says.
“I’m sure we do,” Ardishir says. “Somewhere. Instant, maybe.”
“Never mind,” Ike says. “When in Rome, et cetera.”
While I’m in the kitchen preparing the tea, I eavesdrop on Ardishir and Ike in the living room as they talk about Maryam’s pregnancy. Ardishir says ever since he found out he’s going to be a father, he’s become obsessed with learning as much as he can about American history. This is going to be my child’s homeland. He’s always got to know how fortunate he is. Hearing this, I get teary-eyed, for I know exactly what he means. This is how it all comes full circle, by giving your child the most precious thing your parents lost.
“Here we are,” I say cheerily as I carry out a platter with a dish of mixed nuts, a huge bowl of fruit, and the tea, of course. “Hopefully Maryam will be home from work soon, too.”
Ike’s eyes widen. “That’s a lot of fruit for three people.”
“Yes, it is, Mr. American.” As I serve the tea, I tell Ardishir about Haroun stopping by.
“The cashew nut was here?” Ardishir beams. “How is the fruitcake? I love that guy. Did Tami tell you how he was convinced our house was infested with bugs?”
Warily, Ike glances at me. “No, she didn’t.”
Ardishir gleefully tells him how Haroun spent about ten minutes compulsively washing his hands when he came for dinner, how he was terrified of germs and saw bugs where there weren’t any and insisted he’d been bitten by a large insect with tentacles —he was very insistent about that—while at the dining room table, and how he accused us of not maintaining proper pest control, and how he sent my steak back to the chef at a restaurant because he was convinced it had mad cow disease. And how he avoids flying on airplanes because of the recycled air and how he won’t use rest-stop toilets.
Ike’s smile is strained as Ardishir goes on and on describing Haroun’s many foibles. By the end, he’s grimacing.
“What I don’t understand,” he says, “is why, if you couldn’t find someone appropriate—and hello, I was right there the whole time —why not just move somewhere else when your visa expired, like to Canada or France or Spain or someplace other than Iran?”
That is a very good question.
And the answer is . . .
“I wouldn’t know anybody,” I say.
“So what?” Ike says. “That’s temporary for a girl like you. You’re outgoing, attractive. People like you. You would have made friends pretty quickly.”
But . . . “Without my family? I . . . I couldn’t do that.”
Could I?
“Didn’t you just tell me a little while ago that your worst day here was better than your best day there?”
I did just tell him that, and I meant it. It’s just . . . to be so alone. I think of Nadia, and how she moved to San Francisco all by herself and pregnant, knowing far less English than I do. Could I not have been brave like Nadia?
“Maybe I could have moved to Canada,” I say. “I have heard wonderful things about it, and its immigration policies are supposed to be easier than America’s.”
“There’s no maybe about it, Tami,” Ike says. “You should have. Going back to Iran shouldn’t have even been an option. You should have hightailed it out of here and settled yourself there. Disappeared into the crowd someplace.”
“But if I’d gone to Canada, then I wouldn’t have married you.” I blink sweetly at him, hoping to charm him. It doesn’t work.
“Freedom is not for the faint of heart, my dear.” He says this sternly, but sort of in a joking tone, too, and the line is so good it must be from a movie.
“Where did you get that one from?” I ask.
“I think I came up with it myself, actually.” He grins. “But I’ll have to Google it to be sure.”
Haroun’s visit might have bothered Ike more than he’s willing to admit, because he asks if I would mind putting off our visit to the guesthouse until the next day. I do mind—quite a bit,
“I’m sure we do,” Ardishir says. “Somewhere. Instant, maybe.”
“Never mind,” Ike says. “When in Rome, et cetera.”
While I’m in the kitchen preparing the tea, I eavesdrop on Ardishir and Ike in the living room as they talk about Maryam’s pregnancy. Ardishir says ever since he found out he’s going to be a father, he’s become obsessed with learning as much as he can about American history. This is going to be my child’s homeland. He’s always got to know how fortunate he is. Hearing this, I get teary-eyed, for I know exactly what he means. This is how it all comes full circle, by giving your child the most precious thing your parents lost.
“Here we are,” I say cheerily as I carry out a platter with a dish of mixed nuts, a huge bowl of fruit, and the tea, of course. “Hopefully Maryam will be home from work soon, too.”
Ike’s eyes widen. “That’s a lot of fruit for three people.”
“Yes, it is, Mr. American.” As I serve the tea, I tell Ardishir about Haroun stopping by.
“The cashew nut was here?” Ardishir beams. “How is the fruitcake? I love that guy. Did Tami tell you how he was convinced our house was infested with bugs?”
Warily, Ike glances at me. “No, she didn’t.”
Ardishir gleefully tells him how Haroun spent about ten minutes compulsively washing his hands when he came for dinner, how he was terrified of germs and saw bugs where there weren’t any and insisted he’d been bitten by a large insect with tentacles —he was very insistent about that—while at the dining room table, and how he accused us of not maintaining proper pest control, and how he sent my steak back to the chef at a restaurant because he was convinced it had mad cow disease. And how he avoids flying on airplanes because of the recycled air and how he won’t use rest-stop toilets.
Ike’s smile is strained as Ardishir goes on and on describing Haroun’s many foibles. By the end, he’s grimacing.
“What I don’t understand,” he says, “is why, if you couldn’t find someone appropriate—and hello, I was right there the whole time —why not just move somewhere else when your visa expired, like to Canada or France or Spain or someplace other than Iran?”
That is a very good question.
And the answer is . . .
“I wouldn’t know anybody,” I say.
“So what?” Ike says. “That’s temporary for a girl like you. You’re outgoing, attractive. People like you. You would have made friends pretty quickly.”
But . . . “Without my family? I . . . I couldn’t do that.”
Could I?
“Didn’t you just tell me a little while ago that your worst day here was better than your best day there?”
I did just tell him that, and I meant it. It’s just . . . to be so alone. I think of Nadia, and how she moved to San Francisco all by herself and pregnant, knowing far less English than I do. Could I not have been brave like Nadia?
“Maybe I could have moved to Canada,” I say. “I have heard wonderful things about it, and its immigration policies are supposed to be easier than America’s.”
“There’s no maybe about it, Tami,” Ike says. “You should have. Going back to Iran shouldn’t have even been an option. You should have hightailed it out of here and settled yourself there. Disappeared into the crowd someplace.”
“But if I’d gone to Canada, then I wouldn’t have married you.” I blink sweetly at him, hoping to charm him. It doesn’t work.
“Freedom is not for the faint of heart, my dear.” He says this sternly, but sort of in a joking tone, too, and the line is so good it must be from a movie.
“Where did you get that one from?” I ask.
“I think I came up with it myself, actually.” He grins. “But I’ll have to Google it to be sure.”
Haroun’s visit might have bothered Ike more than he’s willing to admit, because he asks if I would mind putting off our visit to the guesthouse until the next day. I do mind—quite a bit,
Similar Books
