Rooftops of Tehran (31 page)

Ahmed nods his head yes.

“It was quite some time before I found out, quite some time,” she rambles. “Why didn’t he let me know right away?”

“He wanted to surprise you, and show up when you least expected it,” Ahmed reminds her. “What would be the point of going away if you couldn’t surprise your own wife when you came back?”

“Oh, yeah!” Grandma says. “What would be the point?” She pauses, and then asks, “I was surprised, wasn’t I?”

Ahmed turns to me. “You remember, don’t you? Wasn’t she surprised?”

Grandma is standing right next to me. I put my arm around her shoulders and say in her ear, “Grandma, you were very surprised. I’ll never forget the way you smiled when you saw him.”

Grandma’s face lights up. “You should surprise your wife, too. She’d like that, just like I did.” Then she slowly walks back toward Ahmed’s house. “Yes, I remember being very surprised.”

Ahmed winks at me and I wink back.

The kids in the alley are excited to see me. A couple of the younger ones keep their distance. After all, I’ve just been released from a mental hospital. Most of the kids, however, shake my hand and want to know if I still play soccer, and if I would like to play later on in the day. I thank them and tell them that I’m too tired, that it has been a long time since I’ve slept.

Ahmed and I go to his house. His mother brings us tea and sweets, and tells us that she’s been dreaming of this day when we would be together again. She’s a small woman with a thin face, skinny body, and pale complexion. She has the voice of a storyteller, kind, warm, and trusting. There is always a point—a lesson or a moral—to her stories. She talks of Ahmed’s prison days as the worst of her life. “Life isn’t the same when a piece of your heart is ripped away from you,” she says. “It’s a blessing and a curse to be a mother, that’s for sure!”

Ahmed ducks his head. I guess he’s embarrassed.

Ahmed’s mother advises me to visit Zari’s parents. “They’ve suffered a great deal. First Doctor, and then that rose of a girl. So young, so vibrant. It is unbelievable what has happened to that family. If there is a God, then there is a Day of Judgment, too, and her poor mother will see justice.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “Oh, yes, you should pay your respects soon,” she continues. “I saw the Masked Angel watching you from the terrace on the third floor when everyone was gathered around you in the alley. I’m sure she has told the family that you are back. They probably expect you to pay them a visit today.”

Ahmed says, “Yeah, we should do that.” Then he turns to his mother. “She saw him on her way back from the bakery today. We could tell she was surprised.”

“The Masked Angel has been a godsend to that family,” Ahmed’s mother says. “They were devastated until she showed up and brought some peace back into their lives. She must be a true angel. God’s ways are amazing, aren’t they?”

I nod yes, thinking that if there is a God, he sure has an amazing way of showing his love for Doctor and Zari.

“Of course she will never fill the void that Zari has left in their lives,” Ahmed’s mother says. “That would be impossible because no one—and I mean no one—can replace your child. At least the Masked Angel is there to nurse them, and be a sister to Keivan. That poor boy! How they ever explained his sister’s tragic loss to him, I’ll never know. What a storm must be brewing inside him! God help him, I just hope he doesn’t try to get revenge when he grows up. Thank God for the Masked Angel. I hear she spends most if not all of her time caring for him. She has devoted her life to that family. She never goes anywhere, never socializes with anyone. She is entirely focused on helping that family cope with the pain of losing their dear child. God bless her.”

We hear Grandma walking toward us. Ahmed’s mother shakes her head. “She’s getting worse every day. Just a few days ago she fell down the basement stairs because she thought her husband, God bless his soul, was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. It’s a miracle she didn’t break her neck. She sees him everywhere now.

“Life’s short, way too short. Enjoy every breath you take because no one knows what comes next. Through the eyes of creation, the time each of us spends on this planet is no longer than a blink! We have to live our lives trusting in God’s judgment. There’s a reason for everything. My poor mother, bless her soul, used to say don’t waste your time asking God why because God doesn’t talk back. Somewhere down the road, though, he shows you signs that help you understand why things are the way they are.”

