Rooftops of Tehran (25 page)

“Before you say anything,” I say, pointing a finger at him, “I didn’t hit him. You told me it wasn’t right to hit someone weaker. So I spat in his face instead because he called you and Mom stupid and he said that he couldn’t wait to shit on my grave, as he did on Doctor’s. I did what you would’ve done, fight. Like you did at the barracks and with Engineer Sadeghi. If that’s wrong, then punish me.”

Dad sits back down at the edge of the
hose
. He puffs on his cigarette and looks down at his feet. I watch him for a while, and when I’m sure he doesn’t have anything to say, I walk toward the house. Mom is standing by the steps. I put my arms around her and hug her hard and kiss her on the cheeks and wipe the tears off her face. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m all grown up now and I know what I’m doing,” I say.

She hides her face in my chest.

“I think you need to take me off the engine oil,” I whisper in her ear, trying to cheer her up.

She pulls back and laughs nervously with teary eyes. Then she pounds lightly on my chest a couple of times and whispers something under her breath. I hug her again before walking up the steps to my room on the third floor.

I feel like an adult all of a sudden. I’m a man in control of my life, strong-willed, determined, and capable of choosing a path, just like my dad. I’ll be in command of the life around me, making sure that I’m never treated like a child again by my parents or at school. I must figure out a way to take Zari with me to the United States. When we get there, I will work hard to support her. God, there is so much to be done, and I like the feeling of being responsible for it all.

I’m settling down at my usual spot on the roof when I hear Zari from the other side of the wall.

“Hello,” she says.

“I’ve been worried about you,” I chide. “I didn’t know where you were, or what had happened to you.”

“I’m okay. We went to the hospital to see Doctor’s dad, and didn’t get home till very late.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Not good.”

“How’re you doing?”

“Not good.”

“I’m sorry.”

I hear her sobs from the other side of the wall. “My parents send their regards. They think you’re the only bright spot in my life right now.”

“They do?”

“I do, too.”

If this was last month, I would’ve thrown myself off the roof with joy, but I’m a man now, so I contain myself. “I haven’t done anything,” I say, still wound up inside.

“No? Do you see anyone lined up out there to spend their every evening with a depressed, miserable girl like me?”

I realize it’s easier to take compliments when they’re not given to you face-to-face.

Zari is quiet for a while. Then she says, “Thank your girlfriend for letting you spend so much time with me.”

“Okay,” I mumble.

“I can’t wait to find out who she is.”

“You will soon.”

She doesn’t respond to that.

After a long pause she says, “I’m going shopping tomorrow. Would you like to go along? After school, of course.”

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do,” I say. I don’t say anything about my expulsion; I’m sure the subject will come up eventually.

 

The next day, I wait for her a couple of alleys down from ours. It’s not sensible for us to be seen together in our own alley, especially so soon after Doctor’s death.

“If we lived in the U.S. or Europe, we wouldn’t worry about such things, now would we?” I hear Ahmed’s voice in the back of my head. I should call him and apologize for being a jerk to him at school.

My heart is beating fast in anticipation of seeing Zari; my thoughts are so scattered I can hardly think. When she shows up, we say hello and start walking toward the bus stop. We’re walking side by side. I look at her and realize for the first time that she’s a couple of centimeters shorter than I am.

Her face is drawn and tired, but she still looks like a doll. Her fair complexion, her small pointed nose, her hair hanging like silk curtains on either side of her face, her long, blinking eyelashes, her large blue eyes—everything is still there, except her crooked smile. This is the face I fell in love with. She turns and looks at me. I’m so excited by her presence that I want to tell her how much I love her, and that I want to spend the rest of my life walking next to her.

We don’t say much on the bus. We sit next to each other, and our shoulders touch every time we pass over a bump. I look at her hands. She has thin, long fingers. I love her hands.

“Do you know what next week is?” she asks.

I know she is talking about the fortieth day of Doctor’s death, the day we should have been allowed to get together to talk about him, to cry, to tell one another how much we miss him. The day we’re forbidden to do all that. I look at Zari desperately, silently.

