Anna, My Angel
My sisters and I were small. Gilda was perhaps one, Nora was three, and I was five. We lived in a three-story house with our parents and countless staff to run the household. Nora and Gilda each had their own nannies. I was considered too old to have one. The two nannies were to share responsibility for me. My favorite was Anna, Gilda’s nanny.
Anna was a young Russian émigrée, a girl of perhaps twenty or so. She had long blond hair that she braided into two pigtails, then wound them around her head like a crown. She was a happy soul and was forever smiling. She had deep dimples on each cheek when she smiled, which was almost always.
We had our own playroom/living room. It adjoined our bedrooms. We played and had our breakfast in that room. There was a round low table adjusted to our size and little chairs to go with it. There was a cushy armchair where Anna sat with an ample lap to seat two little girls to whom she told stories or hummed lullabies as she rocked us to sleep.
Anna would wake us up early, wash our hands and faces, and dress us. We would then sit down to our breakfast. Khanom Gol, the cook, would climb up from the kitchen with a tray of warm milk and cocoa, bread, butter, and jam. She would also have a bottle of milk for Gilda, for she was too small for solid foods. My favorite breakfast was kogel mogel. I loved it, and I know Nora did as well. Gilda was a baby and did not share our breakfast. Anna would separate an egg into each cup; she did not use the whites. She would add sugar to the yolk and proceed to beat it with vigor until it became light in color. She would then add butter and continue beating. Nora and I would watch her, anticipating the final outcome, with salivating mouths. Finally, she would add cocoa and beat it a few more times. At last, it was ready to eat! We would gingerly dip tiny pieces of Barbari bread into it and allow the delicious flavor to melt in our mouths. Heavenly! We took a long time with our meal, savoring each mouthful. Finally, we were done. She then made sure our faces had no smears of eggs and cocoa; if they did, she would wipe our faces clean.
After that, we would dance and sing until it was time to go bid our parents good morning. Carrying Gilda, Anna would lead us to Mama and Papa’s bedroom. She would gently knock at the door. Upon hearing them ask us to enter, we would do so.
“Good morning, Mama! Good morning, Papa!” we said as we made a quick curtsy to them, then ran to the bed to receive our morning hugs.
Shortly after, our mother became ill and left for England for medical treatment. Although the household teemed with staff, to me it seemed desolate and empty. Papa was at the office practically all the time. Ashraf ignored me. I truly believed she resented taking care of me. I wandered about like a lost soul. Anna noticed that. She was a tender-hearted person. She began to take me along with her whenever she went out. One day she took me to the hamam with her, the public baths. Her hamam was different from ours. We had a private hamam and a dressing room. Someone came to wash us. In Anna’s hamam, they did not. In hers, we entered into a huge room filled with steam and many women squatting on the gleaming white tiled floor. The sound of their chatter echoed throughout the steam-filled space. Everywhere you looked, there were women with their bath paraphernalia and their snacks. They formed their own groups. It seemed to be their meeting place, their club. They greeted each other, sat down, and helped exfoliate each other’s backs. They laughed, joked, and gossiped. They shared their snacks with each other. To me, it was so very strange and exciting. I wondered why we could not have a group hamam like Anna’s. My sisters and I never went to the hamam with Mama. She went by herself. This was so much more fun!
Back to Anna, I felt the camaraderie between her friends and her, the comforting warmth. Because I was with her, they fussed over me. They washed me and coddled me. They exclaimed over me, “Kharoshinka! Dyeveshka! Malinka!” These are terms of endearment in Russian. I liked it and tagged along with her whenever she allowed me.
I missed my mother terribly. Nora had Ashraf, who doted on her. Gilda had Anna. I attached myself to Anna as well. One day she put Gilda into her stroller and took me with them for a walk. It was a delightful early summer afternoon. We walked down the wide avenue. Huge tall trees shaded the cobblestoned street. The mountain streams rushed by in the sidewalk joobs. I was anticipating the ice cream Anna had promised me, which was further up the street. The owner was an Armenian man who made the most delicious ice cream. As we strolled along, I smelled a waft of Mama’s perfume, Arpège. My heart gave a little lurch. I let go of Anna’s hand. “Mama! Mama!” I cried as I followed the scent. I reached her and hugged her leg. “Mama!” I repeated, with tears of joy running down my cheeks. I looked up. It was not my Mama! It was a strange lady. Anna turned the pram around and rushed to hug me. “Come on, malinka, we are going for ice cream now,” she said as she caressed my cheek in comfort. She was so special.
Anna was with us for quite a long while, but one sad winter day, she left for her day off. It was the last time we saw her. She never returned. Sometime during that weekend, she was hit by a speeding car and killed. They found her dead body lying in a ditch. She had no family in Tehran. One of her friends came to tell my parents. I felt sad at her death. She did not have to be as kind to me as she was. She just did what her nature dictated. In my memory, she will always be that joyous young woman with a kind heart. She was the one who laughed, sang, and danced; who made us kogel mogel. Her golden blond braided hair wound around her head like a crown made her look like the angel she truly became. I was a little girl then. Even though I am an old woman now, I will never forget how very special Anna was…