A Bitter Veil (6 page)

Anna’s first view of Tehran was from the air. She saw a sprawling metropolis as large as, or larger than, the five boroughs of New York. Endless rows of small buildings and high-rises lined streets laid out in no apparent pattern. In the distance were the rocky Alborz Mountains, which hugged three sides of the city. The Alborz range defined Tehran much like Lake Michigan did Chicago.

Most everything was in shades of brown—the mountains, the soil, even the haze of pollution. As the plane descended, though, objects came into sharper focus, and the brown lightened to beige, cream, even white. It was a distinct contrast to the sturdy gray of Chicago.

A blast of heat rolled over Anna as she walked down the steps of the plane, hot and dry and dangerous. Beads of sweat broke out on her neck. Fortunately, the air-conditioned Mehrabad Airport building was only a few steps away. Inside the terminal, they walked toward customs. Anna noticed the rounded arches and bright mosaics in the halls. It was early afternoon, but the airport was bustling with people, many of them Westerners. Her presence didn’t attract much attention.

Customs was problem free—the officials didn’t even open their luggage. Outside they hailed a cab. Nouri had called his parents from Frankfurt and told them not to come to the airport; everyone in the family would have come, and there would have been no room for their luggage. Anna was grateful for the temporary reprieve; it gave her time to acclimate herself.

The taxi driver spewed forth an eager stream of Farsi. Nouri replied, then said, “Please speak in English. My wife…,” he grinned at Anna when he said the word, “…doesn’t understand.”

Anna almost giggled. Nouri was trying to make her feel welcome.

The driver shrugged. “Not too much English speak.” He went quiet.

Soon a multi-arched tower loomed in front of them. It had gracefully curved walls, as well as an elegant design of recurring diamonds in blue and gold under the arches. A fountain burbled in front. “This is the Shahyad Aryamehr,” Nouri pointed out. “‘The Remembrance of the Shahs.’ We call it the gateway to Tehran. The shah built it for the 2500th anniversary of the Persian empire.”

The driver slowed down and piped up, again in Farsi.

Nouri translated. “He says it is built from eight thousand blocks of white marble.”

Anna craned her neck to see better. Imposing and stately, it resembled a Persian Arc de Triomphe.

A few minutes later the streets became choked with traffic and people. They navigated what Anna assumed was the business district, passing ten- to twelve-story buildings, a department store, and hotels. It looked much like any other large city.

They swung onto a wide boulevard flanked by trees. Western-style buildings with sharp geometric angles lined the street, but sprinkled between them were structures with graceful curves and domes, terraced roofs, and intricate grill work on the façades. Many were textured with colorful recurring patterns. In addition to white, Anna saw flashes of bright blue, green, even lavender. It all worked to soften the architecture. As they wound around, every so often she got a peek at the mountains.

They drove around circles with an occasional fountain in the center. “We are heading to north Tehran,” Nouri said. “It is the better part of the city. You won’t want to go south.”

“Why not?”

“It is just…well…”

“The ghetto?”

He nodded.

The cab driver launched into a fresh stream of Farsi, gesturing and looking at Nouri through the rear view mirror. Nouri listened, then replied in a sharp voice. The driver was suddenly silent.

Anna laid a hand on Nouri’s arm. “What just happened?”

“He was talking about riots against the shah. Asking whether we heard about them in the States. And what I thought about them.”

“But you didn’t want to talk?”

“No.” He patted Anna’s hand. “He could be SAVAK. Or an informer. Hoping I will say something, so he can turn me in. Or force me to pay a bribe.”

Anna stared at Nouri, then the taxi driver. Should she be concerned? She decided she had too much on her mind to worry about freedom of expression at the moment.

Nouri changed the subject anyway. “Now we are on Pahlavi Avenue. One of the longest streets in the world. It runs all the way through Tehran.”

Anna gazed out at the street. They could talk later.

“Well, what do you think of my city?”

