The Book of Fate (18 page)

He had invited only twelve people: his closest friends. I didn't know what to cook. I was so excited that I asked him several times. ‘Cook anything you like,' he said. ‘It's not important.'

‘Yes, it is important. I want to cook dishes that they like. Tell me who likes what.'

‘How would I know? Everyone likes something different. You don't have to cook every single dish.'

‘Well, not all of them. For example, what does Shahrzad like?'

‘Herb stew. But Mehdi loves split pea stew and Akbar is still craving the herb rice and fish that I told him about. And late afternoon, when the weather gets cold, everyone gets a hankering for noodle soup. In short, they like everything… But you shouldn't go to too much trouble. Cook whatever is easier for you.'

I started shopping on Tuesday. The temperature had dropped and there was a gentle breeze. I shopped so much and hauled so many heavy bags up the stairs that even Bibi got fed up and said, ‘My girl, even a feast for seven kings doesn't require so much priming and preparing.'

On Thursday, I did some of the preliminary cooking. On Friday, we came back a little sooner from visiting Hamid's parents and again I got busy cooking. I prepared so much food that simply reheating it all would take from morning until noon. Fortunately, the weather was cold and I had lined up all the pots and pans out on the terrace. Late afternoon, as Hamid was getting ready to leave, he said, ‘If I'm delayed, I'll come back with the guys tomorrow around noon.'

I got up early in the morning and again dusted the entire apartment, boiled and rinsed the rice, and when everything was done, I took a quick shower. I didn't wet my hair; I had washed and set it with curlers the night before. I put on my yellow dress, which was my best one, dabbed on a little lipstick, took the curlers out of my hair and let the beautiful curls cascade down my back. I wanted to look flawless and not cause Hamid any embarrassment. I wanted to be so perfect that he would stop hiding me in the house like a backward, illegitimate child. I wanted to be someone his friends would consider deserving of joining their group.

Close to noon, my heart sank at the sound of the doorbell. The ring was a signal; Hamid had a key. I quickly took off my apron and ran to the top of the stairs to greet them. There was a cold wind blowing, but I didn't care. Right there at the top of the stairs, Hamid introduced me to everyone. There were four women and the rest were all men, and they were all about the same age. Inside the apartment, I took their coats and looked at the women with curiosity. They didn't look all that different from the men. They were all wearing trousers and oversized sweaters that were mostly old and didn't match the rest of their outfits. They had treated their hair as if it was a nuisance; they had either cut it so short that from behind they could be mistaken for a man, or they had tied it up with a rubber band. None of them was wearing any make-up.

Although everyone was polite and courteous, other than Shahrzad, no one paid much attention to me. She was the only one who kissed me on the cheeks, looked me up and down, and said, ‘Beautiful! Hamid, what a gorgeous wife you have. You never told us how attractive and well dressed she is.'

It was only then that everyone turned and looked at me more carefully. I sensed an invisible sarcastic smile on some of their faces. Although no one said anything impolite, there was something in their behaviour that not only made me blush and feel embarrassed, but Hamid, too, seemed uncomfortable. Trying to change the subject, he said, ‘Enough for now! Go in the living room and we will bring the tea.' A few of them sat on the sofas and the others on the floor. Almost half of them smoked. Hamid quickly said, ‘Ashtrays; give me as many ashtrays as we have.' I went to the kitchen and fetched the ashtrays and gave them to him. Then I went back to the kitchen and started pouring the tea. Hamid followed me there and said, ‘What sort of a get-up is that?'

‘Why? What do you mean?' I asked, confused.

‘What kind of dress is that? You look like a Western doll. Go put on something simple; a shirt and a pair of trousers or a skirt. And wash your face and tie back your hair.'

‘But I'm not wearing any make-up. It's just a little lipstick, and it's a very light colour.'

‘I don't know what you've done; just do something so you don't stand out so much.'

‘Shall I rub coal on my face?'

‘Yes, do it!' he snapped.

