Moon Daughter Read online

  Dayeh did not miss Mrs. Ameli’s glare at the man.

  “How could she just drop everything?” Mrs. Ameli said, but her husband didn’t seem to have heard her.

  “You need to get away from this place for a while,” he went on, “Come to Tehran, stay in your old room, and spend some time with your sisters.”

  “But, what about her children?” her mother said, this time louder. “And Farhad? What will he think when he returns?” She shook her head and slapped the back of his hand playfully. “Don’t you remember our quarrels when we were young?” She giggled seductively, then her face turned serious again. “Don’t you dare come between these two. A woman’s place is with her husband.”

  Having heard it all before, Dayeh was furious that Mrs. Ameli would take that man’s side, expecting poor Rana to overlook his irresponsible behavior. With a husband like the doctor, how could Mrs. Ameli possibly understand what Rana went through? Could such advice from her mother be the reason that girl had tolerated everything so far? Each time there was a problem with anyone’s marriage, Mrs. Ameli had said the same things. She had stated over and over that a marriage entailed problems, that men needed time alone. Now Dayeh realized how those comments had been aimed at the lady’s own daughters. That was the kind of wife Mrs. Ameli wanted Rana to be and the fact that, even under such dire circumstances, she had not changed her mind came as a shock.

  Mother or not, Dayeh was now certain. That woman didn’t want Rana back. She enjoyed her life with her husband, the two of them together, going out to dinner, the movies, and trips. She had to smile at the thought that perhaps Mrs. Ameli’s motherhood came with an expiration date. She seemed to view motherhood like a job with a time limit, one that she could stop at some point, even retire from. She had stopped worrying about her children after sending each off with a husband, and at this point, she was more concerned about her waistline and thinning hair than her youngest daughter’s dilemma.

  Banu’s arrival to inform Rana the baby needed to be fed put an end to the discussion.

  The day before the scheduled departure, Major Moradi called and asked to speak to Dr. Ameli. Although Dayeh didn’t know the content of the good doctor’s conversation, he seemed disturbed for the remainder of the day. In the evening, he advised Rana to pack her things for a trip to Tehran for a while, and the way he suggested it left no room for a discussion.

  “What will she do about the girls’ school?” Mrs. Ameli asked.

  “Exactly,” Rana added. “They have their exams, and I couldn’t possibly let them miss school now.”

  “That can be arranged,” her father said.

  After further discussion, Dr Ameli proposed that Marjan and Vida could stay with their aunt while their mother was away.

  “Stay with Badri? I wouldn’t even think about it!” Rana said. “She’s too strict with them, too disciplinary. They’d be absolutely miserable.”

  Dayeh thought the words had come out of her own mouth.

  “You’d be surprised how much nicer she may be when they are her responsibility,” Dr. Ameli said in his soothing voice. “You may even be back before the end of the school year, and if worse comes to worst, they can come to Tehran as soon as school is out.”

  Mrs. Ameli, unable to mask her frustration, turned to her husband. “W hen are you going to realize that Rana is no longer a baby? I’m sure she’s quite capable of handling the situation.”

  “You’re absolutely right, dear. She can handle it, but I think you and I will both be more at peace to know she’s not lonely.” He turned to Rana. “At Badri khanoom’s they’ll be among family and I’ll bet their father will make sure they’re not lonely.”

  Rana gave in and asked Dayeh to do the baby’s laundry and to start packing.

  “While you’re at it,” Dr. Ameli said, “Why don’t you pack your own things? We could use your help in Tehran.”

  Dayeh beamed a hearty smile. The Amelis had a young woman who came in daily to do their housework. So Dayeh would be free to give Rana and the baby the attention they needed. Banu was instructed to call her mother to come stay with her and watch the house.

  The next day, Dr. Ameli made a private call to the Major’s sister and obtained her agreement to stop by and pick up the girls. Once the decision was made, Rana spent a good hour in her daughters’ room, and although no one knew how she had broken the news to them, at dinner they acted unusually calm.

