FICTION

PART 9 (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10)

From: Ms. Firoozeh L.

132567 C…… Avenue
Canoga Park, CA
USA

June 15

To: Mrs. Sedigheh M….
186 Khiabane K…., Plaque B-2
Tehran, IRAN

Khaleh Joon,

I hope you haven’t been worried if your phone calls have remained unanswered for the past few days. Shahab and I were gone for a short vacation. I know this will come as a surprise to you after how low I have been feeling ever since our big fight. I was even more surprised than you must be at the way things turned out.

About ten days ago, I came out of the shower to see the table set with candles and flower, the lights dimmed, some nice Persian music playing on the radio, and the smell of something yummy coming from the kitchen. I was in awe and did not know how to react. Shahab finally came out of the kitchen, came towards me and took my hand, which he kissed tenderly. He led me towards the table and pulled the chair out for me. He put a dish in front of me that had a lid on it. Then he opened the lid and to my shock, it revealed a plate full of American dollars!

-- “Shahab, what is this?” I asked.

He kissed me and told me “congratulations.” His business deal had gone through and this represented the first part of the payments.

I didn’t know what to say. I wondered silently at Shahab. Did he really think that putting a plate of money in front of me was going to take away the pain of all those cruel words he hurled at me? Did he really think I was that easy? That I could be bought?

Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, he got mad. He told me we should get over that night. He would not apologize because I was just as much at fault as he was. He just admitted he should not have talked to me the way he did but he justified it, saying I made him jealous.

-- “Agar doosstett nadashtam, ke hassoud nemishodam!” He explained.

He added that in any case, it was the alcohol talking like that and not the real him. Finally, he told me that he had planned for us to take a vacation together to Santa Barbara, a very romantic place where we could stay by the ocean and unwind.

I did not know how to respond to all this. There were so many things I wanted to bring up, all the hurt and disappointment, all the pain I felt at his words, how they crushed me. But by now, I only knew too well what temper he has and what he is capable of saying and doing when he is angry. I just did not want to argue and get into another fight with him. I felt too drained anyway.

We set out to Santa Barbara in a shiny, new SUV that Shahab had rented for the week. I asked Shahab how much it had cost but he jut smiled and told me to stop being so naggy and just enjoy the nice California weather and the ride by the ocean. However, the drive was anything but enjoyable. Shahab blasted Persian music all the way through the Pacific Coast Highway, which I would not have minded, except that he cranked it up to the highest volume, so much so that the entire car was shaking every time we came across a red light. And Shahab kept looking to his right and left side to see if any of the other motorists noticed him. I sat as low as I could in my seat and pretended to be deeply interested in my shoes. This kind of boasting makes me so ashamed. It is so juvenile.

Finally, we got to our hotel, which was right in front of the ocean. Shahab insisted we eat at the hotel restaurant overlooking the water.

-- "Isn’t this a much nicer view than your friend Maryam’s house?” He gloated.

I just nodded my head, and ignored this stupid comment. He ordered himself the most expensive meal while I just ordered a soup. I could not believe the change in Shahab and his free spending ways, just because he had gotten a little bit of money. I mean, this was the same man who, just a few days ago, made me return some tomatoes I had bought at the Persian grocery store, saying they were too expensive.

Khaleh, I will never forget that day when he drove me back to the store and made me return those stupid tomatoes and get our money back. I was so ashamed in front of the cashier that I was sweating from head to toe and my cheeks were like two hot plates. I can never step back there again and show my face. I kept re-living that scene while I watched Shahab stuff his face with buttery lobster and then methodically lick each finger. When I suggested to Shahab that maybe we ought to save some money for when we come back to Los Angeles, for an instant, the same hateful man from that night at Maryam’s party returned. He snapped at me:

-- “Har vaght khodett pool dar avordee, har joori ke delet mikhad kharjesh kon!”

It was like a slap in a face. I wanted to ask him what he has done with all the cash my father gave me to bring over to start our married life. I wanted to scream at him, how can I make money when I can't get a job and you won’t let me take English language classes? When you won’t take me to get my driver’s license?

