The Book of Fate (43 page)

‘Leave me alone!' Gholam-Ali yelled furiously. ‘You and that vicious nutcase!'

Mahmoud stuck his face into mine and with an expression distorted by rage, he growled, ‘Mark my words, they will hang this one, too. These boys are the seed and spawn of that faithless miscreant. They will end up just like him. Do you think you will still clench your fists at his hanging?'

Screaming with rage, I shoved the children into my dilapidated car and cried and cursed all the way home. I cursed myself for having gone there, I cursed the boys for attacking everyone like fighting cocks, I cursed Mother, Mahmoud and Ali. I drove recklessly, constantly wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. At home, I angrily paced the rooms. The children watched me with fear in their eyes.

After I had calmed down a little, I turned to Siamak and said, ‘Are you really not ashamed of yourself? How long do you want to continue attacking people like a rabid dog? You turned sixteen last month. When are you going to start acting like a human being? What if something had happened to him? What if he had hit his head on the edge of the kerb? What the heck would we have done? They would put you in prison for the rest of your life or hang you!'

I burst into tears.

‘I'm sorry, Mum,' Siamak said. ‘I'm really sorry. I swear to God I didn't want to start a fight. But you don't know the things they were saying. First they kept boasting about their car and making fun of ours, and then they said we should be even poorer and more miserable than we are because we're not Muslims and don't believe in God. I didn't say anything. I ignored them. Didn't I, Massoud?… But they wouldn't stop and started saying nasty things about Dad. And then they imitated him being hanged. Gholam-Hossein stuck out his tongue and leaned his head to one side and everyone laughed. And then he said they didn't bury Dad in the Muslims' cemetery, they threw his body in front of the dogs because he was filth… I don't know what happened; I couldn't stop myself. I slapped him. Gholam-Ali came to stop me and I shoved him and he just flopped down and hit his back… Mum, are you saying that no matter what anyone says I have to stand there like a coward and do nothing? If I hadn't hit him, the anger would have killed me tonight. You don't know how they were making fun of Dad.'

He started to cry. I looked at him for a while. I wanted to slap Gholam-Hossein a couple of times myself. The thought made me laugh.

‘Between you and me, you gave him one heck of a beating!' I said. ‘But the poor boy couldn't breathe. I think he may have broken a rib.'

The boys realised that I understood the situation they were in and to some extent didn't hold them responsible. Siamak dried his eyes and chuckled, ‘And the way you leaped right in!'

‘They were hitting you!'

‘I didn't care. I was willing to take ten more slaps in exchange for hitting Gholam-Hossein just one more time!'

We laughed. Massoud jumped in the middle of the room and started imitating me. ‘The way Mum tore into the street with her chador, I thought she was Zorro! Short as she is, she put her guards up just like Muhammad Ali! If Uncle Mahmoud had so much as blown on her she would have gone flying up to the neighbour's rooftop. But the funny thing is they were all scared. They stood there with their jaws hanging!'

Massoud was describing the scene so comically that we fell to the floor laughing.

It was wonderful. We hadn't forgotten how to laugh.

 

The new year was close, but I was in no mood to prepare anything. I was just happy that damned year was finally ending. In response to a letter from Parvaneh, I wrote, ‘You cannot imagine the year I have had. Every day brought a new disaster.'

On Mrs Parvin's insistence, I made new clothes for the children. But our humble new year celebration didn't include spring cleaning and I didn't prepare the traditional table setting of
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. Hamid's mother insisted that we bring in the new year at her house. She said it was the first new year after Hamid's and his father's passing and everyone was going to her house. But I didn't have the patience for it.

I realised the new year had started only when I heard the neighbours cheering. Hamid's empty place in our home was painfully palpable. I had spent seven new years with him. Even if he wasn't there with me, I always felt his presence. But now, there was nothing but loneliness and vulnerability.

