I opened the door for the twins, who walked out with their hands over their mouths to keep me from seeing the red Kool Aid on their lips. After they passed me I said, ‘What pretty lipstick.’ They let their hands drop to their sides and laughed. As I was closing the door behind them, I said, ‘Take your time.’ All four of them turned around in the middle of the path to give me a quizzical look.
I stood in front of the living room window. The lights of G-4 were on and I wondered, ‘What is he doing? Maybe talking with his mother or reading a book. Or maybe...’
I quickly closed the drapes, went to the kitchen, put the bowl of grape leaves on the table and got the stuffing out of the fridge.
As I wrapped the first dolma and set it in the pot, the two sides of my mind waged a tug-of-war:
‘You’re a real fool.’
‘Why? Where’s the harm in two people sharing common interests?’
‘No harm at all, but...’
‘So, because one is a woman and the other a man, they shouldn’t talk to each other?’
‘Are they just talking?’
‘Of course they’re just talking.’
‘...’
‘He’s the only person who understands what I’m talking about.’
‘...’
‘I talk to myself so much, it’s driving me crazy.’
‘...’
‘I do things for others so much, it’s worn me out.’
‘...’
‘And here’s my answer: My boy thinks I am a critical nag. My husband is not willing to exchange a single word with me. My mother and sister only ridicule me, and Nina, who is supposed to be my friend, only gives me more work to do. Like what I’m doing right now. Yeah, like right now, when I have to make food for people I don’t even feel like being around.’
‘You don’t feel like being around any of them?’
‘...’
‘Why are you making dolma?’
‘...’
‘Who are you making it for?’
‘...’
‘You’re a real fool.’
I put the last dolma in the pot and stared at the sweet peas on the ledge.
32
On Thursday night the guests vied with one another to see who could arrive earliest.
The twins and Sophie were out in the yard, sitting on the swing seat, under the willow tree. Every time the swing seat went up, all three of them reached up, laughing and screaming, trying to grab one of the thin green branches. The willow hanging over our swing seat, like all willows, put me in mind of the Armenian poem ‘Parvana’ by Hovhaness Toumanian, which I had read so often as I child that I had virtually memorized it. I stood facing the kitchen window and the willow tree, chopping cucumbers and tomatoes, and reciting my favorite lines from the poem, practically at the top of my voice:
With a royal clash of cymbals
The lovely young Princess came forth
By her side walked the wizened King –
A daughter bright as the waxing moon,
A father grave as a billowing cloud
Cloud and moon, lovingly arm in arm
A rustle of clothing and the sound of breathing made me look back over my shoulder. The twins and Sophie were standing in the kitchen doorway.
‘What a lovely poem, Auntie,’ said Sophie.
‘Tell it to us from the beginning,’ said Armineh.
‘Yes, recite the poem!’ said Arsineh.
I laughed, ‘But I don’t remember all of it.’
‘Well, then, tell us how the story goes,’ said Armineh.
‘Please, tell us,’ said Arsineh.
I dumped the cucumber rinds in the trash. ‘I’ve read it to you from the book a hundred times.’
‘Well, tell it to Sophie,’ said Arsineh.
‘She probably hasn’t heard the story,’ added Armineh.
They asked her in tandem, ‘Have you heard it?’ Sophie shook her head no.
I put the olive oil and the lemon juice on the table and began to mix the salad dressing as I told the story.
At the top of a tall mountain lived a king who had a beautiful daughter. When the daughter was all grown up and it was time for her to wed, from the four corners of the Earth many princes came to ask for her hand. The king gave his daughter a golden apple and said, ‘When you have made your choice which prince will be your husband, throw this apple to him.’
The girls were sitting around the table, chins propped on their hands, all looking expectantly at me. For the first time I realized how interesting it was that the girl got to choose her husband, and not the other way around. I wiped my oily hands on my apron. ‘The princes vowed to bring the daughter of the king whatever her heart desired. Gold, jewels, even the moon and the stars up in the sky.’
‘What a lucky princess!’ said Sophie. ‘If it were me, I would ask for the moon and for all the jewels and chocolate in the world.’ The twins both shushed her.
