Things We Left Unsaid (30 page)

‘As soon as the priest opened the door, the boy would run away.’

‘Finally, the priest hides behind the door.’

‘As soon as the kid knocks...’

‘The priest jumps up and opens the door.’

‘The naughty boy is caught off guard, but asks...’

‘Pardon me, is Jesus home?’

The twins both cracked up laughing. Armen said, ‘That’s an old one.’ Mother tried not to laugh. ‘We don’t joke about Jesus and the Church. It’s a
sin.’

I told the kids to put the game away, and I set the dish of rice on the table. Mother began inspecting the platter of herbs. ‘I told Joop that they have to hold a party here in
Abadan.’ I was hoping the platter would make its way to the dinner table before Mother had thrown half of the herbs into the garbage because she considered them ‘wilted.’

‘My girl’s no foundling that I would send her off to her husband’s home without a proper celebration. Hand me the platter, I’ll take it to the table. It’s a shame
the Tahdig turned out soggy.’

I ladled the Ghormeh-sabzi into two bowls and muttered to myself, ‘Just let Alice get married – in the church, outside the church, with a party, without a party. Just let her be
married.’

Mother came back laughing. ‘Did you hear what Joop said? He said...’

I cut her off. ‘Take the casseroles while I arrange the Parinj on the serving dish.’

Mother removed the cloth I’d wrapped around the pot lid to absorb the excess moisture from the Parinj. ‘Well, if we can’t have a wedding party, we’ll just have to do
without. Why should we spend all that money just to feed people, anyway? Mmm, the Parinj is fantastic! Here, give me the dish. You’re tired, I’ll serve it.’

I passed her the dish and leaned back on the counter to drink the Vimto fruit cordial I had fixed for myself. Suggesting I was tired was just a pretext. Mother believed that only the Armenians
of Julfa knew how to make authentic Parinj. She would have some hard-to-find parinj grain sent to her every year all the way from Isfahan. Since Mother had prepared it especially for this evening,
she naturally wanted to be the one to arrange it on the platter, lest I wreck the presentation of this delicacy.

The ice had melted in my glass and the Vimto was lukewarm. I could not be bothered to get myself more ice, but then remembered we would need ice for the dinner table, so went over to the
refrigerator.

Mother carefully laid out the chunks of meat on top of the Parinj. ‘It’s up to them. If they want to hold a celebration here, fine. If not, well, that’s fine too. Who are we to
interfere?’

I poured the ice into a crystal bowl. Mother tilted her head to the left and then to the right, assessing the arrangement of Parinj on the platter. ‘Let’s see if our dear son-in-law
likes Parinj or not.’ She picked up the dish and headed for the door. ‘But I do wish they would have a little party.’ The twins ran in.

‘Mommy!’

‘Mommy!’

‘Look what he’s brought!’

‘See what he brought?’

Joop had brought gifts for the twins – a boy doll and a girl doll. I picked up the ice bowl and went with the kids and their dolls to the living room. ‘Please have a seat at the
table, everyone,’ I announced. I thanked Joop for the dolls and signaled the children to do likewise.

Armineh went up to Joop, offered him her cheek to kiss, and said, ‘Thanks.’

Alice said, ‘Say “Thank you, Uncle Joop.” ’

Arsineh offered her cheek and said, ‘Thank you, Uncle Joop.’

Joop kissed them both and Artoush asked them, ‘What have you named the dolls?’

The twins looked at each other and announced at the same time, ‘We have to think about it.’

Armen came into the room holding a brand new shiny tape recorder; everyone said, almost in unison, ‘Wow, fabulous!’ Joop blushed and Armen went over to shake his hand and thank him.
Joop said, ‘You welcome, you welcome,’ several times in reply.

Joop complimented the Parinj over dinner, and Mother replied in Armenian, ‘
Anoush, anoush
.’

Alice translated for him: ‘It means “May it nourish your soul.” ’

Then Mother explained, with Alice’s help, that Parinj is made from a grain like cracked wheat or barley, that we first sauté and then cook with meat and plenty of sautéed
onions and turmeric until it makes something like a pilaf. While it steams, it has to be constantly stirred to keep from sticking to the pan. Alice, who was by now tired of translating
Mother’s recipe, said, ‘Okay, enough already! No one is going to enter a cooking contest tomorrow.’

When it came time to say goodbye Joop kissed the twins, and Armineh announced, ‘We have chosen a name for the dolls.’

