Neda was standing close to the door, motionless. She looked like someone that for the first time seeing that room, not someone who had practically raised in that room. Then slowly she began moving towards her father. The few steps that she took, seemed like eternity to others; that is how slow she was moving. She finally stood next to her father's head while staring at the old man. A film of tears covered her eyes. She then sat on the floor, actually knelt down. She brought her right hand up and hesitatingly touched her father's forehead. Her face turned red. The old man was burning up with fever. His face was wet with sweat.
Suddenly she stood up and without saying a word, ran out of the room and to the bathroom. She took a towel and put it inside the sink, opened the cold water on it. After the towel was completely soaked in cold water, she twisted it to remove the excess water. Everyone in the room was curious to know what she was doing.
She returned to the room. Half of her clothes were wet. She shook the towel. Sprays of water flew every direction. Then she began wiping her father's face and neck with it. The old man opened his eyes. Something was happening to him that felt good. He was dreaming of Sima, but when he opened his eyes, he saw his daughter, the much older version of Neda, who had made him feel good, and was helping him.
"You guys just sit downstairs, and drink tea, and don't even care what's happening here! The room is filled with dust. There is no air in here. It feels like you don't care if he is even dead! Do you call yourselves wives?"
Then she turned to Sohrab. Her eyes were blazing and fiery.
"Sohrab, go get a pot, a big one, and fill it up with warm water and put some salt in it and bring it here. Please hurry!"
Mehri wondered how her daughter had learned these old women's trick for bringing the temperature down. Maryam and Sohrab together, left the room to do what Neda had asked them. They did not know how many times Neda had used this method of bringing the temperature down on their son, Aria when he was sick. In fact Kasra was the one that had though her this.
"You don't take the kid to the doctor every time he has a little fever." Neda recalled Kasra's words.
Sima got up from sofa. While waiting for the return of warm water and salt, Neda helped her father to sit up. She put the pillow behind his neck. She opened his shirt buttons and removed it from his body. She threw the blanket with much anger to the other side of the room. Her father's eyes widened, his eyes were ashamed. Neda made him to hang his leg down the sofa. She rolled up the bottom of both legs of his pants and took off his socks. his feet were hot and fiery. Mehri and Sima were standing next to each other in complete astonishment. Sima finally said:
"We do this, too, when his fever goes high!'
Neda gave such a dirt look to Sima, that her mother knew that look was also was for her.
When Sohrab and Maryam returned with a big pot of warm water and couple of big towels, Neda was ready to use her old women medical expertise that she owed it to Kasra. The salt was completely dissolved. She pulled her sleeves up and stirred the water with her hand. The she picked up her father's feet and put them both in the water. She heard a sigh from his lips. She began rubbing his feet gently, calmly, and with so much love and passion that brought shame to the wives. How was it a daughter, who was abandoned from her father's home, was sued by him, was not spoken to or seen by the old man for so long, could show so much love and emotion? Was this Neda the poet, or Neda the daughter?
To Be Continued
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