  Badri stopped by in the evening right before their departure. The encounter was brief and formal. She acted distant and impassive, as though she had come to pick up her nieces for a casual overnight stay. In a way, Dayeh was grateful for that because it helped to give the temporary separation from their mother a civil appearance.

  While Rana went upstairs to get the girls, Dr. Ameli’s final words to Badri were clear and concise. “Unless your brother shows genuine remorse and comes forward with proper apologies, there will be no need for him to call or to make any attempts to visit.” Dayeh sensed many unsaid words in the way he stared at the woman. After a few seconds he added, “Meanwhile, my daughter will live in her rightful home, with her parents.”

  Badri continued to swing her purse while staring at the curtains with no comment.

  As soon as the door closed behind Badri, Dayeh wagged a finger up in the air. “I don’t trust that woman. Not one bit.” But Dr. Ameli’s glare silenced her, and no one else uttered a word.

  During the packing, Dayeh noticed that Rana had stopped referring to her husband by name. Instead, she now called him “the Major” as if she, too, were in the army. She had also started to act like a stranger in her own house. She referred to her bedroom as “the bigger bedroom” and her closet became “that closet.” As for her personal belongings, she seemed uninterested and planned to leave them behind.

  “Should I pack your silver hand-mirror, Ma’am?” Banu asked.

  “No, I’m only taking what baby Yalda and I absolutely need. I want everything in the Major’s house to remain intact.”

  Dayeh didn’t approve of such a tone, but considerate of Rana’s vulnerability, she kept her thoughts to herself. What did Rana’s mother know about the troubled thoughts that must be going through her daughter’s mind? Sometimes the old nanny was the only one who really understood Rana. Day after day, she cleaned that room, made the crumpled half of the bed and turned its damp pillow over. To watch her mistress in agony sent deep pain into her heart. The bitter reality was evident every where: in the guilty expression on Banu’s face; in the deep concern that wouldn’t leave the old doctor’s eyes; and even in that silly, cheerful disposition Mrs. Ameli put on. All Dayeh could do to help was make sure the loose-mouthed maid blabbed no more. The Amelis never mentioned Parisa, and treated the scandalous affair as a passing fling. Maybe that wasn’t so bad under the circumstances.

  Nobody knew if the Major was still in town, but now that he had left the house, his whereabouts mattered little.

  “That’s men for you,” Dayeh said while she sat in Rana’s bedroom, folding laundry. “Their brains are in their pants.”

  Rana shot her a dark look. “He is still my husband, Dayeh, not to mention the father of my children. I’d respect that if I were you.”

  The old nanny just shook her head in disapproval. She had done her best to make sure the rumors of Parisa now being the Major’s legal wife did not reach the Amelis. They had already been through enough and she would do what she could to save them further anguish. But married or not, the reality of another woman was so harsh that, in comparison, the baby’s malformed limb seemed to have lost its significance.

  Chapter

  Three

  HER OLD ROOM TOOK RANA back to the day she’d left her parents’ home as a new bride. She put the palms of her hands on both cheeks where her father’s hands had held her years ago in this same room. “This house will always be your home,” he had whispered. “As you share your future with your husband and take your place in society, I want you to remember that
you will forever be my little girl.” And he had kissed her forehead. He may have said those words only to show his love and support, but now Rana wondered if he’d also had a premonition.

  The room hadn’t changed much, except now a bassinette and a changing table stood in a corner. Rana’s Agatha Christie collection sat on a shelf by itself and on the second shelf were the poetry books of Hafez, Khayam and Rumi, which she had left behind only because the Major also had these volumes.

  She dropped her carry-on bag and walked over to the wall covered with old photographs: her graduation pictures, volleyball team, and enlarged wedding portrait. She stared at the bride’s shy smile and at the young officer holding her hand. They looked like strangers from someone else’s album, out of place in a room filled with fond memories of her childhood. She took the large frame off the wall and put it face down on her desk.

  “Just you wait and see. He’ll crawl back, begging,” her mother had said on the flight to Tehran. Maybe she said that because Rana was crying, but those tears were for Marjan and Vida being left behind. Rana felt so detached from her husband that such remarks had no longer offered comfort.

