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Soraya, unsurprisingly, hadn’t picked up the phone when Marjan called. One could never know who might be on the other end
of an unknown number. Marjan sent a text message to let Soraya know it was her calling, and her phone rang within seconds.
“You have a phone!” Soraya cried. “Where did you buy it? I hope you didn’t pay too much. I’ve been asking around for a place
that won’t rip you off.”
“I didn’t purchase it. It was given to me,” Marjan admitted. She needed to tell Soraya about this peculiar situation.
“What does he look like?” Soraya asked.
“What does he look like? He looks like . . . like a man,” Marjan said, flustered.
“Marjan, come on. It’s a rainy day and I have cramps. I insist you do better than that.”
“I don’t know. He’s maybe in his early thirties. Brown hair and light brown eyes. He’s well-dressed and very polite.”
“I could get a better description from a blind person. Do his teeth show when he smiles? Is his voice deep? Did he say anything
flirty?”
He had a dimple, Marjan recalled. He was witty, and his eyes weren’t just brown.
They had flecks of honey in them that shone when he smiled.
He’d tilted his head just a bit when she’d been speaking with him, as if readjusting himself to her frequency, and she realized no man had ever done that before.
And as for flirty talk, Marjan wasn’t sure. He hadn’t said anything lewd or suggestive. Saboor was not like that. He was mellow
and kind.
“I don’t think it’s anything. He probably just took pity on me. A sad-looking housemaid with a daughter she can’t take care
of.”
“First of all, he didn’t know that when he first spoke with you. And now that he knows, has he stopped talking to you? Did
he come back to reclaim the phone?”
“No.” Marjan sighed. They had exchanged dozens of messages late into the night. He was the youngest of five, the only one
of his siblings who was unmarried. He had a niece and a nephew the same age as Hawa. He asked thoughtful questions about her,
as if he had real interest. Had it been hard raising Hawa alone? Did Hawa like the children’s show with the puppets? How did
she get along with the other children at the school?
Marjan noticed also the questions he did not ask. He didn’t ask about Hawa’s father or his family. He did not ask her why
she didn’t have ties to her own family. These were the first questions people usually asked, the ones they blurted out without
thinking.
“He sounds like an educated fella. What did he study in college?” Soraya wanted to know.
“His family wanted him to become an engineer. They have three in the family already. He decided to study literature. He writes
short stories and poems.”
“A poet! Oh, Marjan. This is so utterly, perfectly romantic . . . but only if you tell me he has a real job during the day.”
Marjan laughed. “He’s the manager of the Yellow Tulip restaurant,” she explained, and told Soraya about Agha Rasuli wanting
to recruit him for his Dubai hotel.
“That place where dinner costs a month’s salary?
No wonder he’s well-dressed. Oh, this is exciting, Marjan.
More exciting than anything in my world.
It’s been one week since I’ve started working in this tech company, and I am losing my mind with boredom.
If I never have to write up another invoice in my life, I’ll die a happy woman. ”
“It’s got to be better than being a housemaid to two people obsessed with their status. Leeda is the sweetest little lamb,
but if it weren’t for her . . .”
“You deserve better. The both of us should have jobs that are exciting and meaningful. I’d like to be a movie star. Or Minister
of the Interior. Or a pilot.”
“You’re such a dreamer,” Marjan said, but she liked that Soraya dreamed. She wished she could; surely she hadn’t escaped Abdul
Khaliq just to spend her life scrubbing the grease off people’s dishes. She knew she was capable of so much more, if she just
had a chance.
“If you don’t have a head full of dreams, you’ll leave too much room for nightmares,” Soraya insisted. “Now, what’s going
to happen next with your poet?”
In the days that followed, Marjan and Saboor exchanged messages more often. His first text came before she was even awake,
wishing her a good morning. One night, around nine o’clock at night, he made a request.
Can I call you? he’d asked.
In the quiet dark, Marjan considered how to reply.
Can I really tell you not to call your own phone?
The moment I left the phone at your door, it was no longer mine. You have no obligation to reply to any of my messages.
Marjan tried not to react too quickly. Was he saying what she wanted to hear or was he that thoughtful? She did not know but
wanted to find out. They spoke for nearly an hour that night. He told her about a group of businessmen who had come into the
restaurant for the first time and hadn’t known what to order. Saboor asked permission to order on their behalf, promising
that they’d be satisfied. They agreed, and he had the waiter bring out an array of mouthwatering, perfectly seasoned chicken
and lamb kebabs served on a ship made of bamboo. The men had never seen food served on a boat before, one that took up half
the table with its tall masts, a flag at the bow, and two bowls of dip at the stern.
“A boat? The restaurant I worked at had nothing of the sort.”
He told her about the three levels, the chandeliers as wide as his arm span, the lattice panels, the ornate arches, the gilded
frames.
“It sounds like a palace,” she said. She liked the way he described things, the way he drew out words to convey stature, and
that he sounded awed by the architecture, not arrogant about it.
“Maybe one day you can be my guest there,” he said. “I know the best tables.”
He did not linger on this comment. She pretended he had not sent her head spinning, imagining sitting across from him at a
table, carnations between them. Choosing conversation over food.
“I want to tell you something else,” he said. “I was married once. Very briefly.”
Marjan braced herself.
“What happened?” she asked.
“We were very different people. She was far more devout than I am. She didn’t like that I don’t pray five times a day, and
she really didn’t like that she couldn’t change that about me.”
“My aunt always said judgment was for God alone,” Marjan said, and Saboor agreed. He loved the devotion of the Sufis anyway,
a transcendent connection to Allah.
