Читать книгу Taking Cover: One Girl's Story of Growing Up During the Iranian Revolution - National Kids Geographic - Страница 10

The bell rang, signaling the end of recess. Anahita and I were running to the theater when we saw Keyvan squeezing his head through a thin slit in the metal gate. This gate used to separate the elementary and middle school from the high school, but now it separated the girls from the boys. Thin metal sheets had been hammered onto the gate so that kids on either side could not see each other. Now that the shah was gone, this new government was hard at work going against the progress the shah had wanted for his country. The new regime said it was against Islam for genders to mingle unless they were related by blood.

“Psssst, psssst,” he said.

“What is it?” I said.

“Come closer,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”

“We can get in trouble, Keyvan,” Anahita said. “You’re not supposed to be talking to us.”

“Yeah, go away!” I said.

At least with our school no longer being coed, I didn’t have to deal with Keyvan’s annoying habits, like looking up my skirt or blowing me kisses during class. At nine years old, I knew what I didn’t like—boys with annoying habits.

“But I want to tell you something,” he continued.

“What is it?” I said.

“Have you heard about Bianca?” he said. “They’ve executed her father.”

I gasped.

“Oh no!” Anahita said. She looked as if she might cry. I held on to her because my knees felt too weak to hold me.

“So that’s why she hasn’t been in school,” I said. “Keyvan, how do you know this?”

“My uncle lives across the street from them. He said these men showed up late at night at Bianca’s house, dragged her father out, and forced him in a car. Apparently, he was a general.”

“This is so awful,” I said. “It’s so awful. Poor Bianca.”

“What is she going to do?” Anahita asked.

“Don’t know,” Keyvan said. “Their house is completely dark. No lights on.”

We stood there, shocked.

“Oh no, I gotta go!” Keyvan said.

He disappeared from the slit in the gate.

“Nioucha! We’re waiting for you!”

It was our teacher, Mrs. Ganji, standing on the steps of the theater about 30 feet away. We must not have heard the bell ring because we were the only kids left on the playground.

“I’m coming! Sorry, Mrs. Ganji.”

Anahita and I darted toward her, hoping Mrs. Ganji hadn’t seen us talking to Keyvan.

I noticed Anahita wiping her eyes, and I paused.

“Anahita?”

She turned around, the rims of her eyes red.

“I can’t believe Bianca’s father’s been killed,” Anahita said.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. It all seemed too much to even comprehend.

“I mean, we’ve heard about all these executions, right? But I didn’t know anybody in person.”

Anahita sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “Let’s go, Nioucha.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Do you need another minute?”

“Thanks, I’m good. Come on.”

When we entered, our class was already getting into costume, rehearsing our upcoming play. I loved this theater. It could seat 150 people, and the walls were decorated with burgundy velvet. When I looked up, a giant gold sun smiled down at me, its rays extending out to the edges of the ceiling.

That’s when I noticed that a large framed picture of Ayatollah Khomeini, our new leader, had been centered above the stage to replace the one of the shah and Farah. They had looked so friendly, smiling in their photo. But Khomeini frowned, and with his long white beard, he looked permanently angry. As a religious leader, he wore a turban.

From the minute he arrived in Tehran I hadn’t liked him. He had turned our lives upside down. Now I saw him as something worse. As a killer. An executioner. I looked at that picture, willing him to notice me, but his eyes were downcast. He may have thought that he was a holy man and destined for heaven, but I had no doubt he was going to hell for giving the order to kill Bianca’s father and dozens of other people whose only crime had been to serve a man that Khomeini despised.

“That’s right,” I thought, “don’t meet my stare. The hatred in my eyes can surely burn a hole in your skull right now.”

“Nioucha, get on stage and stop daydreaming,” Mrs. Ganji said.

I snapped out of it and blinked. I had been so wrapped up in hating Khomeini that I couldn’t remember what I was doing here. That morning, Mrs. Ganji had asked me to replace a classmate who had gotten sick the night before.

“You’ll play the part of the king’s brother,” Mrs. Ganji had said.

“I’m playing a boy?” I asked.

“Seeing as our school isn’t coed anymore, yes, you are.”

“But, Mrs. Ganji, I don’t look like a boy.”

“With a big turban and a fake mustache, you will. Now, let’s rehearse.”

A few months before, I had heard her say to another teacher, “Let’s organize a play to keep the kids distracted from everything that’s happening.” I vaguely remembered Mrs. Ganji asking for volunteers to perform in a tale from The Arabian Nights. Most of the class had raised their hands high, nearly falling over their benches. Anahita had not, so even though I wanted to be in it, I didn’t volunteer either. I didn’t want her to feel left out. Later she told me she felt too shy to stand in front of a crowd, even if our performance was only going to be for students and a few teachers.

Now I understood her reluctance. In fact, I felt terrified to have been chosen. I tried to back out, but when Mrs. Ganji said I had no lines to memorize, I agreed to do it. My part as the king’s brother was to sit next to him and eat what the servants presented on trays.

