Moon Daughter Page 3

After lunch, they sat in the family room and Banu brought the tea. Dr. Ameli put Vida on his lap. “Now you tell Papa-joon what you’ve been up to since he last saw you.”

  “We’ve had a baby,” she reported. Everyone laughed.

  “You mean that little thing sleeping upstairs is yours?”

  Marjan made a face to indicate she was too old for that game.

  Vida nodded several times. “She came from Maman’s belly.”

  “That’s amazing,” the old doctor said.

  Marjan rolled her eyes. “He already knows that, silly.”

  Mrs. Ameli laughed at the way her husband carried on.

  Rana found it hard to share the laughter. The mention of ‘that little thing upstairs’ made her even more conscious of the main reason for this visit. She realized the urgency of a talk before her husband returned. Farhad still did not know about the baby’s leg. True that he hadn’t been around much, but he needed to be told. Maybe her father would agree to break the news to him. All morning the girls had been so excited that they stuck to grandpa, leaving no chance for a private moment to ask him for such a favor.

  Dr. Ameli stood. “Some of us old people need a nap,” he said, but before leaving, he turned to Rana. “W hen the baby’s up, bring her to my room, won’t you?”

  Rana smiled with gratitude. “I think she’s awake. I could do that right away.”

  Moments later, with Yalda in her arms, she joined her father in the guest bedroom where he had spread a clean towel over his bed. “You can put her here,” he said.

  Rana knelt down by the bed, put the baby on the towel, and started to undress her. Dr. Ameli sat at the edge of the bed and began his examination as if this were a routine check up. The touch of his cold fingers made the newborn cry. W hen he stretched the baby’s legs side-by-side, Rana thought the difference in their length already seemed more pronounced. She tried to read her father’s face, but the old doctor was absorbed in his work. He took time to listen to the baby’s heart and lungs, bent and flexed the joints of both feet, and checked the reflexes by gently tapping the knees. W hen finished, he asked Rana to put the infant’s clothes back on.

  “She’s a healthy little thing,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Everything is just fine. As for the leg, I think it’s a random anomaly, nothing genetic, and we may never know what disturbed its development.” He adjusted his glasses and ran his fingers through his mound of gray hair. “You didn’t have any accidents, a fall, or anything like that. Did you?”

  Rana’s mind filled with memories of that horrific night, but too afraid to confess to her father, she shook her head.

  “What does the pediatrician think?”

  “Dr. Fard mentioned something similar,” she said. “At this point, all I want to know is if it can be fixed, and how serious is the procedure.”

  Her father stood up and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “He is a far better judge than I am, but I wouldn’t let anyone touch her for years. You should look into surgical correction when she’s much older.” He looked into Rana’s eyes. “How is Farhad taking it?”

  Rana didn’t reply.

  “He does know, doesn’t he?”

  She cast her eyes down.

  “You mean you’ve kept it all to yourself this entire time?” His voice echoed deep horror. “Didn’t the pediatrician mention it to him?”

  “Farhad hasn’t been around much,” she said and tried to sound calm. “He never spoke to Dr. Fard.”

  “It’s been ten whole days, my dear! What made you hide such a thing from your husband?”

  Rana didn’t know how to respond. She wished she could be the little girl who used to bury her face in her father’s chest and cry.

  “He is no different from the rest of people out there, Papa. Don’t look at yourself. Most people consider handicapped to be some kind of freak . I don’t need their pity and won’t wish for my baby to be an outcast from the start.”

  “No one is crazy enough to do that to a baby,” he said, but his raised voice did not sound convincing.

  “He hasn’t been the same lately.” Rana took in a deep breath before adding, “A third girl was bad enough news, any more and I was afraid he’d leave me.”

  “Bad news?” Dr. Ameli exhaled his frustration. “How could you say that? I can’t even imagine what my life would have been without my four daughters.” He paused for a few seconds and lowered his voice to its normal tone. “I’ve never heard such nonsense. Men don’t leave their wives because there’s something wrong with a baby. Stop acting so guilty, it isn’t as if you caused this.”

