The Stationery Shop(32)
“I was just out there, Maman. The streets are quiet. People are listening. They’re staying home. It’s probably safer today than any day.”
Maman did not look convinced.
“I have to get ready.” Roya left before Maman could say anything else.
In the bedroom, Roya set her hair in barrettes to give her waves a boost. She had stopped wearing her hair in braids a few weeks ago, and now it felt liberating, not strange. On her wrists and neck she dabbed rosewater. She slipped on the rose-colored skirt she’d carefully selected to wear today and then tucked in her blouse. As she ran her finger over the nub of embroidered flowers on the collar, she remembered how she and Zari had stitched these tiny flowers for days, their heads bent together. Finally, she picked up the white ankle socks. Victory! After searching in all the fancy shops uptown, she’d found the coveted ankle socks at the stall of a merchant in the Old Bazaar. “From Amrika!” the wrinkled shopkeeper had declared, smiling toothlessly. “Lady! From Amrika!”
The socks, soft and snowy white, were perfect for today. She slipped them on.
“Please at least eat something before you go!” Maman shouted from the living room.
“I’m not hungry!” She was far too excited and nervous to eat.
When she entered the living room, Baba, Maman, and Zari were all sitting in a row as though waiting to inspect her. Or stop her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to eat?” Maman looked more worried than ever.
“All of a sudden he’s back in town?” Zari asked suspiciously.
“I’m not hungry, really, Maman Joon,” Roya said.
“Why didn’t he say to meet here? Or at your beloved Stationery Shop?” Zari asked.
Imagine if she’d actually told them everything! That Bahman had written in the last letter that they should not only meet at Sepah Square but then go to the Office of Marriage and Divorce to get their marriage license. Maman could prepare the wedding for early September to her heart’s content, and relatives and friends could come and celebrate then. But for a few delicious weeks, she and Bahman would be husband and wife in sweet secret. It would be a secret so verifiably luscious and dangerous that she could barely even believe it herself. He’d probably picked Sepah Square because it was close to the Office of Marriage and Divorce and they could quickly go there before the lunchtime siesta hour if they met at noon. Bahman would never put her in danger. Then again, he had written the letter before the attempted coup had even happened. But who knew if anyone was following him? Maybe he didn’t want to expose her family by coming to her home. Maybe a public square was safer. The truth was that at this point, she would walk through fire to meet him.
Baba got up, went to the coatrack, and reached for his hat. “I’ll just walk with you to the square. You shouldn’t go alone. There could be demonstrations again, for all we know.”
“She shouldn’t go at all,” Zari said.
“No, Baba Jan! Thank you, but really it’s not necessary. It’s as safe as anything out there today. I’ll be fine.”
Baba looked down at his hat. Then he rubbed his face repeatedly as if trying to figure out a difficult math problem.
“I will give him your regards!” Roya kissed him and Maman and Zari on the cheeks and rushed out.
But Zari ran after her from the andarun to the outer rooms of the house and into the garden. “Look, Sister. I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“It’s crazy to go out there today with everything that’s going on. This week of all weeks! They tried to have a coup three days ago. What timing the two of you have, I must say!”
“The coup was stopped. The prime minister couldn’t be knocked out. He’s still in power; we’re fine!” Roya cried.
“You sound just like him,” Zari said.
Roya waved to her sister and passed through the garden door.
As she walked into the alleyway, her heart beat so fast she hoped it wouldn’t give out before she even reached the square. She couldn’t get to Bahman fast enough. Of course she’d be fine. All her family did was worry! And what did her little sister know about true love anyway? She couldn’t understand that Roya was empowered, filled with strength and purpose at just the idea of seeing Bahman again. That she would walk through burning buildings to get to him.
More people were out than earlier in the morning. But of course they would be. People had to go about some of their business in the city, after all. As long as they weren’t demonstrating.
It started with chants and the sound of chains and thumping. All of a sudden, the ground beneath her throbbed. Roya turned and saw a group of what must have been several hundred men approach from the bottom of the sloping street, marching and shouting. As they got closer, she recognized their chants as phrases from the zurkhaneh gyms where devotees practiced the traditional physical fitness and training rituals. Baba sometimes imitated these phrases in jest when he lifted something heavy or did stretches. Hundreds of weight lifters and athletes in their tight exercise gear made up the crowd. A few hefted cone-shaped wooden blocks and barbells above their heads. A mustached man with oiled hair juggled pins in the air. Eventually the strange mob took complete control of the street. Cars had to swerve out of their way.
To Roya’s amazement, smaller clusters of men and women joined the almost comical group of athletes and weight lifters and jugglers. And as they did, and the marching crowd grew, the chants became more political.