The Rose Hotel by Rahimeh Andalibian

Author:Rahimeh Andalibian [Andalibian, Rahimeh]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4262-1480-6
Publisher: Penguin Random House LLC (Publisher Services)
Published: 2015-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

Baba’s success in creating a business and purchasing a home was not matched by his ability to police his household. It was the eighties, and things were changing for all American teenagers. For young Iranian immigrants, it was a cataclysm—one that my two older brothers could not wait to enjoy.

Zain was the first to test our father’s limits.

One evening, I walked into the living room to see Baba knocking a set of keys to the floor as he tried to snatch them from Zain’s hand. “And you better take off that shirt or I’ll rip it off you!” he added.

Zain pulled the orange tank top over his head and threw it on the floor. “It’s summer and 90 degrees outside. I’m no ayatollah, Dad.” This was the first time I had ever heard Zain refer to our father as “Dad” instead of the usual “Baba.”

“You brought me here. I’m going to make it worth it and do what other kids my age do. Everybody wears T-shirts and tanks, Dad.”

Maman placed a hand on Baba’s shoulder to calm him.

“He’s going through a phase. He needs time,” she said. “Please, Haji.” Circling Zain as he slouched on the sofa, Baba began yelling, his hands stabbing the air. The scene had a cinematic intensity: Zain was naked from the waist up, face full of defiance, with a tiny diamond stud sparkling in his left earlobe. He leaned over and picked up the keys, jiggling them as he sat back down, legs sprawled open—a pose I knew my father would regard as disrespectful and vulgar. His hair was cut into a Mohawk ending in a two-inch ponytail.

“Zain, you’re 15. It’s time to be a man, to take responsibility.”

To Baba, wearing an earring and going to a dance made his older son Hadi’s recent behavior—getting expelled from school, collecting speeding tickets, and rejecting authority—seem like child’s play.

“You don’t understand how serious this is. A diamond earring! A dance! You need to get your hair cut to a respectable length, put on a shirt, get rid of that earring, and go to school and work. Then maybe you’ll have permission to drive the car. Otherwise, it’s over.”

Baba’s voice was shaking as he pointed his index finger at Maman. “This is your fault!”

“I’m going to the dance, Baba,” Zain said, looking straight into his eyes. “That’s what all the kids here do.”

Baba pounded his fist on the coffee table. “Give me your car keys. Now!”

“Sure. Take them. But I’m going to the dance even if I have to walk there.” Zain tossed his keys on the table. Then he turned, stomped up the stairs, and slammed his bedroom door.

The house seemed to take a deep breath. This was a new development. Even at his most reckless, Hadi didn’t dress like an infidel or swear at Baba.

“You see what’s happening here?” Baba said, pointing a finger at Maman. “You told me to let the long hair go, then you told me to get the car repaired after he crashed it, and I listened.

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