Caspian Rain by Gina B. Nahai

Author:Gina B. Nahai [Nahai, Gina B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-385-67301-3
Publisher: Doubleday Canada
Published: 2008-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

One night during Passover, I walk in on a conversation between Bahar and her aunt. They’re in the kitchen with their backs to the door, facing the stove, where they’re frying chicken in lemon juice with onions and saffron. I’ve been given the task of setting the table, so I’ve come in for the plates and the flatware.

“I’ll never forget how your mother miscarried at eight months because she was frying chicken by this same stove,” Bahar’s aunt remarks.

I’ve heard about the miscarriage before, but don’t know what connection it had to cooking or that stove, so I pause and listen.

“It was a neighbor’s wedding,” the aunt goes on. “Everyone was helping with the food, but your mother was too pregnant. She shouldn’t have stood on her feet all those hours, but they had given her twenty chickens to fry, and she did every last one. When she finished, she sat down and drank a pitcher of ice water. That did it. The heat from the stove, the cold water. It stopped the baby’s heart.”

Bahar remarks that it’s inconceivable to her that a parent could suffer the loss of a child and still go on. “I don’t know how my mother did it.”

The aunt nods. “I know,” she says, turning off the flame under the skillet. “I know. I lost one myself.” She wipes her hands on her apron and turns away from the stove. “But your poor mother lost two,” she says, “and both of them were boys.”

Just then, Bahar sees me behind them. Biting her lip, she tries to grab the aunt’s attention, to warn her that she’s saying too much, but the aunt is oblivious.

“It’s one thing to lose an infant,” she sighs, “but when she lost the ten-year-old—”

“That’s enough,” Bahar snaps. To me she says, “go back out and set the table.”

I’ve prayed with this family on Yom Kippur, sat with them at seders, slept outside in a sukkah. I’ve seen them once a week since I can remember and in all that time, I have not heard mention of a lost son. How strange, I think: in a family where grief is a way of life, no one I know has ever alluded to the greatest calamity of all.

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