I know what Ahmed’s mother is doing, and I wish she would stop. I want to tell her that I don’t believe in her arrogant God who’s too good to talk to us, but that would be considered extremely rude. No matter how upset you are, you must never contradict your host. Even more important, you should never say anything religiously offensive.

Grandma walks in the room. She looks at me for a few seconds, and asks again if my wife knows I’m back yet.

Ahmed smiles and says, “He has no wife, Grandma.”

“Oh!” says Grandma, her eyes hazy and befuddled. “I thought he was married to the girl next door,” she says, “the one Grandpa used to give chocolate to.”

“No, Grandma—” Ahmed tries to interject, but Grandma cuts him off.

“She is a nice girl. I like her a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to me. “She doesn’t know what’s happened.”

“That’s okay, she’s probably confusing me with Doctor.”

“You should let your wife know you’re back,” Grandma says to me. “She has been waiting for you for quite some time. Just like I waited for Grandpa.”

“Yes, Grandma. He will let her know,” Ahmed soothes.

“She cries for him every night,” Grandma says. “Poor girl, she cries every night. She is so sad.”

“Okay, Grandma. We’ll take care of it. We’ll let her know,” Ahmed says patiently.

“Yes, best to let her know,” Grandma says, shuffling out of the room. “The poor girl should know. It breaks your heart to hear her cry like that.”

 

The doorbell rings. When Ahmed answers it, Faheemeh pushes him aside and runs toward me. She jumps into my arms and kisses my face, over and over, as tears roll down her cheeks. I can feel her body shaking in my arms. She has cut her long black hair short, and it makes her look more grown up than she really is.

“What happened to your hair?” I say, laughing while trying to hold back my own tears.

“Needed a change, that’s all,” she whimpers, as she studies me through moist eyes. “You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

“I needed a change, too,” I say.

She laughs, and hugs me hard.

“Thank God you’re back, thank God for that,” she says.

Ahmed’s mother exchanges greetings with Faheemeh and asks if her parents are well. Soon she goes to the kitchen to start lunch.

Faheemeh puts her arm around my shoulders. She bites her lower lip as she quietly sheds tears and wipes her face with a white handkerchief. “Ahmed and I talked about you every day you were away,” she says. “We missed you dearly, and couldn’t wait for you to come home. Everyone in the neighborhood knew what happened to us, including my parents and brothers. My mother and father were genuinely worried for you, and prayed for your health and your safe return.” She asks me how I feel, and before I have a chance to answer, she hugs me again and breaks into bitter sobs.

“We’ll make it through this together,” she says. “I don’t know how, but we’ll make it. I promise. Our recovery may be slow, but it will happen, I’m sure of it.”

It feels wonderful to be with Ahmed and Faheemeh again. They look more mature than I remember. They appear to be totally aware of each other in the way that only married couples are. Gone are Ahmed’s boyish antics and youthful mannerisms. Sitting next to her, he’s like a man, confident, determined, with an air about him that makes it obvious that Faheemeh is his woman. The girlish disposition that made Faheemeh look like a teenager fallen in love for the first time is gone, too. She is a woman now, mature, serene, and aware that she is the subject of someone’s unconditional affection and devotion. I wonder if Zari and I ever would have gotten to this point if she were still with us.

Faheemeh starts to talk about that day. She remembers fainting on the sidewalk after the soldiers attacked Ahmed and me, but she doesn’t remember anything after that. A couple of the families who were standing close to us, and witnessed everything, shielded her from the agents who were roaming the crowds to learn about “the three crazy kids responsible for this nonsense.” The people who took her home told her parents everything. Her older brother yelled and cursed when he learned that she was with Zari, Ahmed, and me. But when he heard about what had happened to the three of us, he hugged her, showered her with kisses, and thanked God that she was safe.

Faheemeh was sick for a long time. She couldn’t eat or sleep. The images of that day still haunt her, and she often finds herself crying without a cause. Her parents tried to send her to England to stay with a distant cousin for a while, but she refused to go.

