Moon Daughter Read online

Dr. Ameli’s questioning eyes turned back to Rana, then as if changing his mind, he walked straight to Dayeh.

  “I appreciate your devotion to my daughter,” he said in his soothing voice. “But silence doesn’t always solve the problem. I think it’s best to tell us what happened.” His caring tone presented a huge contrast to the harshness in Moradi’s. He stooped a little and stared into the old nanny’s eyes. “Dayeh-jan, you must know this is no longer about Rana alone. To help the baby, we’ll need to know what went wrong. And I mean details. Did my daughter do anything to harm her child?”

  Dayeh wished he wouldn’t put her in such a spot. How much had been said before she entered the room? She knew Rana enough to imagine her persistence in keeping everything to herself. But someone, and she suspected it would be the Major, had brought up the unmentionable. Swearing on the holy Koran would leave her no choice but to tell what she knew, unless she was prepared to burn in hell. After a long pause, she decided that even God would forgive her for working around the truth a little. No, she couldn’t tell any lies, but there was no reason to tell them every detail. She looked at Dr. Ameli as if to address him exclusively and said, “It was an accident, sir. Miss Rana should have called one of us to help her move the dresser, but instead—”

  “Stop your filthy lies!” the Major interrupted. “She knew exactly what she was doing.” He turned to Rana. “Don’t you stand there playing innocent with me. I think your parents need to know just what kind of hideous acts their little angel is capable of.”

  The mere thought of that horrible night filled Dayeh’s mind with images of blood: Blood on Rana’s blue nightgown, down her legs, and on the Persian rug. As much as she wanted to blame Banu for what had happened, deep down Dayeh knew the responsibility lay with the Major. The day Banu chatted with the neighbor’s maid and went straight to Rana with the news of a woman named Parisa, Dayeh found out too late to prevent the damage. To learn of another woman in that man’s life did not surprise Dayeh one bit. That was how some men dealt with their desires. She recalled a cold winter day, when her own husband had brought home a young woman. Dayeh and the new wife lived together for years until they were widowed. She wouldn’t put anything past some men, and the major was no saint. But the last person who needed to hear that was his pregnant wife. Dayeh blamed herself for not having seen it coming. Rana’s reaction had sounded an alarm. Without a word, she sat for hours staring at the rug, her frail body folded, and unlike other times, she made no excuses for her husband’s actions. Knowing Rana would talk only when she felt like it, Dayeh had tended to her needs without a word.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Moradi said and poked a finger at her shoulder.

  But how could she speak of a secret Rana had trusted her with? Her mind flew back to the night when Rana had called her in for a private conversation. One look at the dark circles around Rana’s sunken eyes and Dayeh had known she had not slept all night.

  “I’m not going to bring another child into this world, not after what I’ve just learned.”

  Dayeh still remembered the deep pain in Rana’s brown eyes and wished for a way to transfer all that sorrow into her own heart. “Dear child, most men do such stupid things, but I’m sure the new baby will bring him to his senses.”

  “I don’t want to use a baby to mend a frayed tie that is bound to come undone.” And the old nanny knew that would be as close as she would ever come to mentioning the other woman. “Do you know of anyone who could help me end this?” Rana had asked, holding the new roundness of her belly as if it were a crystal ball through which she could see her dark future.

  Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares, Dayeh blinked hard and tried to push the image away. She had no choice now but to share at least part of what she knew. She looked at Rana, who stood there, her eyes closed, her skin as pale as it had been that night Dayeh had found her on the floor of her bedroom.

  The old nanny bent down to kiss the Koran and recited a prayer. She put her hand on its cover and looked at Rana as if to ask her permission, but Rana had turned her face toward the window. Dayeh wasn’t sure what she saw in that pale profile, but something about it made her decide she had no right to mention the woman who had been at the core of all this disaster. That was something that the Amelis should hear from their own daughter.

  “God only knows how the devil crept under Miss Rana’s skin, but one night, she called me into her room and said she wanted to talk in private. With the Major being away so much of the time, I figured she just needed company.” She noticed the look Dr. Ameli gave the Major and was pleased that her reference to the husband’s recent behavior had done its job. Major Moradi seemed to have found new interest in his shiny shoes.

