So with a lot of fan fair, one weekend, the three companions without Aria, went to Neda and Sohrab's childhood home. Mother wanted them to go for dinner, but Neda thought after all these years, and after her father suing her in court, just a short visit would be proper and enough.
Mother opened the door before they rang. It seemed as though she was standing right behind the gate which opened to the yard and from there to the building. In fact this gate was the only entrance to this house. Those days most houses in Tehran were built that way; you first entered the yard, or garden as they called it, and then from there, entered to the building.
Neda's first glance was for the cherry tree. She noticed something strange about the yard. She saw the bench, the famous or infamous bench was where it had always been; but the tree was gone; it was cut down. What was left of it was a short about half a meter trunk which they had put a fancy pot of plant on it.
"What happened to the cherry tree, mom?" She asked, almost disturbed.
"Like everything else, it died. We had to cut it down." Mehri, her mother answered with a voice that was ready for a good cry.
"Like everything else!" Neda repeated after her mother; and then she asked:
"Where is father?" Mehri noticed that she did not say dad.
Mother was not able to answer, since at this time Sima walked from inside the building to the yard and joined them. As always she was dressed with make up and high heel, as if she was going to a party. She had not changed much except she was heavier, much heavier, as though she had settled in her passion for the old man. She said:
"I've made a bed for him in his study. He likes it there more than anywhere else in this house."
"Me, too!" Neda said as if to herself.
"Let's go see him." Sohrab broke in somewhat abruptly.
They all went upstairs. Mehri and Sima carried the cups for tea and sugar cube dish in a tray and the basket of fruit and a dish of pastries they had on the table of the living room. Sohrab helped his mother. Neda said some unrecognizable words under her tongue. She passed the others that climbing the stairs slowly with their loads of TRADITION ( tea, fruit, pastries ). Then she climbed the stairs two steps at a time. She wanted to look inside her girlhood room before the others would reach the floor. In front of her old room , she hesitated for a few second and then opened the door. Mina, her half- sister was sitting behind the desk. Nothing had changed. It was her room with a new occupant. The furniture were the same. The bed covering was changed. That was the only obvious difference Neda noticed. Mina rose her head for her studying. Neda put her hand on her lips to indicate to Mina to stay silent. Before she left the room, she noticed that Mina was wearing the gold necklace that she had given her a while back. "So she liked it!" She told herself while standing behind her father's study room. Waves of nostalgia swarmed into her. She recalled the days that she had spent more time in that room than any other place in that house. She recalled the time that she had sat on her father's lap while he read to her. What did happen to the old man? Was he this way from the beginning or was he changed because of his second marriage?
The rest finally reached where she was standing. Sima was the first.
"Why are standing there? Why aren't you going inside?"
Neda looked at her step mother with an intense stare. She wanted to say to Sima:
"My dad threw me out of this room when you came in. I was almost raised in this room!" But those words stayed in her turbulence mind. Sima opened the door and went inside herself.
"Jalal, everyone is here to see you!"
Jalal was dozing on the sofa that had replaced the love seat. He was lying down, a pillow with white cover under his head, a blue blanket was his cover all the way to his neck.
Neda followed Sima. She was shocked to see her father so frail, so thin, unshaven, and unaware. The rest came in, too. Everyone found a place to sit or to stand. The room had not changed. The books and shelves were still there; except perhaps these days no one was picking them up, or reading them. The smell of dust overwhelmed the room. It was coming from all corners of the room and pages of the books. Mother and Sima put the eatables on the coffee table, the same coffee table that had been there for ever. However nobody felt like having a party and eating or drinking tea. Mehri stood by the door. Neda noticed she was crying. Sima sat at one end of the sofa where the old man's feet were. She lifted his feet up and put them on her lap. Maryam stood next to Sohrab, who sat on the chair behind the desk.
To Be Continued
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