Eyebrows Mom Fell In Love With
Dove two pauses, looks at me with those beady eyes, shifts her weight from her right foot to left then continues in a slightly lower voice.
“The silence of the hot afternoon summer is suddenly broken by loud bangs on the door. Who would knock instead of using the doorbell – banging hard enough to bust the hinges? Goli throws her scarf around her head and runs to the door.
“’Who is it? I’m coming. Wait a minute. Why are you trying to break our door?’ Goli protests as she reaches the door, hesitant to open it.
“’Open up now. It’s an order,’ says a harsh authoritative man.
“’What do you want? It is siesta time. Everyone is asleep. Don’t you have any concern for people?’
“’Open up now, I’m ordering you! This is a security matter. We have to come in. Open up now or we will break the door.’
“’Wait then. I need to get the key. The door is locked.’ Goli shouts back. She is lying, trying to buy time for the house to react to the intruders.
“’Open up at once!’
“’Stop banging, I’m coming,’ Goli groans as she turns the key locking the unlocked door only to delay the intruders from entering the house.
“In the house, there is commotion as everyone runs around aimlessly. Grandma stops in the middle of the kitchen, pale as a ghost, holding on to a chair to avoid collapsing. Mom holds herself well as she piles comforters onto your dad hoping to make him look convincingly ill.
“They are in. A sea of men in some kind of uniform, no one is collected enough to recognize what they are wearing, just what they are: intruders.
“’What is it? What do you want?’ Goli throws herself between the men and the house. ‘These are good people. They have not done anything wrong.’
“’Get out of the way woman, move! We have to search this house.’ A large man, apparently their commander, pushes Goli aside. She loses her balance and falls down. ‘You broke my leg. What kind of animal are you? Breaking a poor old woman’s leg!’ Goli cries – but it is a hopeless scheme and everyone sees through it, especially since Goli is not old and is a young good-looking woman.
“Amoo jaan has arrived downstairs – a handsome man, tall and slender with the face of an angel, educated to the teeth in Tehran and later in Europe, speaks four languages, and has the manner of a true gentleman.
“’Gentlemen, what is it? How can we help you?’ Amoo jaan asks softly as he comes face to face with the rough, savage looking commander. Amoo jaan’s face is rather pale and he looks a bit timid, but don’t let his appearance fool you,” Dove Two reassures. “Unlike his other siblings who, like their father have a raw and pronounced sense of bravery, this one has a different kind of courage hidden deep within, which he gets from his mother.
“’We have been informed that there is one of them in this house – the saboteurs,’ says the commander, eyebrows fixed in a knot.” I picture the eyebrows Dove Two is describing. These are not the kind of eyebrows my mom fell in love with. These are eyebrows made of savagery and horror.
“’Here? In this house? They must have misinformed you my good man,’ Amoo jaan smiles. “We are a peace-loving and law-abiding family. We don’t like trouble.’
“’We have our orders. We must search the house.’
“’Of course, we have nothing to hide. In the meantime, you must be thirsty.’ Amoo jaan smiles and puts his hand on the commander’s shoulder. ‘Come, my good man. We are modest people but we have some of the best sharbats in town,’ he continues. “Goli, bring the gentlemen something to drink, some Sharbat with lots of ice.’
“In the kitchen Grandma stops Goli as she pulls the silver tray out of the cupboard for the drinks. Grandma is worried that the show of wealth may complicate matters.” The antique silver set was an absolute delight, embellished with delicate carvings by the masters of Esfahan; a gift from my grandfather to the woman he loved and cherished with all his heart. They went to my mom and then she gave them to me, only to have them stolen during the aftermath of the 1979 revolution.
“’Use the brass one, Goli – this one needs to be washed.’ Goli understands her coded language and quickly hides the silver tray.
“The commander wants to refuse Amoo jaan’s offer but the tray of drinks has already arrived. He has been going door to door all day without a break, dragging men of all ages, teenagers and grandfathers, and a few women, out of hiding and delivering them to the authorities. He is parched. The commander grabs a glass of lemonade while tightening the knot on his brows to stress that his acceptance of the drink will not have any affect on his mission, finding his saboteur. He continues his march through the house.
“In the yard, the hungry and thirsty men are destroying the garden, breaking the branches to devour the grapes and other fruits they see on the trees. Goli runs outside to stop them when grandma notices her.
“’Goli, Goli, come to kitchen right away.’
“’But they are killing our garden.’
“’Better the garden than us. Let them be, child, let them do whatever they want to do. Come inside now.’
“A few of the commander’s men are opening every door with an unnecessary and deliberate force to add to the terror they have already created. Amoo jaan nervously follows the commander as he plows through the house.
“’Who is this?’ the commander asks as he reaches the room with your dad in it.
“’This is my poor husband who has been sick for weeks now,’ Mom says as she walks towards Dad and dries his forehead with a handkerchief she holds tightly in her fist. She is good at hiding her feelings.
“The commander moves closer to take a good look at Dad who is suffocating under the layers of down comforters. He is terrified of the fate that awaits him. Many of his friends have been taken, and some executed. The man himself, Dr. Mossadegh, is in an undisclosed location, awaiting his trial with a known outcome.”
Prime Minister Mossadegh was elected by his people and had great plans for his country. Even though Iran was never a colony of England or any other colonial powers, somehow the English government had managed to control the Iranian oil. Dr. Mossadegh started by nationalizing the Oil, a move that was not welcomed by the west, especially England and the United State, and subsequently triggered a CIA engineered coup d'état, ending Mossadegh and his dream. Dr. Mossadegh’s only crime was desiring independence, liberty, and justice for his country. Dove Two has paused as she notices I am once again in my own thoughts. Then she starts:
“’My son-in-law has been in bed for weeks. His temperature won’t go down,’ Grandma informs the commander. ‘My son, I beg you, we are good people, please leave our house. We don’t have a saboteur here.’