“You know what kills you?” she asks. “Not knowing, that’s what kills you. I went to Evin Prison every day. I was sure I would have to come up with the cost of the bullets before I could get your bodies back.” She bites the skin between her thumb and her index finger. She says she couldn’t start mourning for Zari because of her uncertainty about our situations. “I couldn’t go on until I had a sense of the total loss in my life,” she says, as she breaks down into another bitter fit of weeping. “I miss her so much! I just wish I knew why she did it. She seemed so in love with you. I wouldn’t have guessed it in a million years.”

I tell them that I should have known and that a few days before it all happened, Zari and I talked about Socrates and Golesorkhi. I tell them how she talked about death and suicide when we were out having an ice cream, and how I changed the topic because I thought it was depressing.

“Perhaps if I had listened, I would’ve suspected something,” I say, nervously reaching for my sleeves. Ahmed grabs my hand.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Faheemeh begs. “No one could’ve guessed what she was up to from a conversation like that.”

“I wouldn’t have interpreted anything Zari said as a sign of what she was about to do,” Ahmed says. “This came out of nowhere. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t blame yourself,” he warns emphatically.

“Why did she do it?” I ask. “She said she loved me. How can you do this to someone you love? I don’t understand.”

I say I don’t understand, but I do. As inconceivable as her action was, it must have seemed the only way for her to shout her defiance of the Shah, making the ultimate sacrifice for a greater good, a red rose action, a Socrates decision, a heroic gesture, signifying the triviality of life without freedom.

 

 

After lunch I ask how Ahmed and Faheemeh met after Ahmed was released. He shakes his head and starts to laugh. Faheemeh follows suit.

“He came to our house,” she starts. “My brother opened the door.” She stops and looks at Ahmed to continue.

Ahmed shrugs his shoulders. “I’m so glad I didn’t have to violate our pledge to the sacred brotherhood of the boxing fraternity.”

Faheemeh smiles and hits Ahmed in the shoulder with the back of her hand. “My dear brother,” she says. “You weren’t going to manhandle the poor kid, were you?”

“He wasn’t a kid when he was beating me up a few months earlier,” Ahmed says sarcastically.

“He’s just a kid,” Faheemeh laughingly protests.

“Anyway,” Ahmed says, “lucky for the ‘kid,’ he got out of my way. By then she was already halfway to the door, screaming and yelling my name. Boy, you should’ve been there! She made quite a scene. Everyone came out of their homes to see what was going on.”

“A couple of days later our parents got together and announced to the neighbors that we were engaged,” Faheemeh says as she jubilantly shows me her engagement ring.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before,” I say, putting my arms around her and Ahmed at the same time.

“We didn’t want to have an engagement party without you,” Ahmed says. “Besides, we want to wait until Zari’s one-year anniversary.”

I’m extremely happy for them. Theirs is the first good news I’ve heard in many months.

 

On the way to Zari’s house, we stop at the spot where I planted Doctor’s rosebush. “Everyone took care of it,” Ahmed whispers. “For Doctor, for Zari, and for you.”

I shake my head in appreciation. “We’ll never let this bush die,” I say.

“We won’t,” Ahmed confirms.

We arrive at Zari’s house. A series of images flashes in my head, including the first day Faheemeh rang the bell to begin our remarkable summer together. I’ll never forget the joyful smile on Zari’s face when she first opened the door. She and Faheemeh hugged. Then she looked toward us and winked before walking back into the house and closing the door behind her. It’s so heart-wrenching to know that Zari will never be answering a doorbell in that house again.

I ring the bell with shaking hands, and Zari’s father opens the door. He stands in the doorway and stares at me with sad eyes. I say a tentative hello. He takes a step toward me and hugs me so tightly that I fear he may crush my ribs. He holds me for a long time, and I can feel his body shaking. When he lets go of me, I see tears in his eyes. He steps aside and we walk into the yard.

As Mr. Naderi shuts the door, I see Zari’s mother walking gingerly toward us. The brush of age has touched her, too, creasing her face and turning her hair gray, just as Ahmed had warned. She looks like an unhealthy old woman nursing not just a fatigued, exhausted body but also a haunted spirit and a tormented soul. I go to her, and she hugs me, and we begin to cry in each other’s arms.

There is no pain like the pain of losing your child,
my mother’s voice echoes in my head.