  A few seconds of deep silence followed. “You can imagine what a scare it gave me to hear her say that she no longer wanted to keep the baby. I didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t my place to ask her the reason, so all I could do was to plead with her not to say such things. I told her, don’t you fear Allah’s rage, child? I reminded her that the loving girl I’d raised couldn’t possibly do such a dreadful thing. But she waved a hand to dismiss me and said, ‘That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?’” Dayeh shook her head side to side in disbelief. “Rana-khanoom got angry and said, ‘All I’m asking you is to help me find someone who’d do it.’ As God is my witness, in all the years that I’ve cared for her, she’s never spoken to me that way. I was flabbergasted. Unable to say more, I just sat there and silently prayed. W hen she didn’t say another word, I figured we were done talking and prepared to leave the room.”

  Dayeh hoped she had said enough and once again, she turned to the door, but Major Moradi wouldn’t leave her alone. “And?” he said to her back.

  Dayeh wrapped the fingers of one hand around the other and massaged her arthritic knuckles. Unsure of how much more he would pressure her, she faced him. “Why don’t you ask Miss Rana herself? I really don’t remember the details.”

  “Speak!’ he said. “Your rotten memory is fine when you want it to be.”

  Dr. Ameli, who must have sensed Dayeh’s agony, said, “Sit down, dear, and take your time. Tell us what you remember.”

  Oh, what an angel of a man, Dayeh thought and she knelt on the floor, pulled her floral skirt over her loose cotton pants and tucked it under her knees. “I waited there a few more minutes. It didn’t take long to get past my humiliation. Someone had to talk her out of it, make her vent, and console her. I told her of the ways of Allah and how life or death is never in our hands. I mentioned all the reasons I could think of to change her mind, but she was so upset that I’m not sure she heard a word of it. Finally, I told her that no one would be willing to do it at such a late stage, and that of all the people, I’d be the last one to take such a chance.”

  “You did, did you?” the Major said. “So who the hell helped her to make such a mess of things? And who covered it up so well that I had to find out about it only days before today?”

  Dayeh did not respond. It must have been that nosey Banu who told him. W ho else? She shot the Major a look for even thinking she’d have anything to do with Rana’s wrongdoing. She clasped her hands together and held on tight as if to stop herself from throwing a punch.

  Once more, Dr. Ameli’s calm voice broke the silence. “Go on, Dayeh,” he said, disregarding the Major’s outburst. “What happened after that?”

  “In the evening, Miss Rana didn’t touch her dinner. I brewed a nice chamomile tea for her with fresh lemon juice and crystal sugar. There’s nothing better than a good medicinal tea and crystal sugar to calm the nerves, you know. W hen she went to her bedroom, I took my prayer rug and prayed behind her door. I named the twelve Imams on my prayer beads three full circles and begged Allah to give her a good night’s sleep and help her to change her mind. At night, once again, the Major didn’t come home.” Dayeh hesitated to make sure everyone got the hint and noticing the horrified look on Mrs. Ameli’s face, she added, “He does that often, stays else
where for the night without calling.” She noticed the Major had turned his back to everyone and was staring at the dark TV screen. “The next morning, when Miss Rana didn’t touch her breakfast, my worries worsened. She was acting strange and left the table without even asking about the girls.” She turned to Mrs. Ameli. “You know how she fusses over those two, packing their snacks, checking their uniforms, combing their hair. But not that day. She stayed in her room, didn’t come down for lunch, and didn’t even open the door for Vida who went to her as soon as she was back from school. I told the girls their mother wasn’t feeling well, that she needed her rest.”

  She stopped for a moment to study Rana’s reaction to this breach of confidence. Rana’s expression was calm, resigned even, and she now seemed to listen with interest, as if she, too, were learning this for the first time. Turning her head around, Dayeh’s eyes found Dr. Ameli’s, and she hoped he understood that what she was about to tell was for his understanding only.

