Things We Left Unsaid (17 page)

My sister finally calmed down. She did not touch the sweets and did not drink any coffee, but related all the details, whether pertinent or not, of Joop Hansen’s phone call. Then she got
up, slung her purse under her arm and headed for the door. Her foot caught on the chair, she bumped into the table, almost tripped headfirst into the wall, but finally made her way. Breathlessly
she announced, ‘I made an appointment with the hairdresser. I have to be at the Club at 8:00 p.m.’ And with another hiccup, she was off.

We stared down at the table, Mother at the sugar shaker, me at the salt shaker. Finally Mother asked, ‘What do you think?’

Her anxious, worried face made me laugh. Any little thing made my mother anxious and everything made her worry. She was constantly worrying about Alice not being married yet, but whenever any
man showed up in her life, it scared Mother. I myself was surprised by the Dutchman’s behavior at Nina’s dinner party and the attention he had paid to Alice. I was even more surprised
that he had now, just a few days later, invited her to dinner. But I was also glad. First of all, because my sister would now certainly put aside the weird plan she had hatched for Emile Simonian,
and secondly because, I told myself, ‘Who knows, maybe...’

Mother seemed to read my mind. ‘It’s impossible. Nina said the guy liked this Tehrani woman...What was her name? Garnik’s niece. So why did he telephone Acho?’ Now that
Alice had gone, Mother was scot-free to call her by her childhood name with no fear of stirring up a bout of bickering and complaining.

I got up and slid the window screen aside to water the sweet peas. I tried to portray this relatively odd development for Mother in a positive light, but my reasons seemed unconvincing even to
myself.

Mother was sitting straight up in the chair, arms folded on her chest. All she said was, ‘It’s impossible. The lout probably has some scheme in mind.’

The previous night’s scene flashed in my mind. ‘Emile said he is coming to change the soil in the flower box.’ For an instant I was glad, then I remembered the black pawn,
which must still be lying on the living room floor, underneath the chair. I expected the choking emotions to return, but they did not. Better to wait for the soil to be changed and then water the
flowers, I thought.

I put the water pitcher on the counter and turned around to face Mother. ‘Maybe he really liked Alice. What could be better?’ I looked at the clock. ‘Wouldn’t it be
better for you to be home? Make sure she doesn’t overdo the make-up, as usual. I have to make a snack for the children. It won’t be long before they get back from school.’ I
wanted to talk to Emile about Emily and Armen, and I thought it would be easier if Mother were not there.

Mother was so engrossed in the idea of Alice and the Dutchman that she made no protest about it being a long time yet before the children got home or before Alice’s date. She repeated
several times, ‘Holy Mary, guide us through this,’ and left.

I stood there in the middle of the kitchen for a moment. The two halves of my mind were at war. Finally, one said to the other, ‘It’s no sin to look neat.’

I went to the bedroom, combed my hair, and put on some lipstick. Then I washed my hands, rubbed on some hand cream, and looked at the clock. I wished I knew what time he was coming.

I thought about all the things I had to do. Iron the twins’ uniforms, straighten up Armen’s dresser drawers, collect the laundry from the clothesline in the backyard. Instead of any
of that, I went to the leather chair in the living room and opened the manuscript of
Little Lord Fauntleroy
.

The nineteenth century. An American woman marries an English man who is heir to the title of ‘Lord’. As usual, Vazgen’s translation was straightforward and smooth.

Does Mrs. Simonian know that her son is coming to our house? Why shouldn’t she know?

The elder lord is upset that his son has married an American woman, and he deprives him of the title.

The twins would surely like this story. I never put on lipstick at home.

This sentence is too long; let’s break it in two. Where’s my pen? The kids must have taken it again. Nothing is ever in the right place in this house!

Together, the lord’s son and the American girl have a boy of their own.

‘You make mountains out of molehills.’ He wastes hours and hours talking about things that have no relation to us whatsoever and lets the things that affect us directly just slide
by. What could be more important than the children?

The lord’s son dies. What a selfish person the grandfather is! The poor American girl!

Artoush is selfish. Really selfish. The doorbell rang and I jumped up. Before reaching the hallway I wiped off my lipstick with a tissue.