Arsineh whispered in my ear, ‘What was Uncle Joop’s last name? Don’t say it out loud.’ I told her and she ran over to Armineh and whispered in her ear.

Arsineh held the boy doll out to us. ‘Mr. Joop Hansen.’

Armineh held the girl doll out to us. ‘Mrs. Alice Hansen.’ It was Alice who laughed the loudest of us all.

When Joop offered his hand, instead of shaking it, I stepped closer, gave him a hug, kissed both of his cheeks and congratulated him. Artoush and my mother were certainly surprised. And Alice?
God only knows what she thought, but I did not care. All I knew was that I was very much obliged to Mr. Joop Hansen.

That night I told the twins a story about a girl who had done something bad and then dreamt she was turned into a frog. She was very frightened and, in the morning when she got up and saw she
was not a frog, she was so happy she decided not to do bad things anymore.

Armineh yawned and said, ‘That was a strange story.’

Arsineh said, ‘But it was a bit silly. Wasn’t it, Armineh?’ Armineh had fallen asleep.

I read ‘Three Apples Fell from the Sky’ with Arsineh and then turned out their light. I came out into the hallway, thinking, ‘Arsineh is right; it was a silly story.’ I
headed for the living room.

After the guests had gone, Artoush rubbed his stomach and laughed. ‘I ate so much Parinj that I’m going to burst. I’m off to bed.’ And off he went to the bedroom.

So I sat on the sofa, in front of a blank television screen, and stretched out my feet on the coffee table. My hand found its way to my hair and began to twirl. I was not tired, I felt good.
Why? Was it because I’d washed all the dishes and dusted the living room, and because the rooms were, as Mother would say, spick and span? Or was it because Alice was finally getting married,
and Joop really seemed – contrary to Mother’s and my first impressions – like a good, kind man? Maybe it was also because Artoush had come home earlier than usual the day before
with a flower box full of pink and white sweet peas. At first I stared for a moment at the flowers. Then I went up to him, and when he hugged me, I burst into tears.

I turned out the living room light and told myself, ‘Maybe it’s because you woke up this morning and saw you were not a frog.’

It was ten in the morning.

Nina was on the phone. ‘You see how Miss Clever Wiles had everything under control the whole time? Clueless me! I thought she didn’t know how to go about things and was going to need
my help. The only thing left now is for us to formally meet the future mother-in-law. Day after tomorrow is the kids’ end-of-year celebration. I was thinking about inviting them the Thursday
after that. You and Artoush have to be there! Alice and your mother will be back from Tehran by Thursday, won’t they?’

I confirmed they would.

‘Then give me the number of the Simonians so I can invite them.’

‘Don’t you remember your old phone number?’

‘What?’

‘The phone number of G-4. Have you forgotten it?’

She laughed so loud that I had to hold the receiver away from my ear. ‘As your mother says, “Call me an ass!” I was never so on the ball that I can now afford...’
Finally, she said goodbye.

I put the receiver down and went to the living room. The sewing machine was set out on the dining table. I was making the twins’ costumes for the end-of-year celebration. I had bought pink
silk for spring, red cotton for summer, orange taffeta for fall, and white calico for winter. I sewed strips of rabbit fur to the sleeves and hem of winter’s dress. One of Artoush’s
relatives from Tabriz had brought us the rabbit fur years ago. I remembered how Alice and I had laughed about that. ‘What sane person would bring fur as a souvenir to Abadan?’

‘Hang on to it,’ Mother urged. ‘You never know when it may come in handy.’

I made a crown of wheat spikes for fall. Youma had brought me the wheat spikes after I gave her a detailed description of what it was I was looking for.

The house was cool and quiet, filled with the smell of the almond cake I was baking in the oven. I glued the spikes together and wondered why I had failed to mention to Nina that I had had no
contact with the Simonians lately. I knew that Emily had been absent from school for a few days. When the twins asked, ‘Maybe she’s sick – may we go look in on her?’ I said
no. And when Artoush mentioned that ‘Emile hasn’t been to work for a few days – don’t you want to look in on them?’ I said no. The twins frowned and Artoush just
raised his eyebrows and left it at that.

