Things We Left Unsaid (5 page)

She returned the egg to the basket. ‘Emily doesn’t like such things.’

‘Oh, but children love colored eggs,’ I suggested.

It was as though she had heard something offensive. ‘Emily is no child. She does do some strange things now and then, but – she is not a typical child. She has her own
ways.’

I made a conscious decision not to speak about anything else, at which point she drank her tea and started talking away. She began every other sentence with ‘When I was in Paris...’
or ‘The year I was living in London...’ or ‘My house in Calcutta...’ In spite of this, I can’t say why, I did not feel she was posing, like Alice. Talking about
herself was my sister’s forté.

She got up suddenly, thanked me for my ‘kind hospitality,’ and headed for the door, saying over her shoulder, ‘We are expecting you Thursday evening for dinner. The children
will play together, you and your husband will meet my son Emile.’

She did not even bother to ask whether we had any plans for Thursday night.

Artoush had been grumbling and grouching about it for several days, and he repeated it all in front of Mother and Alice. ‘It’s the first and the last time!
Puleez
don’t start a social circle; I’ve got no patience for it, at all. And I won’t put on a tie.’

Alice took out a chocolate square from her large straw purse and opened the gold-foil wrapper. She popped the chocolate in her mouth and tossed the gold foil on the kitchen table, saying with
bulging cheeks, ‘Was the ring stone an emerald? She probably got it in India.’

Mother scraped back her chair and stood up. ‘I agree you should keep the socializing to a minimum.’ She picked up the gold foil and tossed it in the garbage pail. ‘This woman
did not have a sterling reputation in Julfa.’

‘So the mother didn’t have a sterling reputation,’ said Alice. ‘What’s that got to do with her son?’

My eyes met Mother’s. I knew what was going through her mind: ‘Not another bachelor prospect.’

Arsineh burst into the kitchen. ‘Rapunzel’s red dress is gone!’ She turned to Mother. ‘You know, the pleated dress you sewed for her.’ She stomped her foot on the
floor. ‘If it’s lost, Rapunzel is not coming to the party. If Rapunzel doesn’t come, me and Armineh aren’t coming either.’ She stared straight at Armen, hands on her
hips.

Armen was ready an hour ahead of time. He wore his bighorn ram shirt with the worn and faded jeans that I had tried to toss out several times. Every time, he raised a ruckus to stop me. Now he
wiped his shoes, first with spit and the kitchen dust cloth, and after I shouted at him, with water and the shoeshine cloth. I said, ‘It’s not a bad idea. If Rapunzel’s dress
doesn’t turn up, Armen will stay home, too.’ We were all staring at Armen.

Armen looked first at me and then at Arsineh. He seemed unsure whether to keep up his prank or not. He took a few grudging steps, opened the tea tin on the counter and produced the doll’s
dress. Arsineh huffed loudly, snatched up the dress and ran out.

I knew Mother and Alice would now burst out laughing at Armen’s antics, and my son would therefore completely ignore the brow-beating I was about to give him. ‘Go to our
bedroom,’ I told him. ‘Your father left his tie there.’

Artoush was tying his shoelace. ‘I said I would not wear a tie.’

With a silent nod, I sent Armen to fetch it.

As soon as Armen stepped out of the room, Mother remarked, ‘He carries it off so magnificently! I wonder who my boy takes after with all his charm?’

Alice laughed. ‘After his aunt.’ Then she looked at Artoush. ‘What did you say her son does?’

Artoush said, ‘Structural engineer,’ and chocolate number two dropped in Alice’s mouth.

‘Structural engineer. Hmm.’ And she stared at the flower box on the ledge.

Mother couldn’t hold her tongue: ‘Now she’s popping chocolates again like they were peanuts.’

This time I cleared the gold-foil wrapper off the table, surprised at my sister. Since when did she show
interest
(it was Alice who used the English word) in a previously married man who
already had a child? Mother returned to the theme of Mrs. Simonian’s not-so-sterling reputation in Julfa. I hoped she was not about to launch into a repeat of the whole saga she had told me
just a few days ago.

Artoush was shining his shoes with the cloth I used to polish the kitchen floor. I put the shoeshine cloth in his hand. He grabbed the cloth and said, ‘It’s not about what the folks
of Julfa were saying then, or what they say now. I just have no patience for social obligations and neighborly entanglements.’

