Things We Left Unsaid (8 page)

Mother complained about the heat, Alice caught her breath, and then both took their seats at the kitchen table. ‘Well?’ my sister asked.

There was no need for me to ask, ‘Well, what?’ On the rare occasions I was invited somewhere without Alice, the next day she would make me recount everything that happened from start
to finish, in minute detail, and even then she wasn’t satisfied. Her face would wear a doubtful expression that accused me of withholding information.

I stood by the stove, watching to make sure the coffeepot did not boil over. ‘Well, we had to go,’ I said. ‘They’re our neighbors, after all.’

Alice laughed out loud. ‘You mean it was that bad? Your Professor must have complained up a storm.’ Mother laughed as well. I poured the coffee, set it on the table, and sat myself
down.

My sister untied the string around the cardboard pastry box and removed the lid. ‘I waited for this for half an hour. It’s fresh out of the oven. Mr. Mousavi insisted that I get some
other pastry instead, but I wouldn’t give in. I told him, “You pour three pounds of rosewater into your other pastries.” I left out that his cream puffs, on the other hand, are to
die for – I didn’t want it to go to his head.’ She picked up a cream puff between thumb and forefinger, bit in, and closed her eyes. ‘Mmm.’ That meant it was good.
Then she slid the box toward me and Mother, and with a mouth full of cream puff, said, ‘Mmm, mmm, mmm!’ That meant we should try some. Mother took one out, but I shook my head.

‘I just ate breakfast with the kids.’

‘The kids are not home? Uh huh! They were going to the cinema. Where is Artoush? Uh huh. He’s gone to drop off the kids. Is he coming back? Nope! I bet he’s gone to drop in on
Shahandeh again.’ After her little question-and-answer soliloquy, Mother bit into the cream puff, chewed, and swallowed. ‘I’ve said a hundred times he shouldn’t hang around
that “brazen hussy.” ’ (Shahandeh had long white hair that he wore in a ponytail, and Mother disapproved.) ‘Selling hunting equipment is just a cover.’ (Shahandeh had
a hunting equipment store near the Kuwaiti Bazaar.) ‘What shopkeeper opens on a Friday?’ (The vast majority of Iranian stores were closed on Fridays, the Muslim sabbath, but not
Shahandeh, who was always open on Fridays, and would only open – ‘raise his shutters’, as he put it – one or two other days a week.) ‘With that giant body and those
bushy whiskers, isn’t he embarrassed to dress like a twenty-year-old?’ (Shahandeh wore loose-fitting bold-colored Hawaiian shirts.) When I gave Mother no answer, she continued.
‘I’m telling you, your late father’s politicking caused me no end of troubles, and now it’s my son-in-law! Out of the frying pan, into the fire.’ As far as I could
remember, my father’s ‘politicking’ entailed nothing more than a couple of trips to the Iran–Soviet Friendship Society (and that, only at Artoush’s insistence), and
loyal listening to the Radio Armenia broadcasts.

Alice tasted her coffee and her face curdled. ‘Blech! Bitter as poison.’ I slid the sugar shaker in front of her, thinking that the fiasco of the Doctor’s marriage might be all
but forgotten.

Mother was livid. ‘Acho!’ Whenever Mother called Alice by this childhood nickname – which my sister detested – it meant she was in high dudgeon. ‘There you go
again, dipping in the sugar vat?’ Apparently the fiasco was long put to rest, if Mother felt emboldened to gripe at Alice about her sweet-tooth.

Alice poured two heaping spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee cup and stirred. She took another cream puff and turned to me, ignoring Mother. ‘So tell me about it. What was the son like? Did
his mother wear any new jewelry?’

Mother pressed her lips together and turned her face to the ceiling. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God. Here she goes again.’

I wondered how to describe Emile Simonian. What I remembered most was that he seemed to look at you from a great distance and that all of his movements – sitting, walking, eating –
were smooth, easy. But that was not what my sister wanted to hear.

‘He was tall, well-dressed and...handsome.’ As the words came out of my mouth, I regretted saying it.

The third cream puff hung in the air between the cardboard box and Alice’s mouth. ‘How old?’

I placed my coffee cup back in the saucer and shrugged my shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Forty, I suppose.’ Mother closed the lid on the cream puffs, slid the box over to me and
gestured toward the fridge. Alice was looking out the window, paying no attention to us.

Mother said, ‘He must be just about that age.’ Then she stared at Alice. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Alice, her face still toward the window, ran her hand through her hair. ‘I have a hairdresser’s appointment tomorrow.’ Then she looked at me. ‘Do you think I should cut
my hair short?’