She peered out the windows on both sides. “I love it.”

He laced his fingers through hers. “I’m so glad. Oh, Anna, what a life we will have together.”

“It has already begun.” She smiled. “You are everything to me.”

A few minutes later, they veered off Pahlavi Avenue into a residential section. The streets were narrower here, and it was quieter. Most of the homes were secluded behind walls; sometimes a canopy of leaves peeked out above. They were entering the affluent area of Tehran, Anna thought. The taxi wound around several streets and stopped at a stone wall that ran the length of the block. The street was on a gentle rise; they were at its highest point.

Nouri spoke to the cab driver who blasted his horn long and loud. A moment later a gate opened, and several people spilled out: a woman, small and round, and a girl, who had to be a few years younger than Anna. Behind them a man and a woman hung back. They must have been the household help. Before she knew it Anna was being hugged and kissed and surrounded by exclamations of joy.

*****

Behind the wall was a huge house that looked like it had been recently remodeled. Anna headed toward it, passing a patio flanked by fruit trees and a garden with blossoms in full bloom. A small pool sat in the middle of the yard. The others barely noticed, but Anna slowed her pace as she walked past. The fact that someone had a private space where they could dip their feet into cool water, read poetry, or contemplate nature seemed like paradise.

Inside the house were high ceilings, thick Persian carpets, and brightly colored tapestries. Silver and gold accessories flashed in the light, which poured in through a floor-to-ceiling picture window. Abstract oil paintings framed in ornate gold designs covered the walls. The furniture was upholstered in what Anna assumed was silk and the walls were white. The entire effect was light and airy, but not quite comfortable. As they strolled from room to room, Anna grew overwhelmed. She had grown up in comfort, never wanting, but this opulence was beyond anything she’d imagined.

Nouri’s mother barked an order to one of the servants. The woman, wearing a scarf over her hair, murmured something back and picked up Anna’s suitcase and duffel.

“No, I’ll take them,” Anna said to the woman.

Nouri’s mother raised her palm and shook her head. The woman picked up Anna’s bags. Nouri’s mother smiled, looped her arm through Anna’s, and led her up the stairs. Parvin Samedi was small and round, but Anna could tell that she was once a beauty. Her dark hair was threaded with strands of gray, but Nouri had her eyes: rich brown with flecks of amber, fringed with dark lashes. She wore a simply tailored beige dress accessorized with gold jewelry. She spoke only broken English, but between her smiles, gestures, and pantomimes she made herself understood.

Upstairs she led Anna down a long hall lined with a series of doors. Opening the second on the right, she mumbled something in Farsi and motioned Anna into the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of northern Tehran, mostly a mass of buildings, many of them still under construction. They looked like they stretched all the way to the Alborz. The mountains seemed to have changed color in the past hour, Anna noticed. They were pinker now, not so brown.

The furniture in the room was Western and included a queen-size bed, a bureau, and bookcases filled with leather-bound books. A few trophies sat on the top shelf, along with framed photos of the family. There was even a shot of Nouri in a soccer uniform.

The female servant with the head scarf struggled into the room with Anna’s luggage. She lifted the bags onto the bed, unzipped the duffel, and began to take out Anna’s things.

“Please. I can do that,” Anna said. But Nouri’s mother said something in Farsi, and the servant kept unpacking. Anna was relieved to see Nouri come into the room. A male servant lugged his bags to a room farther down the hall.

“This is our number one guest room,” Nouri said.

Anna bent her head. She was surprised Nouri’s mother put them in different rooms. She was surprised they were staying here at all. “I thought we were going to the apartment.”

“My father says it is not quite ready. They are painting and cleaning. We will see it tomorrow.”

“How long will we be staying here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But…” She stopped. She’d only just arrived. She didn’t want to be difficult. She looked around. “Nouri, why are we in separate rooms? We’re married.”

Nouri looked at the floor. He didn’t answer.

“Nouri…” She crossed her arms.