Khaleh, even on those days that his friend comes to pick him up to give him a ride, he takes the car key with him lest I dare to disobey him and drive myself somewhere. I am caged inside the house all the time unless Shahab deigns to take me to the grocery store or to the mall. All these thoughts and words were furiously swirling in my head but I shook them out and choked down my tears. I did not want to cause a scene in public and like I told you, I knew it would be useless. I would run out of steam way before Shahab ever would. He has such a self-righteous way of always insisting he is right and everyone else, especially me, is wrong.

I am starting to understand that this is the way with Shahab. He runs hot and cold and you never know what mood he is going to have next or what is going to set him off. The state of our relationship seems so fragile, like it is forever hanging on a very thin thread and Shahab’s temper is always threatening to snap it.

One evening when we were sitting out on the beach, watching the sun set, Shahab confided in me. He told me that his mother had left his father when he was a little boy. She had an affair with his father’s business partner, though at the time, he did not realize this. Instead, she played the victim and turned the whole family, including Shahab and his siblings, against their father, like he was the bad guy. Being a child, he did not know any better and so he listened to his mother dutifully and refused to speak or see his father again. Eventually, his father passed away, alone and in a terrible condition. No one even knew he was dead until a few days later, when the neighbours alerted police about a terrible smell coming from his tenement.

-- “It was only many years later that I realized what my mother had done was so terribly unjust.”, Shahab expressed bitterly, “I hated her for it. For what she had done to him and to me. For robbing me of the chance to get to know him and to say goodbye. Of how she lived in luxury and had parties every week while he did not even have bread on his table. I left home and I never spoke to her again. I did not even go to Iran for her funeral. Ever since then…and it’s not an excuse Azizam, for what happened between us, but I am just trying to explain… I have always been so suspicious of women. And so anxious about getting married. I was always afraid that my wife would leave me like my mother left my father. Trust me when I tell you, if you ever left me, I would never recover from the blow. I would… I would...”

He broke off and started crying at that point and I put my arms around him and drew him close to me. It was so weird for me to see a grown man cry. I don’t think I had ever seen that before, at least not on a personal level. I am not talking about religious events when men old and young beat their chests for Imam Reza! This was like holding a child who has a boo-boo and nursing him back to a smile. That night, Shahab made me promise that I would never leave him, never let anyone or anything come between us again. I agreed to say it because I felt sorry for him but in my heart, I still have not forgiven him.

I thought a lot that night and every night after that about our future, where we are going, whether we can live together. Whether I can spend the rest of my life with this man walking on eggshells, paying for a crime that I did not commit, always standing suspect before a severe judge.

Khaleh joon, I know that you advised me to leave him immediately after what he did that night and come back to Iran. To tell you the truth, I was tempted to follow your advice and maybe if I had access to some money, I may have hastily made my decision and left Shahab. But now that I think about it, what would I come back to?

I don’t want to be just another divorcee who returns home to her father with her tail between her legs. If I suffered before living in the home ruled by a loveless stepmother, imagine what would happen now if I came back. I used to be treated like a burden. Now I would be considered even worse: Used goods, trash that was rejected and spit out, the shame and scourge of my family.

No Khaleh, no matter how hard, I need to make this marriage work. At least, if Shahab gives me a hard time sometimes, it’s because of his love for me, not his contempt. As he said, if he didn’t care for me, then he would not be so jealous. He basically implied that if I left him, he would be destroyed. I never had anyone care for me like that. At home with Papa Joon and Mahrokh Khanoom, I was either invisible or if I was noticed, it was always with this attitude that I was being a burden to my father. Who knows? Maybe if Shahab’s business continues to succeed, and I try to b a good wife to him, and not set him off, he will have less anger and more understanding.

Please say a prayer for me and for Shahab so that we may continue on this new path together with more harmony and happiness than we have had so far.

Your loving Firoozeh>>> part 10

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10)