Alice, chin propped in her hand, was still staring at the flowers on the ledge. ‘India’s famous for its emeralds.’ She took some gum out of her purse.

In the hallway I looked at myself in the mirror one last time, unable to make up my mind if my sleeveless dress was too low cut. And wasn’t it too tight around my hips?

Alice and Mother headed for the door. Mother looked me over. ‘We’re going. Why don’t you put on a shawl or something over your shoulders?’

‘Do you want Artoush to take you home?’ I asked.

Alice blew a bubble with her gum and popped it. ‘No, we’ll walk. We’re not far away, at least not for another four or five months. But when I get my promotion...’ She
looked at Artoush fussing with his tie in front of the mirror. ‘When I get my promotion, I’ll have to trouble my dear brother-in-law to take me home in his latest-model car.’ She
laughed uproariously and looked at me. ‘One can’t go from Bawarda to Braim on foot! Bye. By the way, that dress swallows you up – makes you look scrawny. Bye, kids.’

I closed the door behind them and drew a deep breath.

It was Emily who opened the door. She was wearing a white dress with puffy sleeves, and white socks and shoes. Her pigtails were tied with broad white ribbons. She looked like
a white feather that might suddenly float up in the air.

Armineh said, ‘Wow! Emily...!’

Arsineh said, ‘You look just like an angel.’

Arsineh put Rapunzel into Emily’s hand. The doll’s red dress seemed to help tether Emily’s feet to the ground. Artoush whispered in my ear, ‘What a sweet girl.’

While waiting for the actual hosts to appear, I looked around. Their hallway was a replica of ours, but seemed a little bigger to my eyes. Maybe because there was no furniture in it, other than
the telephone table. I was thinking they couldn’t have had a chance to set up their furniture yet, when Mrs. Simonian and her son stepped into the hallway.

Her short stature was not the only thing that made us stare at Mrs. Simonian. She wore a black silk dress that was so long, it trailed on the floor. She had on a big brooch and pendant earrings,
and her long, multi-strand pearl necklace hung all the way down to her thick gold belt. Armineh said, ‘Just like a Christmas tree!’ When I elbowed her, she and her sister stifled their
laughter.

Mrs. Simonian reached out with her small hand and shook Artoush’s. ‘Elmira Haroutunian-Simonian. Welcome!’ Still facing us, she pointed behind her. ‘May I introduce my
son, Emile Simonian.’ I had only ever seen such formal introductions in the movies.

Emile Simonian was the same height as me, which was unusual, because I was taller than almost all the men I knew. Except for Artoush, who was the same height as me – but only when I was
wearing flats. I don’t know if I avoided high heels to keep from looking taller than my husband, or if flats really were more comfortable for me. I held out my hand to Emile Simonian. Good
thing I had forced Artoush to wear a tie.

Emile Simonian, with his green eyes, in his navy blue suit and grey tie, smiled. As I stretched my hand out, he stretched out his. But instead of shaking my hand, he bowed and kissed it. Artoush
gave a little cough and the twins stared at my hand and the back of Emile Simonian’s head, with its thick, straight, neatly combed and shiny hair. I couldn’t tell which of the twins
said, ‘How cute.’ The other one chimed in, ‘Just like in the movies.’

I hoped the sweat under my arms had not left a perspiration stain on my dress. Armen wasn’t paying attention. I had no time to figure out what was on his mind.

As Emile Simonian stood upright again, Armen shook Emily’s hand. Artoush looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I always told Armen, ‘You’re grown up now and should act like a
gentleman. Shake hands with people.’ But he’d shrug his shoulders and go right on not shaking hands with anyone.

Arsineh told Emily, ‘Rapunzel missed you very much.’

Armineh said, ‘Very, very much!’

I gave the little bouquet of red roses to Mrs. Simonian.

I had planted the rose bush in the front yard myself. Despite all Mr. Morteza’s pessimism – every time he came he would say, ‘Mrs. Doc, it’s not my place to say so,
ma’am, but I don’t believe them roses will take’ – the bush had been awash with roses for a week.

Mrs. Simonian smelled the roses. She did not thank us, but gave a crooked smile and with a wave of her hand ushered us into the living room.

