Sky of Red Poppies Page 2

  I tiptoed down a few steps, but it wasn't until I had turned around the landing that I could see feet on the mosaic floor below: Two pairs of men's shoes, clean and polished, and a pair of muddy sneakers crisscrossed between them. I took a few more hurried steps to see more, but as soon as I recognized the men I had seen outside, I froze in place.

  Each man held onto one of the girl's arms and they pulled her while she tried to resist by pressing her feet on the tiles and struggled to free her arms. When I spotted Mrs. Saberi, the vice-principal, trailing behind them I thought my heart would jump out of my chest. With no trace of compassion on her dark face, I knew she wasn't about to help that poor girl.

  As the girl continued to kick the air, her skirt was jammed against one of the men, exposing her thighs and underwear. Her face was still hidden under a mound of unkempt hair. Why wasn't anyone stopping them? I wished I could leave, run, or hide, but my knees shook so violently I could not take another step. Pressing my body against the wall, I prayed no one would see me.

  Mrs. Saberi held the door for the men while they lifted the girl and carried her outside. Just before the doors closed, the girl turned her head and looked behind as if to beg Mrs. Saberi for help and for an instant, I had a glimpse of her face. I recognized a senior from my sister's class, one whose name I did not know. Outside, the sun had just emerged and its glare on the wet asphalt was blinding. The last thing I saw was the light reflecting off one of the men's bald heads and soon they were gone.

  Mrs. Saberi turned on her heels, looked up and her fiery eyes found me halfway down the stairs.

  "Afshar?" she said in a surprised tone, but hostile enough to make me shudder. Unable to find my voice, I waved the attendance sheet in the air.

  She motioned me forward and as soon as I came within reach, she snatched the paper from me with one hand and grabbed my ear painfully with the other.

  "You saw nothing," she hissed. "Not a thing!"

  I nodded hard and the tears that had pooled in my eyes found their way out.

  "As far as any of you lot are concerned, that girl walked out of here of her own free will, and she was accompanied by her father." She shook me as if to make sure I understood. "One single word about this and you'll be next." When she finally let go, my ear was on fire. She gave my shoulder a nasty shove and nodded to the stairs. "Now, back to your own business."

  Feeling her burning eyes on my back, I ran up the stairs and only stopped to catch my breath in the upper hallway, where I could not be seen.

  Inside the classroom, Jenab was writing something on the blackboard. When I entered, he turned around, studied me, and briefly glanced out of the side window into the yard. When he faced me again, he had a compassionate expression, as if he knew what he had put me through. Then again, maybe he had known all along, maybe that was precisely why he sent me, to spy, bring him news.

  I waited for his permission to sit down and he nodded to my seat without a word.

  Had Jenab been by the window moments before? And if so, had he seen anything? I wondered if he could sense my deep fear, or if he'd ask me about it later. For the rest of the hour, I did not understand a word he spoke and was grateful for not being called on.

  As soon as the recess bell rang, I ran out and looked for my sister, Mitra. I found her near the outdoor basketball court among her classmates. Though only a year older, compared to me Mitra looked like a grown woman. Tall, elegant, her wavy brown hair fanning down to her shoulders, she had none of my mousiness.

  "Maybe it was only for questioning," the girl standing next to Mitra was saying.

  Mitra didn't seem pleased to see me there. "What is it, Roya?" she asked coldly.

  "Can I talk to you?" I said.

  Annoyed, she whispered something to her friends and walked over to me.

  "What?" she said.

  "Was the girl... er... the one who left... a friend of yours?" I tried to work my way around the question without mentioning SAVAK.

  "Alieh?" Mitra chuckled. "What in the world would I have in common with her?" She looked as if the thought had given her a bad taste. "What is it to you, anyway?"

  "Why did she go with them?" I asked, making her departure sound voluntary.

  "Shhhh!" Mitra glared at me and, without another word, she turned around and walked back to her friends.

  For the rest of that morning, we had free sessions while teachers gathered in the office. A few parents also came in. Students speculated, but none of us had an idea what went on in those meetings, and teachers who came out of the office acted as if nothing unusual had happened.

