We Have Everything
Contrary to my expectations, my ten years old nephew who was not surprised to
see the slinky I’d brought him as a souvenir from the United States said, “We have
slinky too. Next time we go to the bazaar, I’ll show it to you amoo jaan or as you
Americans say dear uncle. Whatever you find in America we have it right here in
Iran.”
And he was right. To my surprise, the next day in the market he showed me many
colorful versions of slinky sold at much lower prices than the US, all home grown and
unauthorized reproductions of the genuine article.
“So you are saying you can find absolutely everything we have in America right
here?” I slyly taunted him at the lunch table.
“Everything.” he boasted.
“In that case, tomorrow you will produce one tall blonde in the market in short
pants.”
Now he was sitting in front of me with a gloomy face. I’d scored one.
He was the nephew I had the most fun with on my first trip to homeland after
seventeen years. I’d never met him before.
After lunch I was to visit one of my sisters who lived in the same city and not far
form my brother’s house. The only issue was that my sister and brother had not
talked to each other for a couple years.
“Take me with you amoo jaan to aunt Soraya’s house.” Naeem said.
“I can’t.”
“Please dear uncle, take me with you. I promise to behave.” He insisted.
“I know you will but I really can’t take you with me.” I didn’t know how to say no
him. I was not to establish any contact between the two families by taking him. It was
a non-verbal agreement I’d made with my brother and his wife. “Maybe another
time,” I said.
“But why, why can’t you take me?”
How could I explain it to him what his mother’s eyebrow gesture meant right after
she heard her son’s request to go to my sister’s house. So I lied. “First of all. It’s too
hot outside and we have to walk at least fifteen minutes under the scorching sun to
get there. It’s not good for your white velvety skin, heat exhaustion is dangerous.”
“First of all dear uncle, unlike you Americans, we are tough. We are not Orange
Juice wimps. Besides, you don’t know your way around these alleys, you’ll get lost.”
“Your mother gave me the address and showed me the way.” I didn’t know how
to say no.
“How does she know how to get there? She’s never been there. Mom and Dad
never set a foot into the aunt Soraya’s new home. They don’t even mention her
name. And if their paths cross in the market, they cross the street not to face one
another.” He argued.
“And how do you know the address then?”
“I go to their neighborhood and play with my cousins.”
“Do they know you go there and play with their kids?”
“Oh no. We just don’t tell our parents. As long as they don’t know, everything is
fine.”
My sister in law yelled from the kitchen, “Don’t bother your uncle son. It’s time for
your afternoon nap.”
“Take me with you please, please.” Now his eyes were moistened with tears as
he was losing hope.
“I wish I could. I’ll find the way myself.” I desperately replied.
“Dear uncle, you will get lost. I am sure of it. This is not America. Streets are all
crooked and their names change every time someone from a neighborhood dies in
the war. We have so many martyrs dear uncle. It’s a long war.”
“Don’t worry son, I still speak Farsi, I can ask if I get lost.”
“Ask? Ask who?” Now I was being cornered, I could feel it.
“People on the street, shop keepers or pedestrians.”
“Now that shows how little you know about your city Amoo Jaan. At one o’clock in
the afternoon, you can’t find anyone in the streets. It’s so hot the asphalts get
softened like the chewing gum in the mouth dear uncle. Every shop in bazaar is
closed from 12 to 4 in the afternoon. Everyone sleeps after lunch under the air
conditioner. So, whom do you ask for direction if you get lost my dear uncle?” he had
a point.
Now I was on the spot and didn’t know how to respond. As much as I wanted to, I
could not ask his mother to grant him permission to accompany me. The two families
were not on talking basis for a long time. I could not get involved. I was just a
foreigner guest who’d obviously lost his touch with the reality of his country after all
these years.
Then Naeem continued, “Oh, dear uncle. You are an American, you don’t know
anything.” His mother heard this comment and screamed “Oh, I wish God himself
scoops you off the face of the earth you shameless boy. I’m going to fill your mouth
with red-hot Indian peppers so you never talk like that to your amoo. Wait until your
dad gets home and hears this.”
Now he was in trouble. He silently rushed to his room to get his afternoon nap
with tears in his eyes and I left the house with the address in my hand.
On the way to my sister’s house and as I was passing by the closed shops in the
empty streets under the scorching sun, I was burning from the taste of red hot Indian
peppers in my mouth.