“’My good man, you are a good judge of character,’ Amoo jaan tries to soften the commander. ‘You must be since they gave you this job. Do you really believe anyone in this house could be associated with the saboteurs?’
“’Goli arrives with another tray of sharbats and some sweets. The commander is still parched so he reaches for a melon drink – this time he drinks it much slower, and picks a big cookie that he munches on while leaning against the doorway and staring at Dad.
“Your Mom is looking at the commander, hoping for a shred of sympathy but sees nothing but rough savageness. She is very beautiful. So many men were after her and wished her hand in marriage. She could have married any man she wanted but she chose this one, the man who is now in bed, pretending to be ill, scared for his life – so is she. She is wondering what is going to happen to him, to her, to them?
Frightening thoughts race through her head. Which day, how long from now, will they call for her to come and pick up his body? The body of the man she has loves, the man who couldn’t give her a child and yet she decided to stay with – a man with a pair of perfect swords for eyebrows."
Heroine With Hazel Eyes
In one of Ezy’s stories, the heroine rescues a handsome young man, a very attractive man, who has been captured by
a wicked woman and held hostage in a hideaway turned dungeon. The hideaway is located underground, below the pool sitting in the middle of the young man’s garden. No one knows the whereabouts of the young man, nor the hideaway or how to enter it - no one except the wicked woman, who has a key to the hideaway, which can also move the water magically out of the way to reveal the path to the hideaway.
Mom thinks back to the same story. What if there was a hideout under their pool too? She could then enter the pool with her man and hide there forever or at least until the intruders have left their house.
“’I promise you, my husband of many years is not a saboteur. Can’t you see he is sick? Can’t you see he is suffering?’ Your mom makes a plea to the commander, her eyes starting to well.”
Those were the hazel eyes our family doctor cried over when he found out Mom needed glasses. He said it was such a pity to have those beautiful eyes hide behind glasses.
“’Please leave, I beg you.’ Your mom moves closer to the commander who is undressing her with his brutal eyes. She is too upset to even notice the hunger in his gaze. She is still searching for the shred of humanity in the commander’s soul. “’He is sick, very sick, do you understand?’ she starts whispering so only the commander can hear. ‘We may lose him soon, the doctor says. All of this stress can take him away from us sooner. I beg you, please leave.’
“Your Mom doesn’t know how she came up with such a lie and how she will prove her statement if the man inquires further. But somehow, miraculously, it works. No one knows how or why but the commander believes her and leaves.
“The house is a mess; in the garden the vines are broken, no fruit is left on the trees, and the tiles are stained with the flesh of the fruits smashed underneath soldiers’ boots; inside the doors are cracked, the rugs need to be washed, and there are filthy thumbprints everywhere; but Dad is safe and that is all that matters.
“’Will they come back?’ Goli asks grandma in the kitchen, worry swimming in her dark, kind eyes.
“’Bite your tongue, Goli. No, they won’t come back. God saved us today and will keep them away forever. We are good people.’
“This is the end of our story, child,” Dove Two sighs.
“And I suppose, they lived happily ever after?” I ask sarcastically.
Dove Two looks puzzled and disappointed. Dove One shakes her head back and forth and for the first time chirps, instead of talking so only the other dove can understand her. I wonder what part of the story she is trying to censor for me.
“But we know what happens. Can we tell her?” whispers Dove Two who I now like even more.
“I suppose we can,” mumbles Dove One.
“She knows the ending.”
“I think she is being difficult, but don’t forget it is her story. So just go ahead and tell her what happens next. We have to wrap up here. There are other’s stories to tell elsewhere.”
“Well then,” Dove Two finally decides to continue.
“Everyone was worried for months. They were afraid that the men would come back for Dad again. Mom was scared for years. She begged your dad to stay inside because she was worried the commander would run into him somewhere on the streets, recognize him, and realize Mom had lied to him.
“Every night your mom went to bed thankful that one more day had passed and been added to the distance between her and the terrible fate she imagined was awaiting her.
“They were lucky, you know. So many others were not as lucky.”
Years later, I was born. My parents got their wish and became a complete family. I smile as I remember how Mom would get emotional telling me about it.
I close my eyes, recalling my first memory of our house with a big yard full of fragrant flowers, a fountain in the center, and lots of space for me to roam around. Between that horrible summer and my fifth birthday, my parents moved at least five times. Did they do that out of fear of my dad being arrested? I wonder now. Dad was a saboteur, all right. His crime was that he wanted freedom and democracy for his country. He wanted us, the young generation, to grow up free in prosperity and without fear.
When I open my eyes the Story Doves are gone, perhaps to tell the story of my generation to the future ones. I don’t recall when Dad left. His place is empty on the grey sofa but his perfect sword shaped brows are still in a knot, perhaps even a tighter knot, in heaven if there is one. My people’s dreams are still being shattered, if not by the superpowers then by their own brothers and sisters.
And the savages are still roaming the streets of Tehran.
About The Author
Mojdeh Marashi is a writer, translator, artist, and designer whose work is deeply influenced by the ancient and modern history of Iran. Her stories merge the world of magical realism in Persian literature that she grew up reading, the reality of the world she lives in today, and the utopia she dreams about. She was born in Tehran, Iran and moved to U.S. in 1977. She lives in Palo Alto, California.
She is the translator (from Persian, with Chad Sweeney) of The Selected Poems of H. E. Sayeh: The Art of Stepping Through Time (White Pine, 2011). Her fiction was published in the anthology Let Me Tell You Where I’ve Been: Women of the Iranian Diaspora (University of Arkansas, 2006).
You can read more about Mojdeh at https://www.mojdeh.com.
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