The Book of Fate

by Parinoush Saniee

  ‘Nothing is going on,’ I said. ‘Tell me about the birthday party. Did you have fun?’

  ‘It was excellent. We played plenty of music and danced. By the way, I have to invite everyone over. I must have a birthday party. I have gone to everyone’s house, but I have never thrown a party. How about next month?’

  ‘But your birthday is in the summer!’ I said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I just need an excuse. Nothing ever happens here anyway, I might as well invite my friends.’

  ‘Perhaps something will happen and you will be able to invite your friends to a wedding,’ I said.

  With her eyes wide, Shirin turned and stared at Massoud. ‘A wedding? Whose wedding?’

  ‘My wedding,’ Massoud said. ‘Your brother’s wedding. Would you like it if I got married?’

  ‘You? Get married? No, to be honest, I wouldn’t like it,’ Shirin said bluntly. ‘But I guess it depends on who she is.’

  ‘We don’t know her,’ I said. ‘They met and took a liking to each other.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s that cheeky girl who calls here all the time,’ Shirin snapped. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? I knew something was going on. Mum, you know, she’s the pest who calls and hangs up.’

  Massoud blushed and retorted, ‘What do you mean by “pest”? She is shy. When she calls and someone else answers the telephone, she gets embarrassed and hangs up.’

  ‘Shy?’ Shirin scoffed. ‘Sometimes she does talk. She shamelessly asks, “Is Massoud Khan home?” And when I ask for her name she coyly says she will call back later. She sounds so conceited!’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Massoud chided. And then he turned to me and said, ‘By the way, we should order flowers for tomorrow. And remember to wear something elegant…’

  I looked at him with surprise and said, ‘You sound like you have done this a hundred times! You know the routine very well.’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Ladan told me what we need to do to please her parents.’

  ‘I’m coming, too!’ Shirin announced.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You can come the next time we go to see them.’

  ‘Why? I have to see her. I am the sister-in-law and I have to approve of her!’

  ‘Not when the sister-in-law is still a kid,’ Massoud replied.

  ‘I am not a kid! I am eighteen years old. Mum, would you please say something?’

  ‘Massoud,’ I said, ‘what is wrong with her coming along? Usually, it’s the suitor’s mother and sister who go to ask for the girl’s hand. And stop calling her a kid. I was already a mother when I was her age.’

  ‘No, Mum, not now, it’s not prudent. She can come next time.’

  Shirin sulked and cried but none of it made Massoud change his mind. Apparently, he had received orders from above and non-compliance was not an option.

  The basket of flowers was so large that it wouldn’t fit in the car. We finally managed to put it in the boot, but we had to leave the door open.

  ‘Did you have to buy such a huge basket of flowers?’ I asked.

  ‘Ladan said, “You have to bring as large a bouquet as possible so that it will stand out among the ones others have brought.”’

  ‘What a stupid thing to say!’

  Their house was old and sprawling. The rooms were all furnished with antiques and there was one of every china vase I had ever seen in stores or elsewhere. The sofas and chairs were in the classical style, with high legs, gold-leafed armrests, and red, yellow and orange upholstery. There were replicas of old paintings in heavy, ornate gold-coloured frames and red curtains with tassels and gold-coloured lining… The house looked more like a hotel or a restaurant than a cosy and comfortable home.

  Ladan’s mother was about the same age as me, with bleached-blonde hair and full make-up. She was wearing high-heeled sandals and no stockings, and she smoked one cigarette after the other. Her father was dignified-looking with salt and pepper hair and a pipe in the corner of his mouth. He constantly talked about his family, their former prestige and status, their important relatives and their trips overseas.

  I mostly listened and the night passed with simple introductions and casual conversation. I could tell they were waiting for me to bring up the more important topic that had brought us together, but I felt it was too soon. When I asked to use the bathroom, Ladan’s mother insisted that she take me to one of the bathrooms in the section of the house where their private rooms and bedrooms were. She wanted me to see the rest of their home. But even in the family room, all the seats were gaudily upholstered and I didn’t see a single comfortable chair. To be polite, I said, ‘You have a beautiful home.’

  ‘Would you like to see the rest of the rooms?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘No, no thank you. I won’t intrude.’

  ‘Oh, please! Come with me.’

  And with her hand on my back she half pushed me towards the bedrooms. Although I hated this, a mix of curiosity and wickedness made me go along with her. The curtains in all the rooms were heavy and expensive, adorned with ribbons and tassels. The rest of the furnishings were equally ornate and in the same style.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Massoud complained on the way home.

  ‘Say what? It was just our first meeting.’

  He turned away from me and didn’t speak another word.