  Rana felt her heart sink.

  He hesitated before asking, “Would you like me to tell him?”

  She nodded several times, amazed at her father’s perception, at his aptitude for offering comfort when it was most needed. “I know it wasn’t a choice, but the truth remains that I have failed to give him the son he wanted so badly.”

  “Is that so?” Dr. Ameli said and chuckled. “The last I checked my textbooks, it was the man’s chromosomes that made boys. Are you telling me Shiraz’s society disagrees with science?” He laughed again. Rana felt his arms tightening around her and realized this was the first time anyone had held her since the baby’s birth.

  Major Moradi made sure he returned long after everyone had gone to bed. He went into the living room and did not need a light to find the bar located at the far end. A drink would relax him. He used to go out with his friends after a tiring assignment, but it had been a while since he’d done that.

  The day the new baby was born, finding it hard to accept his shattered dream, he had walked aimlessly for a while before going to a bar. For months he had watched his wife grow bigger and imagined his little boy inside her. Maybe things would never be right between them, but she would now give him the male heir he had promised his late father. He had pictured the little guy so many times that by now his son had become a reality. So when Dayeh told him it was another girl, she might as well have given him the news of the boy’s death. He just had to get away from the house, go somewhere to be alone, and drown his silent tears in a drink.

  Later, he called his best friend Nader and was told a few of the men were at his apartment. W hen he joined them and announced the news, he tried hard to mask his grief. At first, his colleagues poked fun at him and teased him about his growing “hen house,” but when he didn’t share their laughter the jokes stopped. That had been more than a week ago. By now, such gatherings were charged with unspoken words and heavy glances, as if the boys had talked about him behind his back.

  On his return from Jahrom, he had stopped by a phone booth and made the call he had tried to avoid for days. Parisa’s lively voice filled his ears with a pleasure he had thought he would never feel again.

  “Allo?”

  He held the receiver closer to his ear as if to draw strength from it.

  “Allo?”

  He hung up and went back to his car. He needed to be with Parisa more than she could imagine, but somehow found it wrong to be with her while dealing with a grief that she could not understand. He had gone to Jahrom instead and tried to come to terms with his disappointment away from everyone. Now, standing in the dark, he wished he could have bottled that cheerful voice saying ‘allo’ so he could drink it and soothe his nerves. He took a deep breath and savored the calm, the darkness, and the sound of whisky escaping the bottle’s neck as it poured into his glass.

  “Need company?” a man’s voice startled him.

  Farhad turned around and in the dim light coming from the hallway recognized the slim figure of his father-in-law in pajamas. “Hello, doctor,” he said and his hand searched for the light switch on the wall. “Hope I didn’t wake you.” He turned on the light.

  The old doctor smiled and turned his face away. “No, you didn’t. And you can turn that thing off.” He covered his eyes with the palm of one hand. “I was up, but by now everyone else must be dreaming of seven kings.”

  F
arhad turned off the light and took another glass. “Soda?” he asked.

  “No, water’s fine.”

  In the column of light coming from the hallway, Dr. Ameli found his way to the couch.

  Farhad carried the drinks and sat next to him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you arrived,” he said and meant it.

  “Work is work,” the old doctor said. “How was your trip to Jahrom?”

  “The same as always. I spent most of my time at the base.”

  “Rana tells me you were in Tehran last week. Sorry we didn’t get to see you.”

  “Yes. Again, I was mostly in the outskirts.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes.

  “The girls are so grown up,” the doctor said. “And, that baby. Oh, she’s precious.”

  Another silence fell between them while the only audible sound came from a small humming refrigerator.

  “Son,” Dr. Ameli put a hand on Major Moradi’s knee. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. I’ve always thought of you as my son, especially since your father’s passing.”

  Farhad nodded and for a second wished this nice man could have been just a friend, someone he could talk to. He stared ahead into the semi-dark space and said nothing.

