Things We Left Unsaid (24 page)

I stopped in the middle of the kitchen. Why was my heart racing? Where was my appetite? Why was I so reluctant to return to the table? When would this night finally be over? I began washing the
appetizer plates and glasses. What did Emile want to say to me? And what was he talking about now with Violette? Why was I so exhausted? Why weren’t the air conditioners cooling us off?

When I heard the scream, I ran out of the kitchen.

Violette was standing up, looking down at the big green stain on her white dress. Emily, both hands over her mouth, said, ‘I’m sorry, it slipped from my hand. I’m so
sorry.’ The bowl of pickles lay overturned on the floor.

Mother said, ‘Quick, pour salt on the stain.’ She handed the salt shaker to Artoush to give to Nina, who was dabbing Violette’s dress with a Kleenex.

Garnik said, ‘It’s nothing, folks. A pickle stain comes out with a little water.’

Alice said, ‘Lightning never strikes twice.’

Joop asked, ‘Two lightnings what?’ Alice started to explain for him – no more bad luck would befall them that night.

Emile asked Emily, ‘You don’t even like pickle, why did you take the bowl?’ He was not scolding her, just wondering. Emily looked like she was on the verge of tears.

‘Her hand slipped,’ said Nina. ‘It was an accident.’

I looked at Emily. Was it an accident?

I went with Violette to the bathroom and got her a fresh washcloth to clean the stain. She snatched the washcloth from my hand and rapidly wiped her dress, grumbling under her breath,
‘Stupid child. She’s ruined my precious dress. It was a souvenir gift from London. I just loved it.’ She threw the washcloth on the floor, straightened her hair in the mirror, and
venomously announced, as though I was not even in the room, ‘Evil girl! Just wait. I’ll give you a pretty little lesson you won’t soon forget.’

We returned to the table. Emile stood up and did not sit back down until Violette had. Then he told Emily, standing beside him, ‘Apologize.’

Emily said loudly, ‘I’m really sorry that I stained your pretty dress.’

Violette smiled and caressed Emily’s cheek. ‘It’s not important at all, my dear. Actually, I don’t really like this dress.’ Emily backed up and left the room.
Violette looked at me and smiled. ‘What wonderful cooking!’ I looked at Emile’s plate. He had served himself some salad and a little Ikra. I leaned over to pick up the platter of
dolma and offer some to him, when Sophie and the twins ran in squealing.

‘A frog as big as a turtle jumped on the swing seat,’ shouted Armineh.

‘A frog big as a turtle!’ emphasized Arsineh.

Sophie turned to me, ‘It was jealous of the moths, Auntie.’ She burst out laughing.

‘What?’ asked Nina. Sophie started to tell the story of Parvana. Nina took the plate from Sophie’s hands and said, ‘Yeah, yeah. Run along now. It’s no time for
stories.’

Sophie said, ‘You never tell me stories. Aunt Clarice did. And it was a very nice story.’

I brushed the bangs out of Sophie’s face and sent her outside with the twins. ‘Go see what the princess and the frog are doing.’

Garnik asked, ‘Did you hear about the incident between Pegov and Shamkhal?’

‘Who?’ asked Nina. ‘Chamkhal?’

‘Not Chamkhal,’ said Garnik. ‘Shamkhal. The head of Public Relations for the Oil Company.’

Nina said, ‘Oh, so you mean Chamkhal.’ She laughed heartily and turned to me. ‘The Ikra turned out delicious!’

Mother said, ‘It’s too spicy. And if the eggplant had grilled a bit longer, it would be better.’

Garnik asked Artoush, ‘Did you know that Shamkhal used to be the Crown Prince of Daghestan?’

Artoush took some dolma. ‘I heard something or other.’ I looked at Emile’s plate. He had yet to try the dolma.

Garnik held his plate out to Nina. ‘Will you give me some Fesenjan? When Clarice makes it, I can never get enough... Just think of it. The son of the former Shah of Daghestan is now the
host of the Soviet Ambassador!’

Nina asked, ‘Where is Daghestan, anyway? Mrs. Voskanian, shall I pour some Pepsi for you, or Canada Dry?’

Joop gave a little cough and said, ‘With your permission, let me explain.’ He gave a detailed explanation of Daghestan, or Dagestan as he pronounced it, a mountainous country between
the Caspian Sea and Georgia. It is called Daghestan because ‘dagh’ means mountain in Turkish, and until the Russian Revolution, it had a king, or shah. After the communists took power,
it became one of the Soviet Republics. The erstwhile shah fled to Europe, and now his son is the Chief of Public Relations for the Oil Company in Abadan.