He was wearing brown trousers with a white short-sleeved shirt. He set the sack of dirt under the kitchen window in the yard. I went over to pick up the flower box, but he said, ‘Leave it.
Don’t touch the soil, either. Just give me a trowel.’ I remembered the incident with Shahandeh.

We had bought two suitcases at the Kuwaiti Bazaar. With one suitcase in each hand, I was walking behind Artoush to the car, which we had parked near Shahandeh’s store. Shahandeh came out
of his store to say hello and chat. He looked at the suitcases, then at me, then, with a laugh, he said to Artoush, ‘Doc, you’ve got yourself a pretty porter!’ That night Artoush
said, ‘Shahandeh is a jokester. What he said didn’t upset you, did it?’ It was not Shahandeh, I thought, who turned me into his porter.

Emile changed the soil in a jiffy and stood up. ‘Well, our work is done.’

‘You did the work. I just watched.’

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at me. ‘Let’s not stand on ceremony; use the informal “you.” ’ And he smiled. ‘So,
watering the flowers is “your” job. Do “you” still have that nice-smelling soap?’

I watered the flowers. The two halves of my mind renewed their struggle. The first half would give no quarter to the other. ‘Why in such a rush? You always coil the hose around the faucet;
why did you just toss it on the ground? Why are you looking at the clock again? And you remembered that Artoush said he would be late today, but you don’t remember the reason why he will be
late?’ Then the other half cut in. ‘I want to talk to him about Emily and Armen before the kids get home. That’s all.’

I made coffee and insisted we sit in the living room. I had washed and ironed the drapes and hung them back up again that same morning. I thought we would talk after coffee.

The manuscript of Vazgen’s translation and the English copy of
Little Lord Fauntleroy
were on the coffee table. He picked up the book and leafed through it. Then he looked at the
Armenian manuscript. ‘Did you translate it yourself?’

I set the cups down on the coffee table and before I could explain, he said, ‘I remember now. The book that Miss Manya spoke about?’ I said yes, wondering whether he had remembered
the book, or Manya.

He went over to the bookcase and bent over to read the titles. ‘You have just about all the works of Sardo, except one or two.’

I don’t know how I got started, but I did. I talked about which of Sardo’s novels I liked and which I did not like, and why, and about Mr. Davtian’s opinion of Sardo –
and that Mr. Davtian is the owner of the Arax bookstore, and Arax is in Tehran at the Qavam al-Saltaneh intersection, and it’s a bookstore I really like, and it’s the first place I
visit whenever I go to Tehran, and I stay there for hours, and I’ve arranged with Mr. Davtian to send me books from Tehran, and he sends them, and of course I haven’t read all of
Sardo’s works... I talked and talked and talked.

When the children appeared in the doorway with their satchels dangling from their hands, I wondered how I had not heard the school bus drive up.

Emile just watched me the entire time, his elbow on the arm of the easy chair, and his hand under his chin.

I was washing eggplants when Alice and Mother came in.

Instead of saying hello, Mother grumbled, sat down in the chair and fixed her eyes on the ceiling.

Before she had even sat down herself, Alice launched into her report of the events of the previous night. ‘First off, he gets an “A” for social graces. When I walked into the
restaurant he immediately got up from the table and bowed.’

I was going to ask why he had not come to pick her up, but I caught the words in my throat and asked instead, ‘Do you want coffee?’

Excited, she shook her head no, sat down, and breathlessly continued. ‘He talked about everything. About his mother, who lives with her sister near a small city in the south of Holland.
It’s a small house near the forest, just like those cottages you see in postcards...’

I started making coffee for myself and Mother, who was now frowning at Alice.

Alice pushed her chair back, got up and headed for the refrigerator. ‘He showed me a picture of his house, along with a few pictures of his mother and his aunt.’ She opened the
refrigerator door while fetching a glass with her other hand. ‘His poor aunt is crippled and gets around from here to there with a wheelchair...’ She filled her water glass. ‘Joop
said because of the heat in Abadan, we must drink a lot of water.’ She took two gulps. ‘Joop’s aunt is an angel, so kind and lovable.’ She took another drink. ‘His
mother’s just like the aunt. A gem, kind and lovable.’ She finished the rest of the water. ‘The poor thing has been taking care of her sister for years and only recently has
started to complain a little of backache.’ She set the empty glass on the counter. ‘Joop said his mother and her sister don’t socialize and don’t go out. All they want is
for Joop to marry and bring his wife to that pretty little house and live happily together ever after.’