  At home, Shirin was still not talking to Massoud. Instead, she addressed me and said, ‘Well, tell me all about it! What went on in the stone castle?’

  ‘Nothing special,’ I said.

  Already angry at having been excluded, she griped, ‘Fine, don’t tell me! I’m an outsider, a stranger; I’m not even a human being. You think I’m a child, a spy, you hide everything from me.’

  ‘No, my dear. That is not true,’ I said consolingly. ‘Let me get changed and I will tell you all about it.’

  She followed me to my bedroom and sat on the bed with her legs crossed.

  ‘So, tell me!’

  ‘You ask and I will answer,’ I said while taking off my dress.

  ‘What is the girl like?’

  As hard as I tried to think of a striking characteristic in her, nothing came to my mind. I hesitated and said, ‘She is a little short. A little shorter than me, but a lot heavier.’

  ‘You mean she is fat?’

  ‘No, just plump. Well, I’m skinny; someone who is heavier than me isn’t necessarily fat.’

  ‘And what about the rest?’

  ‘I think she has fair skin. But she was wearing a lot of make-up and the room wasn’t very bright so I couldn’t really tell. I think she has brown eyes. She has dyed her hair light brown, closer to blonde.’

  ‘Oh! What was she wearing?’

  ‘A tight black skirt, above the knees, with a black, pink and purple patterned jacket.’

  ‘Straight hair?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She had curled it, but there were a few too many curls.’

  ‘Great!’ she exclaimed. ‘What an enchantress! And what about Mummy and Daddy?’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, it’s not nice. They seem quite respectable. Her mother is about the same age as me; well, she was wearing a lot of make-up, too. But she was dressed very elegantly. And their house is filled with fine china, antiques, tasselled curtains and classic gold-coloured furniture.’

  ‘This gentleman, who had turned into such a fanatic after the war that he got upset if I wore a tiny bit of make-up and constantly complained about my headscarf being too far back on my head, now wants to marry that kind of girl? And with his Hezbollahi friends?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t understand it at all,’ I said. ‘Everything seems to have turned upside down.’

  ‘Well, despite all this, did you like her?’

  ‘What can I say?’

  Just then I turned and saw Massoud leaning against the door, watching me with eyes full of reproach and hurt. He shook his head and without saying a word he went to his room.

  With every meeting, the profound di
fferences between our two families became more evident and I saw how incompatible Massoud and Ladan were. But Massoud saw none of it. He was so infatuated that he was blind to everything around him. He was wary of talking to me and I kept silent. The only words we exchanged on the subject were about our back and forth visits. With no comment or discussion, I went with him and listened to the conversations.

  I learned that for their older daughter, Ladan’s parents had requested a marriage portion of a hundred gold coins, but their son-in-law had promised them double that. I learned where the family had purchased the wedding ring for Ladan’s maternal cousin who had recently married, how much they had paid for the wedding dress, and which gem was used in the jewellery set her paternal cousin wore at the ceremony.

  Of course, I knew it wasn’t all true; sometimes the stories were contradictory. ‘Oh, you are so lucky,’ I once said in utter meanness. ‘In the past few weeks you have gone to at least ten weddings!’ They grew quiet and looked at each other. I could tell they were getting bored. But then they started arguing about whether it was better to have a wedding in the summer or the autumn.

  I didn’t know what to do. The more I tried, the harder it was for me to warm to that girl and the more impossible it seemed to establish a normal relationship with those superficial people who were completely preoccupied with money, clothes, hairstyles and make-up. Still, I didn’t want to have a talk with Massoud. I was afraid that any comment or observation I made would be construed as my taking a defensive position. He had to discover the incompatibilities on his own.

  Finally, under pressure from Ladan, Massoud broached the subject and, with a resentment and coldness that I had never heard in his voice, said, ‘Well, Mum, how long do you want to drag out this game?’

  ‘Which game?’

  ‘Your refusal to talk about me and Ladan and our plans.’

  ‘What would you like me to say?’

  ‘Your opinion!’

  ‘But I am more interested in your opinion,’ I said. ‘I think you have got to know Ladan’s family a little. What do you think of them?’

  ‘What do I care about her family?’ he said. ‘It is her I love.’

  ‘Everyone grows up in a family and shares the same background and upbringing.’

  ‘And what is wrong with their background? They have a lot of class.’

  I paused. That word didn’t exist in Massoud’s vocabulary.

  ‘What do you mean when you say, “They have class”? In your opinion, what sort of people have class?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he said irritably. ‘What kind of question is that? They are respectable people.’

  ‘Why do you think they are respectable people? Because they have a lot of antiques? Because instead of thinking about comfort and beauty, they surround themselves with things that are just expensive? Because they constantly talk about clothes and hair colour? Or because they always talk behind each other’s backs and are obsessed with their rivalries?’

