The Book of Fate

by Parinoush Saniee

  The day passed in ecstasy and fantasy and I didn’t notice the night go by. What did I eat for dinner? Who came over? What did we talk about? In the middle of the night, I turned on the light and read the letter over and over again. I held it to my chest and dreamed sweet dreams until morning. My instincts told me that this was an experience you have only once in your lifetime and only at the age of sixteen.

  The next day, I was impatiently waiting for Parvaneh to come. I sat at the window, staring out at the front yard. Mother was going back and forth to the kitchen and she could see me. She gestured, ‘What do you want?’

  I opened the window and said, ‘Nothing… I’m bored. I’m just looking out at the street.’ A few minutes later I heard the doorbell. Grumbling, Mother opened the door. When she saw Parvaneh, she turned and gave me a meaningful look: so this is what you were waiting for.

  Parvaneh ran up the stairs and tossed her schoolbag in the middle of the room while trying to use one foot to slip the shoe off her other foot.

  ‘Oh come in… what are you doing?’

  ‘Damn these lace-up shoes!’

  Finally, she took her shoes off, came in and sat down. She said, ‘Let me read the letter again. I forgot some parts of it.’

  I handed her the book in which I had hidden the letter and said, ‘Tell me about today… Did you see him?’

  She laughed and said, ‘He saw me first. He was standing on the steps in front of the pharmacy and the way he was looking around, the entire city must have realised he was waiting for someone. When I reached him, he said hello without blushing. He asked, “How is she? Did you give her the letter?” I said, “Yes, she’s well and says hello.” He sighed with relief and said he was worried you were upset with him. Then he fidgeted a little and said, “She didn’t write back?” I told him I didn’t know, that I had just handed the letter to you and left. Now what are you going to do? He’s waiting for a reply.’

  ‘You mean I should write to him?’ I asked nervously. ‘No, it’s improper. If I do, he will probably think I’m a really cheeky girl.’

  Just then, Mother walked in and said, ‘And you really are cheeky.’

  My heart sank. I didn’t know how much of our conversation she had overheard. I looked at Parvaneh. She, too, looked terrified. Mother put down the bowl of fruit she had brought for us and sat down.

  ‘It’s good that you have finally realised you are cheeky,’ she said.

  Parvaneh quickly collected herself and said, ‘Oh no, this isn’t being cheeky.’

  ‘What isn’t being cheeky?’

  ‘You see, I told my mother that Massoumeh wants me to come visit her every day so that I can review the lessons with her. And Massoumeh was just saying that my mother will probably think she is really cheeky.’

  Mother shook her head and looked at us warily. Then she slowly got up, walked out and closed the door behind her. I motioned to Parvaneh to keep quiet. I knew Mother was standing behind the door, eavesdropping. We started talking loudly about school and our classes and how far behind I was. And then Parvaneh started reading from our Arabic textbook. Mother really liked the Arabic language and assumed we were reading the Quran. A few minutes later, we heard her walk down the stairs.

  ‘OK, she’s gone,’ Parvaneh said quietly. ‘Be quick and decide what you want to do.’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘In the end, you either have to write to him or talk to him. You can’t spend the rest of your lives signing and gesturing to each other. We have to at least find out what he has in mind. Is he thinking of marriage or not? Maybe he just wants to deceive us and lead us astray.’

  It was interesting. Parvaneh and I were merging and now spoke in the plural.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said nervously. ‘I don’t know what to write. You write.’

  ‘Me? I don’t know how. You are a lot better than me in composition and you know a lot of poems.’

  ‘Write whatever comes to your mind. I’ll do the same. Then we’ll put them together and come up with a proper letter.’

  Late that afternoon, I was jolted from my thoughts by Ahmad’s shouts and hollers out in the yard. ‘I hear that vulgar girl is coming over here every day. What’s the meaning of this? Didn’t I tell you that I don’t like her and her airs and pretensions? Why is she constantly here? What does she want?’

  ‘Nothing, my son,’ Mother said. ‘Why are you making yourself so upset? She just comes to give Massoumeh her homework and she leaves quickly.’

  ‘The hell she does! If I see her here one more time, I’ll throw her out with a kick in the ass.’

  I wished I could get my hands on Ali and give him a good beating. The little twerp was spying on us and telling Ahmad. I told myself there was nothing Ahmad could do, but still I had to warn Parvaneh to be careful and to come over only when Ali wasn’t at home.

  I spent the entire day and night writing and crossing out. I had written things to him before, but always in my made-up script and it was all too emotional and familiar for a formal letter. The script was an invention rooted in need. First of all, there was no such thing as privacy and personal space in our house. I didn’t even have a drawer all to myself. Second, I needed to write, I couldn’t stop, I had to put on paper my feelings and dreams. It was the only way I could organise my thoughts and understand exactly what I wanted.

