The Book of Fate (21 page)

Half an hour later, Mrs Parvin and Mother arrived and rushed me to the hospital in a taxi. Despite the intensifying pain, I felt calmer. At the hospital, the doctor said it was still too soon for the child to come. Mother took my hand and said, ‘When a woman in labour prays during a contraction, her prayer will come true. Pray for God to forgive your sins.'

My sins? What sins had I committed? My only sin was that I had once loved someone; it was the sweetest memory I had of my life and I did not want anyone to erase it.

It was past noon, but there was no sign of the baby. They gave me injections, but they were useless. Each time Mrs Parvin came to the room, she looked at me with dread and just to have something to say, she would ask, ‘But where is Hamid Agha? Let me call his mother. Perhaps they know where he is.'

I would groan and in broken words tell her, ‘No, don't. He will call the hospital when he goes home.'

Seething with anger, Mother said, ‘What is the meaning of this? After all, shouldn't his mother come and see what has become of her daughter-in-law and her grandchild? Why are they all so uncaring?' Her constant grousing was making me even more stressed.

By four in the afternoon, worry was rippling over Mother's face and I could hear Father's voice outside the door. ‘But where is this doctor? What is this nonsense about him being kept aware of the patient's condition over the telephone? He should be at her bedside!'

‘Where are our own precious midwives?' Mother said. ‘My child has been in pain all day. Do something!'

Now and then, I fainted in pain. I no longer had the energy to even moan.

Mrs Parvin wiped the sweat from my face and told Mother, ‘Don't cry. Childbirth is always painful.'

‘No, you don't understand. I was there when many of our relatives gave birth. My other sister, God rest her soul, was the same way. She died in childbirth. When I look at Massoumeh lying there and suffering, it's as if I'm looking at Marzieh.'

It was strange that, despite all the pain, I was still aware of everything that was going on around me. Mother went on and on about how I resembled Marzieh, and I kept getting weaker and losing more hope with every passing second. I thought to myself, I'm a goner, too.

It was after five o'clock when Hamid came. Seeing him, I suddenly felt safe, I felt stronger. How truly odd that in trying times a woman's closest and best support is her husband, even if he is unkind. I didn't notice when his mother and sisters arrived, but I heard the commotion. His mother was fighting with the nurse.

‘But where is the doctor? We are losing the baby!' I knew her concern was for her grandchild, not for me.

The nurse who was examining me said, ‘Oh my, what hissy fits! Madam, the doctor said he will come when it is time.'

It was eleven at night. I had no energy left. They took me to a different room. From the conversations around me, I understood there was a problem with the baby's breathing. The doctor was quickly pulling on his gloves and shouting at the nurse who couldn't find my vein. And then everything went dark.

I woke up in a clean and bright room. Mother was sitting next to my bed, napping. I was not in pain, but I felt profoundly weak and tired.

‘Is the baby dead?' I asked.

‘Bite your tongue! You have a baby boy as handsome as can be. You can't imagine how happy I was when I found out it's a boy and how proud I felt in front of your mother-in-law.'

‘He's healthy?'

‘Yes.'

The next time I opened my eyes, Hamid was in the room. He laughed and said, ‘Congratulations! It was really difficult, wasn't it?'

I burst into tears and said, ‘Being alone was more difficult.'

He put his arm around my head and stroked my hair. All my resentment was forgotten.

‘Is the baby healthy?' I asked.

‘Yes, but he is very small.'

‘How much does he weigh?'

‘Two kilos and seven hundred grams.'

‘Did you count his fingers and toes? Are they all there?'

‘Of course, they are all there,' he said, laughing.

‘Then why won't they bring him to me?'

‘Because he is in an incubator. The birth was long and exhausting. They will keep him in the incubator until his breathing becomes normal. But I can already tell he is very playful. He is constantly moving his arms and legs and boohooing.'

 

I felt much better the next day and they brought the baby to me. The poor thing had scratches all over his face. They said it was because of the forceps. I thanked God that he had not been harmed, but he was constantly crying and refused to take my breast. I felt faint with exhaustion.