  ‘But you love beautiful things, too,’ Massoud argued. ‘You always complain that my shirt and trousers don’t match and for every piece of furniture you go to a hundred different stores.’

  ‘My dear, appreciating beauty and wanting your home to be handsomely furnished is a reflection of a passion for life and I have nothing against it at all. Everyone’s life is a mirror image of their taste, their thinking and their culture.’

  ‘So seeing their house you realised that there is something wrong with their thinking and culture?’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Have you ever seen even a small bookshelf in that house? Have you ever seen one of them read a book? Have they ever talked about a scholarly work or a piece of art or an antique without mentioning its monetary value?’

  ‘That is nonsense! Not everyone puts their books on display. And why would you even go looking for their books?’

  ‘Because I want to see what their intellectual leanings are.’

  ‘Come on! We have books from every order, sect and side. Who would know what our intellectual leanings are?’

  ‘Someone who is a thinker and an intellectual.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘On a communist’s bookshelf there are books on that ideology, from the basic to the advanced. His novels are mostly by Maxim Gorky and other Russian writers. And he has the works of Romain Rolland and the like. He has very few books on other philosophies and ideologies. A non-communist intellectual’s shelves include a couple of basic books on communist theory, which have been abandoned half read. The rest of the books would be what the communists describe as “bourgeois books”…

  ‘Having Ali Shariati’s books in your library doesn’t mean you have strong leanings towards Islam, because after the revolution everyone bought his books. But the libraries of ardent Muslims are packed with prayer books, books on Islamic theory and philosophy, books on religious guidance and the like. In contrast, the bookshelves of nationalists are filled with biographies of politicians and an assortment of books on Iranian history. In addition, every well-educated person has a few books on their field of study and area of expertise.’

  ‘But why do you care so much about their intellectual and political leanings?’

  ‘Because my entire life has been affected by various political groups and their beliefs, and I want to know who I am dealing with this time.’

  ‘But you are against politics and you keep making us promise not get involved in it,’ Massoud argued.

  ‘Yes, but have I ever told you not to read and learn? Like every intelligent person, you have to understand different schools of thought so that you can tell right from wrong and not become a tool in the hands of those seeking power. Has Ladan ever talked to you about something she has read or any ideas or points of view she has? You are a talented artist. Do you two share any likes or dislikes when it comes to the arts? And most important of all, with the religious beliefs you developed after being a prisoner of war, how do you want to come to terms with a family whose only notion of Islam is a commemoration dinner in honour of Imam Abolfazl, which they host as if it were a wedding? They are supporters of the Shah, waiting for the Crown Prince to return. Not because of their political beliefs, but because drinking alcohol was allowed and they could wear bikinis on the beach. With our background, what do you think we would have to talk about? My dear Massoud, this girl has nothing in common with you. She will never even dress the way you would like her to. You will have a fight every time you want to go out.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he countered, ‘she said she would even wear a chador if I asked her to.’

  ‘And you believed her? But even that wouldn’t be right. A person who has a solid character and her own thoughts and principles shouldn’t be so irresolute.’

  ‘So the poor girl is now irresolute, too?’ he snapped. ‘And she only said it because of her love for me. No, Mother, you are looking for excuses. You think everyone is bad except us.’

  ‘No, my dear, I never said that. I am sure they are very good people; perhaps even better than us. But they are very different.’

  ‘No, that is just an excuse.’

  ‘You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. This is about your life, your future and you know that is what matters most to me.’

  ‘Mum, I love her. Something happens to me when she talks, when she laughs. I have never met a woman as feminine as her. She is different.’

  I was astounded. Yes, he was right. How could I have not seen it? Massoud was fascinated by that girl because she was different from all the other women in his life. She flaunted the femininity that the women around him had always tried to conceal. To be fair, there was a certain coquettishness in her manner, in every move she made, even in her voice over the telephone. She was seductive and alluring. Simply put, she was a temptress. It was only natural that my inexperienced son who had hardly ever seen such feminine qualities was so affected by them. But how could I make him understand that the a
ttraction he felt was far from love and not the right foundation to build a life on? Under those circumstances, no amount of words or logic would work and they would only make him more stubborn and defensive.

  ‘My greatest wish is my children’s happiness,’ I said. ‘And I believe that happiness is hinged on a marriage filled with love and understanding. I respect your love and I will do whatever you ask, even if it is against my wish. My only condition is that you stay engaged for one year. You will get to know each other better because you will be freer to spend time together. In the meantime, we can save and prepare for a wedding that would suit them; as you can see, they have high expectations.’