Moon Daughter Read online

  The baby cried and Dayeh rushed over, picked her up, and started to pace. “I don’t know what goes on inside that pretty head of yours, child, but I don’t like the way you put up with your husband’s absences.”

  Rana swallowed hard and wished she could go back to a deep sleep, one that she would not awaken from for days. She could not recall being so weak with her other two, or ever, for that matter. Conscious of the silence around her, she asked, “W here are the girls?”

  Dayeh continued to pace while rocking the baby. “At their aunt’s. The Major sent them over to his sister’s and said they’re to stay there for a few days.”

  Rana wondered how the girls coped with Badri’s house full of boys and hoped the cousins were getting along.

  The baby continued to fuss.

  “I think she needs a change,” Dayeh said, sniffing around the baby.

  “Let me do it,” Rana said with enthusiasm.

  Her nanny stopped pacing and her worried eyes stared at her. “Don’t you move, child. That fever nearly had you killed and I don’t think you’re strong enough. It’ll only take me—”

  “Please?”

  Dayeh studied her with concern, then nodded and returned the baby reluctantly. “Watch her while I get clean diapers.”

  Rana put the baby on the bed and smiled at the swaddling clothes Dayeh had designed. Multiple layers of cloth were secured around the baby with a yard of embroidered band, making her look like a mummy. Rana loosened the band and one by one unraveled the damp layers. The folds of fabric had left pink lines on the baby’s skin. “No wonder you were so unhappy,” Rana said, caressing her soft skin.

  The baby cooed, her tiny legs kicking the air.

  Rana stared at the little girl’s nudity. “Ah, what would it have taken God to put a little appendage between your legs and end my problem?”

  Just then, Dayeh returned and took over. She removed the wet diapers and spread new layers of clean cloth under the baby. After wiping her, she dusted the baby with so much talcum powder it made her cough. Rana held the tiny feet and lifted the infant’s legs so the tiny backside could also be powdered. She stretched them again, then let go with a start as though she’d been electrocuted.

  “Oh, my...” she whispered in horror.

  “Let me do this,” Dayeh said, sounding resigned.

  Unable to respond, Rana held the tiny legs again and pulled them straight down, side-by-side, while staring at the baby’s right leg. Noticeably shorter, the tiny toes barely reached the left ankle. Rana pulled back and covered her mouth with both hands, unable to breathe, and feeling her old nanny’s arm around her, she buried her face into her shoulder.

  “The midwife gave her to me so quickly, I’m sure she didn’t notice,” Dayeh said, as if this small fact would change everything. W hen Rana didn’t utter a word, she added, “I haven’t told a soul.” She put a hand under Rana’s chin, turned her face up, and staring into her eyes cautioned, “And neither should you.”

  Rana turned her face. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  She felt Dayeh’s hand rub her neck and shoulder the way it had many times before, her voice pouring out her blind devotion. “God will help to even them out as she grows.”

  Rana pushed Dayeh’s hand away. “Oh, will He?” The tears that had gathered for some time now found her cheeks. “Did you stop to think just who created her this way?” Her voice broke amid sobs. “Is this my punishment or is it some kind of sick test?” She looked at the ceiling as if God would be somewhere on the roof, eavesdropping. “It wasn’t bad enough to give me another girl, this one had to be crippled, too?”

  “Please, child, stop your blasphemy!”

  “Oh, I see. He is getting back at me for … that night …?” Unable to express her frustration she screamed, “W hat? He gives my poor child a life of misery just to prove that life and death aren’t up to anyone but Him?” She threw her hands in the air. “So you think He won’t turn his back on me?” She pointed to the baby, “Hasn’t He already?”

  Dayeh whispered prayers of forgiveness, wrapped the diapers loosely around the baby and lifted her.