  At noon, I saw Mitra leave with her friends as she often did. Usually my father's driver, Akbar, would be waiting for me, but that day Pedar needed the car to attend an important meeting with the Mayor. Any other time I would have welcomed the stroll home, but now the mere thought of leaving the walled-in school and walking alone gave me the creeps.

  In the heat of an unseasonably warm sun, steam rose from the damp sidewalk, extracting its earthy scent. In the distance, a melancholic Azan invited the pious to noon prayer. Mashad, our town of a half a million, was named for the martyrdom of the eighth Shiat Imam, and it also housed his shrine. Its two contrasting groups of residents formed a unique society: worldly city folks outnumbered by devout Muslims. I was neither.

  With short distances, little traffic, and a two-hour break at midday, most people went home for their biggest meal of the day. The noon traffic seemed to be at its peak. Students from the boys' high school around the corner were participating in their usual girl watching, and a few drove back and forth in their father's cars, making noise. Each time a horn sounded, it made me jump. I looked over my shoulder and was relieved to see most cars in colors other than black.

  Delicious aromas filtered out of windows: sauteed onions, seared lamb with turmeric, saffron rice. I wondered if Alieh would be home for lunch.

  We lived in the northern part of Mashad, the more modern section of the city and away from the Shrine in its south. Most people I knew defied religious rules; faith seemed to matter to them only in times of need. Here, houses were taller and brick walls isolated their vast gardens. With a population of only a few thousand, my neighborhood became its own small town. Did the people behind those walls have any idea what had happened earlier? Did anyone hear Alieh scream, or were SAVAK'S cars soundproof?

  Halfway home, I had talked myself into a calmer state. After all, in a society as harmless as ours, such incidents were uncommon. That girl must have done something dreadful. I wondered if Pedar would hear about this, and if so, would he ask me about it? I wasn't sure if my promise to Mrs. Saberi included keeping it secret from even my father. I had never lied to him before.

  Golestan Avenue was quiet and I could hear a water fountain gurgling behind a wall. As a child, I used to picture my mother in one such mysterious garden, alive, strolling among flowers.

  Now I knew better.

  A joob ran along the trees that lined both sides of the street and, although one couldn't tell if its murky water were irrigation or waste, it provided room for tiny floods of rain. The breeze swept a piece of paper over the sidewalk and dumped it into the current. As it sailed by, I saw words scribbled on it. A note?

  While the crumpled paper made its way downstream, I imagined it taking a coded message across town to someone on the south side, the way secrets were passed in the movies. I had no idea where Shireen Payan lived, but judging by her dark chador I pictured her living close to the shrine and among the pious. On my occasional visits to the Holy Shrine, where my mother's tomb lay, I had passed through those neighborhoods. This joob may eventually join the bigger one that ran through Bala Khiaban, where pilgrims used the foul smelling water to do their wash. That piece of paper could be my note to Shireen, a message from a free girl to one incarcerated in hejab. But what would such a note say? And was I really free? Confined by Pedar's rigid rules, and now with Mrs. Saberi's threat looming, I would be the last person to define 'free
dom'. 'Thinking' seemed to be forbidden, no matter which side of town one lived on.

  At the end of Golestan Avenue, I looked back and made sure no one had followed me, then turned into our alley. What was wrong with me? Did I think SAVAK had nothing better to do than chase me home?

  Years ago, another joob had run through the middle of this alley, but when the narrow passage forced a few cars into the water, the city cut the trees and covered the stream, turning our shaded alley into just another paved cul-de-sac. The rapid increase in Mashad's population chiseled away at what little charm it had: Horse-driven carriages turned to hideous orange taxis, iron gates replaced aged wooden doors, and the one-of-a-kind stores that used to be full of copper pots, clay jugs and burlap sacks piled with herbs, now sold mostly imported plastic goods. Only the beauty of the surrounding Kooh-Sangi remained-a majestic mountain reflecting shades of blue, purple and orange against the backdrop of a sky that, at sunset, took the color of saffron.

