A Mother’s Heartache
When my brother Jacky was born, my parents hired Maryam to take care of him. They did not realize when they did, that Maryam and her daughters will be part of our family until we had to flee Iran. Maryam adored Jacky and she would sing to him and cuddle with him as long as he would allow her to do so. Unfortunately for her it wasn’t for too long, for as soon as he was able, he would run off and play. Maryam had two daughters. I think she would have liked to have had a son. She carried him wherever she went, kissing him and singing to him. It is a wonder he did not turn into a namby-pamby little boy, the way she behaved with him. He was a boy’s boy!
At some point, Maryam stopped coming, and her daughter Robabeh took over. When Robabeh got engaged, Nargess took over. Sometimes two of the threesome worked at the same time at different duties.
Nargess worked for a short time, and then she too became engaged. She got married and had a little girl. Her husband was a mean and nasty person. He treated her badly. One day, he decided to divorce her. It was a simple procedure. All he had to do, in the Moslem religion, was say, “I divorce you,” three times in front of male witnesses, and the deed was done. Just like that. He also did not want to be responsible for supporting his daughter. One morning he crept out of bed very early, before dawn. Stealthily, he snatched the baby and crept out. All that Nargess knew later was he took her to a place where nobody recognized him and hid the infant by a stream of water, at least that is what he told her.
When she woke up, she discovered she was alone. No one was there, no husband, no baby. At first, it did not dawn on her that something was wrong. She thought he had gone round the corner to buy some groceries. When he did not return, panic began to set in. Hours went by, and still they did not show up. She restlessly paced up and down the room they called home. Then frantically she began searching the neighbourhood. No one had seen him nor the baby. She searched everywhere, but there seemed to be no trace of them. Can you imagine the state she was in? Can you imagine her mental anxiety? She went to Robabeh’s in tears. They sat on the cushioned floor drinking tea and wondering what to do. Suddenly she got up. “What if he has returned home and I’m not there?” she uttered as she hurriedly wrapped her chador about herself and hurried out. It was dusk. When she reached her abode the lights in their rented room were off. He had not returned. She entered the room, and felt her way in the dark to find the matches to light the kerosene lamp. She sat in a corner and wept. When it came time to sleep, she unrolled her bedding and lay down. She could not sleep. There were no more tears left. Her eyes burnt as she lay in the dark with her eyes wide open, waiting, hoping, praying.
The next day, at around midday, her husband returned. The baby was not with him. “Where is our daughter?” she asked timidly.
In a surly voice, he said, “I got rid of her.”
She let out a little scream! “What did you do?” she gasped.
“I don’t want you nor the daughter you produced for me,” he declared harshly. With that, he left the room. He was soon back with three of his cronies. “I divorce you! I divorce you! I divorce you!” he said harshly. “Now pack your things and get out of here. Now!”
At that point, Nargess could not have been seventeen years old. If she even was that old. She was in shock and could not imagine why this tragedy befell her. The four men towered over her in a menacing manner as she hurriedly packed her meager belongings. She was trembling like a leaf, and her tears scorched down her cheeks as she cried silently.
Her mother was working at our house, so she went to Robabeh’s house. The husband was a kind and understanding man. She stayed there until it was her mother’s day off. Then she returned to her mother. It was arranged for some male members of her family to question her husband as to the whereabouts of her baby. He told them. They looked for the infant, but she was never found.
Nargess went back to work at our house, which was probably good for her. Our home was always busy. She interacted with everyone in the house. Everyone made sure she would be occupied in a positive way. About a year later, another marriage was arranged for her. This time she was blessed with a good husband. With him, she had another three beautiful daughters. Her husband was a kind and loving man. He was proud of his little family. They were happy with each other. They lived their lives contentedly. He provided a fairly modest but comfortable living for them. She stayed home and kept house and family. Ten or so years passed. One winter evening, he came back from work shivering and achy. He got into his pajamas and a thick woolen sweater that she had knit for him. He slipped on the mattress of the korsi. She hurriedly prepared a hot soup for him and rubbed his chest and back with Vicks. She served him with endless glasses of tea. She cupped him on his chest and back to rid him of chest congestion. She hoped he would get better soon.
A korsi is the way the poor kept themselves warm in winter. It was an old-fashioned form of heating. In the center of the room, there was a low-lying table underneath which a charcoal heated brazier lay. The brazier was surrounded with mattresses, bolsters and pillows all around it. On top, it was covered on all four sides with a huge quilt. When day was done and it was time to relax, the family gathered there. They ate their food there, they socialized there, and they slept there. It was very cozy and warm. As long as it was winter, the korsi was the main focus of the room.
Her husband did not seem to get better. He would improve for a bit then get sick again. By the end of the month, he passed away. Nargess felt as if someone had hit her hard on top of her head. She felt dazed, she felt cursed. Afterwards, her mind began to race. What was she to do? How was she to support her daughters? How were they to survive? Eventually, the family decided that her sister Robabeh was to look after her daughters while she returned to work at my parents’ home once more.