I removed the coffee pot from the burner, turned off the stove and poured the coffee for myself and Mother.

Alice was walking round and round, looking everywhere but at me and Mother. ‘The house is isolated, not a soul for miles around, and if you look out of the window early in the morning, you
can see deer. Isn’t it dreamy? At night you can hear the jackals howling.’

Mother said, ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God!’

I washed the empty glass, set it in the dish rack and sat down at the table. Alice sat down as well. ‘What a nice man! How sensitive, how likeable, how kind. He asked me about everything.
Where I studied nursing, how long I’ve been working.’ She laughed. ‘He first thought I was an ordinary nurse. Later, when he understood I’m an operating-room nurse, I think
he was quite
impressed
.’ She looked at Mother. ‘You know what
impressed
means, right? You could see it meant something to him.’ Then she looked at me. ‘He
asked me when I was hired, how much money I’ll receive in Company pension if I retire. Well – he asked me about everything. If he had no particular intentions, he wouldn’t ask
that, would he? What do you think?’

Instead of answering, I offered her an almond cookie.

Mother retorted, ‘Your sister thinks you’re an ass, just like I do.’

Alice, seemingly oblivious of what Mother had said and what I had not said, pushed the cookie away and stood up. ‘Thursday, which I have
off
, he’s invited me to go with him to
Kut-e Abdollah. He has to check in on a project or something there, smack in the middle of the desert. I’ve offered to make sandwiches so we can have a picnic right there in the middle of the
desert and go for a hike. Joop is in love with the desert and the sand and the sun.’ She said ‘the desert and the sand and the sun’ as if she was reciting a line from some love
poem. Arms spread wide apart, head tilted slightly upward, her gaze on the window.

All at once, Mother erupted, ‘Why can’t you understand?!’

Alice was livid. ‘It’s you who don’t understand! He told me himself that he fell in love with me from the moment he laid eyes on me.’

Mother began shouting and screaming. I looked at the cookie in my hand, with a bite already missing from it. Did I even like almond cookies? I tossed it into the ashtray and stood up.

I began peeling the eggplants. Why was my sister so dumb? Why was my mother repeating things she had said a thousand times before, some relevant to the situation, some obviously not? Why did I
feel so poorly? When I cut my finger, I cried out, more from shock than from the pain.

Mother jumped up. ‘What happened?’

I washed off the blood in the sink. ‘It’s nothing.’

Mother and Alice resumed their bickering. I asked myself, ‘Why did that happen?’ and reasoned: The glass of vinegar and the spicy chutney, the unpleasantness with Artoush last night,
Alice’s foolishness, the shrewdness of the Dutchman, Mother’s yelling and screaming, and...what had Emile Simonian thought of me? How long had I talked to him non-stop? Half an hour? An
hour? I was flushed with embarrassment.

Mother was looking for someone to blame. ‘It’s all Nina’s fault. I told you a hundred times we shouldn’t socialize with them.’

Alice said, ‘Don’t yell and scream for no reason. What has Nina got to do with it?’

As Emile was leaving, he had said, ‘Thank you. For the coffee and the interesting ideas.’ He must have been mocking me. He must have been mocking me, and it served me right.

Mother slammed the salt shaker on the table. ‘You mean you can’t understand that the creep is looking for an indentured servant to work as a free nursemaid?’

Alice slammed down the fruit knife on the table even harder. ‘None of you understand!’

I laid out the eggplant in the strainer. My self-critical streak berated me: ‘Let it be a lesson to you never to show off again!’ I sprinkled salt on the eggplant. My generous streak
came to my defense: ‘She wasn’t showing off, she was just talking about the things she likes.’ Some salt got into the cut and stung my finger. I sucked on the cut and looked at
the sweet peas. That unrelenting critical streak challenged me again: ‘Since when do we ever talk about the things we like?’ My generous side searched for a counter-response.

Mother’s voice brought me back to attention. ‘Hey, where have you gone to, Clarice? Say something.’