Colette and the Silver Samovar (4 page)

My father said, “Bahram's mother did not scold him. Instead, the next morning, she said that he had done well, because animals were in the world before people, and we must protect them. Then she gave him another hundred dirhams and sent him to the bazaar to find cocoons to start his business.”

“I hope he does it this time,” I said.

“On the way to the bazaar, he ran into some children dragging a dog to the top of the town wall to throw him down. ‘Don't hurt the animal,' Bahram pleaded. They said, ‘If your heart bleeds for this dog, give us a hundred dirhams and he will be yours.' Bahram gave the children his money and untied the dog. The dog placed a paw upon his knee and said, ‘Those who have done a good deed will receive good in return.' Then it ran away.”

“Oh no,” I said. “Soon they won't have any money left!”

“That may be so,” my father said. “But again, Bahram's mother did not scold him. Instead, the next morning, she gave him the last of their money and told him that now he must save them from starvation. All day he searched for cocoons to buy, but by evening he was still empty-handed. At the edge of the town, he saw a group of men gathering sticks to build a fire. When the fire was blazing, one man picked up a box and started to add it to the blaze. ‘What have you there?' Bahram asked the man. ‘It is an animal,' the man replied. ‘Why would you want to burn an animal? asked Bahram. And the man laughed and said, ‘If your heart bleeds so much for this animal, then give me a hundred dirhams and it will be yours.' And because Bahram could not bear to see an animal harmed, he forgot what his mother had said and gave the man his last hundred dirhams.”

“He didn't!” I said, sitting straight up on the bed.

“Sometimes you must do what is right whether or not it is in your best interests,” said my mother.

“What was in the box?” I asked, poking my father and reminding him to get back to the story.

“It was a snake,” my father said. “Bahram jumped away when he saw it, thinking the snake would spit poison at him. But this was a very special snake. ‘Don't fear me,' he said to Bahram. ‘You have saved my life. Snakes do not harm those who bring no harm to them. Indeed, we are the guardians of the hearth.'

“Bahram hung his head in his hands. The snake asked why he was sad. ‘I have spent my last one hundred dirhams,' Bahram told the snake. ‘My mother and I will starve.'”

“Exactly!” I said. “What is he going to do now?”

My mother shook my fingers lightly. “Tell me that you would have done the same thing,” she said.

“I couldn't let you starve!” I said.

“But you couldn't let an innocent creature die either, could you?” asked my mother.

“No,” I said. But I wasn't sure. I didn't know! “What happened then?” I asked my father.

My father glanced at his watch. “I think I will have to tell you the rest of the story tomorrow,” he said. “It's after ten o'clock.”

“No!” I said. “I won't be able to sleep unless I know what happens!”

“Tomorrow,” my father said. He yawned. “Even I am getting tired. I have to work tomorrow!” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Sleep well.”

After he left, my mother pulled the covers up to my neck and tucked the edges tightly under the mattress. “That's how it must feel to be in a cocoon,” she said.

“Do you think Bahram and his mother starve?” I asked her.

“I don't think so,” my mother said. “I like to believe that no good deed goes unnoticed.”

“I wish Dad didn't have to go away,” I murmured.

“I wish he didn't have to go either, but he does. He needs to do it just as much for himself as for us. Do you understand that?”

“Why can't things stay like they are right now?” I asked. The words of the fortune-teller echoed in my head.
Beware of danger
.

“Nothing stays the same forever,” my mother said. “It is just the way life is.” She nudged me. “Not all change is bad, you know.”

I didn't know about that. In one day, I'd lost my seat beside my best friend and found out my father was going far away. If this was change, who needed it?

“Go to sleep now,” my mother whispered. Then she went out and pulled the door shut.

I stared out at the night sky. There were ghosts out there, I thought—lots of ghosts, wandering around looking for places to sleep. My mother tells me that I need to think peaceful thoughts before bed, but sometimes my brain gets clogged up like a kitchen sink. One thought would not drain away. It kept swirling around and around and around.

Beware of danger, beware of danger, beware of
danger
.

Chapter 4

My father had already gone to work when I got up the next morning. As I poured cereal into my bowl, I wondered how the story of
Bahram and the Snake
Prince
would end. As a writer, I saw nothing but trouble ahead.

My mother put on her red cape and started to pack my lunch. Sometimes she does things backward like that. My father says she is eccentric, which means she doesn't do things the way most people do.

On the way to school, my mother hummed a song under her breath. She always hums when she is worried. My feet felt like they were locked into a pair of big lead boots.

School did nothing to cheer me up. Oprah flashed me a smile, but then she started talking to Zain like she'd forgotten all about me. I took my new seat right under the teacher's nose, kept my head down and poured all my thoughts into my journal. Sometimes my journal is my best friend.

It was that way the whole week before my father went away. Each day I got up, ate my breakfast and walked to school alone. I didn't run into any of my friends in the apartment building elevator—not Mr. Singh, or Auntie Graves. My mother was helping at a recreation center on the other side of town and had to go on the streetcar earlier than usual, and my father was either sleeping or working.