There was a huge crowd in my room that afternoon. No one agreed on whom the baby resembled. Hamid's mother said he looked exactly like Hamid, but Mother believed he looked like his uncles.

‘What will you name him?' Mother asked Hamid.

Without a pause, he said, ‘It's obvious, Siamak.' And he cast a meaningful glance at his father who laughed and nodded in approval. I was stunned. We had never discussed baby names. Siamak was a name that I had never considered and was not on the long list of the ones I had thought of.

‘What did you say? Siamak? Why Siamak?'

Mother added, ‘What sort of a name is Siamak? One should name a child after the prophets so that he will be blessed in life.'

Father motioned to her to keep quiet and not to interfere.

Sounding resolute, Hamid firmly said, ‘Siamak is a good name. One should name a child after a great man.'

Mother looked at me quizzically and I shrugged, suggesting I didn't know who he was referring to. Later, I discovered that among his group, most of the men had similar names. According to them, they had been named after true communists.

 

After I was released from the hospital, I went to Mother's house and stayed there for ten days, until I felt stronger and had learned how to take care of my child.

I returned home. My son was healthy, but he cried all the time. I would hold him in my arms and walk all night until dawn. In the morning, he would sleep for a few hours here and there, but I had a thousand things to take care of and could not rest. Mrs Parvin came to see me almost every day and sometimes she brought Mother with her. She helped me a lot. I could not leave the apartment and she did all my household shopping for me.

Hamid felt no sense of responsibility. The only change in his life was that on nights when he did come home, he would take a pillow and a blanket and sleep in the living room. And then he would complain that he had not slept well and that he had no peace and quiet at home. I took my son to the doctor a few times. He said children who are delivered with forceps and experience a difficult birth are often nervous and ill-tempered, but they don't have any specific problems and my child was perfectly healthy. Another doctor said perhaps my son was hungry and my breast milk was not enough for him. He suggested I supplement his food and give him formula as well.

Fatigue, weakness, lack of sleep, my son's constant crying and, most important of all, loneliness made me more depressed every day. I couldn't confide in anyone. I believed it was my fault that Hamid had no interest in being at home. I had lost my self-confidence, I shunned everyone, and my old disappointments and defeats revealed themselves to me more forcefully than ever before. I felt the world had ended for me and that I would never be free of the burden of that heavy responsibility. Often my tears flowed as my son cried.

Hamid paid no attention to me or to our child. He was busy with his own daily routine. It had been four months since I had left the apartment except to take my child to the doctor. Mother kept saying, ‘Everyone has children, but no one sits at home the way you do.'

With the weather getting warmer and the child growing older, I started to feel better. I was fed up with being tired and depressed. And finally, on a beautiful May day, I reclaimed my ability to make decisions. I told myself that I was a mother and had responsibilities, that I had to be strong and stand on my own two feet, and that I had to raise my son in a happy and healthy environment.

Everything changed. The joy of life flowed inside me. And it was as if my son, too, had sensed the transformation in me. He cried less and sometimes even laughed and reached out to me when he saw me. Seeing him like that made me forget all my sorrows. He still kept me up many nights, but I had grown accustomed to it. Sometimes I would sit and watch him for hours. Every move he made had a special significance for me. It was as if he was a world I had just discovered. From one day to the next, I grew stronger, and from one day to the next, I loved him more. Maternal love was slowly seeping into every cell of my body. I kept telling myself, I love him so much more today than I did yesterday; a love stronger than this is impossible. But the next day I would feel he was even more dear to me. I no longer felt the need to talk to myself. I talked and sang to him. With his large, intelligent eyes, he made me understand which song he liked more, and when I sang a rhythmic song, he clapped his hands in tune with it. Every afternoon, I took him out in his pram and walked under the old trees along the roads and alleys in the neighbourhood. He loved our outings.

Faati used every excuse to come over and hold Siamak in her arms. After the school year ended, she would sometimes spend the night with me. Her presence was a huge comfort. Again, the Friday lunches at my in-laws' house resumed. Although Siamak wasn't a well-tempered child and didn't easily go from one person's arms to the next, Hamid's family truly loved him and refused to accept any excuse to cancel a lunch.