That seemed simple enough, and I did well during rehearsal just sitting there on my chair and pretending to eat invisible cookies. The following day after our lunch break, the entire elementary school filed into the auditorium for our performance. I was all dressed up in a green velvet robe and sat proudly onstage. At one point in the play, a servant brought a platter of raisin cookies and I ate two, careful not to get any crumbs on my fancy outfit. During the rehearsal, the tray had been empty, so this was a nice surprise. Before I knew it, the play ended with tremendous applause from the packed auditorium. I felt a little embarrassed to bow my thanks along with all my classmates because I knew I hadn’t done anything to deserve such a warm reception.

Backstage, Mrs. Ganji greeted us with hugs and kisses. She then asked us to line up behind the curtain and get ready to return to the stage, introduce ourselves, and say what part we played.

I was the first to go, except I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. All this time I’d thought I had no lines, and now faced with this new piece of information, I stood completely frozen. Mrs. Ganji must have noticed the panic in my eyes because she took my hand and said, “Nioucha, don’t be scared. Just go out there, say your name, and the role you played.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Well, you take the microphone and say ‘Nioucha H. in the role of the prince.’“

I couldn’t feel my tongue. My ears were warm and made strange noises. I walked onstage and stared out into the crowd as I held the microphone to my mouth. My heart was pounding furiously. I couldn’t remember what I had to say. I looked back to Mrs. Ganji for help, but she only motioned for me to hurry up.

“Hi! I am the prince playing the role of Nioucha H.”

With all the buzzing in my ears, I barely heard my own voice. I glanced over at Mrs. Ganji, pleased to have gotten words out of my mouth. When I looked back at the audience to bow, I saw that everyone was laughing. Anahita covered her mouth to hide the fact that she wanted to laugh too.

She winked, waved with her other hand, and shrugged as if to say, “It’s no big deal.”

Mrs. Ganji came out, took the microphone from me, and looking very amused, whispered, “It’s all right, Nioucha. At least everyone will remember you now.”

I returned backstage and hid in the dressing room until it was time to go home. When I thought most of the school had emptied, I ran out to meet Baba, who was picking me up. Baba asked about the play, but I refused to answer him at first, not wanting to relive the shameful experience. But then he gave me his coaxing look and his wink, and I relented. When I finished, I glanced over and caught him smiling.

“It’s not funny, Baba,” I said a little too loudly. “Everyone was laughing at me!”

“It’s a little funny.”

He reached across the gearshift and gently pinched my cheek.

“Try to see the humor in it and laugh along with your friends.”

I couldn’t let my embarrassment go. And then I felt worse than embarrassed. I felt ashamed that I’d been so caught up in the play that I’d forgotten about Bianca and her father.

“Baba, I have something to tell you.”

I told him what Keyvan had said. Baba drove quietly for so long that I finally asked, “Did you hear me?”

“I did. I’m sorry about your friend and her father.”

His lips were very thin, like they got when he was angry or concentrating on something. His hands gripped the wheel hard, turning his knuckles white. I didn’t know what to say or do, so I slouched inside my collar and closed my eyes. I soon realized we weren’t on our way home.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To Minoo’s.”

When we reached my aunt’s house, Baba rushed up the driveway. I followed him inside. After exchanging greetings, he leaned into his sister’s ear and whispered something. She turned pale and slapped her cheek with her hand in despair. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her or other Iranians do this, but it still took me by surprise that someone would actually hit their own face to show how shocked they were about something. Aunt Minoo’s legs seemed to sway under her, so Baba held her arm. They walked briskly into the library, closing the door behind them.

I stood awhile in the entrance of Aunt Minoo’s house, waiting for them to come out. But they didn’t. Eventually, I walked into the kitchen and looked around the room. This house was so familiar to me, it felt like my second home. Minoo was only two years younger than Baba, and they had been very close growing up. When we had moved to Iran from the United States, we lived with Minoo and her family for almost six months before finding our own apartment.

—

That first night in Tehran, Aunt Minoo’s house had looked like a castle I might have seen in a cartoon. With all the lights on and situated on top of a hill, her home glowed in the dark almost like a Halloween jack-o’-lantern. There was a beautiful smell in the air, one I had not known before. Two large jasmine bushes stood on either side of the entrance, filling the evening with their magical perfume.

Aunt Minoo had given us a tour of their new two-story house. She was so excited to show it to us. Every room had bright colors. The living room and dining room were decorated in white curtains and Persian rugs, with tall windows all around. The kitchen had maroon tiles and white cabinets. Large wooden bookcases lined the library walls, and an inviting brown leather sofa waited for anyone who wanted to sit and sample any of the books. Upstairs, my cousin Sara’s room was all pink, my cousin Omid’s room was brown and orange, my aunt and uncle’s room was all white, the guest bedroom was orange, and the TV room was beige. I felt like I’d walked into a rainbow.

When Aunt Minoo spoke, it sounded like she was laughing. She was petite, but her big smile looked like Baba’s. I had overheard Baba say to Maman how happy he was that his sister had married well, affording her luxuries the rest of the family did not have. He said she was the most generous person he knew and that she loved to share her wealth with those around her.