  The iron doors leading to our garden were wide open and I saw Mammad, the gardener, carrying an armful of twigs and looking like a tree with long legs.

  Not the most graceful home in Mashad, ours originally had only one building. But with three children, we needed more rooms. When my mother refused to sell the house, Pedar joined the town's architectural trend by building a white modern structure adjacent to the old brick one. Not only did the new construction fail to complement the old, its tin roof and stucco exterior clashed with the charm of the verandah, tall columns, and French windows of the original. Unattractive as it may have been, the new building, equipped with a modern kitchenette, running hot water and a small indoor bathroom, offered the conveniences the old one lacked. Only Hassan, the cook, found no use for it as he continued to do his cooking in the old kitchen on wood stoves.

  "Roya," my aunt called out before I had climbed the stairs, "go and hang up your uniform, lunch is about to be served."

  The mere sight of her, standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on her walking cane, gave me a feeling of security. Had I felt closer to my aunt, I might have confided in her about what had happened at school, but loving as she was, she also kept her distance. I said hello and turned toward the old building.

  The hallway felt cool and I noticed Mitra's door was still closed, indicating that she had not arrived yet. I imagined her making a stop at the local ice cream shop, where the boys also hung out. My aunt did not approve of it, but that seemed to make no difference to Mitra. I wished she would hurry home. Should Pedar have any questions, I didn't want to face them alone.

  In my small room, I put the books on my dresser and shed the grey denim uniform from over my clothes. This thin, gray dress served much like a lab coat and Auntie insisted I remove it at noon to make sure it stayed clean.

  With no previous experience in parenting, my aunt made up her own rules as she went along. Years ago, when my mother died, Pedar had asked Auntie to move in and help to raise her late sister's children. Despite my grandmother's what-will-people-say protests, Aunt had agreed. Crippled from childhood polio and with no plans to marry, she must have grown tired of living with Grandmother. Sometimes I dreamed of romance between her and Pedar, but I never saw any signs to give merit to my childish fantasy.

  In the family room, Pedar sat in a wing chair, reading the Kayhan newspaper. My brother, Reza, was on the rug with a pile of torn envelopes, searching for stamps to add to his collection. The math textbook next to him reminded me of my promise to help him with an overdue assignment. The eldest of three children, he was not a good student and had failed frequently enough to now be one grade behind me.

  "What took you so long?" he complained.

  "Sorry, Reza-joon, I was just putting away my uniform."

  He made a face.

  "You boys are so lucky," I said. "No uniform for you. All you need is a suit."

  "Why, Miss Roya," he said mockingly, "you don't seem to have noticed this." He pointed to his shaved head, a boys' school requirement.

  I felt sorry for Reza. With a face covered in pimples, a mustache that hadn't decided if it would fully grow or not and the shaved head, he looked more like a convict.

  "Baldness suits you," I said. "You look like that movie star Yul Brenner."

  Reza put the crumpled envelopes in the trashcan. "Thank you. Now Yul's going to wash his hands before lunch." He picked up his stamps and left.

  Pedar smiled at me over his newspaper. "Reza's lucky to have you," he said, his green eyes shining behind silver-rimmed glasses. "I swear, each day I see more of your mother in you.

  My physical resemblance to Maman brought about similar comments from everyone, but Pedar thought I also had her demeanor. Aware of the gap her loss had left in his life, I didn't know if this pleased or saddened him. Or both.

  Mitra arrived last. I never understood how that girl managed to break every rule and get away with it. Not only did she refuse a ride to school, she ordered tight-fitting uniforms, wore little under them and kept her uniform on throughout the day. Regardless of how many times people complimented me on my eyes, I would gladly have given one of them for Mitra's figure. Taller than me, with all the curves in the right places, she had no trouble turning heads, especially when walking past the boys' school.

  "How was your meeting with the Mayor?" I asked Pedar.

  He folded his newspaper and put it away. "Same old thing. General Nazemi was there, too," he smiled. "I have a feeling he wants to join our Poker group."

  "Everyone seems to want to rub elbows with you," Reza said with a smile.