  “That night, I shouldn’t have bothered fussing with a meal because the Major called to say he wouldn’t be home and Miss Rana barely touched her plate. After she had gone back upstairs, Banu helped me a little then went to Rana-khanoom’s room. I should have known that girl would be sure to say the wrong things. I should have gone with her, but I was so busy that the thought didn’t even cross my mind. W hen she came back down, I could tell from her flushed face that something was up, but she went to bed before I could question her. Oh, let me tell you, that girl can sleep like a polar bear!”

  She forced a smile and looked around to see if her light-hearted comment had amused anyone. It hadn’t.

  “I was just finishing my night’s prayer when I heard a crashing sound upstairs- a sound so terrifying and sudden that I thought the whole roof had come down. God only knows how my old feet climbed those stairs two at a time. I burst into Miss Rana’s bedroom. There lay her antique dresser on the floor with the mirror shattered and shards of glass scattered every where. It cut my breath off to think it had fallen on Miss Rana, but thank God I found her keeled over in the corner. There was so much blood, you’d think someone had slaughtered a lamb on that carpet.”

  Dayeh closed her eyes and tried to push the horrifying image away. “My knees folded under me. I cried out Banu’s name, but my screams must have awakened the entire neighborhood because it didn’t take long for them to storm the house. Things happened fast. Paralyzed, I heard the doorbell, voices, cries and even a siren. I didn’t move and wouldn’t let go of my Rana’s hand. After being tossed around in the back of an ambulance and a swerving ride down the city streets, there I was, standing in the middle of a hospital room with doctors and nurses bustling about.”

  “Did anyone call her husband?” Dr. Ameli asked.

  Dayeh sensed an accusing tone in his voice and looked at the Major for a reaction. But the man continued to stare at the television. His face seemed pale. Was he afraid? He needn’t worry, she thought. She wasn’t about to spill out everything. Not yet. “We couldn’t. It was too late at night and I only know his number at the office. But, I’ll have you know, doctor, not once did I let go of my girl’s hand and she, too, clung to me the way she used to when she was just a little thing.” The remembrance brought the old nanny to tears, but she wiped the corner of her eyes and went on. “It wasn’t until a young doctor came in with a syringe and put her to sleep that I got off my feet. As God is my witness, I’ve never had such a fright in all my life. That one night alone made me age ten years.” She covered her face in both hands, and as her tears finally poured down her cheeks, she broke into the sobs she had held back for months.

  “Enough of your crocodile tears,” the Major said. “Tell them what happened next.”

  Dayeh lifted her head. So that ’s how he thanks me for keeping his filthy secret! She looked him straight in the eyes, no longer caring if contempt reflected in her face. She wiped her cheek with the corner of her big, white scarf and without responding to him, turned to face Dr. Ameli again. “There’s nothing more to tell you, dear sir. In the morning, Miss Rana’s doctor came in again and spoke to her for some time. That good man spent an hour trying to calm her, telling her of all the childless women around the world who would give their life just to have one baby. Before leaving, he told her that he had to tell the Major because the hospital needed the husband’s permission to discharge her. But he assured her that where he was concerned this was an accident. He told us that, thank God, the baby was unharmed.”

  Major Moradi glared at her and shook his head. “Unharmed, indeed!” he said under his breath.

  Rana’s face now turned as white as the wall behind her. She was staring at her father, and by the look on Dr. Ameli’s face, he was still struggling to believe what had just been said. Surely he did not pay any mind to the Major’s accusations, but the way he looked at his daughter no longer indicated support. It reminded Dayeh of the times when any of his girls did something wrong. He never lost his temper, nor would there be threats of punishment; instead, Dr. Ameli’s kind expression would be replaced with deep disappointment.

  When Rana spoke, there was newfound strength in her voice. “That’s all true. I didn’t want another baby,” she said. “I figured, if the man wants another child, let his other woman give him one.”

  The entire room froze in silence. “Oh my...” Mrs. Ameli said again.