  And yet, I didn’t know what to write to Saiid. I didn’t even know how to address him in the letter. Dear sir? No, it was too formal. Dear friend? No, it wasn’t proper. Should I use his first name? No, that would be too familiar. By Thursday afternoon when Parvaneh came to see me after school, I still hadn’t written a single word. She was more excited than ever before and when Faati opened the door for her, she didn’t even pat her on the head. She darted up the stairs, threw her bag on the floor, sat right there at the door and started talking while trying to pull off her shoes.

  ‘I was walking back from school just now and he called me and said, “Miss Ahmadi, your father’s medication is ready.” My poor father, who knows what disease he has that requires so much medicine. Thank God, that nosy Maryam wasn’t with me. I went in and he gave me a package. Hurry up and open my bag. It’s right there on top.’

  My heart was beating out of my chest. I sat on the floor and quickly opened her bag. There was a small package wrapped in white paper. I tore it open. It was a pocket-size book of poetry with an envelope sticking out of it. I was drenched in sweat. I took the letter and leaned against the wall. I felt faint. Parvaneh, who had finally got rid of her shoes, crawled over to me and said, ‘Don’t swoon now! Read it first, then pass out.’

  Just then Faati walked in, clung to me and said, ‘Mother wants to know whether Miss Parvaneh would like some tea.’

  ‘No! No!’ Parvaneh said. ‘Thank you so much. I have to leave soon.’

  Then she pulled Faati away from me and kissed her on the cheeks. ‘Go now and thank your mother for me. That’s a good girl.’

  But Faati again came over and clung to me. I realised she had been told not leave us alone. Parvaneh took a piece of candy out of her pocket, gave it to Faati and said, ‘Be a good girl and go tell your mother I don’t want any tea. Otherwise, she will climb up the stairs and it’s bad for her. Her legs will start to ache.’

  As soon as Faati left, Parvaneh snatched the letter from me and while saying, ‘Hurry up before someone else shows up,’ she opened the envelope and started to read.

  ‘Respectable young lady.’

  We looked at each other and burst into laughter. ‘Oh how funny!’ Parvaneh exclaimed. ‘Who writes “respectable young lady”?’

  ‘Well, he probably didn’t want to be too familiar in his first letters and call me “Miss”. To be honest, I have the same dilemma. I don’t know how to start my letter.’

  ‘Forget that for now. Read the rest.’

  I have yet to allow myself to write your name on paper, although I shout it in my heart a thousand times a day. No name has ever been so becoming and
befitting a face. The innocence in your eyes and on your face is so pleasing to the eye. I am addicted to seeing you every day. So much so that when I am deprived of this blessing, I find myself at a loss for what to do with my life.

  My heart

  Is a mirror hazy with sorrow

  Cleanse the dust off this mirror

  With your smile.

  Not seeing you these days, I am someone lost and adrift. In this solitude, remember me with a word or a message so that I can again find myself. With all my being, I pray that you regain your health. For the love of God, take care of yourself. Saiid.

  Parvaneh and I, dizzy and intoxicated by the beauty of the letter, were deep in fantasy when Ali walked in. I quickly slipped the book and the letter under my legs. With a belligerent look and a bristly tone he said, ‘Mother wants to know if Miss Parvaneh is staying for lunch.’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you very much,’ Parvaneh said. ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘Very well,’ Ali grumbled. ‘But we want to eat now.’ And he walked out.

  I was angry and embarrassed and didn’t know what to say to Parvaneh. She had noticed my family’s cold attitude towards her and said, ‘I’ve been coming over too often. I think they’ve had enough of me. When are you coming back to school? You’ve been in bed for ten days. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘I’m going crazy. I’m tired and bored. I’ll probably come back on Saturday.’

  ‘Can you? Is it all right?’

  ‘I’m feeling much better. I will exercise my ankle until Saturday.’

  ‘Then we’ll be free. I swear I can’t look your mother in the eyes any more. I’ll pick you up at exactly seven-thirty on Saturday morning.’

  She kissed me on the cheeks and ran down the stairs without bothering to tie her shoelaces. Out in the front yard, I heard her say to Mother, ‘I’m so sorry, but I had to come today. You see, we have a test on Saturday and I had to let Massoumeh know so that she can prepare for it. Thank God, it seems her ankle is much better. I’ll pick her up on Saturday and we’ll slowly walk to school.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mother said. ‘Her ankle hasn’t healed yet.’

  ‘But we have a test!’ Parvaneh insisted.

  ‘So you do. It’s not all that important. And Ali tells me there’s still a month left until school exams start.’

  I opened the window and shouted, ‘No, Mother. I definitely have to go. It’s a preparatory exam. Its grade gets added to the grade we get on the actual exam.’

  Mother angrily turned her back to me and went to the kitchen. Parvaneh glanced up at me, winked and left.

  I immediately started exercising my ankle. The instant I felt pain, I would lie down and put my foot up on a pillow. Instead of massaging my ankle with one egg yolk, I used two, and I doubled the amount of the oils. And in between all this, I grasped every opportunity to read the letter that was now my dearest and most valuable possession.