My eyes were brimming with tears. I could never tell what was good or bad in his eyes. I suddenly felt drained. It was as if in that one moment the exhaustion of the entire week suddenly overwhelmed me. The head cold that had started a few days ago and that I had chosen to ignore suddenly got worse and I felt dizzy. I heard one of them say, ‘What happened to the tea?' I pulled myself together and finished pouring the tea and Hamid carried the tray to the living room.

I went to the bedroom, took off my dress and sat on the bed for a while. There was no particular thought in my head. I was just sad. I put on the long pleated skirt that I usually wore around the house and grabbed the first shirt I saw in the closet. I put my hair up with a pin and used a cotton ball to wipe off what was left of my lipstick. I was trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I was afraid that if I caught sight of myself in the mirror my tears would start to flow. I tried to distract myself. I remembered that I hadn't poured any clarified butter over the rice. I walked out of the bedroom and ran into one of the girls who was just then walking out of the living room. The moment she saw me, she said, ‘Oh, why the change in decoration?'

They all craned their neck to peek out and take a look at me. I was red up to my ears. Hamid poked his head out of the kitchen and said, ‘She's more comfortable this way.'

I stayed in the kitchen the entire time and everyone left me alone. It was around two when everything was finally ready and I spread the tablecloth in the hall. Although I had closed the living room door so that I could comfortably prepare the lunch spread, I could hear them talking loudly. I couldn't understand half of what they were saying. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language. For a while, they talked about something called the Dialectic and they repeatedly used the terms ‘the populace' and ‘the masses'. I couldn't understand why they didn't just say ‘the people'. Lunch was finally ready. I had a terrible backache and my throat burned. Hamid inspected the lunch spread and then invited the guests to eat. Everyone was surprised by the variety, colour and scent of the dishes and they kept telling each other which dish to try.

Shahrzad said, ‘I hope you're not too tired. You have really gone to a lot of trouble. We would have been satisfied with bread and cheese. You didn't have to work so hard.'

‘Forget it!' one of the men said. ‘Bread and cheese is what we eat every day. Now that we've come to a bourgeois home, let's see how they eat.'

Everyone laughed, but I thought Hamid didn't like the comment. After lunch, they all went back to the living room. Hamid carried a stack of plates to the kitchen and irately said, ‘Did you have to cook so much food?'

‘Why? Was it bad?'

‘No, but now I have to listen to their jibes until the end of the world.'

Hamid served a few rounds of tea. I gathered up the lunch spread, washed the dishes, put away the leftovers and tidied up the kitchen. It was past four-thirty. My back still hurt and I felt as if I had a fever. No one was asking for me, I had been forgotten. I understood very well that I didn't fit in with them. I felt like a schoolgirl at her teachers' party. I was not the same age as them, I didn't have their education and experience, I couldn't debate the way they did, and I wasn't even bold enough to interrupt them and ask what they wanted to drink or eat.

I poured another round of tea, prepared a platter of cream puffs and carried the tray to the living room. Again, everyone thanked me and Shahrzad said, ‘You must be tired. I'm sorry none of us helped you clean up. The truth is, we really are no good at these sorts of things.'

‘You're welcome, it was nothing.'

‘Nothing? We couldn't do any of what you did today. Now, come and sit next to me.'

‘Of course, I'll be right back. Just let me say my prayers before it is too late and then I can come and sit comfortably.'

Again, they all gave me a strange look and Hamid frowned; and again, I didn't know what I had said that was so strange and out of the ordinary. Akbar, who had earlier called Hamid a bourgeois and I sensed some rivalry or tension between them, said, ‘Wonderful! There are still people who say their prayers. I am delighted! Madam, since you have preserved your ancestors' beliefs, would you explain to me why you pray?'

Flustered and vexed, I said, ‘Why? Because I am a Muslim and every Muslim must pray. It is God's command.'

‘How did God give you this command?'

‘Not just to me, to everyone. He did it through his messenger and the Quran that was descended to him.'

‘You mean to say there was someone sitting up there who wrote down God's commands and threw them down into the arms of the Prophet?'

I was getting angrier and more confused by the minute. I turned to Hamid and with my gaze appealed to him for help, but there was no kindness or compassion in his eyes, only fury.

One of the girls said, ‘Now, what happens if you don't say your prayers?'