  “I had maintained my silence long enough.” She turned to her parents. “You did not raise me to make a scene and for many months I kept on hoping Farhad would come to his senses before there would be a need to confront him. But when Banu informed me that his mistress is pregnant, I had to do what I could to prevent being tied to him any more than I already was.”

  This time, Mrs. Ameli gave out a faint cry, and before she could be caught, her body collapsed onto the floor. Her fall pushed a chair out of balance; it hit the leg of the table, and fell on its side.

  Dayeh, familiar with Mrs. Ameli’s fainting episodes, grabbed a glass of water from the table and rushed over to sprinkle some on the woman’s face.

  Dr. Ameli knelt on the floor, held his wife in his arms, and for the first time raised his voice. “Someone get my bag!”

  Rana ran to the guest room in search of his medical bag while Dayeh picked up a newspaper and started to fan the lady’s damp face.

  Mrs. Ameli had barely opened her eyes when the front door slammed shut, and in the sudden silence that followed, Dayeh realized the Major had left.

  To Dayeh, the idea of a man having multiple women was not reason enough to faint, not for her generation, any way. Her own husband had brought home a younger wife when she couldn’t bear him any children. Even Mrs. Ameli’s grandfather was known to have kept three wives. But this was different. None of the younger members in the Ameli family had experienced such shame. Learned people who had a respectful reputation rarely did such things any more. The rules of upper society had changed. Besides, Rana had three children and Dayeh worried about their future. She had prayed day and night that the Major’s scandalous life was nothing but gossip—a shameless lie. Damn that Banu and her loose mouth! The way he had stormed out of the house without an explanation had to be his way of making it clear that this was no gossip. He had done the unmentionable.

  During the next few days, the guests kept mostly to their own room, mealtimes became rather sullen, and no one discussed the matter. It was as though by keeping quiet about it, the problem would resolve itself. In the evenings, Rana took the baby and sat in the living room while her parents pretended to watch television, engaged in small talk, and everyone waited for the Major to return, without once mentioning his abrupt departure. Dayeh was not surprised to be cornered in the hallway by Mrs. Ameli and asked what she knew about the Major’s woman.

  “It’s really all talk, Ma’am,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Banu constantly hangs around other maids in the neighborhood and they talk nonsense.” She turned away and pretended to tidy the objects on the hallway table. “I perso
nally never heard a thing,” she lied.

  Later, from the way Banu avoided her, the old nanny suspected Mrs. Ameli had bribed the girl into spitting out all the filthy details, and no doubt, the information would be shared with Dr. Ameli. She hoped they had also talked some sense into the maid about keeping family matters private. What if Banu ever found out about the baby’s birth defect? The news of a crippled baby would be sure to blast through the neighborhood and poor Miss Rana needed no more reason to be pitied.

  Except for a few times when Dayeh saw Rana came out of her father’s room, looking as though she had been crying, life went on as usual and there was no more mention of the problem. Soon the time came for the Amelis to go back to Tehran.

  “We couldn’t possibly stay longer,” Mrs. Ameli said to no one in particular. “My poor husband has to go back to work, and I just left everything to rush here. Oh, there’s such a long list of things to do.”

  That was the most ridiculous claim Dayeh had ever heard. She could just imagine the long list because the woman did nothing but talk on the phone, fuss over her looks, and get on with her socializing. Something in Mrs. Ameli’s tone told Dayeh the comment was meant for Rana, as if she was telling her daughter that she no longer cared to be involved in her problems. Over the recent years, Dayeh had heard many such hints, and they were always meant to distance herself from the girl. Whenever the good doctor became too protective of his daughter, Dayeh could swear there was a hint of resentment in his wife’s comments, but she somehow managed to dismiss the thought. How could a mother be jealous of her own child?

  “That’s true, Maman,” Rana responded sweetly. “You’ve done more than your share, and I wouldn’t want to bother you with my problems more than I already have.”

  Her father turned off the television. “Nonsense,” he said. “You’re our daughter and that makes your problem ours.” He put an arm around his wife adding, “But your mother is right. We can’t stay here forever.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you come with us?”