from the mirror, thanking her and turning to go.
"Wait, wait!" protested Gordiyeh. "Let me finish."
She shook out a hood and placed it expertly over the top of my head. Even though the hood was white, it was dark and airless inside.
"I can't see!" I complained.
Gordiyeh adjusted the hood so that a portion of lace covered my eyes. The world was visible again, but only as if looking through a net.
"That's your picheh," said Gordiyeh. "You should wear it when you're outside." It was hard to breathe, but once again I thanked her, relieved that we were done.
"Oh, but you are a funny little one!" said Gordiyeh. "Small, quick as a hare, and just as nervous. What's your hurry? Wait while I find you everything you need!"
She moved slowly, sorting through the cloths until she found a large white length of fabric. She draped it over my head and showed me how to hold it closed by clutching the fabric in my fist right under my chin.
"Now you look as you should, all snug inside your chador," she said.
I led the way out of her room, feeling as if I were carrying around a nomad's tent. Although I could see well enough if I looked straight out through the lace, I had no side vision. I was not used to holding a chador around me except at the mosque, and I tripped on it until I learned to position it above my ankles.
As I walked unsteadily down the hallway, Gordiyeh said, "For now, everyone will be able to tell that you are not from the city. But very soon, you will learn how to move as quietly and gently as a shadow."
When we returned to the birooni, Gostaham congratulated me on my new attire, and even my mother said she wouldn't recognize me in a crowd. Gordiyeh and I walked together to Naheed's house, which was a few minutes away through the Four Gardens district. It was a refreshing walk, for Shah Abbas had built a grand avenue through the district, lined by gardens and narrow canals of water. The road was wide enough for twenty people to stroll side by side, and it was filled with plane trees, whose hand-shaped leaves would form a shady green canopy in spring and summer. The road led to the Eternal River and the Thirty-three Arches Bridge, and had a view of the Zagros Mountains, whose jagged tips were covered with snow. The homes we passed had gardens as large as parks and seemed like palaces compared with the tiny, clustered dwellings in my village.
Hidden by my picheh I felt free to stare at those around me, since no one could see where I was looking. An old man who was missing part of his leg begged for alms under the cedar tree near Gostaham's house. A girl dallied aimlessly, her eyes darting around as if she were seeking something too embarrassing to name. On my left, the turquoise dome of the Friday mosque hovered over the city like a blessing, seemingly lighter than air.
Shortly after Thirty-three Arches Bridge came into view, we turned down a wide street toward Naheed's house. As soon as we stepped inside the door, we removed our chadors and pichehs and gave them to a servant. I felt lighter after relinquishing them.
Naheed reminded me of the princesses in the tales my mother liked to tell. She wore a long robe of lavender silk with an orange undergarment that peeked out at the neck, the sleeves, and the ankles. She was tall and thin, like a cypress tree, and her clothing swayed loosely when she moved. She had green eyes--the gift of her Russian mother, Ludmila--and her long hair, partially covered by an embroidered white head cloth, was wavy. Two loose tresses lay on her bosom. In back, her hair was in wefts that reached almost to her knees. The wefts were held by orange silk ties. I wanted to talk to her, but both of us had to sit quietly while our elders exchanged greetings. Naheed's mother noticed our eagerness and said to her, "Go ahead, joonam--soul of mine--and show your new friend your work."
"I'll be glad to," said Naheed. As she led me into her small, pretty workroom, whose carpet was made in soothing shades
"Wait, wait!" protested Gordiyeh. "Let me finish."
She shook out a hood and placed it expertly over the top of my head. Even though the hood was white, it was dark and airless inside.
"I can't see!" I complained.
Gordiyeh adjusted the hood so that a portion of lace covered my eyes. The world was visible again, but only as if looking through a net.
"That's your picheh," said Gordiyeh. "You should wear it when you're outside." It was hard to breathe, but once again I thanked her, relieved that we were done.
"Oh, but you are a funny little one!" said Gordiyeh. "Small, quick as a hare, and just as nervous. What's your hurry? Wait while I find you everything you need!"
She moved slowly, sorting through the cloths until she found a large white length of fabric. She draped it over my head and showed me how to hold it closed by clutching the fabric in my fist right under my chin.
"Now you look as you should, all snug inside your chador," she said.
I led the way out of her room, feeling as if I were carrying around a nomad's tent. Although I could see well enough if I looked straight out through the lace, I had no side vision. I was not used to holding a chador around me except at the mosque, and I tripped on it until I learned to position it above my ankles.
As I walked unsteadily down the hallway, Gordiyeh said, "For now, everyone will be able to tell that you are not from the city. But very soon, you will learn how to move as quietly and gently as a shadow."
When we returned to the birooni, Gostaham congratulated me on my new attire, and even my mother said she wouldn't recognize me in a crowd. Gordiyeh and I walked together to Naheed's house, which was a few minutes away through the Four Gardens district. It was a refreshing walk, for Shah Abbas had built a grand avenue through the district, lined by gardens and narrow canals of water. The road was wide enough for twenty people to stroll side by side, and it was filled with plane trees, whose hand-shaped leaves would form a shady green canopy in spring and summer. The road led to the Eternal River and the Thirty-three Arches Bridge, and had a view of the Zagros Mountains, whose jagged tips were covered with snow. The homes we passed had gardens as large as parks and seemed like palaces compared with the tiny, clustered dwellings in my village.
Hidden by my picheh I felt free to stare at those around me, since no one could see where I was looking. An old man who was missing part of his leg begged for alms under the cedar tree near Gostaham's house. A girl dallied aimlessly, her eyes darting around as if she were seeking something too embarrassing to name. On my left, the turquoise dome of the Friday mosque hovered over the city like a blessing, seemingly lighter than air.
Shortly after Thirty-three Arches Bridge came into view, we turned down a wide street toward Naheed's house. As soon as we stepped inside the door, we removed our chadors and pichehs and gave them to a servant. I felt lighter after relinquishing them.
Naheed reminded me of the princesses in the tales my mother liked to tell. She wore a long robe of lavender silk with an orange undergarment that peeked out at the neck, the sleeves, and the ankles. She was tall and thin, like a cypress tree, and her clothing swayed loosely when she moved. She had green eyes--the gift of her Russian mother, Ludmila--and her long hair, partially covered by an embroidered white head cloth, was wavy. Two loose tresses lay on her bosom. In back, her hair was in wefts that reached almost to her knees. The wefts were held by orange silk ties. I wanted to talk to her, but both of us had to sit quietly while our elders exchanged greetings. Naheed's mother noticed our eagerness and said to her, "Go ahead, joonam--soul of mine--and show your new friend your work."
"I'll be glad to," said Naheed. As she led me into her small, pretty workroom, whose carpet was made in soothing shades
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