Things We Left Unsaid (26 page)

Over the weekend I had finished reading Vazgen’s manuscript. I made Maash Polow for Artoush, with the eggplant casserole he liked so much. I made almond cake for the kids. I did not nag
Armen about keeping his room tidy, and I took the twins to see
Tom Thumb
. Armen said, ‘That’s for kids,’ and did not come with us. The next night, as soon as he mentioned
that the Naft Club was showing
Tarzan
, I said, ‘Okay, I’ll take you, as long as you promise not to whine when it’s time to wake up tomorrow morning.’ The twins were
astonished and also delighted that I was willing to take them to the movies two nights in a row. When Artoush complained, ‘I don’t feel like driving,’ the twins said,
‘We’ll take a taxi.’

It was something to see the look on the faces of all four of them when I said, ‘It’s not far to the Naft Club, and the streets are not busy at this time of the evening, so...let
Armen drive us.’

In the open-air theater of the Naft Club, the kids and I really enjoyed Tarzan’s heroics and laughed at Cheetah’s antics. In the still warm evening air, you could smell the river on
one side and Kebab on the other, from the Naft Club restaurant. I was happy seeing my children happy.

Monday morning the sky was cloudy and the wind was blowing hard.

I was getting the kids ready for school when Armineh asked, ‘What if there’s a storm?’

Arsineh said, ‘Miss Manya will probably cancel the rehearsal.’

Armen grabbed his satchel and set out, exclaiming, ‘So much the better!’

I told the twins, ‘Don’t forget to give the novel and the translation to Miss Manya or Mr. Vazgen.’

Armineh said, ‘You promised to read it to us.’

‘Mr. Vazgen is in a hurry,’ I said. ‘Once it’s published, we’ll read it together.’

With an ‘okay’ they offered me their round cheeks, and we exchanged kisses and together walked down to the gate.

If the rehearsal got cancelled, the children would get back home sooner. Did I want them home sooner, or not? Should I pray for the storm, or for calm weather? Emily was standing in front of her
house, wearing her school uniform – navy blue smock, lace collar and white bobby socks. When the bus arrived, Armen stood by the door, waiting for Emily to get on first.

In the garage, Artoush was sitting behind the wheel of the Chevy. I held my breath. The engine started on the second try, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Artoush smiled and headed out. The
brake lights came on in the driveway and he popped his head out the window to say, ‘I’m coming back late today, remember?’ I smiled and nodded. As the Chevy and the bus faded into
the distance, I closed the gate and headed inside. In the yard, the wind buffeted about a couple of bougainvillea blossoms in the air.

I had not yet closed the front door when I heard the metal gate squeak. Through the lace curtain, I saw her coming, dressed in a skirt and blouse, both black, with flats, and a white shawl over
her shoulders. For the first time, I was genuinely happy to see her.

She sat at the kitchen table and asked for coffee instead of tea with milk. While I was fixing the coffee she did not speak, except to say, ‘There’s a storm brewing. When we were in
India, weather like this meant the monsoons were coming.’ She had her hair gathered behind her head and wore only a single piece of jewelry, a pair of pearl earrings. I set the coffee down on
the table with a plate of Nice cookies, and sat down opposite her. She looked silently at her cup for a moment. The wind outside seemed to be churning up all the desert sand throughout the length
and breadth of Khuzestan province. The sweet peas on the ledge were trembling.

‘Are you feeling better?’ I asked, and not just for the sake of conversation. I was genuinely concerned about her, although she no longer looked pale, and had put on peach-colored
lipstick.

She took a sip of coffee and raised her head. Her eyes were like black marbles. She coughed once. ‘I don’t know why I prattled on that night. It’s not my habit to share my
troubles with others. I have never talked to anyone about myself before. Maybe because I always thought no one would understand. What made me think that you would understand, I don’t
know.’

She fell silent. The wind whooshed by and the flower box tipped over on the ledge.

She took off one of her earrings, rubbed her earlobe and fastened it back on. She spoke softly, as though she did not want anyone to overhear. ‘The only thing Emile inherited from his
father was the color of his eyes and his love of books. In contrast to his father, who was able to distinguish between poetry and real life, Emile lives in poems and stories. He’s always
falling in love, ever since he was a child. He thought he was in love with Emily’s mother. The girl was from a poor family – her father was an alcoholic and beat her. Emile appeared in
the role of savior figure and, well...the girl was beautiful. At first, I opposed their marriage, but then, when it was too late to stop it, I gave in. Before two months had gone by, he realized it
was a mistake. It was God’s will that the girl died a few years later.’