For a few seconds everyone was still and quiet, staring at Joop, until Alice began to clap and said, ‘
Bravo!
What an encyclopedic explanation!’

Joop blushed. ‘I take a considerable interest in history and geography.’

Garnik turned back to me and Nina and whispered, ‘Unless I miss my guess, he’s gotta be a spy or something.’

He giggled and Nina scolded, ‘You and your tasteless jokes.’

Garnik said for all to hear, ‘In short...at the appointed time for Pegov’s visit to the Refinery, Shamkhal goes with a deputation of the department chiefs to welcome him. The former
Crown Prince and the Soviet Ambassador first look each other over, head to toe.’ Garnik got up, his spoon and fork in hand, to mimic their demeanor as they sized each other up.
‘Everyone around them is afraid they might get in a fight.’ With the spoon and fork he pantomimed a sword fight. ‘Then the zealous communist and the deposed royal shake hands and
exchange a friendly hello, probably in Russian, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.’

As Nina handed back his plate full of Fesenjan, she said, ‘Hey, watch out there, Mr. Burt Lancaster. You almost stabbed me in the eye with your fork!’

Garnik sat back down and when he had stopped laughing, he said, ‘I saw Shamkhal a couple times. He’s a very humorous and pleasant fellow. Extremely learned. He knows five or six
languages... Kudos to the chef for the marvelous Fesenjan!’ He served himself salad and added, ‘It’s a crazy world we live in these days. They just pick up an eraser and wipe
whole countries off the map.’

Artoush said, ‘Isn’t it about time we removed this-istan and that-istan from the map and made them all equal?’

Garnik reached out for the herb platter. ‘Yeah, and we can all speak Russian and read Maxim Gorky.’

Together, Nina and I said, ‘Now don’t the two of you get into it again.’ For a few seconds everyone was quiet, except for Mother and Alice, who were explaining to Joop how to
make Fesenjan. Emile said something in Violette’s ear, and the two of them chuckled. Nina said to Garnik, ‘So it’s Chamkhal, is it?’

Garnik pinched her cheek affectionately and said, ‘Cutie.’

Joop was explaining something to Alice, and Emile and Violette were whispering again. Before I could think what they might be talking about, Alice said, ‘Listen to this, everyone. Go
ahead, tell them,’ she said to Joop, who blushed and shook his head. Alice turned to us. ‘Listen. Who knows what Braim and Bawarda mean?’ And she turned around to face Joop.
‘How did you learn all this?’ Joop blushed again and Alice turned back to us. ‘Well? Anyone know? Braim is the name of a kind of date. Before the English bought the land for
Abadan, the whole area of Braim was a date palm orchard, producing this particular kind of date.’

Garnik said, ‘Kudos for the dolma! Of course, dates are very tasty, too.’

It was one of the few times that Artoush listened carefully to what my sister was saying.

Alice set her fork and spoon on her plate and leaned forward. ‘Now listen to the rest of it. Can you guess where “Bawarda” comes from? Don’t know, do you? This whole area
belonged to an Arab man who had a very very beautiful daughter, called Warda. Warda means “rose” in Arabic.’ She turned back to Joop. ‘Did I get it right?’ Joop nodded
and Alice continued. ‘They called this Arab, according to the custom in Arabic, “Bu Warda,” meaning Father of Warda. So the English buy the land and they call the neighborhood
after its former owner. After a while, Bu Warda contracts to Bawarda.’ She cocked her head to the right. ‘North Bawarda,’ and then to the left, ‘south Bawarda.’

Artoush said, ‘That’s very interesting.’

Garnik muttered under his breath, ‘Like I said, a spy or something...’ Nina elbowed him to be quiet.

Alice looked at Joop, and said, ‘How interesting! We have to keep you around.’ Joop blushed again and laughed. Mother offered the herb platter around. I thought, if Joop’s
story is true, the father of Warda must be one of the few Arab men who was called after his daughter rather than his son.

Joop and Artoush were talking to each other. Joop said, ‘A myth it may be, of course.’

Artoush said, ‘Fact or myth, it was interesting.’

I was clearing the table and thinking no one had noticed that I had not eaten dinner, when Emile said, ‘The dolma was outstanding, though how could you know, since you did not touch a
single bite all night?’ He began helping me.

Mother came up and told him, ‘Please have a seat. Clearing the table is no job for a man.’ Emile headed toward Nina, who was calling to him, and Mother grumbled under her breath,
‘I detest men who tie on the apron strings. Did you hear what Joop told Alice at dinner? He said...’

I stacked the dirty plates, picked them up and headed toward the kitchen, saying to myself, ‘I did not hear and I don’t want to hear. Leave me be.’