I stirred the salad dressing. ‘The king’s daughter said, “What good will gold, jewels, and the moon and the stars up in the sky do me? I only want one thing from my partner in life: the fire of true love.” ’
The twins looked at Sophie, who was staring at me, slack-jawed.
I shook some salt and pepper into the dressing. ‘When the suitors heard the word “Fire,” they all imagined she wanted real fire, and without waiting to hear the rest of her request, they galloped off in search of fire. The princess waited for them.’
I slapped Armineh’s hand as she snatched a piece of lettuce from the salad bowl. ‘And the princess waited years and years. She waited and waited until finally she lost all hope, and with downcast head, she cried and cried. Her tears made a pond that grew deeper and deeper until the whole castle was under water.’
All three of them watched me, rapt, their heads cocked to the side. I set the salad on the counter. ‘When you see a willow tree, it’s the king’s daughter standing there to this very day, head downcast, weeping. And when you see moths at night circling about the lights, it’s those princes, seeking fire for their princess.’
A sparrow ran into the window screen, gave a squawk and flew off.
‘The poor willow tree,’ said Armineh.
‘The poor moths,’ said Arsineh.
Sophie was still staring at me, mouth agape.
33
Alice sat next to Joop, tittering and batting her Rimmel-extended eyelashes, which fluttered just like Rapunzel’s when the children would tip the doll this way and that. Mother, in the chair opposite, might have been watching a ping-pong match, her gaze shifting back and forth between Alice and Joop. Artoush and Emile were playing chess. Emily sat next to her father, feet together, elbows on her knees and chin in her hands, staring at the carpet. Armen, wearing his new pants, stood next to Artoush. On the other side of the room, Violette was flipping through the pages of our wedding album, after insisting on seeing the pictures of me and Artoush getting married. Garnik and Nina spoke now and then with Alice and Joop, now and then with Mother, and most of the time between themselves. Every few minutes they found an excuse to laugh.
Violette asked, ‘Why don’t you frame one of your wedding pictures and hang it on the wall?’ As I was trying to think how to answer that, Emily slapped her cheeks with both hands.
‘Oh no! The flower from my shoe is missing!’ We all looked down at Emily’s jade green shoes. One had a white flower above the toe; the other did not.
Armen stepped forward. ‘It must have fallen around here somewhere. Let’s look, we’ll find it.’
Emily looked at her father, her head cocked to the side.
Emile smiled. ‘Go and look. Maybe it will turn up.’
Emily got up slowly, smoothed out her tight black skirt and left the room with Armen. Violette came over, album in hand, to take Emily’s place. Artoush told Emile, ‘Check! You’re not paying attention tonight.’ Violette closed the album.
I went to the kitchen on the pretext of fetching the drinks. I was
certain that when Emily had come in, both her shoes had a flower. I was quite certain, because I had thought to myself, ‘I bought the same shoes a few weeks ago. Did I buy children’s shoes, or did this girl buy women’s shoes?’
I sallied back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. When was this imposed party going to end? I promised myself that after everyone had gone, and I had washed the dishes and tidied up, I would sit back and relax in the green leather chair and find out what the man in Sardo’s story decides in the end.
I reflected on my visit that morning to Mrs. Simonian to invite her once again to come over for the party. This time no one had obliged me to go; I did so because I wanted to.
When she opened the door, I thought she was ill. Her eyes were sunken and she looked pale. She was wearing a loose dress, long and white. We went into the living room and when I asked after her health, she replied, ‘I did not sleep well last night.’ When I brought up the party, she refused with such vehemence that I did not dare insist. Anyway, the party did not matter that much to me. What I wanted was for her to talk – about the green-eyed man, about Emile, about Emile’s wife. I had to know the whole story; having seen the trailer, as it were, I was hooked and had to see the film. But my neighbor seemed in no mood to talk. She stared silently at the Persian carpet on the floor until I felt I should get up to say goodbye. She did not insist I stay. She acted cold, a different woman from the one who had recounted the most personal details of her life for me a few nights before.
I set the food I had cooked for dinner on the stove to warm it up. Rice and Fesenjan, grape-leaf dolma and Ikra, an appetizer that I quite liked myself and which, in anticipation of the presence of Mrs. Simonian, I had made spicier than usual. I was getting the bowl of fresh herbs out of the refrigerator – sweet basil, parsley, radishes, spring onions – and the bowl of pickled vegetable Torshi, when I heard Emile say, ‘We’ve put you to a lot of trouble.’
