FICTION

PART 11 (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11) (part 12)

Subject: [Baradare Azizam]
From: Pejman, pejman4444@hotmail.com
To: Payam, payamp@phtechnology.ir
July 31, 2:37:03 a.m.

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Baradare Azizam,

Two months of silence. I deserved that, after sending you that nasty email. All I can do now is to apologize and hope that you forgive me and please agree to write and call me again. I have had a lot of time to reflect on what you conveyed to me in your last email. I know that you have only the best of intentions towards me. I know I have to work on my marriage and make the best of it. Nassim is a good girl that would make any man happy and she would never have gotten angry like that if I had not provoked her.

Dadash joon, I want you to know I tried everything I could to put distance between Kati and me, even though I disagreed with your opinion. I didn’t return her phone calls or emails. I deleted her from my Facebook account. I used every pretext in the world to avoid social occasions where we might run into each other. When she came by the house, I would retreat to our basement apartment and pretend to go to sleep with the excuse that I had a migraine, or the flu or I was simply tired from work. One afternoon, when she came by to drop some things off for her mom and I didn’t have time to hide, I acted very cold towards her. As soon as she saw me, she smiled widely and innocently kidded me that I was neglecting her, no more emails, no more instant messages, not even a phone call to see how she was. I replied to her in a very cold, distant tone that I was too busy for trivial things.

For a split second, the hurt in her eyes was so palpable that I wanted to reach out to her and beg for her forgiveness. But just as instantly, the cloud in her eyes lifted and once again, the same, mischievous gold specks shone brightly in her gaze as she turned her attention towards her sister. By the way, you could tell Nassim had immensely enjoyed this exchange. I have been so careful not to bring up her sister even in the most mundane conversations and so far, thankfully, I have been able to avoid another fight.

But Brother, even though I have not let the name “Kati” escape from my lips for the past two months, it has not escaped from my mind. Ironically, the more I tried to ignore her, the more I started thinking about her. Missing her friendliness, her warm smile, her golden eyes. I kept telling myself that it was just my fondness for her, a brotherly kind of love. But as time went by, and she invaded my thoughts more and more, I began to doubt myself. And I hated myself for it. I hated that you may hav been right and I wrong. Could it be that I had more felings than I cared to admit for her? But that was impossible. It was my wife's sister for god's sake. A sacred relationship. Untouchable.

It was in this state of anxiety, confusion and wonder that I found myself one evening recently, when Nassim and I were invited by Kati to the opening of her close friend Geraldine’s health and wellness clinic, on the ground floor of the building she lives in downtown. I decided to go. Since running away from her had only succeeded in making me think of her even more, I decided I should confront the problem head on and see what it was about this girl that had me on the brink of obsession.

The party-goers were the usual suspects. Nassim’s best friend Mitra, a woman who for some reason has rubbed me OH SO the wrong way since the first day I met her. Sam, (you remember, the guy I told you about from work), who came with his girlfriend, a very beautiful Taiwanese woman named Lissa. And an assortment of relatives, friends, and business associates.

It was a beautiful summer night after having had to endure a couple of weeks of cold and rainy weather and there was a feeling of giddiness in the air. People were very relaxed, drinking their wine and champagne merrily. In her beautiful, flowy dress, Kati gave me the impression of a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower as she mingled effortlessly from one group of guests to another. As I followed her with my eyes, I suddenly came to a stop when I realized Mitra was looking at me, a mocking look on her face that I did not appreciate at all.

I went to the bar and downed another glass of champagne, trying to regain my composure. What was I doing? I became paranoid, thinking that all eyes were on me, watching my every move, waiting for me to fuck up somehow. I was debating leaving the party with some sort of excuse when Sam tapped me on the shoulder and gave me a set of keys, asking me to go upstairs to Kati’s apartment to get a few more bottles of wine.