“It’s the birthday of the Shah,” she says, a sad smile on her face. “He’ll be going from his palace to Amjadieh Stadium in an open motorcade. They expect five hundred thousand people in the streets. I want to see him.”

“Why do you want to do that, especially on that day?”

“I’ve never seen him in person.”

“He’s like any other dictator,” I scoff. “An arrogant, narcissistic, ruthless man whose cold gaze sends a chill down your spine. I hate him. You’ll gain no insight into what has happened to Doctor from watching him drive by in a motorcade.”

She is quiet for a while, perhaps a bit surprised by my blunt statement. “I still want to see him,” she says.

“Okay, then I’ll go with you.”

“You’ve got a lot going on with school. You don’t need this right now. I’d rather go alone.”

“I’m going with you,” I repeat, gently.

“Why?” she asks. “Why do you want to go along when you hate him so much?”

“Because I’d rather be with you in hell than without you in heaven.” I look down at my own knees.

I can tell that she is staring at me. Then she reaches over and grabs my hand. “Pasha, I like being with you, too. You’re a very special person. You truly have
That
, just like Ahmed said.”

I squeeze her hand gently, and feel her squeeze mine back. I look into her eyes, and she returns my gaze.

“Your hands are warm,” she whispers.

We get off the bus at Laleh Zar, the area in Tehran where there are thousands of shops, many theaters, nightclubs, and restaurants. The narrow streets and alleys are filled with people of all ages. The air is rich with the scent of cutlets, hamburgers, and liver being grilled on hot red charcoal.

Some vendors announce their specials:

“The best kebob in town, hurry up before it gets cold.”

“Real British fabric for just ten toomans a meter; come and get it before it’s all gone.”

“Tickets, tickets to the greatest show in the universe with Jebelly, the greatest singer of our time.”

“I like this area,” Zari says. “It’s so full of life.”

In one of the stores she puts on a chador and asks me how she looks. I tell her that she looks like an angel. She laughs and buys it.

We go to an ice cream place and order two
paloodehs
with Akbar Mashdi ice cream, which is made with a special recipe that includes saffron, nonroasted salted pistachios, and rosewater.

“Did you know Faheemeh would’ve killed herself if they’d forced her to marry her neighbor?” she asks as we begin eating.

The thought of Faheemeh committing suicide makes me lose my appetite. “Suicide never solves anything,” I say. “It certainly worsens things for those left behind. I can’t imagine what that would’ve done to Ahmed!”

“I read a book about Socrates last year,” Zari says softly, as she stares at her ice cream. “I was really intrigued by how he chose to stay in prison and die even when he had the chance to escape. Was he wrong to do that?”

I know where she’s going with the argument; I don’t respond.

“What about Golesorkhi?” she asks, now looking directly in my eyes. “In my opinion, both Golesorkhi and Socrates committed suicide, don’t you agree?”

I remain quiet.

“Do you think Doctor . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

I shake my head in frustration. “I believe life’s too precious to waste, especially when one has something worthwhile to fight for.”

Zari watches me for a few seconds. “Am I making you angry?” she asks warily.

I shake my head no. She uses her spoon to mash her ice cream.

“Let’s change the topic to something more pleasant,” I suggest.

“Okay, let’s,” she says. “Are you still planning to go to America?”

“I said something more pleasant,” I tease.

She starts to laugh. “I want you to go. I hope you become a famous filmmaker. Write a script and tell everyone the story of our alley. But promise to get someone famous to play me. Who’s your favorite actress? Ingrid Bergman, right?”

“Yes, but she’s too old to play you now. I have to get someone younger. The prettiest actress alive.”

She turns red. Her eyes scan mine as if she is figuring out how the pieces of a puzzle fit together. Then she takes a bite of her ice cream.

“So what happened at school?” she asks.

“How did you find out?”

“Through Faheemeh.”

