Darius the Great Is Not Okay(58)

I had learned to recognize the early warning signs of an impending Laleh-tastrophe.

I jogged forward and took Laleh’s other hand. “Come on, Laleh. We’re almost to the top.”

But my sister slowed her pace even more, pulling Babou and me to a stop.

I turned and knelt down in front of her. “This is important, Laleh. It’s part of our family history.”

But I knew such appeals did not usually work with Laleh, not when she was this far gone. She was immune to logic.

There was only one way to get her to calm down.

“And when we get back to Mamou’s, I can take you into town. Sohrab’s uncle owns a store. We can go and get faludeh.”

Laleh drew in her lower lip as she mulled it over.

My sister could never resist a good bribe.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” Laleh let go of Babou’s hand and sprang forward to catch up with Mamou.

When I stood up, Babou looked at me for a second.

“You are a very good brother, Darioush-jan.”

I blinked.

It was the nicest thing Ardeshir Bahrami had ever said to me.



* * *





Yazd stretched below us, stray pockets of fog tucked into the shadows where the morning sun had yet to burn them away. Line after line of baad girs marched into the distance, and the azure minarets of the Jameh Mosque sparkled when they caught the light.

The Towers of Silence, where Zoroastrians buried their dead—it was called sky burial—had stood sentinel over Yazd for thousands of years.

“My grandfather was buried here,” Babou said. “He was named Darioush also. And my grandmother too.”

I sucked on the tassels of my hoodie as he led me around the tower, following the crumbling wall that enclosed us. We stood within a stone ring, a hundred feet across, with a gentle slope from the outer walls down toward the center, where bodies were once laid to rest in concentric circles: men on the outside, women in the middle, children in the center.

It was empty now. There hadn’t been a sky burial in decades, not since it was outlawed. And there was no one else around, because tourists don’t like getting up so early in the morning.

I wondered if I was a tourist.

It felt like a tourist thing, coming to see the Towers of Silence.

And it had felt like a tourist thing, going to visit the ruins of Persepolis. Even if they were part of our family history. Even if they were our heritage.

How could I be a tourist in my own past?

The wind was strong and cool. It stirred the dust we kicked up with our shoes, and blew my hood up around my hair.

I pulled it back down and let my tassels fall out of my mouth.

Babou sighed. “Now we have to put them in cement. It’s not the same.”

“Oh.”

He stopped and pointed across a valley to another mountain. “There is another one. See?”

“Yes.”

“Many of Mamou’s ancestors there.”

“Wow.”

“Our family has been in Yazd for many years. Many generations, born and raised here. And then put here when they died.”

Our family was woven into the fabric of Yazd. Into the stones and the sky.

“Now your dayi Soheil lives in Shiraz. And your mom lives in America. Even Dayi Jamsheed talks about moving to Tehran. Soon maybe there will be no more Bahramis in Yazd.”

My grandfather seemed so small and defeated then, bowed under the weight of history and the burdens of the future.

I didn’t know what to say.

The singularity in my stomach was back, pulsing and writhing in sympathetic harmony with the one I knew lived deep inside Babou.

In that moment I understood my grandfather perfectly.

Ardeshir Bahrami was as sad as I was.

He rested his hand on my neck and gave me a soft squeeze.

That was as close to a hug as he had ever given me.

I relaxed against him as we studied the landscape below us.

That was as close to a hug as I had ever given him.





YESTERDAY’S ENTERPRISE



Like I promised, when we got back from the Towers of Silence, I took Laleh to Ashkan Rezaei’s store. We swung by Sohrab’s house along the way. He squinted when he opened the door.

“Hi, Darioush! Hello, Laleh-khanum.”

“Hi,” Laleh whispered. She twisted her hand in mine and looked down, hiding the roses blossoming on her cheeks.

It looked like my sister had a crush.

It made sense. If my sister had to have a crush on someone, Sohrab was a good choice, even if he was way too old for her.

“Hey. We’re going to your amou’s store. For faludeh. You want to come?”

“Of course!”

Laleh grabbed Sohrab’s hand, so she was swinging between us. Despite her complaining, she had enjoyed herself at the Towers of Silence: She peppered Sohrab with every conceivable detail about the morning as we walked.

I gave Sohrab a sympathetic shrug.

I loved that Laleh could talk to him so easily.

When we got to the store, I let go of Laleh’s hand to get the door, and she ran straight for the counter. Sohrab squinted at me and followed her.

“Sohrab-jan! Agha Darioush! Who is this?”

“This is my little sister. Laleh.”