Against her father's repeated request and her mother's almost begging, Anna bought an airplane ticket and on January fifteen, 1978, she went back home after many years.
In the airplane, pressing her face against the little oval shape window, she envisioned home, her very first trip when she was going to London, her cousin's home. Then she envisioned her room in her parents house, Aria's room, streets the day her father took her to a restaurant after Aria's funeral. Then she remembered the trees in their properties and everything else she thought she had forgotten. She could see the placid silver sheet of sky with the big, bright moon of Tehran, the blue, almost pale blue sky beneath the rays of sun. That sky to her almost seemed like a sea without disturbance or wave. That vision was serene and perfect that she felt that no billow could ripple this dreamy sea and no gloom or thunder could shadow the lucidity of its blueness. She had thought that she could never go back again; but now past and gone were too dear and near to her. They were present; the things she had striven to put behind her now rustled again. And now suddenly, the fear, that clandestine uproar and confusion, the long undertaking to heedless, unconscionable terror and dread pitifully chocked her. For some unforeseen reasons, they all had been hidden in her for sometime; but as the airplane approached the sky of Tehran, the panic, the old frenzy, and horror, as a living companion, all returned. She closed her eyes to stop the dreadful vision.
While the airplane encircled over the Mehrabad Airport, perhaps waiting for clearance to land, Anna visualized that soon she would stand completely transformed on the streets of Tehran, would shiver of the feeling of touching and sensing everything in coming days, and arising to life from her ideological and psychic numbness as if encompassing the destiny of her innate land afresh, the hurt, the wounds, and the pains of Tehran. Her resurrection to life would not be only from day to day of her land's history but from century to century.
She imagined walking around, touching everything, standing on streets, looking thirstily, and absorbing all that had made Tehran. She would identify the intersections, the names of the streets, the buildings, and would realize what she had forgotten; but all would be in a new way. Big things, little things, things without meaning, and profound things, they all would be there for her to see, to touch, to hear, and to feel. The house, the garden, and all the people she knew would be there to welcome her return. She could smell the scent of sweet roses mingling with the running water in the streams of her house in Tehran. She would picture the falling rain and the moss beneath her feet before entering the building of her house. And she would see her father, growing old, standing on the threshold, looking at her, walking under the archway to reach her. She would see him old and pale, and she would see him leaning on Mehdi, their gardener, for support. Then she would see her mother behind the window of the receiving room, waving at her. Then everything would be silent, hushed, no sound, except the murmur of water in streams and the soft rain. She felt that in her vision there was no confusion of manner, no mixing up of the time between Tehran and Dallas. Everything was pure perfection in a vivid and strange way. There was world peace everywhere. The only thing she did not like in her vision was her father's pale face. "Oh, I'll bring him back to health." That receiving was not a formal coldness but it was warm and alive. They were all in harmony with the weather, flowers, rain, and water in the streams.
When the airplane landed, she opened her eyes and looked at the cloudy sky. The rain was missing. She was one of the first to exit and got on the airport bus. The bus got full of people but it was like a slow motion movie. The ride was also slow, and she thought why the driver could not drive any faster. When they finally got to their destination, airport terminal, she looked almost terrified towards the widows that were separating terminal from outside people. Many faces were glued to the windows and she could not recognize any of them.
She entered the terminal, shivering of what she would face. Her heart was pounding so fast she though she would collapse. Searching with her eyes amongst the huge crowd, she saw a young man was walking towards her with a smile on his face. She did not know him. He reached her and politely said: "Welcome home, Miss Anna. I am the new driver."
She was hurt. She felt empty. where was the fan fair? where were her parents?
"My parents couldn't come?" She asked hesitantly.
"Oh, your mother is here. Your father will see you at home."
Anna walked with him to where her mother was sitting on a chair. She was bent, old, and broken; that is what Anna saw. They hugged and kissed. The driver said hurriedly: "I'll go for your suitcase."
"I have only one. We can go through green line."
He smiled. "Good," and walked away.
"Who is he, mother?"
"He is the new driver."
"What happened to Muhammad?"
"He left us to join the revolution."
"Where is dad? How come he didn't come to the airport? Is he still mad me for coming home?"
"Oh, no sweetheart. He just didn't feel very good today."
"What is it? What is wrong with dad?"
"We talk about it later. You're tired now."
"Now, mother," Anna's voice was loud and harsh.
Fatie looked at her daughter. She could not believe how much she looked and acted like her father, Shahzdeh.
"Pneumonia,"
"That was three months ago. What else?'
Fatied paused. The driver returned. "I don't know your suitcase. Do you mind going with me?"
Anna followed him. Fatie stayed behind. As suitcases were falling down the belt, Anna approached the young driver: "What is your name?"
"Reza,"
"Reza, what is wrong with my father. My mother won't tell me."
He looked bewildered and was not certain how to act in front of his boss's daughter; nevertheless, her stare was intimidating.
"He had a heart attack. Please don't tell anyone that I told you."
Anna nodded her head. "Thank you," Then she pointed to a small, blue suitcase. "That is mine."
She walked towards where her mother was waiting. She gazed at her for a moment without speaking. Fatie knew that Reza had told her daughter about Shahzdeh's heart attack. She was not sure whether she saw anger in her daughter's eyes or despair, for her face had become like a mask. She looked pale and intense. Her daughter frightened her. She took her hands. They felt lifeless to Fatie.
To Be Continued
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