Sara took after her mother in her generosity and kind spirit. Already 14 when we arrived, she shared her bedroom with me, her five-year-old cousin.

She had arranged her collection of stuffed animals neatly on her dresser—a dozen cats, five puppies, and three frogs. I really liked the frogs. I’d never seen any at the toy store Maman used to take me to in Pittsburgh. I had been surprised to see that a teenager still had toys in her room, but I had instantly loved her for it.

Despite feeling comfortable with my cousin, I felt scared in Aunt Minoo’s big house.

One morning, just a few weeks after we came to Iran, Maman had pulled the pink curtains aside in Sara’s room to let the sun in. Maman wore a short-sleeved navy dress with a red belt, and a wide red headband held back her long blond hair. She looked normal to me, but something about the house felt far from normal.

“Good morning, chérie.”

“Good morning, Maman. Can you come to the bathroom with me?”

“Are you still frightened?” Maman asked. “Maman, there’s a ghost living outside that bathroom window. I just know it.”

“All you’re hearing is the ivy from the neighbor’s house rustling in the breeze.”

“No, Maman, I’ve heard the ghost walking. It is really scary.”

“I’m sure it’s just the neighbor’s cat walking on the gravel downstairs. You’ve seen that cat. He’s adorable.”

“It’s not the cat.”

“All right, Nioucha. It’s time for me to go now.”

“Are you leaving already?”

Maman had started working for a French oil company as an executive secretary.

“Yes, I’m leaving soon,” she said, kissing the top of my head.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, wishing she could stay longer, at least through breakfast.

“Can’t you take me to school today?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, chérie, but I can’t.”

This was the first job Maman had taken since I was born, and I couldn’t stand not having her all to myself anymore.

When I wouldn’t let go, she added, “I’ll be here when you get back from school. I have to go now. Baba will take you.”

One more kiss and she was gone.

It seemed to me that Maman and Baba were hardly around anymore. They were always invited to parties with Aunt Minoo and her husband, and they left me with Sara and her 11-year-old brother, Omid. I remembered what had happened the night before, and I ran after Maman.

“Wait, Maman!”

She was halfway down the stairs. I ran into her arms and buried my face in her belly again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You’ll be back, right?”

“Of course I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

The night before, I had whimpered in Sara’s lap, asking her over and over when Maman and Baba would be back.

“I’ll go make us some dessert,” Sara said. “That’ll cheer you up.”

She left me in the TV room with Omid.

As soon as she was downstairs in the kitchen, Omid said, “Your parents abandoned you. They’re never coming back.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Sure it is,” Omid said. “They told me so.”

He left the room and returned with my toy telephone. He dropped it in my lap.

“Here,” he said. “Call them yourself and ask.”

I started dialing a number.

“Maman? Hello? Hello?”

Of course, nobody answered. Omid sat in front of me and sneered. I couldn’t stop myself from crying.

“What’s going on?” Sara asked when she returned, holding a tray with three ice cream bowls. She put the desserts down on the coffee table and knelt beside me.

“Maman and Baba left me forever!” I wailed. “Omid said they’re never coming back! Hello? Maman?”

I still held the telephone receiver to my ear. Omid laughed. Sara pushed her brother and he tumbled sideways.

“Get out of here,” Sara said. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sara pulled me into her lap and rocked me.

“Your mom and dad are with my mom and dad at a friend’s house,” Sara said. “I promise they haven’t left you. Don’t listen to Omid. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Omid had taken one of the ice-cream bowls and gone to his room, slamming the door.

After he’d been so mean to me the night before, I dreaded having to see him again at breakfast.

I gave Maman one last squeeze before she left for work. Then I slowly made my way down the semicircular staircase to join the family in the kitchen.

Aunt Minoo stood by the stove making scrambled eggs while Sara and Omid sat at the table drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice. My aunt already had feta cheese, butter, walnuts, and quince jam on the table. The samovar brewed tea on the white kitchen counter. Through the large bay window, I saw Baba sitting in the garden reading the newspaper.

“Good morning,” I said.

Aunt Minoo turned around and blew me a kiss.

“Good morning, sleepy girl,” Sara said. She patted the chair next to her. I took a seat, linking my arm through hers, making sure I avoided looking at Omid. Meanwhile, he rolled his eyes upward and stuck his tongue out. Sara kicked him under the table and he yelped.

“What happened?” Aunt Minoo asked Sara.

“He did the eye and tongue thing again,” Sara said.

My aunt served us each large spoonfuls of eggs.

“Omid, what did I tell you about being nice to Nioucha?” Aunt Minoo said. “She is our guest. Treat her like a sister.”

“But I already have a sister,” Omid said. “I don’t want another one!”

“You will do as I say,” Aunt Minoo said. “And you will apologize.”

Omid dropped his gaze and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Okay,” I said.

Aunt Minoo sat to my left, cupped my chin, and kissed me on the cheek. I loved her round face, button nose, dark brown hair, and big green eyes. Her kids had her features, except their eyes were the color of milk chocolate.