  Funny how others continued to hope for everything to go back to normal. For Rana, the mere existence of Parisa in her husband’s life was as much a closure as a divorce would have been. The news of his marriage had turned a wrongdoing into an irreversible loss. A death. The humiliation it brought her made it impossible to share the news. Keeping that a secret helped her to maintain some of her pride. Ever since the news, Rana had lived her life from one moment to the next. She tried to find solace in all the advantages of the Major’s absence from her daily life. No longer would she have to order his favorite meal, or wait for him to come home from a card game. Late at night she did not wake up to his tobacco breath and drunken desires. How could she love him and why was she so despondent?

  She sat at the edge of her bed and ran her fingers over the floral pattern of the bedspread. Oh, how many nights she had dreamed of the day she would leave this room behind. In her daydreams of living with the handsome young officer, she had imagined herself in a house filled with a different kind of happiness. The room offered the peace she had forgotten about. She needed the serenity of old memories.

  That morning’s scene as her little girls climbed into Badri’s car played back and clutched at her heart. Marjan wouldn’t look at her. She was so much like her mother, sensitive yet seemingly tolerant. She despised her cousins. Making her stay with them was punishment for a crime she had no part in. Vida was excited to be sleeping over at her aunt’s. She had leaned out the side window and waved frantically, “Khodahafez, Maman!” Go with God? The name of God was thrown around so easily, but where was He?

  If it weren’t for the upcoming tests, Rana would have let the girls miss school and come with her until she figured things out. Now she only hoped that their studies would keep them busy enough not to miss her too much. During the entire past week before she’d left and while the Major stayed away, Vida had asked for her father on a daily basis, but Marjan’s knowing eyes asked no questions and not once had she mentioned him.

  Rana knew her dizziness was due to all the blood she had recently lost. Lying back on the squeaky bed, she stared at the thin wire mobile still attached to the light fixture. In the warm breeze of the space heater, four little butterflies moved around the lamp in a lazy circle, flapping their wings, following each other around and around. She thought they symbolized her suspended life. A lonely, helpless creature chasing her offspring around a vicious circle that led to nowhere. Thoughts of poor little Yalda filled her eyes with tears. What was to become of the tiny butterfly with a broken wing? She felt a stab inside her.

  A knock on the door woke Rana. In the darkness, it took her a few seconds to register her whereabouts, though it was hard to tell if it was dawn or dusk.

  “Are you okay, dear?” her father called from behind the door.

  “Yes, Papa. Come in.”

  The door opened and her father turned on the light.

  “What a nap!” he said smiling. “I’m afraid you’ll be up all night.”

  Rana rubbed her eyes. “That granddaughter of yours will make sure I’m on night shift.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” he said and chuckled. He came closer and bent over her bed the way he used to check a patient. “Is my little girl feeling happier now that she’s all rested?”

  Rana’s smile vanished. She sat at the edge of her bed, dangled her feet down, and while her toes searched for slippers she said, “Speaking of little girls, someone needs feeding!” She looked at him and added, “Each time I wake up, it’s shocking to realize that my life isn’t just a bad dream.”

  He pulled a chair over and sat by her bed. “The beginning of most problems is often their worst. But over the years, I’ve seen what a wonderful remedy time can be.” He held her hand, patting the back of it. “Coming here was the best thing you could do. W hen you distance yourself from a crisis and give your head a chance to clear, the solution often presents itself.”

  Rana nodded politely.

  “If I were you, I’d concentrate on my recovery. Good wisdom indeed comes from a healthy body. Try to think more about the future, and of course, your wonderful children. That’s what really matters, if you ask me. Parenthood does that. Before you know it, your children become the focal point and your happiness will be in theirs.”

  Rana put her head on his shoulder, leaned on him, and felt an understanding that went beyond words.

  Downstairs, her mother was on the family room floor playing with the baby. Bottles, pacifiers, and plastic toys were scattered around them. “I’d forgotten how one tiny person can mess up the whole house,” she said looking around and extending her hand, asking for help to get up.