When everyone was leaving, Nina whispered in my ear, ‘I think it’s a match.’

Violette only said, ‘Thank you.’

Mother said, ‘Remember to store the leftover Fesenjan in a porcelain dish.’

Joop took fifteen minutes to say thanks and goodbye. I closed the door behind them all.

While I was washing the dishes, Artoush came into the kitchen, leaned over the sink and said, ‘The girls want a story.’ He laughed. From the beginning of the evening he had been
laughing constantly.

‘I don’t feel like telling a story,’ I said.

He looked at me. ‘Why not?’

I did not look at him. ‘I’m tired.’ He started playing with his goatee. I turned my head back and looked at him for a few seconds. ‘Why don’t you shave your
beard?’ I asked.

I was in a huge house, with a maze of rooms and corridors. There were many people coming and going, none of whom I knew. I took the twins by the hand and tried to leave the
house, but could find no way out. A tall priest came forward and said that I did not have permission to leave until I solved the riddle. Then he pulled the twins by the hand and dragged them away
with him. I ran after them.

I was in a huge courtyard, with rooms on all sides. In the middle of the courtyard was an empty round pool. I was crying and calling out to the twins. A young woman carrying a child came in
through the door. She wore a long red skirt that trailed on the ground. I was calling out to the twins and crying, and the woman in the red skirt was laughing, dancing around the pool, tossing the
child up in the air over and over.

I woke up. My heart was racing and I was drenched in sweat. Artoush was asleep. I threw off the covers, put a thin sweater on over my nightgown, slid my feet into my house slippers and walked
out into the yard. It was barely dawn. The scent of red clover was in the air, and there were some new buds on the rose bush.

I paced up and down the front path, from the door to the gate and back a few times, thinking about my dream.

I sat on the swing seat, which was wet from the overnight dew. The branches of the willow did not quite hang down to the back of the swing seat. The house in my dream was not familiar. I did not
recognize the priest, nor could I recall the riddle. The yard and the round pool were, however, things I had really seen. The moisture on the swing seat was irritating.

I got up and walked into the backyard. The twins had dug a little pit under the hose faucet. One of the games they played involved filling the pit with water, mixing in some stones and weeds and
dirt, and stirring it with a couple sticks to ‘make soup.’

Mother had said, ‘It is not more than two hours from Isfahan to Namagerd.’ But I was ten years old, and the trip seemed to take much longer than that.

Alice whined all the way. ‘When will we get there?’

Mother had said, ‘We’re going to Namagerd to buy suet.’ Father loved the dishes mother made with suet.

I walked hand in hand with Father through the narrow alleyways of the village and watched the dirty, scrawny children who were pressed up against the cob walls for shade, or stared out of their
crooked, crumbling window frames at the travelers from the city.

Alice whined non-stop. ‘I’m choking on the dust and dirt.’ But I was not concerned with the heat and dust and dirt. I watched the women of the village, who were dressed in the
local costume. The younger women veiled their mouths with the trails of their long colorful headscarves. Mother was listless from the heat and dust and the steady warm wind blowing in our faces.
When I asked her why they veiled their mouths, Mother said that young brides were not supposed to talk, especially in front of their in-laws. The long red and yellow and green headscarves were the
only colorful objects to be seen in the village. Everything else was the color of dust.

We stepped into a courtyard. Alice was pulling Mother’s hand, pleading, ‘Let’s go back.’ In the middle of the courtyard was an empty round pool, and all around the yard
were rooms with wooden doors and glass transoms covered in dust. In a corner of the courtyard a few young women were sitting around a small brick oven making bread. An old woman kept criticizing
them and complaining about the way they were going about it. Father was talking to the owner of the house, a man with bulging eyes, much chubbier than Father. Alice nagged the whole time. I looked
silently around, feeling as if I was about to burst into tears.

A woman entered the yard through the open door of the house. She was tall and very thin, barefoot, with long unkempt hair, full of straw. A scrawny, mangy dog followed her. When the woman saw us
she laughed. Alice fell silent and we both stared at the woman, who was by then singing and dancing around the empty pool. The dog sat at the side of the courtyard near the door, howling. For a few
minutes the only sounds were the woman singing, the wind rushing and the dog howling. Then the owner picked up a stick from the ground and shook it at the woman, shouting, ‘Go! Get out! Have
some shame.’ The young women laughed through their long headscarves and the old woman told us, ‘Don’t be afraid. She is crazy, but harmless.’ Then she picked up a pebble
near the foot of the oven and tossed it at the mad woman. ‘Have some shame.’ The woman covered her face with both hands and began crying. Then she began to sing again and danced out of
the courtyard along with the dog.