The next day, she woke to a short poem.
I do not know the place I spent last night
Ecstatic dance all around me, the place I spent last night
There was a beauty, fairy-faced and cypress-statured and tulip-cheeked,
A ravisher of hearts, in the place I spent last night.
She smiled to herself.
Did you write this? she asked.
You flatter me. It’s Khusrau. I’m not brave enough to show you my poems yet.
He became a buoy for her spirits. Three weeks later, Marjan could not imagine going a full day without speaking to Saboor.
She told him about playful moments with Leeda, and he told her about lavish wedding events hosted on the top floor of the restaurant.
Their worlds expanded; they were bearing witness to each other’s days.
It was only natural that they meet in person.
Would you join me for a walk in the park? The weather is beautiful, he texted.
Marjan held the phone at arm’s length, certain he could hear her heart pounding.
I don’t think that’s a good idea, she wrote back.
Why not?
She was silent. She took a moment to gather her courage.
I need to ask you something, she wrote.
Please do.
What is this? These conversations we’re having. I’m not sure what to think about it. I am not the type to . . . I mean, I
hope you don’t have the wrong idea.
It was his turn to gather his thoughts.
I assure you, I have great respect for you. I hope I’ve not said anything to make you think otherwise. When we spoke that
first day, I didn’t want you to stop talking. I felt like I had just started reading a most intriguing story and I want to
hear more.
She agreed to meet him at seven o’clock, at the southern entrance to the park. She didn’t have much to choose from but still
fussed over what to wear, settling for black slacks and a mauve tunic over her slim figure. She pinched her cheeks to add
color. Her dark hair reached the middle of her back, mostly because she hadn’t bothered to trim it. Had she inherited these
waves from her mother? She couldn’t know. Her mother had always tied her hair up, she thought. Her memories grew fuzzier by
the day.
She looked more like a woman than a child these days, an oval face with a prim chin.
There were flecks of green in her brown eyes.
Her brows were full and delicately arched, without much shaping on her part.
She tried on a smile, batted her eyelashes.
Tempted, she swiped lip gloss across her lips, looked in her mirror, and then wiped it off with the back of her hand.
Soraya invited her for an evening meetup as well, and Marjan turned her down with an explanation. Soraya cooed and celebrated
as if Marjan had just announced she and Saboor were engaged. Marjan promised to call her when she returned to her room.
They met at the southeast corner of the park. Saboor’s expression brightened at the sight of her.
“You came,” he said.
“Was I not supposed to?” Marjan asked. She’d not meant to sound as coy as she did.
He laughed. “When I was a child, every time I made a wish on a fallen eyelash, my wish would come true. I confess, I thought
about pulling out an eyelash for this occasion.”
“Oh no! I don’t think it works if you pull out the eyelash,” Marjan replied, embarrassed.
“I think you’re right. Some things we have to leave to naseeb,” he said, then extended his arm in the direction of the concrete
path as an invitation. Marjan followed him, trying not to feel too enchanted by his reference to destiny. Her aunt had taught
her that only her will and deeds would shape her fate, and she’d always believed this to be true. But today, the allure of
naseeb threatened her balance. She felt it in her stomach, like she was standing on a high cliff with her toes over the edge.
They followed the tree-lined walkway as it cut through grassy fields and saw small groups of men and women sitting on blankets spread on the ground, their glossy thermoses visible from a distance.
Two boys carrying wooden trays of dried fruits offered them packets of almonds and raisins.
Saboor asked how much as he reached for his wallet.
Marjan looked away while he paid them. Though they were young and had no idea that Saboor and Marjan were unmarried, she worried what they might think of her.
But the boys ran off in search of more customers. Saboor and Marjan continued walking. Their conversation meandered just as
they did. Saboor asked if she followed politics. Marjan shook her head. Thinking of the twisted voting she had witnessed in
Parliament, she made a vague comment about the widespread corruption.
“I totally agree. So much that I am convinced a corruption of the soul is a prerequisite for anyone in public office,” he
said. “And I’m not surprised you can’t stomach it. You seem to me a most honest spirit despite this . . . this . . . this
world we’ve been born into. It takes real strength to maintain one’s character.”
“Are you corruptible?” Marjan asked.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he teased, then grew serious. “Sometimes I think that I’d be a better writer if I hadn’t taken this
job in the restaurant. An artist shouldn’t be chasing paychecks, don’t you think? I’m a romantic, but I’m also quite fond
of a comfortable life.”
“It’s impractical not to think about a salary,” she said. “I think we have to be practical always, even when we’re dreaming.”
Saboor stopped in his tracks. Marjan took two steps before realizing he was no longer beside her.
“What do you dream of? I mean, what kind of life do you imagine?” he asked.
Marjan finds it hard to believe she is speaking with a man who would ask her these kinds of questions.
“I want my daughter to have all she needs. I want her to wake up and know her mother loves her more than anything. I want
to have her by my side and I want her to know a peaceful life,” she said, picturing Hawa’s face the last time she’d walked
away from her at the orphanage.
“Hawa is fortunate to have a mother who’s willing to sacrifice so much for her. But what about for you?”
“What do you mean?” Marjan asked.
“You are a mother, certainly,” Saboor said. “But who were you before you became a mother? Who will you be even as your child, this precious arrow shot from your bow, soars across the sky? You are still someone, Marjan. What do you want for your life?”
Leaves rustled overhead, and two birds flitted from the outstretched branch of a nearby tree. She was not yet able to articulate
what she wanted from this life, but she hoped Saboor would keep asking.