The wind whooshed by again and the flower box full of sweet peas fell off the ledge. I heard it break. A feeling of sadness suddenly overwhelmed me. Was it because of the flower box breaking, or
because someone could talk so lightly about death?

She said, ‘He’s always made the wrong choices. Always fails to think things through. I’ve moved from one city to the next and from country to country to keep him from doing
anything that might hurt himself, or me, or Emily. It doesn’t matter so much for me anymore, but Emily could not bear it. I’m afraid she would do something rash. Her mother was not
psychologically...’

She did not finish the sentence, but shook her head, took the last sip of coffee and set the cup down in the saucer. For conversation’s sake, I pointed to the cup and asked, ‘Shall I
read your fortune?’ What kind of nonsense was that! I neither believed in fortune-telling, nor did I know how to do it. I only said it to make conversation.

As though just waking from sleep, she suddenly shoved backed her chair and stood up. She ran her hand over her hair, adjusted the shawl around her shoulders and said, ‘I don’t want
to take up your time. Fortune?’ She looked at the coffee cup and sneered. ‘My fortune was determined ages ago.’ She closed her eyes and opened them again, gazing at the silhouette
of Sayat Nova. ‘He loved Sayat Nova’s poems. They are true to the heart, he said. He himself always wrote from the heart, as well. No one understood him.’

I walked with her to the door.

At the door she turned around, put her hand on my arm and smiled faintly. ‘Emile quickly loses his heart.’ She wrapped the shawl up around her chin. ‘Help him out. It’s
not a good decision. Give him good advice.’

She started down the path. The wind twisted the shawl around her shoulders. Pink bougainvillea blossoms were scattered all over the pathway. The willow tree looked distraught and downtrodden,
like a woman in mourning, pulling out her hair in sorrow. The drops of rain turned to steam the instant they touched the ground, and the sky was as red as could be.

I went through all the rooms, moving stuff from one place to another that was fine right where it was. I stood in front of each window and looked outside. The leaves of the
tomato plants were shuddering non-stop, and the flowers were bowing and then straightening up again. Armineh and Arsineh’s trees had surrendered all their blossoms to the wind. Emily’s
tree still held a few flowers. The willow tree plucked her hair. Only the lotus tree seemed unperturbed by the storm.

I drew all the curtains. I should go pick up the broken flower box under the window ledge, I thought. But I did not. My favorite flowers were smashed, and it all seemed strangely unimportant.
When the Oil Company siren signalled the end of the working day, I went into the bedroom. I thought of Mr. Morteza. Whenever the siren sounded, he would pronounce the word ‘Feydus’ like
a sacred mantra, pack up his things and go home. It took a long time before I worked up the nerve to ask him what Feydus meant. Mr. Morteza laughed. ‘It means “Quitting Siren.”
’

My critical side sneered. ‘Are you thinking about Mr. Morteza to keep me from asking you why you’re putting on lipstick? Or why you are brushing your hair? Why so meticulous with the
hand cream?’ I set the brush down on the dressing table.

What does he want to say? If he says it, what do I say? What should I say? His mother said, ‘It’s not a good decision.’ I smoothed out my skirt. My compassionate side offered
some advice: ‘Say that we are friends. Good friends.’ I dried the sweat under my arms and when the doorbell rang, I blotted the excess lipstick with a Kleenex. In the hallway I wondered
why it was so dark.

As I turned the door handle, the door blew open with a strong gust of wind. Emile came in, accompanied by a whirl of dust, earth, leaves, and grass that spilled all over the floor. Among the
debris were khaki-colored things that looked like locusts. Together we managed to push the door closed, then leaned up against it to recover. Emile was out of breath, his hair and face dusty.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

He brushed off his head and shook out his shirt. ‘Locusts.’

‘What?’ I looked down at the floor. What had looked like locusts really were locusts, ten or twenty of them, dead or just barely alive. I probably turned pale and was surely
shivering, because he grabbed me by the arms and asked, ‘Why are you shaking? Don’t you know about locusts?’