“She has a big mouth,” I say, and we both laugh. “Did it upset you?” I ask.

“Well, you picture a different kind of person when you hear about incidents like that. I wish you’d never do that again.”

It feels good that she’s worried about me. “He was asking for it,” I say to prolong the moment.

“Promise me that you will never do anything like that again,” she says, her eyes threatening.

I laugh and raise my right hand and put my left hand on my heart.

“Good boy,” Zari says. Then she adds, “You know, I feel responsible for your lack of focus on school.”

“You’re the best thing I could be focusing on right now.”

Zari blushes again.

Before we say good-bye she makes me promise to study harder. She wants to check my homework every night, when we get together on the roof. As she walks away, I curse the fact that the day has gone by so quickly.

That same evening, I’m sitting on the roof when Ahmed comes up. He sits next to me.

“Have you taken your rabies shot this year?” he asks.

We look at each other for a few seconds and then we both begin to laugh. I put my arms around him and hug him. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “I will never yell at you again.” He waves his arm to indicate that I shouldn’t worry about it. Then I tell him every detail of my day with Zari. He’s happy that I finally got a chance to spend time with her. He adds that he and Faheemeh will go to see the Shah’s motorcade with us.

“I’m doing it to be with Zari,” I say. “Otherwise, I’d rather fall off the roof and break my neck than lay eyes on the man responsible for Doctor’s death.”

“I feel exactly the same way.”

 

We have a calculus exam two days after my expulsion ends. I study as hard as I can. It’s important to me to deliver on the promise I made to Zari. When I go back to school, the students, and even our custodian, welcome me with open arms. “You showed that old hyena he can’t treat smart kids that way,” our custodian says. “I’ve seen him abuse so many good kids over the years. You’re the only one who’s ever stood up to him; good for you, really, good for you.”

Ahmed says that kids at school have taken a creative license in retelling the story of my altercation with Mr. Kermani. He heard one kid tell another that I lifted Mr. Kermani with the intention of throwing him out the window before Mr. Yazdi stopped me. Some versions have Mr. Yazdi trying to slap me, but I used one of Dad’s boxing techniques to fend him off. Then I threw him on the ground and almost choked him to death, before Mr. Moradi pulled me away from him.

“Why do they make up these stories?” I ask.

“Because they need a hero,” Ahmed says without losing a beat. “And you, my friend, fit the bill.”

Zari and I meet on the roof, finally on the same side of the short wall that separated us all those other nights. She asks me whether I’ve completed my homework. I show her my notebook, and she checks every page carefully. I watch those long, thin fingers turn the pages and swear I feel the heat radiating from her body. A strong bond has been established between us, and I feel so lucky that her parents don’t mind me seeing her up on the roof.

She’s trembling as she thumbs through my homework. I muster up enough courage to put my arms around her. She turns and looks at me, perhaps unsure of how she should react. Then she wiggles her body to make herself more comfortable in my embrace. She says, “This is how prehistoric people kept warm in the caves.”

I remember Darwin’s writings on prehistoric man. “Do you think our enjoyment of cuddling up is derived from that era?” I ask, and immediately wonder why I always ask stupid questions.

She laughs, “That, and probably other things.”

I decide not to respond and I’m glad Ahmed wasn’t around to hear my question. We sit in each other’s arms for hours. Zari falls asleep with her head on my shoulder. I can’t see her face, but she glows with a warmth that makes me feel wonderful inside. My father comes up to my room, sees us through the window, and leaves without saying a word. A few minutes later, Zari’s mother comes up. My breath gets trapped in my chest. I’m expecting her to curse me and pull Zari away, but instead she smiles.

“She was tired, very tired,” I whisper.

Mrs. Naderi slips back into the house. I am so relieved. I don’t care if the whole world sees us now. I’m not hiding anything from anyone anymore.
Yes, we will get married and no one will object. This will be a relationship based on love and not outdated traditions.
I am jubilant.

Zari wakes up around eleven o’clock. She looks at me, and smiles.

“Have I been asleep long?”