The gentlest and most beautiful relationship was between Father and Siamak. During the previous two years, Father had come to our home no more than three times. But now, once or twice a week, he would stop by after closing the store. At first, he would try to come up with a reason for his visits; he would bring milk or baby food. But soon, he no longer felt he needed an excuse. He would come, play with Siamak for a while, and then leave.

Yes, Siamak had given my life a new scent and colour. With him in my life, I sensed Hamid's absence less than I did before. My days were taken up by feeding him, bathing him and singing to him. And wisely, he refused to allow me to spend a moment without paying full attention to him. The little rascal demanded all my love and attention. I had completely put aside school, classes and exams. The fascinating device that kept us very entertained during that time was the television that Hamid's father had bought as a gift for Siamak.

 

Towards the end of the summer, we went on a trip with Hamid's parents. What a miracle! And what a pleasant week. Hamid was completely disarmed with his mother around. He came up with a thousand excuses for us not to go, but none of them worked. It was my first visit to the Caspian coast. I was like an excited child. Seeing all that beauty and lushness and, at last, the roaring waves of the sea, left me amazed and awestruck. I could sit for hours on the seashore and revel in all that beauty. Siamak, too, seemed to love being among family and in that environment. He kept leaping into Hamid's arms and would come to me only if he was tired or hungry. He would clasp Hamid's hands in his own tiny ones and his grandparents would become ecstatic watching them together. One day Hamid's mother gleefully whispered to me, ‘You see! Hamid will no longer be able to leave this child and go after the things he does. Put the second one in his arms as soon as possible. Thank God!'

Hamid bought a straw hat, which we used to try to keep Siamak and his fair skin shielded from the sun, but I had turned the colour of copper. One day I noticed Hamid and his mother whispering together and he kept turning and looking at me. I pulled myself together. I had stopped wearing headscarves and chadors a long time ago, but I was always careful how I dressed. That day I was wearing a short-sleeved dress that was relatively thin and had an open collar. Although it was very conventional compared to the bathing suits women were wearing, still it was too much for me. I thought, They are right to criticise me; I have become too bold.

Later, when Hamid joined me, I anxiously asked, ‘What was your mother telling you?'

‘Nothing!'

‘What do you mean nothing? She was talking about me. Tell me, what have I done to upset her?'

‘Come on! They have really planted the seeds of tales of brides and mothers-in-law deep in your mind! She isn't upset at all. Why are you so cynical?'

‘Then tell me what she said.'

‘Nothing. She just said, “Your wife is much more beautiful now that she is suntanned.”'

‘Really? And what did you say?'

‘Me? What did you want me to say?'

‘I mean, what do you think?'

He looked me up and down with a probing, appreciative look and jauntily said, ‘She's right. You are very beautiful, and you are becoming even more beautiful every day.'

I felt a special joy in my heart and smiled involuntarily. I was so pleased with his compliment. It was the first time he had openly admired me. With some modesty, I said, ‘No! It's just the sun. Otherwise, I'm always so pale. Don't you remember last year you used to tell me I looked like sick people?'

‘No, not like sick people; you just looked like a child. Now you're older, you've gained some weight, and with this sun you have a more beautiful colour. Your eyes are lighter and brighter. In short, you are turning into a beautiful and complete woman…'

That was one of the best weeks of my life. The memory of those warm, sunny days made bearable many of the cold, dark nights that were to come.

 

My Siamak was an intelligent, playful, restless and beautiful child; at least, in my eyes. Hamid would laugh and say, ‘There is a foreign proverb that says, There is only one beautiful child in the world and every mother has him!'

Siamak started walking and talking very early and with broken words managed to express himself. I can confidently say that from the day he took his first steps, he never sat quietly again. Whatever he wanted, he would try to force you to give it to him, and if that didn't work, he would scream and cry until he got his way. Contrary to my mother-in-law's predictions, even a child's love and needs did not bind Hamid to his home and family.