Path of Jen: Bloodborne (3 page)

“Yes, Jena. That is fine,” he said. “By the
way, I’m glad you are okay,” and he put his arm around his daughter
for the first time in many years. Jena closed her eyes and leaned
into him. Something hard inside of her crumbled and she felt tears
stream down her face. The line started moving again, and her father
took his arm back. They walked in silence to their seats, but Jen
felt closer to her dad than she had in a long time.

Tehran
’s IKA
airport was a surprise to Jen. She half expected it to be rundown
or outdated, but it was modern and well maintained. There were
people of all kinds, just like any other airport. Tourists and
locals alike arrived and departed together. Many of them were
smiling and conversing as if this were a happy place to live and
visit.
“Could it be?”
she thought. There were
advertisements, televisions, duty free shops, and escalators. She
saw pictures of a sprawling metropolis with skyscrapers, gardens,
and parks.
“Is that Tehran?”
she wondered.
“Are there
actually trees here?"
She had pictured Iran as a desolate
wasteland filled with sand dunes, rocks, and camel riding Bedouins.
She felt silly for that when she remembered seeing news stories
about Iran developing nuclear energy
. “You gotta be pretty
civilized to try harnessing nuclear power,”
she reasoned. She
also remembered news stories about Iran being a state sponsor of
terrorism. That sobered her and caused her to look around more
suspiciously. Her father seemed to walk faster since stepping off
the jet-way.
“I wonder if he feels like he’s home,”
Jen
thought.

From the top of the escalator she could see
the framework of the massive arching roof. Towering concrete
pillars were topped by a framework of steel support beams that gave
the impression of modern Islamic arches. The baggage claim area was
a huge room. It had shining marble floors and silver luggage
carousels. It was 3:00am and pitch dark outside, so the only thing
Jen could see in the windows was a reflection of the airport
interior. She longed to see the city for herself. Being here, and
seeing first hand that this was a modern country with friendly
people, made her wonder if she had been wrong about her father all
along.

While her father waited for their bags, Jen
ventured out the nearest door to see what could be seen at this
hour. The air was colder than she expected, and she let go of her
carry-on and crossed her arms against the crisp breeze. She stayed
near the door and leaned out hoping to see farther. A frightening
thought gave her a jolt and she reached up in panic to touch her
hijab. It was still there. She had not forgotten it, or lost it in
the airport. Relaxing, she took hold of her carry-on again.

“
I wonder if anyone can tell I’m
American?”
she thought.
“I should totally take a selfie and
send it to Sarah!”
she thought with a smile. She reached for
her back pocket and deflated as she remembered what had happened to
her phone. Not smiling anymore, Jen looked up and down the
sidewalk. She couldn’t see much of the city from here at this hour.
Just as she was about to turn around she noticed a cab light
flicker on and the cab pulled up to the curb in front of her. The
window rolled down and a haze of cigarette smoke escaped. A thin
man with olive skin and sad eyes smiled warmly and beckoned her to
come closer. Suddenly feeling foolish for walking outside alone,
Jen awkwardly shook her head “No” and went back inside.

“Jen!” her father hissed when she returned to
the baggage carousel. “I told you to stay near me. Please, don’t go
off by yourself again.”

Jen said, “I know dad. I’m sorry.” As soon as
he looked away, she rolled her eyes
. “This is going to be a long
week."

Jen’s father pulled their luggage off of the
carousel and as they were stacking them to roll, his phone rang. He
pulled it out of his pocket and said, “Salam." He smiled and said a
few more words Jen didn’t understand before saying, “Ba’adan
mibinamet." He put the phone back in his pocket and went back to
situating his bags.

“Who was that?” asked Jen. She had her
carry-on stacked on top of her suitcase and was ready to go.

“Sorry Jena, I forget you do not speak
Farsi,” said her father apologetically. “I wish you would try to
learn." He finished securing his carry-on to one of his suitcases
and leaned it against his leg in preparation to roll it behind him.
He picked up the other and motioned with his head that they should
move toward the door. “It was your Uncle Mahmoud. He said they are
up and waiting to greet us when we arrive.”