  “God is all forgiving, child. He’d never punish in this way. You were just upset that night, my child. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

  Before Dayeh turned to leave, Rana reached over and pulled the prayer seal off the baby’s clothes. “You won’t be needing that, my love,” she cried out. “God wasn’t there when you were conceived, He obviously wasn’t there when you took form, and He sure as hell won’t be around to help you with that leg.”

  The baby started to cry again, and Dayeh rushed out cradling the baby without bothering to close the door.

  For a long while Rana clutched the prayer seal in her fist, thought of her bleak future, and wept. Not only had she failed to give her husband an heir to carry his name, now with a less than perfect child, she had given him ample reason to reject her. No one would blame him. She pictured her sister-in-law parading with her sons at family gatherings. But this was no longer a question of gender. Soon the news of her baby’s deformity would spread. She pictured the curiosity in the eyes of visitors, the criticism, and the pity. Her heart broke as she recalled the tiny deformed limb, and she had no idea how it would affect the life of her helpless little one. But she stopped there. Unable to send her imagination beyond the misery, she became conscious of her own lack of knowledge. W hat if the growth of the baby’s leg was stumped permanently? How would this affect a growing child’s functions? Would she walk? Would the condition worsen in the years to come? In some strange way, Rana identified with that incomplete leg, as though this was her legacy, a way to make sure the baby would inherit some of her mother’s insufficiency. Her heart went to this newborn in a way that she had not experienced with her other two.

  Dayeh’s sad lullaby echoed in the hallway. Rana watched her nanny’s shadow on the wall outside her door as it rocked the baby back and forth, back and forth.

  With darkness all around her, Rana wasn’t sure if it had been the sound of a car that woke her. She was covered in sweat. Extending her arm, she touched the empty space beside her before the door squeaked open.

  “Farhad?” her sleepy voice called his name, but in the light that spilled in from the hallway, she recognized Dayeh’s plump outline.

  “It’s me, child.” She came closer and touched Rana’s forehead. “No fever. Thank God. It’s feeding time and the doctor suggested you should try breastfeeding. I’ll go wake the baby.”

  “No, Dayeh, let her rest. Just bring her to me when she’s awake.” Before Dayeh had left she added, “Did I hear the Major’s car?”

  The old nanny hesitated for a few seconds. “You did. It’s turned out to be a cold night and he came for his overcoat.” She paused before adding, “But he’s gone again.”

  Grateful for the darkness, Rana kept her poise and acted as if she had no idea where her husband might be going. Somewhere, a woman with no face awaited him. Rana would have to deal with that at some point, but not tonight, not while she lacked the energy to plan a future.

  “I’ll be back soon, then,” Dayeh said and closed the door.

  The words she had once heard from her sister-in-law now came back. “A true lady learns to adjust.” Unsure of how much more adjusting she could handle, Rana sat up and leaned against the head-board. Just then, she heard the car again, now from farther away. She left her bed, and went to the window without turning on the light. Tiny crystals frosted the windowpane. A pale moon painted the snow blue, giving the trees oversized shadows. Moments later the taillights of the army Jeep spilled red over the driveway. Rana felt a chill as the car disappeared behind the gate, and the world around her turned colder.

  She knew then the name she would give her daughter—the name of the darkest, coldest, and longest night.

  Yalda.

  Chapter

  Two

  WHEN R ANA HEARD THE CAR DOOR, she wasn’t sure how to face her husband, but then
came the giggles and the sound of her daughters chirping below the window. He was not alone. She looked out and found her sister-in-law’s blue Mercedes in the driveway right behind the army Jeep, and the girls were now racing toward the steps.

  Major Moradi greeted his wife with a formal nod and a “Glad to see you on your feet.”

  Rana did not respond as her attention went to her daughters, but she saw him from the corner of her eye as he helped Badri out of her fur coat before approaching the small table holding his pile of mail.

  Marjan and Vida rushed to fill their mother’s open arms, but no sooner had Dayeh walked in with the baby than they tore away and seemed to forget all else. “Ooo! How tiny.” Marjan screamed with joy and they both hovered over the infant.

