Subject: [Hi brother]
From: Pejman, pejman4444@hotmail.com
To: Payam, payamp@phtechnology.ir
February 3, 2:35:03 am
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Hi Dear Brother,
First, I apologize for this tardy response to your letter. What with the wedding, honeymoon trip and our return to Toronto, getting acquainted with my new life, I have not really had the time to digest all of it myself, let alone write you an account of it.
The wedding can best be described as a circus. The successive faces of various amoos, khalehs, dokhtar-dayees, friends, business associates etc. whirled around me like we were all on some sort of a giant merry go round, until they all started blending and blurring together. As the wedding guests lunged towards me, with their wide, grimacing mouths and teeth as sharp as their designer suits, I could not tell whether they were going to kiss me or bite me. Their glistening eyes slid from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, measuring me up like I was the prime attraction at the circus freak show. I don’t remember any of the faces or names apart from Nassim’s immediate family of course, her parents and younger sister Kati.
The wedding was a grand ballroom affair at some fancy hotel in downtown Toronto. Yes, contrary to our hometown, the more downtown you go here, the fancier it gets. After a while, the combination of the strobing lights, the overpowering smell of all the flowers (they were invading from everywhere, from the ceiling down to the walls and the tables, like some sort of a bacterial infection), and the throbbing of the music beats from the amplifiers, all made me dizzy. Feeling suffocated and a bit nauseous, I succeeded in escaping the circus and I started walking down the hotel hallways. I walked and walked, opening doorway after doorway that each opened onto yet aother long corridor, until the sound of the reception was but a distant grumble. I kept walking until I came to some French doors that opened onto a mercifully deserted balcony overlooking the city. At least, I thought it was deserted at first
After I leaned down over the balcony, trying to catch my breath, I heard a giggle behind me and a teasing voice telling me :
__ « Don’t jump ! You still have the honeymoon to look forward to. »
I turned around to discover Kati, sitting with her bare feet tucked beneath her, her ballgown flowing over her chair, a shawl tossed over her shoulders to protect against the coolness of the night. With one hand, she was holding a cigarette, while with the other, she was offering me one from her silver cigarette case.
I gratefully acepted and we sat there for a little while, smoking in silence, admiring the admittedly gorgeous city view.
You must remember Leili, our neihgbors’ young daughter, who perished under the rubble of an Iraqi bomb when we were children ? Kati is the picture of what I imagined Leili growing up to be. The same long, dark, curly hair, the slim waist and graceful hands, and the honey-toned skin of someone who likes to live her life outdoors. But what hit me the most were those eyes, dark like her hair, but shining with what seems like hundreds of gold specks, that deep yellow gold of Iran that shines like the sun. Until I met Kati, I never thought that I would see a pair of eyes made of gold like Leili’s.
Anyways, after the wedding, Nassim and I made our way to Mexico for our honeymoon. I have as you know never been outside of Iran so I was looking forward to experencing the culture and history that I have read about Mexico. But it seems that the rich Westerners who travel to that country like to remain in the protective bubble of their 5 star hotel resort, keeping contact with the natives as minimal as possible, unless it’s to fetch another Margarita or turn down their beds. I don’t know why we bothered to travel at all. We could have gotten drunk and swam in the pool just as well in any hotel in Toronto, I assume. But Nassim seemed so excited that i did not want to shed any shadow on her happiness.
Well now we are back in Toronto and I suppose I have to think about what step I, or rather, my character, «the ideal husband », would take next. Nassim has hinted oh so sweetly that her father expects me to work alongside him in his building business. (It seems buildng is the thing to do in Toronto nowadays, every corner you turn, there is some sort of new, monstrous condominium tower being built). Well, I did notice that she and her parents kept introducing me at the wedding as « Mohandes » though I have no idea where they got that title from. I did manage to finish one year in architecture school before dropping out so maybe that’s what they are hanging their hat on. Come to think of it, maybe that is all one needs in our community to receive the title of « Mohandes » especially if one has the money to silence any would-be critics. Well, I will write you again when I know more. In the meantime, please send my regards to Baba and Maman joon and give them my news, naturally with the type of spin on it that could make them happy and that you are so good at delivering.
Oh by the way, you will soon receive an envelope containing a sealed letter which I wll ask you to please deliver unopened to Mrs. Sedigheh M…. at 186 Khiabane K…, Plaque B-2. It was given to Nassim and me to forward to Iran by a young Iranian woman who was in Mexico on her honeymoon also. Her husband, an Iranian-American from Los Angeles, befriended us and we had dinner together a couple of times. One of those acquaintances that can only be struck in that sort of vacation environment but that would be unthinkale in everyday life otherwise. Like Nassim, he has « imported » his spouse, Firoozeh, from the good old Mother country. On one of the evenings that we all spent together, Firoozeh secretly confided a letter to Nassim with the implied understanding that she did not want her husband to know about it. Nassim wanted to open it of course, with the type of foozooli that only a woman can have, but I admonished her not to and so I trust you will also respect this young woman’s privacy and deliver this letter to its intended as she would have wished >>> part 3
Greetings dear brother. Send all my love to Azadeh aziz and the kids, as always.
Pejman
