A Persian Requiem (12 page)

I was a fledgeling my mother died

The wet nurse took me, but she too died

They raised me on cow’s milk

I was so ill-starred, the cow then died.”

Zari was quite certain these lines were not composed by the ‘Fotouhi maiden’ because Ameh Khanom had hummed them herself from time to time. Actually, in the days when the ‘Fotouhi maiden’ was in her right mind, she had been a good writer, producing articles in local papers about women’s rights, and the injustices of male domination. She also brought out a magazine which aimed to raise women’s consciousness.

In the days before her mental breakdown, Khanom Fotouhi was a woman to be reckoned with. She had been the first to abandon the black veil—or black shroud, as she called it—in favour of a roomier, more attractive blue veil. The lifting of the veil had not yet been announced officially before she even gave up the blue one
also. On a good day, she would complain to Zari that it was too bad she had not been appreciated. “A pity,” she would say, “that our men were not ready to accept a woman like me. At first they thought I could be taken advantage of, like a pot of honey you could dip your finger into. But when I smacked them on the fingers and sent them off packing, they humiliated me or ignored me.” Then she would suddenly shout with tears in her eyes, “They drove me mad! They drove me mad! I told them I wouldn’t give in! I won’t give you what you’re after! And that’s that! When will other women—those silly little dolls—ever understand who I was and what I stood up for!”

Zari sat down by Khanom Fotouhi’s bed and greeted her. Khanom Fotouhi turned her gaze from the yard to Zari and said hello. Zari reached into her bag and brought out four issues of
Iran
for her, at the same time catching sight of a pillow next to which all the previous newspapers had been neatly stacked. Khanom Fotouhi opened the new issues one by one. She frowned at the changes in detail and the recently introduced small format.

“Didn’t you give the newspapers to the other patients to read this time?” Zari asked.

“No, most of them have been freed from prison,” she replied nervously. “Ali took two of your newspapers and ate them.” Then she looked Zari up and down. She didn’t seem to like the long, wide sleeves of Zari’s shirt. “You’ve wasted a hundred metres of good material just on those sleeves, haven’t you?” she asked. Then she crumpled up the new newspapers and threw them down beside the bed. She turned her attention to the old newspapers and started counting them. Then she rolled one up and suddenly hit Zari very hard on the head with it. “They say Afsar Khanom, the daughter of the commander, is dead!” she shouted. “And she didn’t even have a shroud!”

A
Shirazi woman, trained as a midwife in Tehran, had recently opened an office in town. She had more patients than she could handle, but Zari had managed to get an appointment for seven o’clock Thursday evening after her rounds at the asylum. As soon as she was finished, she sent Gholam away and headed for the doctor’s office, thinking all the while of the futility of her charities. She remembered Yusef’s words, “What’s the use of your charity and goodwill? This society is rotten at the core.” But no matter how hard she thought, Zari did not seem to come up with any ideas on how to improve a society at its core. The solutions which Yusef suggested always seemed so dangerous that they sent shivers down her spine.

At six o’clock, she arrived at the midwife’s office. She was feeling queasy. There were two donkeys standing at the door with their bridles tied to the door knockers. In the small courtyard next to the office, two women were huddled on a bare wooden bed, with another stretched out behind them. One couldn’t tell their age because the expression on their faces was so strained. A sick man was tossing about on yet another bed. Right next to the door of the waiting-room a woman was stretched out stiff as a rod. Her bare, henna-dyed feet protruded grotesquely from underneath the blue polka-dot veil with which she was covered. Her black trouser-legs had been pulled up to her knees. Zari was taken aback. Surely the woman was dead. Zari had seen enough in life to recognize death when she saw it. But it would seem the woman had no-one, since she was obviously abandoned even in death.

Inside the waiting-room all the seats had been taken. Only five of the patients were pregnant women—recognizable by their round bellies and blotchy skin—the others were either male or elderly. A
young girl with blistered lips leaning her head on the shoulder of an older woman entered the waiting room just then. “Oh, my heart! My heart!” she moaned. A pregnant woman stood up and gave her place to the young girl, opening the window above her. But only a blast of hot air came in. The door of the doctor’s office opened, letting out a pregnant woman, who slowly crossed the
waiting-room
as if the weight of her nine-month burden made it impossible to move any faster. A nurse with dishevelled hair followed her and announced:

“Forty-eight!”

Zari managed to reach the nurse as she scanned the patients for number forty-eight.

“Forty-nine!” the nurse said loudly.

“I have an appointment for seven,” interrupted Zari.

“It’s no use getting an appointment these days, dear. All sorts of patients are crowding in on us. Even the courtyard is packed. Didn’t you see for yourself?”

“Yes, I did. One of them was dead.”

“I know,” said the nurse coolly. “By the time they’re brought here on donkey from the villages, they’ve taken their last breath.” Then turning to the other patients she shouted, “Forty-nine isn’t here? Fifty!”

An old hunch-backed woman got up. Clutching her veil tightly across her face, she walked over with an odd shuffle. The nurse opened the office door for her. Zari reached into her handbag, and the nurse followed her movements with her eyes as she groped for a handkerchief. Finally she grew impatient.

