Aunty Victoria and the Apple Tree
It was the late 1960s. My Uncle Selim was living at my parents’ home for quite a few months. He was attempting to establish a business with my father and Uncle Albert in Tehran.
Uncle Selim was a gentle old soul, and like most of his brothers, had a great penchant for classical music, reading, and crossword puzzles. He was a quiet unassuming man. While he was in Tehran, his wife, Auntie Victoria, stayed at their home outside London. At that time my cousin Dora was in school and her older sister, my cousin Arlette, lived there as well. She and her husband were busy raising their young family. Perhaps it was for that reason Auntie Victoria preferred to remain in London.
In those days business in Iran was booming and companies from the world over were flocking in to take advantage of the moment. The companies that my father and uncle exclusively represented, were no exception. Although there were many luxurious and not so luxurious hotels in Tehran, with the surge of all the booming business, people who flew into Mehrabad Airport without reserving hotel rooms were finding it difficult, if not impossible to find commodity. One businessman, associated to my father and uncle, walked into one of the luxurious hotels and asked for a room. He was an Italian gentleman whose name was Mr. Barontini. Upon being told that they were fully booked, in a loud voice he thundered, “Do you know who I am?’’ Everyone in the lobby fell silent and turned their heads to look at him. Which famous person was he, they wondered? All the rich and famous and the ones who hoped to be somebodies, were flocking into the country. We had recently gone to a Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington concert. My mother and I had gone to a Nina Ricci fashion show which many of the court ladies and princesses also attended. So everyone in that lobby wanted to know who this important personage could be.
‘’I am Baron Tini!’’ he stated.
The reservation clerk bowed and scraped. ‘’We were unaware of your forthcoming arrival, baron sir,’’ he stammered. ‘’I will immediately see what can be arranged.’’
Because of the scarcity of hotel rooms, my father and Uncle Albert decided to purchase a three-family building to house the businessmen they represented who were unable to find hotel accommodations. Each flat had three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, living room, and dining room. They were light and airy flats. They furnished the flats pleasantly but almost utilitarian. From their balconies they could look out to a pleasant small garden with an apple tree and a small pool populated with goldfish.
Uncle Selim decided to live in one of these flats. Even though he was very welcome at my parents’ home and knew that all of us loved him so, especially my two little ones, he decided to move. At my parents’ house when he and Papa came back from work, if my children were there, and most afternoons we were there, they would run up to them and jump into their arms. When they were put down, Uncle Selim would stand with his arms up. The children would go through his suit pocket until they found the treats he had brought them. They would squeal with delight. They would hug him and clamber all over him one more time, for they loved him. However, I think Uncle Selim was more comfortable being in his own place. Once he moved to the flat, Auntie Victoria decided to come and join him for a while. He was a self-sufficient man. In the flat he had the basics. A frying pan to fry his eggs, a pot to cook his chicken in and an electric kettle to make his tea was all he needed. He had a half dozen plates etc. Enough for his needs. He was quite content.
When God made Auntie Victoria, he broke the mold. There was none other like her. She and my uncle were the complete opposite. While Uncle Selim was tall, she was short and plump with rosy cheeks and a perpetual smile upon her face. Her eyes glinted with amusement behind her smeared glasses. Her hair was always every which way. She did not care to be conventional. She made life easy for herself. If there was a problem, she let others worry. If they could solve the problem, well and good, otherwise what was the use of worrying? She was the opposite of everything that Uncle Selim was. He was quiet and a thinker. She was chatty and quite a bit of a gossip. He liked to be well-groomed and dress well. She was the opposite. She liked to make life easy for herself. He preferred to plan things.
They lived in Barnes, outside of London. I once went to London on a very short trip. I did not want them to hear I had come and had not called them. So I called and explained.
‘’How can you come all the way here and not see us! Do you know how devastated your uncle will be?’’ Auntie demanded.
‘’But Auntie…’’
‘’No but Auntie! I expect you here tomorrow for lunch!’’ And with that, she hung up.
I had no choice. The next day I boarded a train to their town and then took a fifteen-minute taxi ride to their house. After she gave me a quick peck on the cheek, she led me to the room where my uncle was sitting. He was on his armchair with the London Times on his lap and a pencil behind his ear, contemplating the crossword he was working on. When I entered the room, he lifted his head and smiled at me. He then raised his heavy frame from the chair, embraced me in a warm welcome.
When the pleasantries were over, Auntie Victoria said, ‘’Well, I’m expected at the club. I am late for a bridge game. I must run!’’ She pointed to the table in the next room. On it, she had placed the only meal she knew how to cook, an unappetizing boiled chicken with some peas and potatoes floating on top of the broth. She had set the table for two.
I looked at her incredulously. ‘’Really Auntie? Really? After I told you my time here is very short?’’ I thought. “You drag me all the way here to announce that you are late for your bridge game?,” I thought incredulously.
And here we were again. This time in Tehran. After Uncle Selim went to the office, she and Mama would do the rounds. Some days they went visiting friends. Some days they were invited to luncheon parties, on other days they went shopping or other friends came over to Mama. When that occurred Auntie stayed there and Uncle Selim would come back with Papa for lunch. Sultan would prepare a meal and they all spent the rest of the day together.
One late spring morning, Auntie was out on the balcony. The weather was delicious. You could almost feel the earth reawakening. It had that loamy smell that excites the senses. It promised the advent of the aroma of heady flowers. On the branches of the apple tree, tiny little birds perched and sang to their hearts’ content. The breeze brushed against Auntie’s skin. She smiled contentedly. She then spotted some shiny red apples peeking out through the leaves on the apple tree in that little garden. She had such a sense of well-being that she decided she would treat Uncle Selim to some homemade apple jam. She went down to the garden and picked some. She peeled and cored them, then she pushed them into the narrow opening of electric kettle and poured sugar on top of them. Just then the phone rang. It was my mother. ’’Victoria, how would you like to play bridge?,” she asked.
“When?’’ Auntie said.
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour,” came the reply. And off they went.
When Auntie returned, she was greeted to a flat filled with smoke. She gave a little gasp, and being the person that she is, she opened all doors and windows. Next, she unplugged the poor unrecognizable kettle. She then walked out to the balcony, she leaned over and tossed the kettle out into the empty lot next door. She quickly cleaned the burnt sugar off the counter and sat down and assumed a calm attitude as she watched television as if she hadn’t almost burnt the whole building down.
When Uncle Selim came she warmed up the chicken from the day before. After his meal, he wanted to make tea. He searched high and low for the kettle but could not find it. She pretended as if she did not notice him searching for it. Finally, he asked, ‘’Victoria, I cannot find the kettle. Do you know where it is?’’
‘’May it rest in peace,’’ she replied, as she studiously concentrated on the television screen.
‘’Victoria, don’t talk in riddles. Where is the kettle?’’
She simply said, ‘’It died.’’
‘’VICTORIA!’’ He raised his voice slightly. Uncle Selim was not an excitable man, but he was in the habit of having his tea after his meal. He was getting impatient.
So now she had to explain what happened. Uncle Selim gave her a frustrated quizzical look. He then walked to an armchair and retreated behind his newspaper. What was the use? Who could get angry with such an unperturbable person?