I turned around. He was standing near the kitchen table. ‘No trouble,’ I told him, ‘As long as you are having fun.’ My critical streak chided me: ‘Now you’ve done it!’ I quickly added, ‘I mean, if everyone is having fun.’
He took the bowls of pickles and herbs from my hands and put them on the tray, next to the salad bowl. ‘Clarice. We should talk. When do you have a moment?’ His neck chain was spilling out over his shirt. My heart was beating fast.
Nina came in. ‘What can I do? Shall I take these and set them on the table?’ I only nodded, but my voice would not come out. Nina left the kitchen, tray in hand.
Emile said, ‘Monday afternoon?’ I began to scoop the rice onto the serving platter and the thought shot through my mind that on Monday the kids would be getting home from school late, because of the rehearsal for the end-of-year ceremonies. And Artoush was going to Khorramshahr that morning, to return late that night. And Alice was on the overnight shift, and Mother was invited somewhere. I nodded yes.
Nina called Emile from the living room and as he left the kitchen, he bumped into Mother and said, ‘Pardon me.’ They squeezed sideways past one another through the doorway.
Mother did not reply. She came over to the table and said in my ear, ‘Well, call us both an ass! We were worried for no reason. You should see how solicitous he is of Alice! It must be destiny. True, he’s not Armenian, but so what? Why have you spilled half the rice on the table?’
I carried the platter of rice from the kitchen. ‘Kids, dinner!’ I called three times before Emily and Armen came to the table. The twins and Sophie wanted to eat their dinner on the swing seat. I was about to say no when Sophie put her arm around my waist. ‘Auntie, will you let us eat dinner next to the Princess?’
Nina asked, ‘What? Which princess?’
Sophie said, ‘The willow tree is the daughter of the king who...’
Nina interrupted her to tell me, ‘You sit, please. I’ll serve the kids.’
‘Looks delicious!’ said Garnik, as he heaped rice on his plate, and Violette asked Emile, ‘Do you like dolma?’
I looked at the dinner spread to make sure there was nothing missing and wondered, since when do Violette and Emile use the familiar ‘you’ with each other? I went to turn up the air conditioning. Mother told Alice, who was piling rice onto Joop’s plate, ‘That’s not enough rice, and give him a bigger portion of meat.’
There was no plate for me. Whenever I set the table for a dinner party, I always forgot to count myself. I headed for the kitchen and called out, ‘Go ahead and start; I’m coming.’ Nobody had waited for this offer; they were all busy eating, except for Emile and Violette, who sat side by side, talking. Nina caught my eye, nodded toward the two of them, and winked at me. As I left the room, I saw Emily staring at Violette with pressed lips. Had she seen Nina wink?
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen. Why was my heart racing? Where was my appetite? Why was I so reluctant to return to the table? When would this night finally be over? I began washing the appetizer plates and glasses. What did Emile want to say to me? And what was he talking about now with Violette? Why was I so exhausted? Why weren’t the air conditioners cooling us off?
When I heard the scream, I ran out of the kitchen.
Violette was standing up, looking down at the big green stain on her white dress. Emily, both hands over her mouth, said, ‘I’m sorry, it slipped from my hand. I’m so sorry.’ The bowl of pickles lay overturned on the floor.
Mother said, ‘Quick, pour salt on the stain.’ She handed the salt shaker to Artoush to give to Nina, who was dabbing Violette’s dress with a Kleenex.
Garnik said, ‘It’s nothing, folks. A pickle stain comes out with a little water.’
Alice said, ‘Lightning never strikes twice.’
Joop asked, ‘Two lightnings what?’ Alice started to explain for him – no more bad luck would befall them that night.
Emile asked Emily, ‘You don’t even like pickle, why did you take the bowl?’ He was not scolding her, just wondering. Emily looked like she was on the verge of tears.
‘Her hand slipped,’ said Nina. ‘It was an accident.’
I looked at Emily. Was it an accident?