Massoud was holding a photograph of his father and looking at it. Siamak was in his room with the door closed and wouldn't come out. Shirin was wandering around the house.

I closed the door to my bedroom and cried.

Faati, Sadegh Agha and their children walked in, dressed in new clothes and making a racket. Faati was taken aback by our sombre celebration. She followed me to the kitchen and said, ‘Sister, I am surprised at you! For the sake of the children, you should have at least set the
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table. When you said you weren't going to your mother-in-law's house, I thought it was because everyone would automatically start grieving again and you didn't want the children to get upset. But now I see you are worse than them. Go and get dressed. Whatever it was, that year is over. I hope the new year will be a happy one for you and make up for all the suffering.'

‘I doubt it,' I sighed.

 

Discussions about vacating the house and selling it started after the new year holidays. Hamid's mother and Mahboubeh argued and fought against it, but the aunts and uncles were in agreement that it was time to sell. The real estate market, which had suffered after the revolution because of all the talk about confiscating and redistributing properties, had recently improved and prices were slightly higher. They wanted to sell the house as quickly as possible in case prices plunged again or the government decided to confiscate it.

When I received formal notice of their decision, I sent back a message saying that I would not move until the end of the school year and only then would I start looking into other options. But what other options? I was struggling just to keep the children clothed and fed; how was I going to pay rent as well?

Hamid's mother and sisters were worried, too. At first they suggested we live with Hamid's mother. But I knew she could not tolerate noisy children running around the house and I didn't want to stifle the children and make them miserable in their own home. Finally, Hamid's uncle suggested that they renovate the two rooms and the dilapidated garage at the far end of the garden for me and the children to live in. That way we and Hamid's mother would remain independent and at the same time her daughters would no longer worry about her living alone.

Given that I and my children had no rights to an inheritance from Hamid's father, I was very grateful for their offer.

 

By the end of the school year, the renovations at my mother-in-law's house were almost complete. But Siamak's suspicious behaviour was distracting me from planning our move. He had rekindled my old anxieties. He was coming home later in the afternoon than usual, arguing constantly about politics and seemed to be leaning towards the ideologies of certain political groups. I could not tolerate any of it. To protect my children from greater harm, I had tried hard to keep politics out of our lives. Perhaps that was exactly why Siamak was becoming more and more curious and interested in it.

I had met a few of his new friends at Hamid's funeral; they came to lend a hand. Although they all seemed to be good, healthy young men, I didn't like the fact that they were constantly whispering to each other. It was as if they always had secrets. Over time, they started coming to our house more often. I wanted Siamak to have good friends and to come out of his shell, but I had an uneasy feeling. The voice of my mother-in-law, who always said, ‘Hamid's friends destroyed him,' kept ringing in my ears.

Soon I learned that Siamak had become an ardent member of the Mujahedin. In every gathering he would stand with clenched fists and defend them. He brought their newspapers and bulletins to the house, driving me to the brink of insanity. Our discussions about politics always ended in a fight and they not only didn't create any understanding between us, they drove Siamak farther away from me. One day I sat down and, trying hard to remain calm, I talked to him about his father and the devastation politics had brought to our life. I talked about the hardships Hamid and his friends endured, about the miseries they suffered and about how in the end it had all been futile. And I asked him to promise me that he would not take that same path.

In a voice that was now that of a man, Siamak said, ‘What are you saying, Mum! It is impossible. Everyone is immersed in politics. There isn't a single student in class who doesn't belong to one group or another. Most are Mujaheds and they are all really good guys. They believe in God and pray and they fight for people's freedom.'

‘In other words,' I said, ‘they are halfway between your father and your uncle and they are repeating the mistakes both of them made.'

‘Not at all! They are very different. I like them. They are good friends and they support me. You don't understand, if I am not one of them, I will be all alone.'

‘I don't understand why you always have to latch on to others,' I snapped.