The living room also seemed to be bigger than ours. On one side of the room were the easy chairs with metal armrests, and across from that, the dining room table with its six chairs. This was
the furniture provided by the Oil Company to all the houses in Bawarda. Most families preferred, like ours, to buy a somewhat better dining room set, sofa, and easy chairs. The windows had no
drapes and there were a few wires sticking out of the empty slots for the wall fixtures. The twins said with one voice, ‘We’re going to Emily’s room.’

I felt Armen wanted to go too; he was shifting from one foot to the other. I knew that if I told him to stay, he would go. ‘You stay with us,’ I said. He shook his head emphatically
and went off with the girls. God, don’t let him pick a fight for at least half an hour, I thought.

Mrs. Simonian smelled the roses again and headed for the large cabinet filling at least half the wall. It was made from a dark wood, with two mirror-mosaic doors. Between the doors was a niche,
like a recessed shelf, on which stood two candelabras, each boasting two white candles. The heavy cabinet did not go with the rest of the furniture in the room; they must have brought it from
India. Mrs. Simonian opened one of its doors and took out a crystal vase. The mirror mosaic on the doors was etched all around with fine designs of flowers and birds. Emile Simonian politely
invited us to sit down.

From this side of the room, which seemed unrelated to the other half, I watched Mrs. Simonian. She put the crystal vase back in the cabinet, picked up a red china vase, closed the door and
turned around to face me.

‘This vase will complement the colors of the flowers better than that one.’ I don’t know what she saw in my look that made her smile. ‘Do you like the cabinet? It’s
made in England, late eighteenth-century.’ Then she extended the hand holding the vase. ‘Emile!’

Her son got up, took the vase and went through a door that I knew opened to the kitchen. ‘Complement’ the colors better? It had been a while since I had heard this formal Armenian
vocabulary. Had it been me, I would probably have said, ‘it matches better’ or ‘goes better.’ The black silk dress and jewels certainly went better with the cabinet –
‘complemented the cabinet better’ – than the rest of the furniture.

In another corner stood a black piano, dominating the room, its open fallboard revealing yellowing keys. There were a few pages of sheet music on the music shelf. I was too far from the piano to
make out the name of the piece.

Mrs. Simonian held the roses in front of her. She was still looking at me with that crooked half-smile. ‘What a pretty ribbon you wrapped the flowers with.’ From the corner of my eye
I could see Artoush shifting in his seat.

That afternoon I had tied and untied the red ribbon around the roses several times, looping it again and again until I was finally pleased with the bow. Whenever I wrapped a present for someone,
I had to tie the ribbon just right. If Artoush was watching, he would say, ‘What a perfectionist! Who’s going to notice the ribbon?’ This was the first time anyone had noticed the
ribbon.

Emile Simonian returned with the vase full of water. His mother set the vase on the dining table and put the roses in one by one.

Artoush and Emile were talking about the heat as I watched Mrs. Simonian’s hands. The vase was exactly the same color as the roses, and the only light in the room came from a bare bulb
dangling from a long wire next to the ceiling fan. My neighbor wound the ribbon around the vase and straightened out the loops in the bow. She went and sat on the sofa, beckoning me to sit next to
her. I went over to her and sat down. The springs creaked. She patted my knee several times with her little hand, then said, ‘Emile!’

Emile went out again through the door leading to the kitchen.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Mrs. Simonian’s feet just reached the floor. She had on black satin shoes, high-heeled and open-backed, embroidered with rhinestone moths. She turned to
Artoush. ‘Your wife is among the limited number of Armenian ladies of culture I have been honored to meet over the many years I’ve lived in the far-flung corners of the globe. You are a
fortunate man.’

Artoush blinked several times. Then he nodded and loosened the knot of his tie. The room was quite warm and our short neighbor’s long sentences contained words Artoush and I had not heard
in years.

Emile came back into the room, a small silver tray in his hands. A white doily embroidered with flowers decorated the tray, and on the doily stood a pitcher of orange juice with four
glasses.

I swallowed the bitter, lukewarm juice and listened to Mrs. Simonian compare the heat of Abadan to the heat of India. She explained that ‘the chill breeze of air conditioners causes
irreparable harm to those suffering from back problems.’ I would have said, ‘It’s not good at all for back problems.’ My critical streak grew weary of this game and chided:
‘Stop it! There is no need to relentlessly translate your neighbor’s formal Armenian vocabulary to colloquial.’ My positive streak chuckled at that: ‘There you go, speaking
formally yourself.’