I sewed blue and pink artificial flowers on a wide ribbon that Armineh was supposed to tie around her head to go with the dress for spring. Why didn’t I want to go over to the Simonians?
Maybe I did not want to get caught up in their predicament. If I went over and got sucked into the argument, whose side would I take? The mother’s or the son’s? I glued together the two
ends of the tall crown of cotton balls I had made to go with winter’s dress, and looked out the window.

The Simonians had come to seem surreal to me. For several days now, this family of three seemed so remote from me, or maybe it was I who was distant from them. I felt the whole adventure had
been like a movie, a movie I saw long, long ago and had no particular desire to see again. There was a breeze blowing outside, and through the branches of the Msasa trees, you could catch a
wavering glimpse of the living room window of G-4.

I had not yet figured out what to do for summer’s headband. If I glued flowers on it, it would look the same as spring. Besides flowers, what would make for a good summer symbol? I
couldn’t think of anything. ‘I’ll decide what to do about it later.’

No, I don’t feel like going over to the Simonians. It’s better if I don’t intervene. As I looked down at the dresses, an idea hit me – a crown of boxwood for summer.

The school yard was all decorated, small colored lights hanging from the trees, children’s paintings covering the walls. The stage with its green velvet curtain was set
up at the end of the yard, and rows of chairs were neatly lined up from the foot of the stage nearly to the gate. Armen was one of the ushers, whose job was to guide parents and guests to their
seats and staff the buffet table.

I had just sat down and was busy greeting acquaintances when Artoush tapped my shoulder and gestured toward the stairs leading up to the stage. ‘Manya.’ Manya was waving to me from
the top step to come over.

I told Artoush to save my place and went backstage. The choir girls in their uniform white blouses and navy blue skirts, and the choir boys in their white shirts and navy blue pants, were
talking non-stop, raising a racket. Mr. Zhora, the music teacher, kept saying ‘Quiiiii-et,’ to no avail.

As usual, Manya was a bag of nerves but very excited. She tightened the ribbon in the hair of a little red-headed girl and said, ‘Off you go, stand in your spot and don’t fidget so
much. Your ribbon comes undone minute by minute.’ Then she turned round to me. ‘Any news from Emily Simonian?’

A few days before, Armineh and Arsineh had been constantly talking about her: ‘Emily didn’t come to school today.’

‘Miss Manya said that if Emily doesn’t come tomorrow, we’ll have to find another Cinderella.’

‘One of the seventh graders will be Cinderella.’

‘We thought Emily made a prettier Cinderella.’

‘No, I’ve no news,’ I said. ‘I heard you substituted one of the seventh graders for her?’

Manya grabbed the arm of a little girl who was holding the stage curtain open, waving to the crowd. ‘Hey, you naughty creature! Who told you to come up here? Run along to the dressing room
until it’s your turn to go on.’ She gave the girl an affectionate pinch on the cheek and the girl, decked in a colorful regional costume with layered skirt, ran off laughing. Manya
looked around her. ‘Yep, I found a new Cinderella,’ and she pointed out a girl in a long green skirt standing by the dressing room door and tying on her bandana at a jaunty angle.
‘She’s pretty, isn’t she?’ I looked at the girl, who looked up at me and smiled.

Manya explained, ‘I was so busy this week I didn’t get a chance to telephone the Simonians.’ Then she shouted to the new Cinderella, ‘Jasmine, dear. We don’t tie
our bandana at an angle. Cinderella was not so coquettish before she went to the Prince’s palace.’ Then she turned to me. ‘My problem now is not Cinderella. My calamity for the
evening is the Prince. The mother of the Prince has just phoned to say her son has come down with the measles. Now I’m pulling my hair out trying to figure out what to do.’

‘Surely you don’t want to saddle me with the role of the Prince?’ You never could tell with Manya.

She chuckled. ‘Not a bad idea, at that. You’re tall and charming enough.’ Then she turned serious. ‘Listen. Armen came to all the rehearsals, especially the scenes with
Cinderella and the Prince. Sometimes he would prompt the kids when they muffed their lines. I can’t think of anyone better for the job than Armen. I sent for the costume from the
measles’ victim, and it will fit Armen – they’re about the same size. By the time the chorus and the poetry reading and the dancing are finished...’ She was looking at her
watch. ‘Then we have the student prizes to give out and...the way I figure, we have a little bit over an hour. We might even be able to rehearse it through once. It’s not a bad idea, is
it?’

I stepped aside to avoid getting hit by a microphone making its way to center stage and said, ‘It’s not a bad idea at all. If only Armen would agree.’