Mother looked at me and shook her head. We both knew by heart the sequence of events that would next transpire. Whenever an unmarried man turned up, Alice first got a new hair-do and then she
went on a diet, for a few days or few weeks, depending upon how long the infatuation lasted. And, according to what she told us more than what our eyes could verify, she would lose weight. I got up
and took the fruit bowl out of the fridge, telling myself, ‘Don’t argue, now.’

Alice said, ‘Yoo hoo, I’m talking to you. I asked if you think short hair looks good or—’

I began clearing away the coffee cups and hurriedly offered, ‘Sure. Why not?’

We heard the brakes of Artoush’s Chevy screech, and moments later the twins ran in. ‘
Hello
, Nanny.
Hello
, Auntie.’

Mother hugged Armineh. ‘Again with the
hellos
in English? We’re not English. Are we? Say it in Armenian: Barev!’

Alice hugged Arsineh. ‘Are you on the children’s case again? Is there anyone left in Abadan who does not say
Hello
? You yourself spout English words left and right.’

Mother glared. ‘Me? Never!’

Alice glared back. ‘You? All the time!’ She cocked her head to the right and mimicked Mother. ‘The kitchen
fan
is broken.’ She cocked her head to the left.
‘Alice has gone to the
hospital
.’ Again to the right. ‘The
store
had no
twist
bread, so I bought
rolls
.’ Again to the left. ‘Kids, be
careful you don’t fall off your
bicycles
.’ She stared right at Mother, ‘Armen’s
tenni shoes
are worn out. And by the way, it’s
tennis shoes
, not
tenni shoes
.’

The children laughed, and Mother gave Alice a dirty look. Alice went on, ‘Yesterday one of the doctors told a funny story.’

Armineh sat facing Alice. ‘Auntie, you tell it to us and then we’ll...’

Arsineh sat by Armineh’s side. ‘...then we’ll tell you about the movie.’

Alice asked Mother, ‘What happened to the cream puffs? Did you sneak them back to the fridge again?’

‘Auntie, tell us,’ said Armineh.

‘Tell us, Auntie,’ said Arsineh.

I grabbed Armen’s arm, whose hand was headed for the refrigerator door. I wagged my finger at him, warning, no cream puffs for you.

‘One of the English engineers went on a site supervision call to I don’t remember where exactly,’ began Alice. ‘The foreman was supposed to act as his interpreter and
translate what the engineer said for the workers. So the engineer says in English, “Tell them to bend the pipes,” and the foreman turns around and shouts to the workers,
“Attention, guys! He says to
bend the pipes
.” ’

We all laughed, except Mother, who glowered at us and said, ‘It wasn’t funny at all.’

Armineh said, ‘But the film was really funny.’

Arsineh said, ‘But Cinema Taj was like a refridgerator’

‘That’s how cold it was.’

‘Mommy, what about permission for Emily to come for lunch?’

‘Did you ask?’

‘Call her.’

‘No, go to their house.’

‘No, Auntie. We don’t want chocolate. It will spoil our lunch.’

‘Mommy, please. Go get permission for Emily. Please.’

I put my hand on my head. ‘Goodness gracious, already. I’m going.’ And I got up. As I left the kitchen, Armineh and Arsineh were sitting on their auntie’s and
grandma’s knees respectively, taking turns retelling the plot of the film.

As I crossed the street, I thought to myself, ‘I hope my sister will not try out her usual scheme on Emile.’ Normally I would tell myself, ‘Maybe this is the one...’ But
this time I entertained no illusions whatsoever. I was sure this one was in no way, shape or form good for Alice.

My nose was assaulted by the smell of sludge in the gutter.

The door opened before I could lift my finger from the doorbell, as if they had been waiting for someone. Without returning my greeting, Mrs. Simonian said, ‘No. There’s just no way.
Restaurant food does not agree with Emily. She has to have a rest now.’ Through the cracked-open door I could see Emily’s tearful face.

On the way back home, my critical streak lashed out at me: ‘Serves you right! You just have to dance to whatever tune the children fiddle, don’t you?’ I answered back,
‘I’ll never subject myself to that again!’

The children were disappointed that Emily wouldn’t be joining us. ‘I don’t feel like going to the Club,’ Armen said.

‘Great,’ I responded. ‘Stay home and study.’ And with that encouragement, he piled into the car ahead of everyone else.

I sat with Mother and Alice in the back of the Chevy. Armineh sat in Alice’s lap, and Arsineh, after making Armen swear to ‘No teasing, I mean it!’ sat up front, between
Artoush and Armen.