I looked back at him, confused. ‘Don’t know what?’

He brushed off his pants. ‘Sometimes, when locusts migrate...You don’t look well. Here, have a seat.’ I looked at his face again, still confused, then let him lead me to the
kitchen, which was as dark as could be. He sat me down on a chair, turned on the light, opened the fridge, and poured me some water. As he put the glass in my hand, I exclaimed, ‘The
children!’

He pulled up another chair, set it down facing mine, and sat leaning forward toward me. ‘Don’t worry. I phoned the school before I came over. They’ll keep them there until
things die down. You don’t have any windows open? All the air conditioners are off?’ I looked mutely at him in a way that must have told him not to wait for an answer. He got up swiftly
and ran through the house.

I drank a gulp of water. Or did I? I got up and went to the window. The ledge was covered with locusts, dead and half alive. I wished I had gathered up the toppled flower box. The sky was dark,
and the sound unlike anything I had ever heard before. Behind me, Emile said, ‘It’s the sound of locusts’ wings.’

We stood side by side, mesmerized by the view in the yard. Locusts were raining from the sky and as they hit the ground, they sounded like a ton of crinkling, crumpling paper. I was still
shaking, or must have looked pale, because he asked me, ‘Don’t you think you’d better sit down?’

We sat down on the two facing chairs. ‘You’ve never heard of it before?’ When I shook my head, he continued. ‘Locusts swarm and migrate.’ His face was right in
front of mine. ‘Sometimes they fly kilometer after kilometer.’ There was a little cut on his chin. ‘When they can go no further, the swarm splits into two layers. One group forms
a base layer and the upper layer rests atop them, to regain their strength.’ The cut was barely visible. ‘The bottom layer dies from exhaustion and falls to the ground.’ He looked
out the window; it was still dark. ‘The swarm usually separates into layers as they pass over the sea or the ocean, but it also sometimes happens as they pass over cities.’

The racket outside was unrelenting. It now sounded like a squadron of propeller aircraft passing directly overhead. I may have still been shivering, because he said, ‘Relax. It will be
over in a minute.’

All at once, I remembered. ‘Your mother!’

He looked to the darkened window. ‘She took a sleeping pill and is lying down. She is not feeling well. Once in a while she feels quite ill.’

We sat quietly, while the sound of airplanes and crinkling, crumpling paper gradually diminished. It got brighter and brighter outside. It seemed like it had all been a dream.

When the phone rang, I jumped up, put my hand to my cheek and pressed it hard, perhaps to make sure I was not in a dream. The phone rattled out a third ring. I told Mother I was fine, that it
was great that Alice had phoned from the hospital, and how wonderful that Joop had phoned to check on Alice. No, Artoush had not phoned from Khorramshahr. The children were at school, and yes, it
was the most terrifying thing...

When she asked, ‘So you are all alone?’ I said, ‘I’ll call you back,’ and hung up the phone.

I had only taken two steps away from the phone when it rang again. I told Nina, ‘Yeah, yeah, it was terrifying... Good thing Garnik was home... Violette just laughed? How brave of her...
Artoush went to Khorramshahr... Yeah, I was going to phone the school, too.’

When she asked me, ‘So you were all alone in this chaos?’ I said, ‘I’ll phone you later.’ I hung up the phone and returned to the kitchen.

He was still sitting there on the chair, legs slightly apart, upper body leaning toward the facing chair, looking out of the window.

I leaned on the doorframe and ran my hand over my hair. My hand felt as if it were caked in dirt, like after changing the soil of a flowerpot, or gardening. I sneezed twice in succession.

‘Are you better?’ he asked.

I nodded and said under my breath, ‘Dust gives me hay fever.’ I pulled my chair back a little and sat down. I was sweating. For a few seconds we sat in silence, the smell of dust
hanging in the air.

He looked at me. ‘Listen, Clarice. I know you have never experienced it before, but...’

Hurry up and say it, I thought to myself.

He drew a deep breath. ‘The yard is not such a pretty sight now. I know you don’t like locusts, but...’

Now I had to press both cheeks with my fingertips to make sure I was not dreaming. The yard not a pretty sight? I don’t like locusts?

I got up and he got up. We went into the hall. He opened the door and I looked at the yard. I must have been dreaming. Surely, this could not really be happening?