  “Don’t you dare mention ‘old’,”Dr. Ameli said. “Not for another decade, any way.”

  Rana held her mother’s hand. “Did Yalda sleep at all?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t let her.” She stood up. “Oh, my poor old knees,” she said, but then reported, “We played games, sang songs, and had too much fun to bother with a nap.”

  “She can play and sing?” Rana mocked.

  “She certainly can,” her mother said with a chuckle and turned to the baby who now had a whole fist in her mouth. “Can’t we?”

  Yalda started to fuss and Rana picked her up. “Oh, Maman, you’re the only one I know who speaks newborn-language. Remember your long talks with Marjan before she had learned her first word?”

  “It’s all in the tone, dear! A tone can have a thousand meanings, no matter what the age may be.”

  Rana loved this side of her mother; the caring, fun mom. Why couldn’t she always be this nice?

  Dayeh brought a fresh bottle for Yalda and reached out to take her, but Rana cuddled the infant and went to the sofa. “Let me give her that. I’ve had no time with her today.”

  Dayeh frowned. “But, child, you haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Let her do it, Dayeh,” her mother said with authority. “We can all pitch in and help, but in the end, a child is the mother’s responsibility.”

  Rana felt a sting and wondered if the recent incidents had made her a bit cynical.

  Sanam, the Amelis’ housekeeper scurried in and out of the room to set the table, and each time she opened the door, the aroma of pomegranate soup, Rana’s favorite, wafted from the kitchen. “Are my sisters ever going to show up?” Rana asked her mother.

  “Oh, not today, and that’s all my fault. I figured you needed at least a half-a-day to get settled.”

  “Apparently I did,” Rana said. After a few seconds, she cautiously asked, “How much do they know?”

  “They know what they need to know. I explained about your severe hemorrhage at childbirth and the complications that followed. I also mentioned your father’s decision to keep you here until you regain your strength.” She looked around at the Italian furniture, velvet curtains, and a t
errace that overlooked the Jacuzzi and added, “Even though there’s enough room here, Mandana offered to take care of Vida and Marjan, but I told her they’re staying with their aunt in Shiraz. That’s all.” She went to the samovar in the corner and picked up a glass for tea.

  “You mean, you didn’t tell them about Yalda’s leg?”

  Mrs. Ameli shook her head. “When Mandana said you wouldn’t come to the phone, I figured you didn’t want to discuss certain issues.”

  Rana nodded.

  Not having enough milk, Rana offered the bottle to Yalda and as the baby sucked eagerly, Rana leaned back and tried to absorb the warmth of her parent’s home and its distinct contrast to her own. She became conscious of the emptiness she had endured over the past few days. The silence in the Major’s house had resembled a battlefield before ambush. It had been in that cold stillness that one day the young maid hissed, “I heard the woman was a childless widow, but she is now with child.” Her hushed tone made it clear to whom she had referred. This was a whole new territory, which Rana wasn’t ready to enter. If the woman had his child he would no longer be hers alone. Married or not, he would forever be tied to another woman. Stopping the girl did little to prevent gossip. Deep down she wanted to hear it all. If Banu’s news held any truth, it would explain the major’s attitude, his absences, his moods.

  True that her marriage had not started with love, but Farhad was the only man she had ever been intimate with. For many years he was an attentive husband, a passionate lover, and a good father to their children. To picture him father a child with another woman put her in a state of shock. It had been hard enough to adapt to his infidelity and the horrifying notion that each time he left on a business trip, he could in fact be in town, with a widow named Parisa. Rana imagined her to be a typical home-wrecker: a vulgar woman dressed like a whore, her maroon lipstick smearing his face. In a painful way, the ugly image helped. Thinking that the man got what he deserved helped to restore some of her bruised ego, but it wasn’t enough. There were times when she had the urge to confront him, but fear stopped her. What if he admitted to all of it? What if there was no remorse? What would she do if he wanted to have nothing more to do with her or the children?