long it had taken her to stop denying the bitter reality. What others considered coping, or worse, “getting over it” was nothing but painful silence. By now Marjan’s life supplemented her own. Rana knew the unbearable agony of the first few months following the loss of a child. “Oh, that poor Parisa,” she whispered.
Dayeh stared at her in bewilderment, unable to respond.
Rana shook her head side to side and repeated, “Poor, poor Parisa!”
Chapter
Sixteen
THE NIGHT BEFORE they were to leave for Tehran, Dayeh was sure morning would never come. She tossed and turned in her bedroll, counted the twelve Imams on her prayer beads, and said seven times the first surah of the Koran. But sleep would not come. Dr. Ameli had specified she must accompany Rana to Tehran, but what about later on? She had no idea what was expected of her while Rana and her children were abroad. She hated house sitting in Shiraz, with Banu being the only other person left. Maybe the Amelis would ask her to stay in Tehran a while longer. What did Bibi Moneer know? God willing, everyone would return safely within a few weeks. But still, something stirred within her as if her heart itself was boiling over.
The Major was away, but he had said he’d be back late at night, and even asked Dayeh to wake him up in the morning.
“I’ll drive to the airport myself,” he had said.
Dayeh was furious at such pretence, but tried to keep her peace on this last day and say nothing that might bother Rana.
She thought maybe it was hunger that kept her up and decided to get a bite to eat. She had left a light on in the hallway for the Major, but noticed another light upstairs. Had Vida left it on? She took off her slippers at the bottom of the stairs and crept barefoot up the carpeted steps. The light came from under Rana’s door. That poor girl had worked so hard that she must have fallen asleep before she could turn her light off. Dayeh hesitated a moment, then decided to go in and turn it off. She twisted the doorknob with care and now saw R
ana sitting on her bed, with her back to the door and talking on the phone.
“No, I haven’t told a soul,” she said into the receiver.
Dayeh froze in place. Something in the way Rana said those words piqued her curiosity.
“Papa, I can’t do that.” Rana said. “At least, not the ones Farhad has given me. Besides, don’t you think he’d be suspicious if suddenly all my jewelry was gone?”
There was a long pause. Then Rana responded in a voice that was just short of crying. “I don’t care what he does, Papa. I promise you, I won’t even look behind me.” Her voice broke and she sniffed. “My only regret is not saying a proper goodbye to those I really love.”
Rana slid to the edge of her bed and ran her big toe on the floor as if in search of her slippers. Dayeh closed the door before Rana turned.
Back in the kitchen, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Those last words had set off an alarm. This trip was not a short visit abroad. Rana was leaving without saying a “proper goodbye” and taking some of her jewelry, too?
Bibi Moneer had said someone was about to go on a long road. She had said it would end in disaster. The old witch had been wrong many times. Maybe this, too, was pure gibberish. But where was Rana really going and why was her father helping her?
Dayeh stared at the glass-covered pots of leftovers. But despite her churning stomach, she had lost her appetite. What did that brief conversation mean? Looking back, she realized that this time Rana hadn’t asked her to pack for her. Not only had she packed her own suitcase, but insisted on doing the girls’, too. “You won’t be there to help me unpack,” she had reasoned. “I just want to know where I put everything.” At the time, it sounded logical, but now she wondered if there was another reason.
Overcome with anxiety, Dayeh realized that the only clue might come from what was in those suitcases. As quietly as she had gone down, she climbed the stairs back up. Rana’s light was now off. Dayeh slipped into Vida’s room.
Two of the suitcases sat by the closet. In the darkness, she listened to the little girl’s deep breathing and decided it best not to turn on the light. The single bulb hanging in the closet would do. She turned on the closet light and left its door ajar. The latch on the first suitcase opened with a loud click, but Vida did not move.
The suitcase contained mostly baby clothes. She knew many of them but as she checked deeper, she found new ones in much bigger sizes. These had been gifts from friends, and she remembered Rana asking her to put them away till the baby had grown. Back then, she had enjoyed the vision of Yalda growing to be that big, but now the idea that they may plan to stay away that long made her feel betrayed. “My only regret is not saying a proper goodbye to those I really love,” Rana had said.
The second suitcase was Vida’s, but except for a few items of winter clothing, it contained nothing unusual. Then again, with the changing weather that Rana had mentioned, those jackets and sweaters would come handy. She was about to close the suitcase when out of the top pocket something heavy slid and fell onto the rug with a thud. Dayeh looked up at Vida, who had now turned her back to the light. When the child resumed her deep breathing, Dayeh picked up the fallen object and her heart nearly stopped at the sight of the Koran, the one from Rana’s wedding ceremony. This was the only object to which that girl seemed to be attached. She wouldn’t let Banu touch it and had specified it should never leave the mantle.
“Dear God, no!” Dayeh whispered. She clutched the book in her hands and pressed it to her chest as if to calm her racing heart. Now she had no doubt about some kind of trouble ahead.
Dayeh’s mind flew back to years before and the ceremonial visit by the late Mr. and Mrs. Moradi a week before the wedding. Mrs. Moradi had shown good taste in the way she presented the Koran, along with a large silver mirror and matching candelabras. A servant carried the items on a tray, lined with a cashmere shawl and covered with rose petals. Everyone had cheered and clapped while Dayeh circled the room carrying a brazier of burning wild rue. Later, Mrs. Ameli served a delicious cake as Rana herself served the tea. “May you be safe in the shadow of this holy book,” the groom’s father had said the traditional words.