“If there’s nothing wrong with you and you’re here only for pregnancy, I suggest you leave it for another time.” And with that she disappeared into the inner room.

“She’s right,” Zari thought to herself. “After all, I’m in no hurry. In any case, I’ll probably end up at Khanom Hakim’s yet again.” She decided to go home and wash thoroughly, even boil her clothes. She wasn’t going to let those delicate children touch her before she had disinfected herself. On the way home she stopped at the pharmacy and bought anti-flea powder, alcohol, soap and sulphur.

By the time Zari reached the garden-gate of her home, the sun had
already set. A dark little boy with curly hair opened the gate. As soon as he saw Zari, he grinned widely at her. Zari recognized him.

“What are you doing here, Kolu?” she asked.

“I’ve come back with the master.”

“Is he back then?” she exclaimed, rushing past him towards the house. Yusef, still dressed in his dusty travelling clothes, was sitting on the cane chair by the pool, smoking a hookah. His face lit up at the sight of his wife.

“Where have you been till now?” he asked. “I was waiting for you. I came all the way to … why are you standing so far away?”

“You’re back so early,” Zari answered, “but I’m glad you’ve returned. You mustn’t touch me, though. I have to take a bath first. I’m full of germs. Oh, when you’re here everything seems so much brighter!” And she hurried inside.

Bathed and perfumed, she came back into the garden, but by that time it was nearly dark. Yusef was holding his head in his hands. She went to him and lifting his head, kissed him on the hair.

“Don’t you feel well?” she asked him.

Yusef pulled his wife on to his lap and the chair creaked beneath them. He kissed her neck and face and bare arms with soft, tender lips. Zari got up.

“Let me go and put the lights on,” she said.

“Leave it,” he said, pulling her by the hand.

“It’s a heavy sky,” Zari observed, glancing up. “But it won’t rain either to let us breathe.”

“Not unlike my heart …”

“Well, it’s midsummer,” said Zari. Her mind was on Sahar and how to prevent her husband from asking after the horse.

“The house felt really empty when I arrived. Where are the children?”

“Amen Khanom took them to Mehri’s house for the Rowzeh,” replied Zari. “Khosrow has gone out with Hormoz.”

“You really shouldn’t be sending the children to the Rowzeh.”

“They insisted on going,” said Zari. “Besides, they don’t pay any attention to all the mourning. They play with Mehri’s children. Ameh Khanom has made them chadors, and they say their prayers standing next to her …” she stopped in mid-sentence. “Why are you back so early?” she asked. “And why did you bring Kolu with you?”

“Send him to the baths tomorrow and give him some new
clothes. I’ve adopted him as a son,” Yusef said quietly. “I killed his father, so I couldn’t stay at the village any longer.”

Zari’s heart sank. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You killed Kolu’s father? Our shepherd? You? Nonsense!”

Yusef buried his head in his hands. “Don’t talk about it anymore,” he said. “My head is about to burst.”

“But won’t you tell me what happened?”

“Well, that’s why I came back so early. I just dropped everything I had to do and rushed back so I could confide in you, but you weren’t here.”

Zari took a seat next to her husband and let his head rest on her shoulder, stroking him soothingly.

“My love, how was I to know you would suddenly arrive? Tell me about it now and I’ll listen. You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

“Our shepherd was supposed to take the last of our flocks up to the mountains. Before he went, he killed two of our sheep, cured the flesh and stored it in a sheepskin. I don’t know what suddenly possessed him to do such a thing. He’s never been dishonest before.”

“Well, you told me yourself that people are panicking because of the famine.”

Yusef got up and started to pace about.

“Nothing escapes the notice of the village headman,” he
continued
, ignoring Zari’s comment. “When I got there, he had to come out and tell me all about it in front of everyone. I wanted to ignore the whole thing, but the headman had no intention of dropping the matter. When the shepherd brought the flock back at sunset, the headman reminded me again. I was forced to
interrogate
the shepherd and ask him why two sheep were missing. He swore that a wolf had eaten them. The headman then told him to take an oath, and swear by the holy prophet Hazrate Abbas that he was telling the truth.”

Yusef paused. Then he went on, “I could see the poor soul shaking at the knees as he stepped forward to take the oath. There I was watching him, stupid fool that I am, and I did nothing to stop him. That night he came down with a stomach-ache. I went to his house—or rather hovel. He looked at me with dumb eyes—like a lamb—and begged to be forgiven. I nearly shouted at him that I’d forgiven him all along. I told him that he should know me well
enough. But it was no use. Tears were rolling down his face on to his dirty pillow. I tried giving him sweetened warm wine, but he refused it. He kept saying that he’d sinned more than his share and the holy prophet Hazrate Abbas would take his due. ‘But I’m the owner of the sheep and I forgive you, man,’ I said. And still he wouldn’t listen. He just repeated, ‘The prophet has struck me down. You can’t do anything for me anymore. Give the flock to my brother and he’ll care for them in my place.’”