He bristled and looked at me with anger. I knew I had made a mistake. I lowered my voice, allowed my tears to stream down my face and said, ‘I am sorry. I didn't mean it. I just can't stomach another political game in this house.' And I begged him to end his involvement.

The result was that Siamak promised to never formally join a political group or organisation, but he said he would not stop being a supporter, or as he put it ‘a sympathiser', of the Mujahedin.

I asked Sadegh Agha, who had a friendly relationship with Siamak, to talk to him and keep an eye on him. But the situation was getting worse. I discovered that Siamak was selling the Mujahedin's newspaper out on the streets. At school his grades were suffering and he barely made it through the final exams. Even before the grades were announced, I knew he had failed a few classes.

One day Sadegh Agha called to warn me that the Mujahedin were organising a large demonstration for the next day. From early the next morning I watched Siamak like a hawk. He put on his jeans and sneakers and wanted to go out with the excuse of buying something at the store. I sent Massoud instead. As the morning wore on, he became more and more restless. He went to the yard and fiddled with the plants for a while, then he picked up the hose and started watering the garden patch while watching the house from the corner of his eyes. I pretended I was busy doing something in the cellar, but I was watching him from behind the wicker shade. He slowly put down the hose and started tiptoeing towards the front door. I ran up the cellar stairs and reached the door ahead of him. Standing with my arms out, I grabbed hold of the door frame.

‘That's enough!' he yelled. ‘I want to go out. Stop treating me like a child. I am sick of it!'

‘The only way you can go out of this house today is over my dead body!' I screamed.

Siamak took a step towards me. Massoud, with an indomitable look on his face, came to my rescue and stood between us. The anger that Siamak could not take out on me, he took out on Massoud. He started beating and kicking him, all the while hissing from between his clenched teeth, ‘Get lost, you chicken. Who do you think you are? Don't meddle, you scrawny carcass.'

Massoud tried to reason with him, but Siamak yelled, ‘Shut up! It is none of your business.' And then he struck Massoud in the face so hard that he lost his balance.

I cried and said, ‘I thought my eldest son was my support. I thought he would fill his father's empty place. But now I see that he is happy to trade me for a bunch of strangers, even when I beg him to not go out this one day.'

‘Why shouldn't I go?' he snapped.

‘Because I love you, because I don't want to lose you the way I lost your father.'

‘Why didn't you stop my father who was a communist?'

‘Because I was no match for him. I did everything I could, but he was stronger than me. You are my child. If I am not strong enough to stop you, then I might as well die.'

Siamak pointed to Massoud and yelled, ‘If you don't let me go, I will kill him.'

‘No, kill me instead. I will die if anything happens to you, so you might as well do it yourself.'

There were tears of rage in his eyes. He glowered at me for a while and then turned and walked towards the house. He kicked off his shoes and sat with his legs crossed on the wooden bed on the terrace in front of Bibi's rooms.

Fifteen minutes later, I told Shirin, ‘Go to your brother and give him a kiss; he is upset.'

Shirin ran, struggled to pull herself up on the bed and started caressing Siamak. He slapped her hand away and growled, ‘Leave me alone!'

I went and took Shirin, put her down on the ground and said, ‘My son, I understand how exciting it is to be a member of a political group and to want to do heroic things. Dreaming of saving the people and humanity is very gratifying. But do you know what lies behind it and where it will end? What is it that you want to change? What is it that you are willing to risk your life for? Do you want to sacrifice yourself so that a bunch of people kill a bunch of other people and gain power and wealth? Is that what you want?'

‘No!' he said. ‘You don't understand. You don't know anything about this organisation. They want to bring justice to the people.'

‘My dear heart, they all say this. Have you ever heard anyone who wants to seize power say he doesn't want to bring justice to the people? But for all of them justice is achieved only when their group comes to power, and if anyone stands in their way they will not waste any time sending him to hell.'

‘Mum, have you even read a single book they have written?' Siamak asked. ‘Have you even heard a single speech they have given?'