I waited all week for my father to finish the story, but it seemed like he'd forgotten all about it.

“He's working lots of extra shifts,” my mother explained when I complained to her. “He wants to make as much money as he can before he goes away. Now, don't mope. In one month, everything will be back to normal.”

The night before my father went away, I came home from school and my mother was polishing the silver samovar. She picked up a clean cloth and handed it to me. “You can polish the lid.”

“Tell me the story of the samovar again,” I asked.

She rubbed her cloth over the base. The silver glowed like a soft summer moon. “A very old Iranian man who knew your father as a boy gave it to us on our wedding day.”

“Where were you married?” I asked.

“Colette,” my mother said, “you have heard this story a hundred times!”

“I know,” I said, “but it is my favorite story.”

“All right,” my mother said. “But first we must have a cup of tea!” She went to the stove and put on the kettle. While the tea brewed, I rubbed and rubbed, thinking that, if only this was a magic samovar, I could make a genie come to life and get three wishes. My mother brought the tea to the table. “I am polishing the samovar to use tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow your father is going away, and we must make tonight a celebration.”

“Why should we celebrate something that is sad?” I asked.

“It is only sad for today,” my mother answered. “In one month he will be back, and it will be the beginning of a new life. We must celebrate his return.”

“That seems like bad luck,” I said.

“Don't be so negative,” Mom said. “When the samovar was given to your father and me, the old man who gave it to us said that we would have a long and happy married life and drink many cups of tea with our large family.”

Well, he was wrong about that, I thought. It didn't look like I was ever going to have a brother or a sister. It didn't even look as if I was ever going to know my own grandparents. My mother must have been thinking the same thing, because a cloud of sadness covered her eyes. She stopped polishing for a minute, then shook her head and smiled.

“I have invited a few of our friends from the building to join us after supper,” she said. “Go do your homework and then come and help me make some treats for our guests.”

I put my backpack on my bed and pulled out my journal. I wrote:
My father leaves tomorrow for Iran. He is going to ask his parents to help him become
a teacher.
I stopped and looked up at the posters, then started to write again.
I wish I could go with
him, but I need to watch over my mother. Ever since
the lady read our tea leaves, I have been thinking he
should not go. I don't think my mother wants him to
go either. But I can't tell him this. And neither can she.

I heard the door to our apartment open, then my mother's excited voice calling out, “Hamid!” My father was home.

I stuffed my journal under my pillow. My mother was right. It was wrong to think bad thoughts.

After dinner, my father put on Iranian music. As my mother lit the flame under the samovar and put out a tray of desserts, people began to arrive. There were pastries filled with nuts called
baagh-lava
and my favorite, a sweet made from rosewater, pistachios and saffron called
halva
. Mr. Singh and his wife brought some sweets called
boondi ke laddoo
. Auntie Graves brought bananas fried in butter and covered in brown syrup, which she said was how they ate bananas back in Louisiana, where she had grown up.

I poured endless cups of tea.

“Your parents are very lucky to have so much happiness,” said Mr. Singh. He handed me his cup.

I nodded.

“If you and your mother need anything at all while your father is away, you must come to us,” he said.

Mr. Singh always made me feel as relaxed as a sleeping cat. It was good to know that he was just down the hall.

By nine o'clock, everyone had put their teacups in the sink and said their goodbyes. I stood between my mother and father at the door and shook our guests' hands as they left.

“Off to bed now,” my father said as he closed the door behind Auntie Graves. “We all have an important day tomorrow.”

I crawled into bed and waited for my father to come and tell me good night. It wasn't until I was almost asleep that I felt his weight on the side of my bed.

“Sleep well, Colette,” he said in his softest voice.

I opened my eyes. He was excited to be going, but he looked tired too. I wanted to ask him to tell me the rest of the story of
Bahram and the Snake Prince
, but he gave a giant yawn, then leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

“I will see you very soon. And while I'm gone, you must be very helpful to your mother.”

“Will you tell me the rest of the story of Bahram when you come back?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “It will be the very first thing I do.”

He pulled up the covers and tucked them around me. An airplane flew by my window, and he pointed at it. “I will wave to you from the sky tomorrow,” he said.

I hugged him tight around the neck. “I will miss you.”

“And I will miss you. But I am carrying many pictures of you with me, so I will have your face to look at all the time. And I will introduce you to my parents.”

“Wake me up tomorrow before you go,” I told him.

“Yes,” he said.

“Promise!”

“I promise.”

When he was gone, I turned on my side and stared at my posters. I wanted to fall asleep and dream about the beautiful mosque.

Chapter 5

Rain pattered against my window. The white and blue tiles of the mosque were washed out in the gray light. I pulled on a sweater and went out into the hall. Maybe I would start the tea and surprise my father and mother in bed with a tray.

But when I went into the kitchen, I saw my mother sitting at the table, her sketchbook in front of her.