  "Not just with Pedar," Mitra said. "Big shots love to rub elbows with all the other big shots." She frowned and asked Pedar, "Didn't you say General Nazemi was a thief?"

  Pedar chuckled. "He is. But we're not talking about a group prayer here, are we?"

  Mitra crossed the room and I noticed a small book sticking out of her pocket. Intrigued, I pulled it out and read the title, The Little Black Fish.

  "How cute," I said.

  "Give it back," she shouted, but before she had a chance to take the book, Pedar rose from his chair and snatched it away.

  "I'll have none of that trash in my house!" He hurled the book at a wall and it landed open on the rug. All happiness was sucked out of the room.

  Mitra took a step toward her book, but my father grabbed her arm.

  "It's my book," she said.

  "Not if I have anything to say about it. Where did you get that?"

  Confused by his rage, I asked him, "Isn't it a fairy tale?"

  "A fairy tale?" Pedar grunted, then pointed to the book as if the author himself were sitting there. "In his father's grave!"

  He let go of Mitra's arm, but neither of them moved.

  "That man was nothing but a damn communist. I don't want any of you near a word he had to write." He glared back and forth at Mitra and me and, raising his index finger, he added, "This, young ladies, is not a request. It's an order."

  "That's not true," Mitra said in a defiant tone. "He was a harmless teacher, SAVAK had him killed because -"

  "Shhh!" Pedar wrapped his arm around her head to cover her mouth. His next words were a harsh whisper. "The affairs of the secret service aren't any of your business!"

  Mitra's skin turned red under the pressure of Pedar's hand and her eyes welled with tears. When he finally let go, his fingers left a white impression on her flushed face. Despite the warmth of the kerosene heater, I started to shiver.

  "For your information," Pedar went on, "that man died in a swimming accident."

  "Swimming in winter?" Mitra gave an angry laugh. "In a frozen river?"

  For a brief moment, Pedar seemed as surprised as I to hear that detail.

  "Rumors and murky stories are not my concern," he said.

  "Not your concern?" Mitra's voice had gained new courage. "Don't you see? Innocent people are put in jail for speaking up, students disappear for no reason." Her lips quivered. "Why, just today there was another arrest, this time right in
my school." She sounded as if she thought Pedar could have done something about that.

  "An arrest at your school?" Pedar's eyes found mine. "You knew this?"

  "I didn't believe it," I lied. "Mrs. Saberi said that girl left willingly, and with her father."

  "Ha!" Mitra said. "You're so dumb, Roya." She turned to Pedar. "SAVAK came for one of my classmates and nobody knows why."

  Pedar sat back in his chair. His expression softened a little, he took a deep breath and said, "Nothing happens 'for no reason'." When he looked up, his face had regained its tender expression. "My job is to make sure my own children won't disappear."

  But my sister didn't know when to shut up. "If you don't - "

  No sooner had she opened her mouth than Pedar's anger returned. He raised a hand in the air. "That will be quite enough from you!"

  I thought he was going to strike her, but instead he lowered his hand and touched the back of his neck.

  Pedar, though powerful and temperamental, never raised a hand to his girls. I felt ashamed for having allowed the thought to cross my mind.

  "If any of you should ever do a thing to shame me, I will kill you myself!" he said, one hand shaped like a revolver, pointing at us. The look he gave me penetrated deeper than a bullet.

  What would Jenab have to say to this? Think? No, not in my family. Once, when Reza had mentioned his thoughts on taking a part time job, Pedar stopped him in mid-sentence. "Your job, young man, is to study. Leave the thinking to me." Pedar did most of my thinking for me, too. The one time I gathered enough courage to express my passion for the pursuit of a career in literature, it became clear he had other plans. "You'll be a doctor," he had said, his fierce tone ending the discussion.

  As Mitra flopped onto the sofa and covered her face, I knew she was crying but didn't dare go to her. It had been such a strange day, I couldn't guess what might happen from one minute to the next. I stared at the garden beyond the sheer curtains. We could have frozen in that position if my aunt had not interrupted.