The twins frowned from north Bawarda all the way to Braim without saying a word. Armen was taking driving pointers from Artoush. Alice and Mother were arguing about the date of the Lenten fast.
In the end, Alice said, ‘Eastertime is so far away now, and anyhow, I for one am not going to fast. I fasted this year, and it was enough for seven generations!’

‘You have to fast,’ said Mother.

‘I’m not going to,’ said Alice.

‘What the hell do you mean, “I’m not going to?” You have to.’

‘I’m not going to.’

Mother hissed just like an angry cat and pinched Alice’s forearm hard. ‘Ouuuch!’ cried Alice. The twins cracked up laughing and their frowns melted away. Mother and
Alice’s fights, real or pretend, were the best way to make the twins laugh.

At the door to the Club, Alice whispered in my ear, ‘Invite them over, please.’

I drew a deep breath and returned the greetings of Mr. Saadat, the manager of the Golestan Club, and asked after his wife, who had just given birth to their fourth child two weeks earlier.
Artoush always shook hands with Mr. Saadat, and it always pleased me. I rarely saw other members of the Club shake hands with the manager.

The twins yelled out, ‘Hey! Mimi!’ and ran off in the direction of a classmate of theirs, a very delicate girl whose name was Marguerita, though her mother insisted on calling her
Mimi. Up until a few months ago, Mimi, or Marguerita, lived in north Bawarda. When the kids were little, they were frightened of Marguerita’s father, a tall, very rotund man who sported a
thick beard. They called him ‘Golirra.’ I had heard from Artoush that the rank, or as the Abadanis would put it, the
Grade
of the ‘Gorilla’ had been raised, and he
got himself a house in Braim. When they lived in Bawarda, Marguerita had many times come home from school with the twins and stayed at our house quite late, until finally her mother would arrive to
pick her up with a wishy-washy apology. ‘Sorry. It’s so late. I got caught up.’ It was well known to all the Armenians in Abadan what caught up Marguerita’s mother: gambling
and lounging about the Milk Bar, a new café that had recently opened.

Alice took my hand and headed off. ‘Come along.’

No need to ask where we were going. Whenever we went out, the first thing Alice did was find a mirror and make sure her hair was not mussed up and her lipstick not wiped away. And no need to ask
why I should tag along, either. Alice could not possibly contemplate going to the ladies’ room alone.

Marguerita’s mother was in the restroom teasing her hair. Her name was Juliette, but she insisted people call her Zhou Zhou. On the sink next to her purse stood a small aerosol can of Taft
hairspray. The last time we had seen one another, in a ball at the Boat Club, she was a brunette. Now she was a redhead. Same color as her lipstick.

She saw us in the mirror, and turned around to give us a lukewarm greeting. ‘Well, well!’ she said. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’ The humanitarian aim of this sentence was to
ask what we low-
Grade
residents of Bawarda were doing in the Golestan Club, which she considered the exclusive preserve of the high-
Grade
residents of Braim.

Alice drew a deep breath and puffed up her chest. I realized she was about to – in her words – ‘run Marguerita’s mother through the wringer and hang her out to
dry.’ Alice glanced at herself in the mirror, and once assured that her hair was in place and her lipstick fresh, she turned to Marguerita’s mother. Before I could do anything about it,
she asked, ‘Excuse me, Juliette. What
Grade
did you say your husband holds?’

Marguerita’s mother arched her eyebrows into virtual half crescents. ‘It’s Zhou Zhou. Fifteen. Why?’

Alice smiled. ‘How interesting. So he still has three
Grades
to go before he reaches my brother-in-law.’ Then she threaded her arm in mine and said, ‘Phew! The smell of
hairspray’s about knocked me unconscious. Come on, Clarice.’

Outside the restroom, I protested. ‘Why do you tell her such fibs? Her husband and Artoush are at the same
Grade
.’

Alice let go of my arm and waved at someone. ‘It was the right thing to do. Keep that monkey-lady from going around and showing off in people’s faces about the
Grade
of her
gorilla man. If the Professor would knock off this “comrade” nonsense of his and get a house in Braim like any normal person would, we wouldn’t have to put up with the pretentious
airs of every nouveau riche in town. By the way, did you hear what I said before we walked in? You will invite them, won’t you?’ All of a sudden she gave a broad smile and a loud
‘Well, hellllo!’ and went up to a couple whom I could not recall. I had heard what she said before we walked in. And no need to ask who she wanted me to invite.