I was reluctant at first but then, I realized getting away was exactly what I wanted to do at this time. I went up to Kati’s apartment and opened the door. It was the first time I had ever stepped in it. My first impression was amazement. All the walls, shelves, tables, even the floor of the living room were covered with books. Not slick sets of volumes designed to fit in the décor. These were real books, with yellowing pages and corners folded, with inscriptions in the margins and dried flowers hidden among the chapters. I let my hand glide through volumes and volumes, reading their titles, leafing through their pages, some of them familiar to me, others I had only heard of and always meant to pick up.

I smiled at my old friend, The Master and Margarita, but remained puzzled at Indiana, which was laying on top of it. I was delighted to revisit Jean-Baptiste, of which not a single volume was missing. I savoured Salinger, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald, all grouped together on one shelf. And wished that I was more familiar with Kafka, Gogol, and Camus, which were kept on another one. From her copy of Franny and Zooey rose a scent of jasmines. I held it to my face, breathing it in. I felt… I don’t know how to say it… soothed. There were also endless volumes of poetry: Neruda, Prevert, Bukowski, Forough, the list went on and on.

I saw also many DVDs and CDs scattered around, piles of them on the floor near the television and on the windowsills. I started daydreaming, imagining Kati in her cozy apartment, seated on her knees on the big cushy sofa that was the only feminine touch in the living room, sipping on a glass of red and watching Roy Scheider come to his death through Bob Fosse’s choreography. Or laugh til tears gushed out at Woody Allen and Diane Keaton making their way through nineteenth century Russia. Or maybe just close her eyes and hum along to Nina Simone.

I looked around some more and found there were no pictures on her walls except for a framed haiku:

I say a word

You say a word

Autumn leaves still falling

After hesitating a bit, I walked over to the hallway connecting to the back of the apartment. I had my hand on the doorknob of one of the rooms when I was suddenly startled by a female voice behind me.

-- “If you’re looking for her bedroom, it’s two doors down, to the left. That one is just her home office.”

I turned on my heels, my cheeks and forehead suddenly feverish. It was Mitra, framed by the entrance doorway. For how long had she been there? Observing me with that same mocking look of hers.

-- “I was sent up here. I am looking for some bottles of wine.” I mumbled, not very convincingly.

Mitra didn’t change her vicious expression. With the tip of her cigarette, she pointed to her right side.

-- “You might try the kitchen.”

Wordlessly, I approached her, and retrieved a half empty case of red wine from the floor of the kitchen. But Mitra was still in the way, not budging from her place, smack in the middle of the doorway.

-- “Could you excuse me please?” I asked her.

She narrowed her eyes and seemingly she was about to say something but she was interrupted by some people coming up the stairs. She quickly stepped aside and let me through, then followed me all the way back down to the party.

I don’t know what, if anything, she is going to tell Nassim about this. I mean, it’s not like she really caught me doing anything! But I have a nasty feeling somehow she is going to use this against me. Strange. She seems to know more about my inner turmoil than my own wife! Anyways, I had to tell you all this, no matter how hard it was for me and how badly I feel about disappointing you again.

Payam jan, I am scared. I don’t want to be the bad guy. I want to keep on playing the role of the good husband, until it becomes a reality. But little by little, I feel myself drawn into the path of a catastrophe and the more I try to back up, the more I am being drawn in. Before my fight with Nassim, and before you wrote to me, I was sure that the fondness I had for Kati was merely that which comes naturally from brotherly love. The fact that we clicked immediately, like we had been old friends all along, I attributed to the likeness I found in her to our dear old friend Leili, the comrade of our childhood.

But ever since you questioned me, in trying to defend myself against your probing questions and your reprimands, I ended up re-examining my feelings and realized there may be something more. Now, I am sure there is although I am too scared to put a name to it. I am so angry at myself, for feeling this way, and at the same time I am completely helpless to stop my emotions. Dear brother, now more than ever, I need your advice and your support.

Ghorbanet, Pejman >>> part 12

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11) (part 12)