Yusef sat down by his wife and went on, “He motioned to Massoumeh, Yarqoli’s wife, who disappeared for a moment and came back with two sheepskins full of cured flesh. She threw them in front of me. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me …”

“My love,” Zari said calmly, “you know very well it wasn’t your fault. It was that cruel headman who didn’t know any better. The shepherd took a false oath, or maybe he’d just eaten something bad. Besides, why must you think the worst? He could have caught typhus. We know nothing of God’s will. Perhaps his son was meant to get an education and have a bright future. How do we know?”

Khadijeh came out to the verandah and put the light on. Then she went to the garden to lay out the beds. She fixed up the twins’ bedclothes on a wooden bed on the far side of the pool. Then she arranged the mosquito net over it. When she got to Khosrow’s bed, she laid out the mattress but then it seemed that she had lost something when she got to the bedclothes.

“Khanom, have you put Khosrow Khan’s blanket somewhere?” she asked Zari.

“No. Maybe you used it for the ironing yourself,” Zari replied from where she sat.

“I didn’t, Khanom.”

“So what’s happened to it?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe the same clumsy thief who stole the clothesline, stole Khosrow Khan’s blanket too.”

Suddenly Zari was filled with anxiety. Could it be that Khosrow was behind the disappearance of both items? But what for? Very early that morning, even before prayer-time, Zari had been woken up by a light footstep next to where she slept on the roof terrace. When she opened her eyes, she had seen Khosrow, looking stealthily all around him, tiptoe to the clothesline and untie its knot from the hook on the wall. Then he had gathered the entire length of rope around his arm and sneaked into his room with it. When he
returned he crawled silently under the mosquito net and pretended to be asleep.

Khosrow had been acting very strangely these past few days. His mind seemed to be elsewhere and from time to time Zari had caught him staring blankly into space. When he first heard of Sahar’s death, he seemed heart-broken, the tears springing to his eyes at the slightest excuse. He hung around most of the time at the bottom of the garden by the grave, digging out the weeds and watering the flowerpots with his own hands. But recently he had changed. He didn’t even glance at the grave anymore. He avoided his mother’s gaze, and gave only short, confused answers to her questions.

Zari got up. She had a feeling he had also taken his gun, even though she remembered having locked it away in the cupboard and taken the key with her. Yusef’s voice brought her back to herself. He was saying, “Why are you standing like that? Sit down. Say something.”

“What did you say?” she said, as if roused from a daydream.

“I know I’ve upset you. You’re disappointed in me too.”

“You’re wrong,” Zari answered absently. “It’s not at all your fault. I saw the sick they brought in from the villages to Khanom Massihadem, the midwife. One of them was dead. Typhus has spread in all the villages; the town is full of it too.”

“What were you doing at Khanom Massihadem’s office?” Yusef asked in amazement. “Are you …”

Zari felt completely flustered. It was as if they had been
inhabiting
two different worlds. How little one knows of what goes on in the mind of another person!

“Oh I just went to buy some anti-flea powder from the pharmacy and I passed by there,” she said. “The door was open so I took a look. Well, maybe that patient wasn’t really dead … I was probably imagining it …” She didn’t know what she was saying anymore, so before Yusef could pin her down, she hurried to the bedroom. Without switching the light on she found her bag, took out her keys and groped around for the keyhole in the cupboard. Her hand was shaking and her stomach turned. No, thank God, the guns were still there. To reassure herself, she touched their long, cool barrels, the breech-blocks and heavy butts, leaning tall against the cupboard wall. She locked the cupboard door, closed the windows and doors of the parlour and went to the telephone. She asked the operator
softly to connect her to Abol-Ghassem Khan’s house. She couldn’t be heard, so she had to ask a second time.
Abol-Ghassem
Khan himself answered at the other end. She asked whether Khosrow was there. He said no, and Hormoz wasn’t either. She could hear Abol-Ghassem Khan asking around from others in the household. Apparently Hormoz had said he was having dinner at his uncle Yusef’s house. He had said that Zari had invited him … “Now why weren’t we invited too?”
Abol-Ghassem
Khan complained jokingly. “Do you think we would have turned down a treat?”

Zari’s throat constricted. She mumbled something about God willing next time, and hung up. She was terrified. Both boys had lied, so there was no doubt they were up to something. They had also taken a rope and a blanket with them. She must go and tell Yusef everything.

As she was leaving the parlour the telephone rang. She went over and picked up the receiver. It was Abol-Ghassem Khan. He had been thinking about the boys and had become worried too. Zari pulled herself together and managed to say, “Don’t worry. I think they’ve gone off to the cinema or somewhere together. They’ll come here for dinner, it’s not too late yet. As soon as they’re here, I’ll tell them to call you.”

She opened the doors and windows of the parlour again. She heard Mina’s voice. The children had arrived. She went out to the garden. Both children were sitting on Yusef’s lap, and he seemed a little more relaxed. Mina was saying, “Mother won’t let us. She says we’ll get all burned on our skins and we’ll have to stay inside.”