I went with Violette to the bathroom and got her a fresh washcloth to clean the stain. She snatched the washcloth from my hand and rapidly wiped her dress, grumbling under her breath, ‘Stupid child. She’s ruined my precious dress. It was a souvenir gift from London. I just loved it.’ She threw the washcloth on the floor, straightened her hair in the mirror, and venomously announced, as though I was not even in the room, ‘Evil girl! Just wait. I’ll give you a pretty little lesson you won’t soon forget.’
We returned to the table. Emile stood up and did not sit back down until Violette had. Then he told Emily, standing beside him, ‘Apologize.’
Emily said loudly, ‘I’m really sorry that I stained your pretty dress.’
Violette smiled and caressed Emily’s cheek. ‘It’s not important at all, my dear. Actually, I don’t really like this dress.’ Emily backed up and left the room. Violette looked at me and smiled. ‘What wonderful cooking!’ I looked at Emile’s plate. He had served himself some salad and a little Ikra. I leaned over to pick up the platter of dolma and offer some to him, when Sophie and the twins ran in squealing.
‘A frog as big as a turtle jumped on the swing seat,’ shouted Armineh.
‘A frog big as a turtle!’ emphasized Arsineh.
Sophie turned to me, ‘It was jealous of the moths, Auntie.’ She burst out laughing.
‘What?’ asked Nina. Sophie started to tell the story of Parvana. Nina took the plate from Sophie’s hands and said, ‘Yeah, yeah. Run along now. It’s no time for stories.’
Sophie said, ‘You never tell me stories. Aunt Clarice did. And it was a very nice story.’
I brushed the bangs out of Sophie’s face and sent her outside with the twins. ‘Go see what the princess and the frog are doing.’
Garnik asked, ‘Did you hear about the incident between Pegov and Shamkhal?’<
br />
‘Who?’ asked Nina. ‘Chamkhal?’
‘Not Chamkhal,’ said Garnik. ‘Shamkhal. The head of Public Relations for the Oil Company.’
Nina said, ‘Oh, so you mean Chamkhal.’ She laughed heartily and turned to me. ‘The Ikra turned out delicious!’
Mother said, ‘It’s too spicy. And if the eggplant had grilled a bit longer, it would be better.’
Garnik asked Artoush, ‘Did you know that Shamkhal used to be the Crown Prince of Daghestan?’
Artoush took some dolma. ‘I heard something or other.’ I looked at Emile’s plate. He had yet to try the dolma.
Garnik held his plate out to Nina. ‘Will you give me some Fesenjan? When Clarice makes it, I can never get enough... Just think of it. The son of the former Shah of Daghestan is now the host of the Soviet Ambassador!’
Nina asked, ‘Where is Daghestan, anyway? Mrs. Voskanian, shall I pour some Pepsi for you, or Canada Dry?’
Joop gave a little cough and said, ‘With your permission, let me explain.’ He gave a detailed explanation of Daghestan, or Dagestan as he pronounced it, a mountainous country between the Caspian Sea and Georgia. It is called Daghestan because ‘dagh’ means mountain in Turkish, and until the Russian Revolution, it had a king, or shah. After the communists took power, it became one of the Soviet Republics. The erstwhile shah fled to Europe, and now his son is the Chief of Public Relations for the Oil Company in Abadan.
For a few seconds everyone was still and quiet, staring at Joop, until Alice began to clap and said, ‘Bravo! What an encyclopedic explanation!’
Joop blushed. ‘I take a considerable interest in history and geography.’
Garnik turned back to me and Nina and whispered, ‘Unless I miss my guess, he’s gotta be a spy or something.’
He giggled and Nina scolded, ‘You and your tasteless jokes.’
Garnik said for all to hear, ‘In short...at the appointed time for Pegov’s visit to the Refinery, Shamkhal goes with a deputation of the department chiefs to welcome him. The former Crown Prince and the Soviet Ambassador first look each other over, head to toe.’ Garnik got up, his spoon and fork in hand, to mimic their demeanor as they sized each other up. ‘Everyone around them is afraid they might get in a fight.’ With the spoon and fork he pantomimed a sword fight. ‘Then the zealous communist and the deposed royal shake hands and exchange a friendly hello, probably in Russian, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.’