  Badri pushed a bunch of white chrysanthemums into Rana’s hand as if to avoid a hug. “I didn’t have a chance to visit sooner,” she said and rolled her eyes. “My oh my, girls demand attention!” Her smile showed no joy.

  Dayeh walked across the hallway and offered the infant to Major Moradi, but Rana noticed he only glanced at the newborn and gently stroked her little head before returning to his letters.

  Rana returned to the sofa and lowered herself into the make-shift bed. “I don’t know how to thank you, dear,” she said to Badri, and hoped it sounded sincere enough. With her own family in Tehran, if she wanted her daughters to enjoy an extended family, she’d need to stay on good terms with her sister-in-law. She called the maid peeking through the open doorway. “Banu jan, be a dear and put these in a nice vase for me.” She handed her the cellophane-wrapped bunch that reminded her of funerals.

  After Banu had left, Badri raised an eyebrow and said, “I love how you talk to your maids.” Her tone disagreed. “Then again, given that you spend so much time with them, I suppose they become your friends.” She faced her brother. “Farhad, it must be refreshing to leave all those army boys behind and come to such a calm, feminine, household.”

  Rana winced, but once again she swallowed her words. Major Moradi looked at his sister from over the newspaper he had started to read but didn’t comment. The silent agreement between the brother and sister wasn’t new to Rana, but now she sensed more, a message, as though they had discussed the matter behind her back and now insinuated that she hadn’t tried hard enough to have a boy.

  “Thank you for taking care of the children,” Rana said with common courtesy. “I would have wanted them back earlier, but the infection had spread, and no matter what the doctor prescribed, my fever wouldn’t break. Dayeh didn’t think I could handle the noise.”

  “Oh, they sure are loud, but they needed their mom.” Badri said and as she waved a hand in the air, her sleeve slipped back to reveal a new emerald bracelet. “I suppose some women need to take it easy, which makes me grateful for being the strong type.” Skipping the topic of Rana’s infection, she sniffed loudly as if to pull half the air in the room. “I remember accompanying my husband to social functions just days after each boy was born.”

  Rana turned back to her daughters, who seemed mesmerized by what must have looked to them like a living doll. Marjan wanted to pick up the baby while Vida stood back and watched, her face already taking on the unsure expression of the middle child. “Come here, you two,” Rana called out to them. “I haven’t hugged you nearly enough.” But the girls didn’t seem to hear her as they followed Dayeh and the baby out the door.

  “How long before dinner’s served?” Major Moradi said from behind his newspaper.

  “I have no idea,” Rana responded. She thought how calm he was and wanted to confront him. But each time she thought of doing so, fear of what he might say stopped her.

  He walked to the coffee table, slammed part of the paper on top of it and exchanged another glance with his sister before picking up a different section to read.

  How much did Badri know about the other woman?

  Rana pulled the blanket over her shoulders and looked out into the yard. The sun had melted most of last night’s snow, and here and there, she noticed the pale green of an early spring. “We need to register her,” she said, without turning her face to him and thought of the name that had come to her the night before. “Do you have a name in mind?”

  Moradi shrugged without taking his eyes off the page. “Whatever you want.”

  Rana stole a look at Badri, but she seemed busy examining her nails. Minutes later, the brother and sister started talking about the news around town, and the subject of baby’s name was left behind.

  After dinner, when the girls were sent to bed, Badri prepared to leave.

  “Let me get my hat,” Moradi said and walked to the hallway closet. “I was supposed to be somewhere earlier on, but you visit so rarely that I didn’t want to miss it.”

  Badri kissed the air on each side of Rana’s face. Farhad put on his army hat and opened the door for his sister. Before following Badri into the hallway, he turned his face in the general direction of the family room and said, “Don’t wait up.”

  The following week when Rana called Tehran to speak to her parents, Dr. and Mrs. Ameli. Her mother chatted as usual, but it didn’t take her father long to sense trouble.

