Tehran! ‎

‎-Who are you expecting?‎

‎- Baba!‎

‎- Is he late?‎

‎- No, he will come soon.‎

‎- Where is Mimi?‎

‎- She, too, hasn’t arrived, yet.‎

‎- Is Leili home?‎

‎- No.‎

‎- Where is she?‎

‎- I don’t know.‎

‎- Have you cooked rice? ‎

‎- No. ‎

 

 

‎- Like always you have forgotten to cook rice for dinner, no?‎

‎- Who cares? Don’t stress me out. I still have time.‎

It is nighttime. It is cold. All day I have wandered around the house. I counted all the pieces ‎of furniture in the house: the brown coaches, our dining table, the Piano, our carpets, our ‎phones, all those paintings and books, my desk, my bed, my parents’ bed, our lights…‎

‎- Are you crying? ‎

‎- No, but I wish I could cry for hours. Have you ever been invaded by the flood of memories? ‎Have you ever felt the pain of the memories that come out of body like pile of worms ‎crawling on top of each other? Look at that corner! My friends are sitting there, chitchatting ‎about cute boys, giggling and laughing. A bit further, Baba is talking on the phone. In the ‎other room Mimi and Leili are talking and drinking tea.‎

‎- Do you have a fever? ‎

‎- No.‎

‎- We can’t stay for much longer here in this empty house. It’s late. We have to go. Was this ‎place rental?‎

‎- Yes, we had rented this apartment. Now leave me alone. I need to focus. I must remember ‎all of this: the entrance door, my room to the right of the door, on the left hand side the ‎kitchen, a bit further the lounge and the dining room, the piano, the bookshelves, all these ‎books that I was going to read one day…‎

‎- We have to go. My god…You are burning in fever.‎

‎- No, no. Why would you think that I am sick? Stop telling me that I am not well. I am well, ‎ok? I am well. ‎

‎- It’s getting late. Come on. We should leave.‎

‎- No, let me be. Let me stay and internalize this utter emptiness. This is my last night in this ‎house. I am not permitted to stay any longer and yet you are trying to take away this precious ‎night from me. Go and leave me alone!‎

‎- You are coming with me.‎

‎- No, stop talking. Do you hear the tic-tac of the clock? I can’t forget this tic-tac. I grew up ‎with this sound. Tic-tac…Tic-tac…Story time! Once upon a time there was a happy family in ‎this house: Mimi, Baba, Leili and I. Four, remember it. The four of us…‎

‎- Don’t stand next to the bare window. Since we already removed the curtains, people could ‎see that this house is empty. And here you are, a young girl, standing by yourself in this room, ‎in the middle of the night. It’s dangerous.‎

‎- Hey, look! Do you see the mark of the tip of my nose on the window? Every night at around ‎‎8 pm I would stand next to this window and wait for Mimi to return from work. After a few ‎minutes I would get tired and lean my head against the window. My nose would touch the soft ‎and cool surface of the window, making me more restless to see Mimi. Right outside the ‎window, there was a plane-tree. It was tall and had lots and lots of leaves. They cut its poor ‎branches, last year. They said that it was going to be good for the tree and that it was going to ‎make it more fertile. They lied. A year has passed and this tree is patiently waiting to grow ‎back its branches. It’s hopeless. They lied. ‎

‎- God, help us. She is hallucinating. We should go. Let’s go.‎

‎- No, no. I have to say goodnight to the crows that are hiding among the branches of all those ‎trees. It’s wrong of human beings to think that crows are evil. They are very kind. They used ‎to tell me stories all throughout the nights when Mimi was in prison, when she was going ‎through chemotherapy. They were there for me. I will miss them. My dear friends, my dear ‎crows…I remember vividly that long night when one of the crows of our street died in pain. ‎That night all the other crows surrounded the dying crow and cried with its moans. I was ‎standing outside the window in my nightgown, watching them cry. Mimi had curled up in her ‎solitary confinement, feeling forgotten. ‎

Oh, my dear crows! Did you see how they kidnapped Baba? And then they claim that human ‎beings are God’s superior creatures. Did you see how they took him? He is gone, my dear ‎crows. He is disappeared. Gone! ‎

‎- The crows won’t hear you. Come. Let’s go. ‎

‎- No, wait. I want to lie down on my bed.‎

‎- We took your bed. Remember?‎

‎- No, look! My bed is there. You can’t see it. But it’s really sitting right at that corner. I am ‎going to lie on my bed and wait for Baba to come and kiss me goodnight. I want him to come, ‎straighten my blanket and whisper to my ears, “My beautiful daughter, sleep well. Sweet ‎dreams. Everything is going to be all right!” He is supposed to arrive soon. Tic-tac…Tic-‎tac…Let’s count down the minutes together. ‎

‎- I hope that your father comes to you very soon. But, don’t you think it’s better to face the ‎reality and try not to escape what it has for us? Remember? Your dad is not here. My poor ‎Azadeh, your father is not here. He won’t come tonight. Let’s go

‎- Leili, Leili. How about her? I remembered just now. She is out with her friends. I will have ‎to wait for her. She will sneak into the house, soon. I will have to stay and hear her exciting ‎stories about her boyfriend and her university. She said that she will be back at around ‎midnight. It’s passed midnight, no?‎

‎- Yes, it’s 3 am. Let’s go.‎

‎- No, don’t rush me. Leili should be here any minute.‎

‎-Get up. Give me your hand. Let’s go. ‎

‎- Go where? No, I must stay. In fact, you should go. I want to clean the dust on the table. I ‎want to open the windows, so that fresh air comes in. I want to cook some rice. I must wait for ‎Leili. Mimi, too, will arrive soon. If like always her bag is heavy, I will have to go downstairs ‎and help her carry it. Baba should come home soon. He will park the car and wait for me to ‎go downstairs and help him with the numerous shopping bags in the trunk. No, no. You ‎should leave. I must wait for them.‎

‎***‎

They did not come.‎

The house was rental. They evacuated the apartment. We did not come. None of us came. ‎They are evacuating the apartment. They are pulling down the curtains, removing all of my ‎poetry and Baba’s paintings from the walls. They are taking our family albums. They are ‎kindly evacuating the apartment.‎

We did not come. Our home was rental. The walls are shocked. They look pale. The walls are ‎not talking. I could hear them talk, they are screaming in the air. They are crying. They miss ‎us. We did not get to say goodbye. We will miss them. ‎

It is still not too late. We might arrive. ‎