When Nouri finally looked up his neck was flushed. “I haven’t told them.”

She stepped back. “You didn’t tell them we got married?”

“Maman is so excited to be planning the wedding. For us, weddings are the most important event in a family’s life. I didn’t know how to break it to her.”

“Nouri, we have to tell them. We shouldn’t have to maintain a…fiction.”

Nouri’s voice took on a placating, almost whining tone. “Please, Anna. It’s only for a few days.” He eyed her sheepishly. “I will join you here. After everyone is in bed.”

“What about when we move into the apartment? The wedding’s not for another month. Do they expect us to sleep in separate rooms there, too?”

“You know how parents are.” He waved a hand. “They’ll ignore it. Appearances are what’s important. Saving face.”

Nouri had told her it was not unusual for couples of different nationalities or religions to be married twice, once in the States and once in Iran. In fact, Islamic law required that a Muslim ceremony be performed. So why was Nouri keeping their American marriage a secret? Anna felt just the tiniest bit betrayed. And excluded. Exhausted from traveling, her patience strained, she nearly told him exactly how she felt. But Nouri’s mother was watching, a curious expression on her face. With a great effort Anna controlled herself. She was about to say they would talk later when Nouri’s sixteen-year-old sister bounced into the room.

Laleh had Nouri’s eyes, precise features, and dark, lustrous hair, but in a smaller, more feminine version. In fact, with her tight jeans, skimpy t-shirt, and artfully applied makeup, she was stunning. Even though she was five years older, Anna promptly felt intimidated; Laleh’s beauty was coupled with the self-confidence that her entrances would always be noticed.

Laleh immediately went to Anna and gave her a hug. “I am so excited you are here, Anna. I can’t wait to show you around Tehran.” Her English was almost as good as Nouri’s. “We shall be best friends, as well as sisters.” She flashed Anna a dazzling smile.

Anna managed a wan one in return.

Nouri beamed proudly. Then his mother said something in Farsi, and Nouri nodded. “Anna, let the servant finish unpacking. We will go down for tea.”

Anna would have preferred to unpack herself. But this was not her home, and she reminded herself to be a good guest. She threw a grateful look at the servant who was busy putting her things in the bureau, and followed the family downstairs. She was annoyed at Nouri.

From the living room, Anna heard the clink of plates and cups in the kitchen. A moment later, another servant—how many did they have? she wondered—carried in a tray bearing a slender teapot, five narrow glasses, and a plate of sliced fruit. Iranians drank their tea in glasses, Anna remembered, sometimes with a cube of sugar between their teeth. Nouri patted the upholstered sofa next to him.

Nouri’s father entered and sat in what was obviously his chair next to the sofa. He had only recently arrived home from his office. Bijan was light-skinned, tall, and slim. Nouri had inherited his shape. His hair was grayer than his wife’s, and his almond-shaped eyes looked jade green. He sported a well-trimmed mustache, and wore a tailored, expensive looking suit, silk tie, and cuff links.

Parvin sat in a chair across from her husband and poured tea. Laleh slumped on a loveseat.

Nouri’s father leaned forward. “Your travels were satisfactory, I hope?”

“Long, but fine,” Anna said.

“If you are tired, you must nap.” He spoke English with a crisp British accent.

“I never sleep during the day. I’ll go to bed early.”

Parvin offered Anna a glass of tea. She took it carefully. “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Samedi.”

“Oh, but you must call us Maman-joon and Baba-joon,” Nouri’s father said with a smile.

“Dear Mother and Father,” Nouri explained.

Anna nodded shyly. Then, “Oh, that reminds me.” She put down her tea, got up from the couch, and went to the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Nouri asked.

“You’ll see.”

She climbed the stairs back up to her room. The servant was almost finished unpacking. That was a problem, Anna thought. She had no idea where the woman had stored her things. She flipped up her hands in a questioning gesture, then realized the servant had no idea what she was after. She tried to sketch a box in the air with her fingers.