❤
As she was still pushing to find a way among that big crowd of people, trucks, and tanks so she could be on the other side walk, she noticed that she was still in the middle of the street, right in front of a big truck, filled with people, men, women, and children; all carrying some kind of banner, some bearing weapons, some children on the shoulder of their fathers. The odor of people and machines were mixed. It made her almost sick to her stomach; reminded her of the days of her pregnancy, the days that any odor had made her to vomit.
But suddenly right there, among that terrible stench, she conjured up something from way back, from when she was in the hospital. She had seen her baby only for a few moments. Now she recalled that she had noticed something in the baby's half open eyes then, something like love for her. Strangely it was an unexpected discontent and weariness and painful discovery to be loved like that as she had seen it in that short few moment she had with her baby and in her half open eyes. It was an unfamiliar and terrible sensation since she knew what the black law of the land had done to her, took, or better yet, steal her baby for ever. There was something else she had seen in that half open eyes, a little mark, like a dot in the iris of her eyes exactly like the one she had. They told her that hers was a birth mark. So Ariana already had something from her.
Ever since that moment of birth, she had thought only about her daughter, her future, her point of view about her real mother if she ever knew about her, and knew that Mitra was not her real mother. Neda was too terrified to have a clear perception of what Ariana thought about her now that she had found out. She was even horrified to find out how Ariana had thought about her when she was a toddler, a teenager, or even an older teenager if she knew about her real mother! Had she hated her if she knew the truth? Had she known what happened to the woman who gave birth to her? Had she cared to know? Had she even known that Neda existed? Would she love her now the way she did at the time of birth? Did all these nineteen years of mystery, secret, and hiding had affected her so drastically that even if she knew the real truth now, she would and could not forgive her? Did all the nineteen years of not seeing each other enable her to accept Neda, her real mother, with open arms? Would she believe her when she would hear the true reason of the divorce and the circumstance under which it happened? Had Mitra treated her like her own child? Had she been a good mother to her?
All these years, Neda had tried to avoid these questions and moreover what had happened to her daughter to no avail! Now, she was right in the middle of the revolutionary crowds who wanted to change the regime to another which was most certainly would turn out disastrously. Now she was going to see the half open eyes of a baby, who was born more than nineteen years ago and soon she would find out for herself how those eyes looked like now!
At birth, she knew that her baby was a new spirit, whole and complete, a new reflection and idea, and a new love. At the time, she recalled, it almost unnerved her. The baby was her first and only born from a man she hated. How was it that she loved her so much and hated her father even more?
She remembered when they ripped her baby from her and before she fainted, she said to herself:
"You, Mansour, I hope you would be colder than a lonely child! I hope you would die in the cold of hatred!"
Rain started falling. She did not have the right shoes on. She felt that water was filling her shoes; she felt that the bottom of her pants were all wet. She tried to pull her scarves higher over her head to protect her face from rain; nonetheless, people were shoulder to shoulder. There was not a centimeter of space between people from her to raise her hand and to do what she had thought. Her mind deviated from past and birth to rain and where she was caught and how late she would be to see Ariana! Would her daughter wait for her? Would she know why she was late?
❰❱
After dinner, Sohrab and Maryam went for a walk. Kasra also left. Neda cleared the table and then sat on a chair by the dinning table. She thought how her life would be when Sohrab and Maryam would leave her in a few months when they would be married. The wedding would be right before the beginning of schools in September. She knew that most likely they wanted to live separate from her, to have their own little place! She knew that was the right thing. But what about her? Would her parents (Father) return to torture her, to dominate her life, to order her to come back home? She made up her mind that her answer to their demand to return home would be no, no, no! There was no way that she would go back to her former life in a home with her father, Sima, a child, half sister. She was not far from twenty two years old. She had lived on her own for two years now.
She went to the bedroom and got her book of poetry. She lay down on the bed and wrote a poem. She named it: "Beyond Grace"
ᚖ
"Into a world of white washed Walls
Where the dead and dying lay-
Wounded with bayonets, shells and balls
Some one's darling was borne one day.
Some one's darling, so young, so brave,
Wearing still on her pale, sweet face,
Soon to be hidden by the dust of grave-
The lingering light of girlhood grace."
ᚖ
It was an obscure April night. She thought Ariana would be five years old in a few days. "How does she look?' Does she know about me?" An unvaried shroud, so gloomy, of cloud muffled the whole expense of the sky from Zenith to Horizon. Neda walked to the small balcony in from of the living room window. She had set a small rod iron table and three white, rod iron chairs on the balcony. One of her book was on the table. But now lay motionless while it was caressed all morning by the sun rays, and now was harassed by the rain and storm. Its cover was raised slightly as though acknowledging the fondling by sun of the morning. Neda found herself like that book. She needed caressing by sun, by moon, even by a man...
To Be Continued
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