  “I know you’re disappointed to get another girl,” the old doctor said. “It’s only natural to want what you don’t have.” He nodded several times, and as if to support his own opinion, added, “All my friends who had only boys used to wish for girls.”

  Farhad took a gulp of his drink and remained silent.

  “Parenthood is such a privilege that gender should make no difference, but if you ask me, I believe girls are a lot more attentive.”

  “Is that so?”

  Dr. Ameli didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm because he added, “My mother used to say that a girl is her parents’ walking cane for old age. W hen she said such things after Rana was born, I considered it her way of consoling me, but now I see there’s a lot of truth in that.”

  Farhad’s mind filled with thoughts he could not put into words. The image of the tiny army hat in his closet wouldn’t leave him. He had ordered that funny thing just in case this time he’d be lucky. Oh, how he had planned to show off the baby around the base, covering the tiny head with that hat, pinning his single medal on the baby’s clothes. In his mind’s eye, the baby boy smiled and put his tiny fist to his temple in a salute. For months the vision had made him smile, but now it hurt so much that he could not push it away fast enough. He took another sip of whisky and blinked in fear of getting misty-eyed.

  “I examined Yalda this afternoon,” the old doctor said casually. “There seems to be a little problem.”

  Farhad looked at him. “Problem?”

  “Oh, nothing serious,” Dr. Ameli said and put his glass down. “At least, not at the moment.”

  Farhad waited for more.

  “Rana doesn’t think you’re ready to hear this, but she may be underestimating your strength.” He took in a deep breath and added, “There is a problem with the baby’s legs.”

  Major Moradi shot the old man a sharp look, which he knew couldn’t be missed, even in the dim light.

  “There seems to be a difference in their length,” Dr. Ameli went on. “Not a common problem, and not too serious. Nonetheless, it is a problem and will definitely need attention down the line.”

  Farhad got up. “That’s great,” he said and began to pace the floor. “That’s just great,” he said again before another long silence. No questions came, and no further explanation was offered. After a few minutes, he sat down again, now feeling numb, as if something had hit him in the head.

  Dr. Ameli opened his mouth and looked as if he was going to offer more words of comfort, but Major Moradi raised a hand. “Doctor, I don’t want to seem ungrateful and really appreciate that you care, but this is my problem and right now I need a moment alone.” He went back to the bar to refresh his drink. W hen he returned, the old doctor was gone.

  Dayeh went downstairs to ask the Amelis to go ahead and enjoy their breakfast without Rana as the baby had kept her up most of the night, and she might sleep late. Vida and Marjan were already done with theirs and rushed to check the baby. The Major accompanied his in-laws, but after the initial greetings, no one seemed willing to engage in a conversation. In the kitchen, Dayeh poured cardamom tea in tall glasses that had a gold rim and set them in ornate china saucers and let Banu take the tray in. She then served a fresh boiled egg to each guest before returning to the kitchen.

  “Something’s the matter in there,” Banu said, nodding to the family room.

  “You mind your own business.”

  Banu raised an eyebrow. “Khanoom said she wants to sleep, but the last I checked, she was up and if I’m not mistaken, she was crying.”

  Dayeh, now warming a bottle for the baby, stopped her work and shot the young maid a harsh look.

  Banu looked away. “Can’t blame me for caring.”

  “I know your kind of care. Caring enough to snoop around and blab. If anything is the matter with Rana Khanoom, it’s neither my business, nor yours.” She shook the bottle to drop milk on her wrist. Satisfied with the temperature, she spread a clean towel over her shoulder and headed for the nursery. To her horror, Vida had managed to lift the baby out of the bassinette.

  “You give her to me. Right now,” the old nanny shouted before rushing over to grab the infant. “She’s no toy, and don’t you ever let me catch either of you lifting her.”

  “Told you so,” Marjan said to her sister.

  Dayeh sat in the single armchair and offered the bottle to the baby’s eager mouth. The girls knelt on either side to watch.