“Oh, okay. What did ‘
babdoo-mabey-namit
’ mean?” she asked as she walked
beside her father to the same door she had peeked out of
earlier.

Her father smiled and calmly said, “Jena, you
should not tease. ‘Ba’adan mibinamet’ basically means see you
later." He put down his suitcase and held the door open for Jen.
They stepped out into the cool night air and staged their luggage
near the wall a few feet away. “Stay here while I hail a taxi,” her
father instructed. Jen sat on the single suitcase he had been
carrying while he walked to the edge of the sidewalk and raised his
hand confidently.

Jen saw the same cab from earlier parked just
up the way, but this time it did not move. The light on top was off
and the driver sat still in the darkened cab.
“That’s
creepy,”
thought Jen as she stared at him. Another taxi, whose
light was already on, pulled away from the curb behind the dark
cab, and drove around it to pull up next to her father. The driver
jumped out and rushed over to help Jena and her father load their
bags into the trunk. “Thank you...um…
Mamnoon,
” said Jen when the driver took her bags.
“Khahesh mikonam! You are welcome!” the man replied with a knowing
smile and a glance at her father. Her father looked at Jen in
surprise and raised one eyebrow. Jen smiled and winked at him, and
he nodded his head in approval.

A few moments later they were pulling away
from the airport. Jen turned around and saw the other taxi driver
still parked and waiting for something or someone. She shrugged it
off and turned back to the front. She was finally anxious to meet
her father’s family, and to experience the Iran her father was so
proud of. As they drove through the dark city streets, Jen looked
out the window and remembered her mother telling her how Iran had
been when she was a girl.

“Jena, you have to remember, Iran was not
always under Sharia Law,” her mother said. “Before the Islamic
revolution at the end of the 1970’s, Iran was becoming more and
more like the western countries. Women did not have to wear hijabs
or cover up at the beach. We could wear bathing suits, skirts, and
dresses, just like the Americans. Women attended the university in
Tehran as freely as the men." Jen remembered her mother smiling and
then looking sad. “The Islamic Revolution changed everything.
Suddenly, women above the age of puberty were no longer acceptable
in public unless they were covered. Women were no longer allowed a
public voice or opinion in things that mattered. Women were beaten
and stoned for mistakes and misunderstandings. Women were burned
with acid for perceived infidelity." Her mother’s voice trailed off
and she sat silently for a moment. Then she said, “You don’t
understand how horrible it was Jena." She reached out and touched
Jen’s face. “I pray that you never know such horrible things my
little bird." Then her mother’s brow furrowed and she looked
intently into Jen’s eyes. “Jena, do not be fooled. Sharia is…it is
slavery. Your father and I will never agree on that, but you must
know it in your heart. A woman can never be truly respected and
loved under Sharia Law. It is meant for one thing, and that is
domination and control. The women who embrace it are so lost!" She
had softened again and added, “Your father is a good man. I am not
trying to turn you against him. I love him deeply. He loves you
very much and I know he loves me too. He is a good and honest man,
but do you understand that believing in the concept of Sharia makes
him less than he could be?"

Jen looked at her father in the seat beside
her and thought about her mother’
s words.
“Life is so complicated,”
she thought. She looked out the
window again and wished her mother was there.

Soon the taxi turned onto a small side street
and Jen wondered if they were getting close. At this point she was
completely turned around. She wasn’t sure which direction they were
going or where the airport was.
“If I had my phone I could just
check Google Maps,”
she thought. She tried to pick out
landmarks she might recognize during daylight, but everything
looked the same in the dark. In fact, she couldn’t be sure that
they weren’t going in circles. Her father said something to the
driver, and the taxi stopped in front of a white single family home
with a grass lawn and decorative trees in the front yard. Jen shook
her head slowly.
“What the heck is going on?”
she thought.
“Nothing is how I expected it.”

The driver opened the trunk as they exited
the taxi, and with his help they unloaded their bags. Her father
paid the driver with Iranian rial that he had exchanged for at the
airport in Vienna. A light came on over the front door of the
house, as the taxi driver climbed back in and pulled away.

