of the hose . She dips her pretty white feet in the cold water and begins to read a book.
“Go talk to her,” Ahmed whispers.
“No,” I say abruptly.
“Go.”
“No.”
“You’re hopeless,” he says to me. “What’re you reading?” he calls to Zari.
“ Suvashun by Simin Daneshvar.”
Ahmed turns to me in mock amazement. “Your favorite book, wow!” He tells Zari, “He loves that book.”
I want to kill him. I haven’t even read Suvashun .
“What do you think of it?” Zari asks.
“Well, Daneshvar is one of the best writers,” I mumble nervously, as I try not to look her directly in the eyes for fear I might stop breathing altogether. “She’s so good. Actually much better than good, she’s very good.”
From the corner of my eye I see Ahmed shaking his head. Zari listens attentively.
“And her husband,” I continue. “Jalal Al-Ahmed is just as good or even gooder.”
“Oh, much, much gooder,” Ahmed confirms.
“I . . . I mean, maybe a better writer. I’d read anything by the two of them.” I realize that I’m babbling, and I shut up.
“Yes,” Zari says. “I would read a story by Daneshvar and Al-Ahmed, too.” Her eyes wander back to the book. I let Ahmed know with my eyes that I’m going to kick his ass as soon as we’re alone, and he winks at me.
By that afternoon, the doghouse is finished. We are about to leave when I hear Zari tell Ahmed, “Of course, anything for you. I’d love to.”
“What was that about?” I ask him angrily when we are in the alley.
“I asked her if she wanted to kiss you, and she said she would love to.”
“You son of a bitch,” I say, and attack him. He starts running toward his house.
“Well, is it my fault you’re so cute that she wants to kiss you?”
“Shut up!” I shout as I’m chasing him. “You made me look like a fool.”
“How was I supposed to know you haven’t read Suvashun ? You’ve read every other fucking book in the world,” he says, looking back to make sure I’m not closing in on him.
“You son of a bitch,” I curse again, kicking my feet out at him. “I’ll kick your ass for what you did to me.”
“What happened to your pledge to the sacred brotherhood of the boxing fraternity?” Ahmed teases as he disappears into his house, shutting the door behind him. I stand there for a few minutes, breathing hard, sweating and angry. Then I hear him from the other side of the wall. “Is Al-Ahmed really a gooder writer than his wife?”
Furious though I am, I collapse with hysterical laughter.
Winter of 1974
Roozbeh Psychiatric Hospital, Tehran
I know I am dreaming, even though I’m not sure where my body sleeps. In my mind, I’m in a pasture with Zari, Faheemeh, and Ahmed. We are running aimlessly, sometimes toward, sometimes away from one another. Zari stops and tilts her head to one side, smiling at me. The wind blows her long hair and it bends in the same direction as the tall green grass brushing our knees. I walk up to her and pull her body to mine. She fills my arms. I lift her in the air and we spin for what seems like an eternity. I can see Ahmed doing the same to Faheemeh. Lines from a poem by Rumi unfurl in the air around us, spoken in Doctor’s voice on the wind.
Happy the moment, when together, you and I.
In two forms, but one spirit, you and I.
Parrots of love in heaven they sing
And we’ll laugh cheerfully, you and I.
I see Doctor walking away from us in the distance. Zari looks at me, leans in slowly, and kisses me on the lips. Then she and Ahmed stand up and follow Doctor. Faheemeh and I begin to weep inconsolably. Humming through the white noise of my dream, the verses of the Rumi poem are replaced by a blank, rhythmic chanting.
If I had a gun, I would aim it.
If I had a mask, I would wear it.
If I had a pain, I would hide it.
If I had a heart, I would share it.
I concentrate on opening my eyes, and find myself in the wheelchair again. Apple Face is sitting next to me, her
“Go talk to her,” Ahmed whispers.
“No,” I say abruptly.
“Go.”
“No.”
“You’re hopeless,” he says to me. “What’re you reading?” he calls to Zari.
“ Suvashun by Simin Daneshvar.”
Ahmed turns to me in mock amazement. “Your favorite book, wow!” He tells Zari, “He loves that book.”
I want to kill him. I haven’t even read Suvashun .
“What do you think of it?” Zari asks.
“Well, Daneshvar is one of the best writers,” I mumble nervously, as I try not to look her directly in the eyes for fear I might stop breathing altogether. “She’s so good. Actually much better than good, she’s very good.”
From the corner of my eye I see Ahmed shaking his head. Zari listens attentively.
“And her husband,” I continue. “Jalal Al-Ahmed is just as good or even gooder.”
“Oh, much, much gooder,” Ahmed confirms.
“I . . . I mean, maybe a better writer. I’d read anything by the two of them.” I realize that I’m babbling, and I shut up.
“Yes,” Zari says. “I would read a story by Daneshvar and Al-Ahmed, too.” Her eyes wander back to the book. I let Ahmed know with my eyes that I’m going to kick his ass as soon as we’re alone, and he winks at me.
By that afternoon, the doghouse is finished. We are about to leave when I hear Zari tell Ahmed, “Of course, anything for you. I’d love to.”
“What was that about?” I ask him angrily when we are in the alley.
“I asked her if she wanted to kiss you, and she said she would love to.”
“You son of a bitch,” I say, and attack him. He starts running toward his house.
“Well, is it my fault you’re so cute that she wants to kiss you?”
“Shut up!” I shout as I’m chasing him. “You made me look like a fool.”
“How was I supposed to know you haven’t read Suvashun ? You’ve read every other fucking book in the world,” he says, looking back to make sure I’m not closing in on him.
“You son of a bitch,” I curse again, kicking my feet out at him. “I’ll kick your ass for what you did to me.”
“What happened to your pledge to the sacred brotherhood of the boxing fraternity?” Ahmed teases as he disappears into his house, shutting the door behind him. I stand there for a few minutes, breathing hard, sweating and angry. Then I hear him from the other side of the wall. “Is Al-Ahmed really a gooder writer than his wife?”
Furious though I am, I collapse with hysterical laughter.
Winter of 1974
Roozbeh Psychiatric Hospital, Tehran
I know I am dreaming, even though I’m not sure where my body sleeps. In my mind, I’m in a pasture with Zari, Faheemeh, and Ahmed. We are running aimlessly, sometimes toward, sometimes away from one another. Zari stops and tilts her head to one side, smiling at me. The wind blows her long hair and it bends in the same direction as the tall green grass brushing our knees. I walk up to her and pull her body to mine. She fills my arms. I lift her in the air and we spin for what seems like an eternity. I can see Ahmed doing the same to Faheemeh. Lines from a poem by Rumi unfurl in the air around us, spoken in Doctor’s voice on the wind.
Happy the moment, when together, you and I.
In two forms, but one spirit, you and I.
Parrots of love in heaven they sing
And we’ll laugh cheerfully, you and I.
I see Doctor walking away from us in the distance. Zari looks at me, leans in slowly, and kisses me on the lips. Then she and Ahmed stand up and follow Doctor. Faheemeh and I begin to weep inconsolably. Humming through the white noise of my dream, the verses of the Rumi poem are replaced by a blank, rhythmic chanting.
If I had a gun, I would aim it.
If I had a mask, I would wear it.
If I had a pain, I would hide it.
If I had a heart, I would share it.
I concentrate on opening my eyes, and find myself in the wheelchair again. Apple Face is sitting next to me, her
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