A Bitter Veil by Libby Fischer Hellmann

Author:Libby Fischer Hellmann
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Allium Press of Chicago
Published: 2012-03-21T15:00:00+00:00

*****

Although the resort town of Babolsar was more casual than Tehran, the tentacles of the revolution had stretched there as well. Nouri learned that the public beach had been forced to segregate—that’s why there were fewer bathers. Furthermore, women bathers were frowned upon; bathing suits were an affront to Islam. As a result, he and Anna spent most of their time on their private beach, swimming, sunbathing, and running the Samedis’ small motorboat across the harbor. Anna asked Nouri to keep the TV off, so evenings were spent reading or playing cards. One day they drove to Sisangan National Park and hiked through the forest.

By the fourth day, though, Nouri was restless. While he had no illusions that life would return to what it was, he sensed he was missing out on something. He wasn’t sure what, but he wanted to go back to Tehran to find out. Anna didn’t want to go back, but Nouri insisted. He tried to accommodate her by taking the long way home. They rode along the coast, then cut south on Chalus Road, one of the most beautiful roads in Iran. Like the one they’d come down, it was a twisty mountain pass hugged by the Alborz. On the Caspian side, a carpet of green covered the hills, made even greener by a glittering sun but as they approached Tehran the landscape reverted to barren brown rock.

Nouri decided to stop at his parents’ house to drop off the key to the cottage. As they headed over, Anna pointed to something on the side of the street. “Slow down.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. But this is the third one I’ve seen.”

Nouri slowed. Anna pointed to a blue box on a pole next to a newspaper stand. A yellow ornamental design ran along the sides of the box. Nouri pulled to the curb to study it. Up close, he could see the yellow was actually a pair of hands clasping the box around its edges. They were pointing up. A few words of Farsi were scrawled across the box. “I know what they are,” Nouri said. “They’re alms boxes.”

“Alms boxes? What for?”

Nouri shrugged. “I assume the new government wants people to donate money to the less fortunate.”

“Really?” Anna didn’t bother to keep the edge out of her voice. “Who do you suppose the money really goes to?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” As Nouri pulled away from the curb, she sighed. “Look. The posters are gone.”

Nouri gazed at a brick wall, which until recently had been covered with movie posters, but was now pasted over with murals of Khomeini and other clerics.

Anna looked like she wanted to ask Nouri something. He looked away.

When they arrived at his parents’ home, Nouri began to think they should have stayed at the beach. They’d only been away four days, but the atmosphere had changed. Baba-joon—usually a sharp dresser—was in wrinkled khakis, and the tails of his shirt hung out. His hair was more grizzled. In only four days, he’d aged dramatically.

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