make a mess while fixing myself a sandwich, and when pouring iced tea or Pepsi in a cup, I had to be careful not to spill my drink. My mother was short-tempered and beautiful. She had brown eyes, a perfect nose, full lips, and long legs and loved to wear dresses with open necklines to show off her smooth white skin. Every strand of her short dark hair was always obediently in place. If I made her angry, she would lock me on the balcony that was connected to my bedroom. My balcony was enclosed by bamboo shades leaning against two horizontal and a few vertical metal poles. From here, I would watch cars and pedestrians filling the street, vendors advertising their merchandise, and beggars begging. The paved four-lane street seethed with traffic during rush hours and the air smelled of exhaust fumes. On the other side of the street, Hassan Agha, the vendor who had only one arm, sold sour green plums in spring, peaches and apricots in summer, cooked red beets in autumn, and offered different kinds of cookies in winter. I loved the cooked beets; they slowly simmered in a shallow, large pan over the flames of a portable burner, and their sticky juices bubbled and steamed, making the air sweet. At the other corner of the intersection, an old blind man wearing a torn, dirty suit held his bony hands to the passersby and cried “Help me, for the love of God” from morning till night. In front of our apartment stood a fifteen-story office building with large, mirrored windows sparkling in the sun, reflecting the movement of the clouds. At night, the bright neon lights above stores came on and colored the darkness.
One day, I decided that any punishment was better than being locked up on the balcony. I looked down; jumping was impossible. I could scream, but I didn’t want to make a scene and let the whole neighborhood know how my mother locked me on the balcony. Looking around, I fixed on the small plastic bag in which my mother kept her wooden clothespins. I looked down at the busy sidewalk again. If I dropped the clothespins on passersby, they wouldn’t get hurt, but they would want to find out what had fallen on their heads from the sky. Then I could tell them about the clothespins and beg them to ring the doorbell and ask my mother to let me inside. I knew that my mother would get angry, but I didn’t care; I couldn’t bear my solitary confinement any longer. It was winter and a cold wind had begun to blow. Soon, the sun disappeared behind the clouds, and snowflakes began landing on my face. Collecting all my courage, I grabbed one pin, and, leaning on the bamboo shades surrounding the balcony, held it over the sidewalk, took a deep breath, and dropped it. It didn’t land on anyone, just on the pavement. I tried again and succeeded. A middle-aged woman with long brown hair, stopped, touched her head, and looked around. Then, she bent forward, picked up the pin, and examined it. Finally, looking up, she looked straight into my eyes.
“Little girl, what are you doing?” she asked, her face a deep red.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but my mother locked me up here on the balcony, and I want to go inside. It’s cold. Will you please ring the doorbell and ask my mother to let me in?”
“I certainly will not! It’s none of my business how your mother punishes you. By the looks of it, you probably deserve it,” she said and walked away. But I wasn’t going to give up.
Next time, the pin landed on the head of an older woman wearing a black chador, and she looked up right away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and I told her my story.
She rang the doorbell. Soon my mother appeared on the other balcony, which was only a few feet away from mine, and looked down, asking, “Who is it?”
As the woman told my mother what I had done and why, I watched my mother’s eyes darken with anger. After a minute, the door of my balcony opened. I hesitated.
“Get in now,” my mother said between her teeth.
I
One day, I decided that any punishment was better than being locked up on the balcony. I looked down; jumping was impossible. I could scream, but I didn’t want to make a scene and let the whole neighborhood know how my mother locked me on the balcony. Looking around, I fixed on the small plastic bag in which my mother kept her wooden clothespins. I looked down at the busy sidewalk again. If I dropped the clothespins on passersby, they wouldn’t get hurt, but they would want to find out what had fallen on their heads from the sky. Then I could tell them about the clothespins and beg them to ring the doorbell and ask my mother to let me inside. I knew that my mother would get angry, but I didn’t care; I couldn’t bear my solitary confinement any longer. It was winter and a cold wind had begun to blow. Soon, the sun disappeared behind the clouds, and snowflakes began landing on my face. Collecting all my courage, I grabbed one pin, and, leaning on the bamboo shades surrounding the balcony, held it over the sidewalk, took a deep breath, and dropped it. It didn’t land on anyone, just on the pavement. I tried again and succeeded. A middle-aged woman with long brown hair, stopped, touched her head, and looked around. Then, she bent forward, picked up the pin, and examined it. Finally, looking up, she looked straight into my eyes.
“Little girl, what are you doing?” she asked, her face a deep red.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but my mother locked me up here on the balcony, and I want to go inside. It’s cold. Will you please ring the doorbell and ask my mother to let me in?”
“I certainly will not! It’s none of my business how your mother punishes you. By the looks of it, you probably deserve it,” she said and walked away. But I wasn’t going to give up.
Next time, the pin landed on the head of an older woman wearing a black chador, and she looked up right away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and I told her my story.
She rang the doorbell. Soon my mother appeared on the other balcony, which was only a few feet away from mine, and looked down, asking, “Who is it?”
As the woman told my mother what I had done and why, I watched my mother’s eyes darken with anger. After a minute, the door of my balcony opened. I hesitated.
“Get in now,” my mother said between her teeth.
I
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