  I kept asking myself, why is his heart a mirror hazy with sorrow? He must have a difficult life. Obviously, working, supporting his mother and three sisters, and studying is a heavy burden. Perhaps if he didn’t have all these responsibilities and if his father was still alive, he would come and ask for my hand right now. The doctor said they are a reputable family. I’m even willing to live with him in a dank room. But why did he write that my name suits my face and my character? Wasn’t my accepting his letters proof that I was not innocent? Would I have fallen in love if I were truly innocent? But I couldn’t help it. I tried not to think of him, not to have my heart beat so fast when I saw him, not to blush, but I couldn’t control any of it.

  On Saturday morning I woke up earlier than usual. In truth, I hardly slept all night. I got dressed and made my bed to prove to everyone that I was no longer ailing. I put aside Grandmother’s cane, which had served me well, held onto the banister, climbed down the stairs and sat at the breakfast spread.

  ‘Are you sure you can go to school?’ Father asked. ‘Why don’t you let Mahmoud take you there on his motorcycle?’

  Mahmoud gave Father a harsh look and said, ‘Father, what are you saying? All we were missing was for her to ride without hijab behind a man on a motorcycle!’

  ‘But son, she’ll be wearing her headscarf. Won’t she?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘When have I ever gone to school without a headscarf?’

  ‘And you are her brother, not a stranger,’ Father added.

  ‘God have mercy! Father, it seems Tehran has led you astray, too!’

  I interrupted Mahmoud and said, ‘Don’t worry, Father. Parvaneh is picking me up. She’ll help me and we’ll walk to school together.’

  Mother mumbled something under her breath. And Ahmad, his eyes puffy from the previous night’s drinking, with his usual anger barked, ‘Ha! Parvaneh, of all people. I tell you not to hang out with her and you make her your walking stick?’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘What’s not wrong with her?’ he sneered. ‘She’s vulgar, constantly laughing and giggling, her skirt is too short, and she swings her hips when she walks.’

  I turned red and snapped back, ‘Her skirt isn’t short at all. It’s longer than everyone else’s in school. She’s an athlete and not one of those girls who strut and sashay. And what’s more, how do you know she wiggles her hips when she walks? Why are you looking at another man’s daughter?’

  ‘Shut up or I’ll hit you so hard in the mouth that your teeth will fall out! Mother, do you see how impudent she’s become?’

  ‘Enough!’ Father roared. ‘I know Mr Ahmadi. He is a very respectable and educated man. Uncle Abbas asked him to mediate when he got into an argument with Abol-Ghassem Solati over the store next door. No one goes against what Mr Ahmadi says. Everyone trusts his word.’

  Ahmad, who had turned bright red, turned to Mother and said, ‘Here you are! And then you wonder why the girl has become so impudent. Why shouldn’t she be impudent when everyone always takes her side?’ Then he turned to me and growled, ‘Go, go with her, sister. As a matter of fact, the girl is decency personified. Go learn respectability from her.’

  As luck would have it, just then the doorbell rang. I turned to Faati and said, ‘Tell her I’ll be right there.’ And to bring the argument to an end, I put on my headscarf as quickly as I could, said a hasty goodbye and limped out.

  Out on the street, I felt the cold wind on my face and stood for a few seconds to enjoy the fresh air. It smelled of youth, love and happiness. I leaned on Parvaneh. My ankle still hurt, but I didn’t care. I tried to curb my excitement and slowly and quietly we set off for school. From a distance, I saw Saiid standing on the second step in front of the pharmacy, peering down the street. When he saw us, he leaped down the steps and came to greet us. I bit my lip and, realising he shouldn’t have done that, he went back and stood on the steps. His eager eyes became sad when he saw my bandaged foot and my limp. My heart wanted to flutter out of my chest and go to him. I felt as if I hadn’t seen him in years, but I felt closer to him than I had when we last saw each other. Now, I knew him, I knew what his feelings were for me, and I loved him more than ever before.

  When we reached the pharmacy, Parvaneh turned to me and said, ‘You must be tired. Let’s stop for a second.’

  I put my hand on the wall and discreetly returned Saiid’s hello. ‘Does your ankle hurt a lot?’ he quietly asked. ‘Would you like me to give you a painkiller?’

  ‘Thank you. It’s much better.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Parvaneh whispered nervously. ‘Your brother Ali is coming.’

  We quickly said goodbye and continued on our way.

  That day we had one hour of physical education, which Parvaneh and I skipped along with another class. We had so much to talk about. When the assistant principal came out into the schoolyard, we ran and hid in the toilets and then we went and sat behind the school’s concessions stand. Under the feeble February sun, we read Saiid’s letter two or three more times. We praised his
gentleness, compassion, civility, penmanship, prose and erudition.

  ‘Parvaneh, I think I have heart disease,’ I said.

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because my heart doesn’t beat normally. I constantly have palpitations.’

  ‘When you see him or when you don’t?’

  ‘When I see him my heart beats so fast that I start panting.’

  ‘It isn’t heart disease, my dear,’ she said laughing. ‘It’s love disease. If I, a nobody, feel my heart suddenly sink and beat wildly when he pops up in front of me, I can only imagine what you must be feeling.’