Everything outside the doors was illusory like a show, but that did not stop Hana of taking a last tour in the city which pushing people out. It was a few days before their ultimate journey. A cold January day where trees were skeletonized by glassy ice as though many little lights were hanging from them. For the last three weeks after selling the house Hana and her family were staying at her grandparents, waiting for the predestined day of an odyssey which no one knew how it would begin or end. She despondently needed to see Tehran, the city of lights, activities, heavy traffic, narrow alleys, huge trees, many markets, bazaars, the schools she had been a student or a teacher at, and above all the graveyards, where the good earth had enveloped mom, dad, and her first and only love, Saeid. She wanted to see Tehran for the last time alone, to observe what cruelty and politics, in the name of religion, and some Western Politician, had done to that adorable, ancient city.
Against her grandmother's desperate begging for not leaving the home, she left home early in the morning. That was something she had to do. Outside, where city was still sleep, she breathed the cold, impalpable air. A joyous shivering entered her body; nevertheless, when she noticed the ruined buildings, burned cars, and revolting mottoes on the walls, a loathsome wave of disgust replaced the transient bliss. How could they dishonor that heavenly city?
She walked for hours in the suburbs of Tehran, where her root and her ancestors had lived for centuries. She smelled the icy earth and frozen trees. She embraced the memories of all big and little places, narrow and wide streets, and T. Square with all the shops in it. Then in her disturbed vision, she remembered her old house in M. Street, the house which enveloped most of her childhood memories. She conjured up her room on the second floor, where in her childish mind the tallest tree in the world smilingly had always waved at her, and she had talked to the leaves and branches of that tree; and when she had impatiently waited behind the window in cold autumn days to see the tall figure walking down the street; and where the pleasant smell of mom's cooking entering her room through the crevice of door. Feeling extremely sad for all those past flashbacks, she began running down M. Street, as old days. In the mist of winter morning, she did not see the house, blaming her vision. She ran faster to see the house was demolished and the empty lot was full of debris. Startled, shocked, and bewildered, she stopped and looked around. How could someone do such a shameless act to that sacred house? Feeling numb and dry, she walked to the store, where she used to buy her school supplies. To her surprise, it was open at that time of the morning. The old man was dead, his son said, and it was him, who was running the store now. Hana, out of breath and flustered stopped in front of the counter. Her mind was blank and her tongue was so dry which made her unable to speak. The young man, after waiting a few minute, finally said:
"Can I help you? what do you want?"
His bass voice awakened her from that painful reality.
"What happened to that house?" She pointed with her hand towards the debris.
The young man walked towards the door of his store.
"Which one?"
Hana repeated her question while pointing.
"Oh, that! The owner wants to build an apartment building there for rent. Why do you ask?"
Hana's dry eyes finally flooded with tears and with a trembling voice, she said:
"I used to live there." And she left the store.
To Be Continued
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