Deliverance (7 page)

Ehsan is impressed. This is a posh crowd even by his standards. Both men and women are sporting perfectly coiffed hair and designer clothing. The house is huge. What I first thought was a small classy apartment building is in fact an entire house. The rooms are large and tastefully decorated. Persian carpets, leather sofas, and solid wood furniture. A polished dark wood baby grand piano graces a corner of the reception room surrounded by men in trendy suits and drinks in hand. They appear deep in conversation.

Loud music comes from another room deeper within the home. From down the hallway, strobe lighting freezes and releases a scene imported from Hollywood. But here, in this room, the lighting is dim and glittery, classy. I'm not sure which I prefer.

My body resonates with a combination of fear and excitement. Even the very rich aren't completely immune to getting their parties raided. I’m also scared of facing Maman when I go back home. I kind of told her about the party and then went when she told me I couldn’t go. Maman is not all super-conservative or anything and I know she’s been to her share of parties before the revolution when she was even younger than I am now. What she’s really worried about is any sort of scandal surrounding our family. Not when Bijan is up for a promotion. It’s all so unfair.

But whatever, I made it here and for now, it’s all that matters.

Ehsan, Leyli and I navigate the crowd together but it doesn't take me long to lose them. Inevitably I find myself alone… standing by myself… awkward. I grab a can of whiskey and scan the masses for someone, -anyone-, I may know.

I spy Davood, the band manager. He’s talking to someone but the crowd shuffles and suddenly he's gone. Where he was standing there is now a different, younger, man. And he’s staring at me.

Leyli loves to read fortunes and she has an eerie knack with them somehow. The one in particular that she read for me before we came here said ‘I would meet a handsome stranger that would become my deliverance.’ Deliverance - from what? We had a good laugh about it.

Fortune aside, there is something familiar about this guy. Like I know him from a really long time ago. I take a couple steps towards him but hesitate. My feelings are in complete conflict. There is no way I could possibly know him and yet I’m convinced I do.  

He mirrors my movements and moves slightly closer to me. There's still too much distance between us. He studies me, and I feel too exposed. Like I’m standing naked in front of him and he knows all of my deepest thoughts. He blends in well with the crowd, but there's something about the way he carries himself that tells me he isn't from around here. My intuition whispers to me that he's French. I’m convinced I’m right. Too bad I didn’t take those private French lessons I'd considered last year.

Embarrassed by the strange stand-off, I take the steps required to breach the distance. Why should I be so uncomfortable with him? We used to be close.

"Nagissa?" he asks.

I respond with a nod, but then realize that no, he didn't pronounce my name properly. And why did I just think we'd been close? I've never met him before.

"Na- Nakissa." My throat is dry, and when I try to emphasize the k sound in my name, I croak a little. I laugh and to cover my embarrassment, I repeat my name a couple of times, croaking again on the k to make fun of the way I said it. Oh how stupid I sound. Can I crawl into a hole and die now?

"You look so much like her, but you’re different."

I have no idea what he's talking about so I say nothing. I show no reaction. But that doesn't make me look much smarter so I struggle to find something adequate to say.

"I hear Fetid Crimson is going to make an appearance." Well, that was random. Why do I always default to talking about this band when I don’t know what to say? I’m not even a big fan.

He peers at me.

"Do you know Ramtin, then?" he asks.

A shudder passes through my body as flashes of Fetid Crimson's front man overtake me like memories. But they are not memories. Because even though my original impulse had been to say yes, in reality I don't know Ramtin. Of course I don’t. I'm new to this crowd.

"Well, do you?" he repeats.

He leans towards me, and the room spins.

"Hey? Are you okay?" he asks.

Hands touch me. Lightly on my shoulder at first. A tap. I twirl in panic, expecting to see a pair of murky green eyes. But I lose my balance and stumble. Hands around my waist now, and more hands, holding my arm. I disengage myself from the many armed monster. I step back and focus my vision.

"What did you take?" Leyli asks.

"I didn't take..."

"Is she okay?" the foreigner asks Leyli.

"I don't know. I hope so because the band is asking for her. Come, azizam, they want you to play for them."

As Leyli drags me away from the mysterious foreigner, my mind and vision clear. What was that about? Is it just the heat and nerves? He’s hot but not the first hot guy I’ve ever met. It’s no reason I should completely lose it with him.

Leyli leads me through to the strobe-lit room. At once, my senses are assaulted. From the lighting to the loud music to the smell; smoke – regular tobacco, weed, flavored tobacco, and probably many other things I don’t have the experience to recognize – mingling with that of body odor. On the dance floor, exposed skin shimmers with sweat. Movements in the dark corner of the rooms indicate a different type of dance performed there.

Leyli expertly navigates me through it all, and though I still don't know exactly what's expected of me, my steps become stronger, more confident. I'm here because I was invited. I'm a guest here. Important.