‘Well, it would be a sin.'

‘What happens to someone who sins? For instance, we don't pray and, according to you, we are sinners. What will happen to us?'

I clenched my teeth and said, ‘After death, you will suffer, you will go to hell.'

‘Aha! Hell. Tell me, what sort of a place is hell?'

My entire body was shaking. They were mocking my beliefs.

‘Hell is made of fire,' I stammered.

‘It probably has snakes and scorpions, too?'

‘Yes.'

Everyone laughed. I looked beseechingly at Hamid. I needed help, but he had hung his head down, and although he wasn't laughing like the others, he wasn't saying anything either. Akbar turned to him and said, ‘Hamid, you haven't even managed to enlighten your own wife, how are you going to save the masses from their superstitions?'

‘I'm not superstitious,' I snapped angrily.

‘Yes, my dear, you are. And it's not your fault. They have ingrained these notions in your head so well that you have come to believe them. The things you say and waste your time on are in fact superstitions. They are all things that are of no value to the masses. They are elements that make you dependent on someone other than yourself. And they are all meant to scare you into being content with what you have and to stop you from fighting for what you don't have, all in the hope that in another world you will receive everything. You believe in things that have been created to exploit you. This is exactly what superstition is.'

I was dizzy and felt like I was going to vomit. ‘Do not revile God!' I said furiously.

‘See, kids! See how they brainwash people? It's not their fault. These ideas are planted in their heads from the time they are small children. See what a difficult road we have ahead of us in fighting against the “opium of the masses”? This is exactly why I say we must include the campaign against religion in our mandate.'

I could no longer hear them. The entire room was spinning around my head. I thought if I stayed another minute, I would be sick right there. I ran to the toilet and threw up. I felt a dreadful pressure inside me. There was a stabbing pain in my back and lower abdomen, and then my legs were wet. I looked down. There was a pool of blood on the floor.

 

I was burning up. Below me, flames were dragging me towards them. I tried to escape, but my legs wouldn't move. Terrifying, hideous-looking witches were stabbing pitchforks in my stomach and pushing me towards the fire. Snakes with human heads were laughing at me. A vile creature was trying to pour rancid water down my throat.

With a child in my arms, I was locked in a room that was burning in flames. I ran towards different doors, but each one I opened I found myself facing more flames. I looked at my child. He was drenched in blood.

 

When I opened my eyes, I was in a strange, white room. A sharp chill ran through me and I closed my eyes again, curled up and shivered. Someone pulled a blanket over me and a warm hand felt my forehead. Someone said, ‘The danger has passed and the bleeding has almost stopped. But she is very weak. She must grow stronger.'

I heard Mother's voice. ‘You see, Hamid Khan. Let her come to our house at least for a week so that she can regain some of her strength.'

 

I was confined to bed for five days at Mother's house. Faati fluttered around me like a butterfly. Father was constantly shopping for strange things that he claimed were nutritious and restorative, and every time I opened my eyes, Mother would make me eat something. Mrs Parvin sat by my side and talked all day long, but I had no patience for her. Hamid came to visit me every afternoon. He looked depressed and embarrassed. I didn't want to look at him. Talking to the people around me had again become difficult for me. There was a profound sadness inside me.

Mother kept saying, ‘My girl, why didn't you tell me you were pregnant? Why did you work so hard? Why didn't you ask me to come and help you? Why did you let yourself catch such a bad cold? After all, you have to be careful during the first few months. Well, everything is going to be fine. You shouldn't grieve so much for an unborn child. Do you know how many times I miscarried? This, too, is God's will and wisdom. They say a child that is miscarried must have had some defect; a healthy child doesn't die that easily. You should be grateful. God willing, the next ones will be healthy.'

 

The day I returned home, Hamid came to pick me up in Mansoureh's car. Before I left, Father put a gold Van Yakad prayer pendant around my neck. He didn't know any other way to express his love. I understood him well, but I just wasn't in the mood to talk and to thank him; all I did was wipe away my tears. Hamid stayed home for two days and took care of me. I knew what a great sacrifice he thought he was making, but I felt no gratitude towards him.