When the Major took his new bride back to Shiraz, that Koran had found its place on the marble mantle, to be used only on special occasions. Each time someone went on a trip, the Koran was held above their heads and they kissed it before leaving the house. Each new baby passed under the Koran the first time they entered that front door. Rana had always carried a smaller Koran in her purse for long trips. This one had never left the house. When a woman took her wedding Koran out of her house, it signified trouble. Was Rana getting a divorce? If so, why would she keep that a secret from her? Dayeh felt both angry and sad at the same time, angry enough to consider going straight to the Major and demanding an answer. But Rana obviously wanted it this way. How could she betray the trust of a lifetime?
She closed the suitcases and turned off the light.
Moradi stood at the front door, checking his watch every few seconds. Vida anxiously knelt on the floor and cuddled her cat one last time before going.
“Maman won’t let me put Peeshee in my suitcase.”
Moradi smiled at her, but did not argue.
Everyone waited while Banu ran around looking for the Koran. “It was here on that marble shelf just two days ago,” she mumbled and now kept on looking behind the books on the bookshelf. “I dusted and put it right back on its stand.”
Rana came down the stairs holding her purse in one hand and her case of makeup and jewelry in the other. Dayeh followed, carrying the baby.
“What’s all the fuss about?” she asked Banu.
The girl looked as if she was about to cry. “Can’t find the big Koran. I swear it was right here.” And she pointed to the bookshelf.
Moradi watched his wife and thought she turned pale, but then again, she looked pale lots of times. A deep silence fell for a few seconds.
The old nanny turned to face the maid. “Why didn’t you ask me?” she said. “I took it upstairs to Miss Rana’s room when we were packing, and I read verses to bless their trip.”
With a sigh of relief, Banu rushed to the stairs, but before she had climbed, Dayeh grabbed her shirtsleeve. “Don’t waste more precious time, girl. Go get mine.” And she nodded to her room down the hallway. “A Koran is a Koran, and we’re late as it is.”
Moradi noticed the exchange of a peculiar look between Rana and her old nanny, but managed to dismiss the thought. Was he becoming obsessed? He had no time for such silly notions, and it was out of character for him to make something out of nothing. Glad to see the maid approaching with a Koran and a glass of water, he prepared to leave.
Vida, proud of knowing the ceremony, passed under the tray three times and kissed the Koran before leaving. Once all the passengers had gone through the ritual, Banu picked up the glass of water, reached for a pot of geranium and topped the water with petals.
Before driving away, Moradi readjusted the rearview mirror of the new Jeep. In it, he saw the maid standing by the stairs, ready to pour the water behind them to grant the passenger’s safe and speedy return.
The emptiness of the house hit Moradi the minute he returned from the airport. Maybe he should have gone straight to Parisa, but he needed to pick up a few things.
The maid came in with a tray. “Thought you’d want your tea before I turn off the samovar, sir.”
He nodded and settled in his chair.
The silence was so unbearable that he almost welcomed the mew of Peeshee. The cat circled his legs before settling on the couch and for a split second, he expected Vida to follow. He looked at the dining table, where Marjan used to do her homework. Her absence was as soundless as her presence had been, but like a footprint left in cement, her trace would never be erased from his life. When she was alive, he saw her as a shadow of his conscience, now he would do anything to have her back. Vida was different. To miss her so soon surprised him. Unli
ke Rana, who seemed to have buried her soul along with her daughter, Vida shared his grief. She had helped her daddy to fill the gap Marjan had left behind. But now even Vida couldn’t help him as he grieved his unborn son. Parisa was too crushed to talk about it and there was no one else who’d know the depth of such pain.
Moradi listened to the hollow silence around him. The house would remain void of life for weeks to come. He sipped his tea and surveyed the room. The empty brass stand on the bookshelf, where the old Koran had sat for years, reminded him of all that he had lost. That Koran had become the single object connecting him to his late parents. His father put great emphasis on respect for the holy book. “Always keep it on a high shelf, and never place anything on top of it,” he had said. But this Koran had a unique value, as it had been in the family ever since his parents were married. His father had recorded the birth of his sister, Badri, and later his own, inside the front cover. Once, when he mentioned how rare that special edition had become, his father smiled and said, “May you write the names of your sons inside it, as we wrote yours years ago.”
When he had daughters, his father inscribed their births in his neat handwriting. While recording Vida’s birth, the old man had repeated, “May God grant you a son.” He fussed with each letter as if he knew that those notes would become his legacy. “Your mother and I weren’t able to have more than two children, but I hope you’ll be blessed with many more.” Moradi remembered the words as if they were spoken only days before. His father gently blew over the writing to help the ink dry then closed the Koran and kissed its cover. “Each child is a gift,” he said. “But only a son grants the family longevity and keeps your name alive.”
“Don’t worry, Father,” he had said jokingly, “We will go on having children until you get your boy!” Now he wondered if the name Moradi was about to die.
He called Banu. “Go to Rana khanoom’s room and bring me the Koran.”
“Yes, Major.”
Moon Daughter Page 20