Davood greets me with a strong hug. "Here is our beautiful star harpist. We are about to take this crowd by surprise and completely take their breaths away." His curly long hair bounces as if to emphasize his enthusiasm.

My stomach tumbles. What if I forget how to play? I don't even remember learning, so who is to say I can still play? But when Davood points me in the direction of the band, their appearance doesn't even register with me. I know I should be curious about the two members I've never met before, but I can't be. I can't even get myself to greet Roxana and what's his name. Not when the harp is standing there on the stage with all the other instruments, the only one shimmering with a soul. She wants me. She missed me.

I don't wait for instructions. The pull is too strong. There is no longer anything else in this room. I sit on the rug that serves as the stage, and immediately stroke her silk strings before I begin to pluck them. I’ve only played a few notes when I notice the change in the room. The music which had before blared through the sound system has been replaced by the gentle traditional harp melody that is part of my soul. I move my fingers along faster and the notes coming out of the speakers are faster too.

I'm the one playing! The melody seeping out of the speakers is coming from my fingers.

A wave of nausea tightens my stomach but I push it down. I'm in my element. When I'm on the harp, it’s natural. Here, I am home, and there is nothing to be nervous about.

Without thinking, I switch to a different melody, and a new vision comes to me.

This time, I can't tell if I'm still in Esfahan, but instinct tells me I'm not. The scenery looks familiar, but I don't recognize it. Distantly, as if in a different reality, I hear the sound of rock music mingle with the sound of my harp, and the part of me who is still me knows the rest of the band has joined in. I think we sound good, but I'm so distant I can't be sure. The crowd of trendy teenagers and music industry people are less and less real.

Instead, I'm playing for a king. It's my own composition and pride blooms in my chest.  Someone storms into the room. His footsteps are distinct on the stone floor. I would recognize them anywhere. I glance up in the hopes of refreshing myself on his beauty. The green of his eyes calm me. But when our gazes meet, his look doesn't soften. He hasn't looked at me like that since I composed the song King Khosrau II uses as our national anthem. But I can't imagine Ramtin would be so easily jealous. Not when he has so much talent of his own.

I beg him with my eyes, but they remain cold. Distant. My heart tightens. I once thought I could get him to love me back, but the clench of his jaw finally confirms to me I would never have what I pine for. My hands tremble.

I miss a note.

I should look for disapproval from my lord, the King of Kings. Instead, I need to see if Ramtin noticed. The triumph in his eyes tells me he did. I should just give up now. But my King hasn't asked me to stop playing, so I continue. The reception room becomes more and more crowded.

Jewels adorn the admirers. The reflection of the setting sun through the window and upon them blinds me temporarily. I blink a few times.

I'm back at the party.

The events of the day had caught up to me and completely depleted me of energy. Oddly enough, the rest of the crowd seemed to feel the same. After the girl finished playing, the party never resumed. People broke into small pockets and discussed the amazing sound of the band, but no one still had the energy to party. Some were texting, others spoke quietly on the telephone, arranging for rides home or to coffee shops or restaurants. Couples who had been making out in dark corners, just cuddled in silence. Not only had the party here died, but no one was inclined to resurrect it. No one even seemed to be under the influence of alcohol anymore. The mood was sober. Calm.

Had she sapped essence from the crowd the way Ramtin got his witches to at concerts? Was she in league with him?

I pulled myself upright, away from the wall I'd been leaning on, and strolled over to the stage. I didn't have to duck around throngs of people like I would have had to earlier. The path between us was virtually clear. I attempted to make myself look casual but inside I screamed for answers. Who was she? Was she a witch? Could she lead me to Nagissa? Could she be trusted? 

The closer I came to her, the wider her eyes appeared. They shimmered with essence and fear. Her face and lips were pale. Her brows furrowed when she noticed me. She tilted her head to one side. Another girl joined her and spotted me immediately.

"Hi," she said in English with a small smile. "Davood told me you’re his Canadian friend. I love Canada. I'm Leyli." She extended her hand to me and I shook it. "And you know, you shouldn't take a girl's hand in public." Her eyes twinkled.

Of course I knew. These were the types of warnings everyone had been piling on me since my first day here. Everyone has advice for the foreigner. Yet, handshaking was the least of the sins being committed here. "If you’re so worried about propriety, I don't think you should be extending your hand out to me." I kept my tone light. Flirtatious. But all my faculties concentrated on the other girl, Nakissa. I needed to read her. Judge her.

"Probably not, but I'm not very good at doing what I'm supposed to." She winked.

"I guess none of us are since we are all here."

She giggled. "You know, Nakissa's boyfriend told us of a great place we could just hang out and chill. A private playground of sorts. Somewhere we can be left alone."

By the way she emphasized the word boyfriend I mustn't have been very subtle while watching her friend. I focused my attention on Leyli. This girl seemed to be my in with Nakissa so it would be best if I fostered some sort of friendship.