Jen and her father collected their bags and
walked up the drive toward the house. When they were only a few
steps away the front door opened and Jen saw her Uncle Mahmoud and
Aunt Fatima in person for the first time. It was four o’clock in
the morning yet the middle aged couple was smiling warmly and
dressed as if it were the middle of the day. Her father put down
his bags and gave his brother a hug. Then the two men kissed three
times. Jen almost giggled, but she knew it was a cultural thing and
tried not to seem surprised. Her Aunt, still smiling warmly, came
to Jen and spoke to her in accented, but surprisingly good English.
“Jena, you are becoming such a beautiful young woman! Masha’ Allah.
As God wills it." She gave Jen a big hug.

The four of them gathered up the bags and
went inside to the kitchen where something that smelled absolutely
delicious was cooking. Jen’s mouth started watering immediately.
“Let me show you to your rooms so you can put your things away, and
then we’ll eat if you like,” said Aunt Fatima in her heavily
accented English.

“Please, Fatima, before we do that I must
thank you and Mahmoud for your generous hospitality,” said her
father. He unzipped the suitcase he had been carrying and pulled
out two packages. He gestured to Jen and himself and said, “We
brought you each a small gift that I hope you will enjoy." Jen’s
mother and father had explained the tradition of hospitality and
gift giving so she was aware it would happen, but she had no idea
what gifts they had brought along. She hoped she wouldn’t be put on
the spot somehow.

Her aunt and uncle received their gifts
graciously and opened them. Jen was a little excited to see what
the gifts would be. Her uncle opened his first. It was a bag of
Texas coffee with a matching mug. He beamed and said he would have
some Texas coffee this morning with his meal. Aunt Fatima’s gift
was an American Indian hand woven scarf with an accompanying card
that described the cultural significance of the pattern. She draped
it over her head and looked to her husband for approval. He smiled
warmly and nodded in affirmation. Jen had to admit, those were
pretty cool gifts for someone who had never been to Texas. She
wondered if someday her aunt and uncle might come visit them in
America. She decided she would make sure to ask before the return
trip home.

Jen followed her aunt up the narrow wooden
stairs to a short hall way with white walls and three brown wooden
doors. Door number one, nearest the top of the stairs opened to her
father’s bedroom. Door number two opened to her room. There was a
single bed on top of a patterned rug. Next to the bed was a night
stand with a small silver lamp on top. A dresser stood against one
wall with just enough room to squeeze by next to the bed. The other
wall was occupied by a shallow closet with plenty of hangers for
Jen to use. She stepped into her room and put her bags near the
closet. She did not see what was behind door number three.

“Are you hungry Jena?” asked her aunt as Jen
was setting her things down. “You are welcome to eat now, or after
you’ve had some rest.”

“Thank you Aunt Fatima,” Jen said with an
apologetic smile. “It smells delicious, but I am suddenly very
tired. I think I might just crash for a while if that’s okay.”

Her aunt stood in the doorway with a puzzled
look on her face. After an awkward moment, her eyes grew wide and
she smiled. “Oh! I understand. Crash means sleep." She covered her
mouth and giggled at the misunderstanding. “Yes, sleep Jena. I will
save some for when you awake."

Jena giggled and thanked her aunt. She gently
closed the door once Fatima had left the room and threw herself on
the bed.
“I’ll unpack in a little bit,”
she thought just
before falling asleep.

Sometime later there was a knocking on her
door, and then her father’s voice, “Jena? Are you awake?" Jen
pushed her face up from the bed and realized she was still lying on
top of the covers and fully dressed.

“Um, just a minute please." Jen looked around
the room for some indication of the time. She suddenly realized she
had no way of telling the time without her phone.
“That’s just
great."
She rolled off the bed and stood up. She stretched with
a groan and walked to the door. “Yes?” she asked as she opened the
door.

“I was hoping you would come down and join us
for some supper,” he said. “You’ve been asleep all day. “Are you
feeling alright?”