  “Are you feeling all right?” he asked immediately.

  “Yes, Papa. I’m fine.”

  “Something is wrong.” Now it sounded more of a statement than a question.

  Rana hesitated. She had never brought her problems to him before, but this was different and she reminded herself that he was a doctor. “I can’t talk about it on the phone. Do you think you could come to Shiraz? Just for a few days?”

  During the seven years since her marriage to a man from Shiraz, her parents had visited only twice. All other reunions took place in Tehran, and considering that Moradi’s presence in the capital was a frequent job requirement, the trips worked out for everyone. But with both girls now attending school, it was harder to travel.

  There was a long pause. “Of course we will.” Her father’s voice reflected deep concern. “I’ll call back when I’ve reserved our flights.”

  Mrs. Ameli grabbed the phone from her husband. “May death strike me, what happened? W ho died?”

  Rana smiled sadly at her mother’s dramatic reaction. “Nobody died, Mother. I’ve been missing you and it will make me so happy to see you again.”

  “You don’t have an infection, do you? I knew you should have had the baby in a hospital, these days a delivery at home …”

  Rana wondered how her mother would have reacted to the high fever that nearly took her life. “I’m fine, Maman. This has nothing to do with my health.”

  “Oh, God, don’t tell me it’s your husband. He’s not quitting his job, is he?”

  Rana knew her mother was working her way into one of those scenes where she became the center of attention regardless of who faced the actual crisis. It would be best to tell her about the problem before the woman’s imagination had the best of her.

  “No, Maman, it has nothing to do with Farhad, or me.”

  The breathing on the other side of the line seemed to stop briefly.

  “It’s the baby. Something’s wrong with her little leg.” She heard her mother gasp. “She is otherwise quite healthy, but her legs just don’t seem to match. I—I think something happened while she was inside of me, but I want the last word to come from Baba.”

  “Your father is an eye doctor, dear. What would he know about a baby’s leg?”

  Rana recalled her visit to Dr. Fard and the deep concern in the old pediatrician’s eyes as he spoke about a possible need for corrective surgery. She wasn’t ready to accept that, much less ready to share it with her mother.

  “A doctor is a doctor,” she said and tried a chuckle. “But please keep this to yourself.”

  “What did Farhad say?” Not waiting for a response she added, “Oh, and that sister-in-law of yours. I’ll bet she had a few things to say.”

  Rana bit her lip. “Please don’t worry, Maman. We’ll talk more once you’re
here.”

  They arrived on Friday, Major Moradi’s day off, perhaps to make it more convenient for their son-in-law to meet the plane. Instead, Rana went to the airport, accompanied by two eager little girls.

  “Farhad apologizes,” Rana said right away. “He’s away on business for the day.”

  The drive home was noisy. Vida and Marjan clung to their grandfather and demanded answers to all the questions they had stored up for a year. Is that ice cream place open in winter? Have they added a new merry-go-round in Shahrdari Park? W hen will the public swimming pools reopen?

  In the excitement that followed grandparents’ arrival Yalda’s problem did not come up, but Rana felt its dark shadow lurking in every glance and in the pause between casual conversations. She noticed that as soon as the baby was presented to her parents, despite the adoring comments, they both stared at the swaddling clothes as if to see through them.

  Soon Dayeh served an elaborate lunch. The aroma of saffron rice and seared lamb filled the dining room.

  “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Mrs. Ameli said.

  “Oh Maman, you know how Dayeh loves to fuss over you.”

  “I do everything for you, over my eyes,” the old nanny said, using an old expression to show her willingness to be of service. “I can’t forget who my true masters are.” A nostalgic look fell on Dayeh’s face to show how she missed the Amelis and the time she had cared for Rana as a baby.

  Dr. Ameli chuckled. “You better not let your current employer hear such things.”

  Vida and Marjan took seats on either side of their grandfather. They made no secret about favoring him over their bossy grandmother.