She was convinced that she must have been cursed. She had lost her firstborn, she had lost her loving husband! She felt an emptiness within herself. Through all those years, her eyes still searched for her abducted baby daughter. As she went to work and back, if she happened to see a girl about the same age as her daughter would have been, she would wonder, “Could she be my daughter?” All through the years, she never stopped looking, hoping, and wondering. Up to the time we left Iran because of the revolution, she would comment about that. By that time, the girl would have been about twenty. Nargess hoped and dreamed and imagined what her daughter would have looked like and if she were alive, was she married? Was she happy? Did she have children? Did she have a good life? She fervently hoped so.
When I got married, Nargess came with me to my new home. With the help of someone else, she faithfully ran my household. One morning my husband had given me a fair amount of money for housekeeping. I was in bed, half asleep, when he did so. I tucked the money under my pillow and fell asleep. I forgot all about it. When I woke up, I did not remember the money at all. I jumped out of bed. I was late for an exercise class. I did not remember it that day, nor that week, nor the next two weeks. In fact, I completely forgot all about it.
Nargess was a short, slight woman, with a constant impish look about her face. A friend from Australia had come to visit me and had brought me a heavy plastic apron with Australia and a kangaroo imprinted upon it. Nargess took a great fancy to it. Since it was hanging on the peg in the kitchen and I had no interest in it, she appropriated it. It was the first thing she put on when she walked in every morning and the last thing she took off when she went home. The apron was designed for a much taller woman. On her, it reached to above her shoes. She tied a white scarf about her jet black hair to keep it neat. She was very proud of that apron. On that particular day, my husband and I were having our lunch in the dining room. She walked in holding a mop upside down in her hand as if it were her scepter. She stood there silently until she got our full attention. When she did, she announced, “I am responsible for the running of this household with help twice a week. If something goes missing, I would be blamed!” Her eyes flashed angrily. She looked as if she was ready to burst.
We looked at her in puzzlement. We could not imagine what could be wrong. She then turned and addressed me. “Estella Khanom! Three weeks ago I found a substantial amount of money under your pillow. I placed it in safekeeping in order not to put temptation in front of the help. Three weeks have passed. You have not mentioned it once! This is not the way to behave! You have to be more responsible! I am not going to be blamed for theft if something is missing because of your carelessness. I am going to tell your mother on you!” Her voice rose higher and higher as she expressed her outrage.
Now it was my turn to be alarmed! “Nargess, please do not tell my mother! I’m sorry! I forgot about the money! Please Nargess, please!
I was in double trouble for my husband was giving me dirty looks as well. Somehow I managed to pacify them both. After that for quite a while, they both watched me like a hawk.
Nargess was somewhat like a big sister to me. She had a kind heart, and she really loved us. In turn, we truly loved all of that family back. Her mother, sister, and she had taken turns raising my brother and running my parents’ household. Nargess came to take care of me as a young housewife, wife, and mother. I had a very special feeling towards her. She took care of us and loved us with all her heart. As the years went by, Kelly was sent to boarding school in England, she concentrated all her attention on Jessica. Every Thursday afternoon, when she came back from school, Nargess would sit with her and go over her Persian lessons. Jessica was in a British private school. She had the minimum of a Persian education. Nargess did not like that. Thursday’s school was out early because the next day, Friday, was the Persian Sabbath. That’s when she concentrated her full attention upon Jessica. In her room, where she sometimes stayed overnight, she had shelves lined with dried herbs. Did anyone have a tummy ache? She boiled a certain herb; a cold? Another kind of herb, and so on and so forth. She ran our household efficiently and with a lot of love. And thus, the years passed.
But life in Iran was about to change. There were rumblings of political unrest. We did not think much of that. In June of 1978, Jessica and I went to England. My sister Nora had persuaded me to send my son to boarding school in California. That way he would be near her. That is what we did. While we were in California, the revolution began in earnest. Jessica and I hurried back. On the road back home, we noticed the change. The streets were lined with tanks and armed soldiers. The fun-loving and happy people had turned somber. There were no more fashionably dressed women. Instead, everyone dressed in drab coloured clothing. It was a great shock to see this extreme change in the city so suddenly. We were silent and uneasy as we drove north.
The next morning, Nargess came at her usual hour. She put on her Australian apron and wrapped her hair in her white scarf. “Welcome home Estella Khanom,” she said with a happy smile upon her face.
Two weeks later, Khomeini instructed all the workers to stop working for all of us. It was like the Pied Piper of Hamlyn had played his music and made them all disappear into a crevice in the mountains. I could not believe that Maryam and Nargess disappeared overnight with all the rest of them. Schools were closed. Businesses closed. There were riots and looting. Office buildings were razed to the ground. There were blackouts each night just before the news came on. Fuel and candles were at a premium, if they were even available. The country came to a standstill. By the end of December we left the country. About a year later, I happened to come across an old neighbour in Manhattan. She told me that a few months later, Nargess came looking for me. She had borrowed money from me that she wanted to return. I was not there, of course. She fretted, “What shall I do? What shall I do?” she wept. “She will think I stole from her!”
“No she will not. She knows that you are not a thief and you love them all as they love you,” she comforted her. And indeed that is so. I often think of all of them. Maryam is dead and gone, I’m sure. Nargess and Robabeh are about ten or so years older than me. They are quite old as well, if they are still alive. So many years have passed. It was a lifetime ago. Forty years ago we left Tehran. We have become older and slower and wiser. I guess that is what life is, a journey; one step at a time, one memory at a time. We leave, and another generation takes our place with its own history, experiences, and memories; and so time marches on.