  The crash of something in the family room below, followed by loud voices, startled Dayeh so much that she nearly dropped the baby. She turned to look at the girls and noticed they were equally frightened. “Stay right here, you two. I’ll be right back.” She rushed out, still holding the infant and the bottle. At the bottom of the stairs, she bumped into Banu, who stood short of the entrance to the living room, listening. Dayeh gave her the baby.

  “Take her to the nursery,” she commanded, giving the girl’s shoulder a shove. “And make sure the children stay with you.”

  No sooner had she entered than she sensed a change in the room. The shattered fragments of a cup under Mrs. Ameli’s feet explained the crashing sound. Rana’s mother was sitting at the table with her face buried in her hands. Her husband stood next to her, bending down, stroking her hair, and offering what must have been words of comfort. Dayeh looked for Major Moradi and found him at the window with his back to the guests. Rana held her bath-robe around her with one hand and was trying to pick up parts of the broken cup with the other. The old nanny could not imagine what had happened, but the yelling had been a man’s voice, and she knew Dr. Ameli never raised his voice.

  Rana put the pieces of china in the trashcan and said to her husband’s back, “You couldn’t wait to start a scene, could you?”

  The Major turned and glared at her. “A scene?” He sneered. “Oh, you’d know all about scenes, wouldn’t you.” W hen Rana did not answer, he pointed to Dr. Ameli with his chin and said, “Amazing how your courage has returned now that Papa is here!”

  Rana turned her back to him and slowly lowered herself into a chair. Despite the warm sun that spilled in through the French doors, Dayeh felt cold.

  Dr. Ameli cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, “Perhaps we shouldn’t be here when you discuss this.” He took his wife’s elbow to help her get up.

  Major Moradi raised a hand. “Oh, no! I think you need to hear this.” He shot Rana another look. “In fact, that may be the reason you were invited. This whole problem has nothing to do with the baby, or the weird leg. It’s more about what’s left of our marriage.”

  Mrs. Ameli gave out a cry, “Oh, my.”

  Dayeh turned around to leave, but Rana yelled at her, “Stay right there, Dayeh. May
be you can tell them how warmly the Major greeted his newborn daughter.” She gave an angry laugh.

  Dayeh could feel the weight of Moradi’s stare.

  “Yes, go ahead, wise one,” he said. “Better yet, why not tell them how the loving mother tried to kill her unborn baby?”

  Mrs. Ameli’s eyes darted back and forth between her daughter and the Major. The old nanny uttered prayers under her breath.

  Dr. Ameli walked across the room to Rana, lifted her face with both hands, and tried to make eye contact. “What is your husband talking about?” And when Rana did not respond, he added, “It isn’t true, is it?”

  Rana turned her face away. “Don’t, Papa. Please don’t ask.” Her face flushed, and she broke into sobs.

  The old doctor stood next to Rana but his inquisitive eyes were now pinned on Dayeh.

  Dayeh stood in the middle of the room, unable to leave, reluctant to speak. It was one thing to lock secrets in her chest and to keep quiet despite her contempt for the Major, but quite another to be the one whose words would be the final verdict that would condemn Rana.

  “Tell them,” Major Moradi shouted.

  Dayeh needed time to rearrange her words. “There’s really not much to tell.”

  Moradi marched to the bookshelf and grabbed the Koran, which had been there ever since the couple’s wedding. He kissed the leather binding and caressed its embossed letters, before holding it out to her. “Put your hand on God’s words and swear you’ll tell the truth, and may the Koran break your back if you tell any more lies.”

  Dayeh dropped her head and stared at her hands.

  “Oh, God,” Mrs. Ameli said. “It is true, isn’t it?” she asked no one in particular.

  Dr. Ameli took his arm off Rana’s shoulder. “What did you do?” His voice now a mere whisper. “And why?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know, too,” the Major said. “Your daughter will not answer my questions, nor will this old witch admit to what she knows. I had to hear it from the doctors.” He pointed a finger at Dayeh. “She’s good at taking my money, but her loyalty lies elsewhere.”