Read Online A Bitter Veil by Libby Fischer Hellmann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Libby Fischer Hellmann
Ads: Link
has already begun.” She smiled. “You are everything to me.”
A few minutes later, they veered off Pahlavi Avenue into a residential section. The streets were narrower here, and it was quieter. Most of the homes were secluded behind walls; sometimes a canopy of leaves peeked out above. They were entering the affluent area of Tehran, Anna thought. The taxi wound around several streets and stopped at a stone wall that ran the length of the block. The street was on a gentle rise; they were at its highest point.
Nouri spoke to the cab driver who blasted his horn long and loud. A moment later a gate opened, and several people spilled out: a woman, small and round, and a girl, who had to be a few years younger than Anna. Behind them a man and a woman hung back. They must have been the household help. Before she knew it Anna was being hugged and kissed and surrounded by exclamations of joy.
*****
Behind the wall was a huge house that looked like it had been recently remodeled. Anna headed toward it, passing a patio flanked by fruit trees and a garden with blossoms in full bloom. A small pool sat in the middle of the yard. The others barely noticed, but Anna slowed her pace as she walked past. The fact that someone had a private space where they could dip their feet into cool water, read poetry, or contemplate nature seemed like paradise.
Inside the house were high ceilings, thick Persian carpets, and brightly colored tapestries. Silver and gold accessories flashed in the light, which poured in through a floor-to-ceiling picture window. Abstract oil paintings framed in ornate gold designs covered the walls. The furniture was upholstered in what Anna assumed was silk and the walls were white. The entire effect was light and airy, but not quite comfortable. As they strolled from room to room, Anna grew overwhelmed. She had grown up in comfort, never wanting, but this opulence was beyond anything she’d imagined.
Nouri’s mother barked an order to one of the servants. The woman, wearing a scarf over her hair, murmured something back and picked up Anna’s suitcase and duffel.
“No, I’ll take them,” Anna said to the woman.
Nouri’s mother raised her palm and shook her head. The woman picked up Anna’s bags. Nouri’s mother smiled, looped her arm through Anna’s, and led her up the stairs. Parvin Samedi was small and round, but Anna could tell that she was once a beauty. Her dark hair was threaded with strands of gray, but Nouri had her eyes: rich brown with flecks of amber, fringed with dark lashes. She wore a simply tailored beige dress accessorized with gold jewelry. She spoke only broken English, but between her smiles, gestures, and pantomimes she made herself understood.
Upstairs she led Anna down a long hall lined with a series of doors. Opening the second on the right, she mumbled something in Farsi and motioned Anna into the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of northern Tehran, mostly a mass of buildings, many of them still under construction. They looked like they stretched all the way to the Alborz. The mountains seemed to have changed color in the past hour, Anna noticed. They were pinker now, not so brown.
The furniture in the room was Western and included a queen-size bed, a bureau, and bookcases filled with leather-bound books. A few trophies sat on the top shelf, along with framed photos of the family. There was even a shot of Nouri in a soccer uniform.
The female servant with the head scarf struggled into the room with Anna’s luggage. She lifted the bags onto the bed, unzipped the duffel, and began to take out Anna’s things.
“Please. I can do that,” Anna said. But Nouri’s mother said something in Farsi, and the servant kept unpacking. Anna was relieved to see Nouri come into the room. A male servant lugged his bags to a room farther down the hall.
“This is our number one guest room,” Nouri said.
Anna bent her head. She was surprised Nouri’s mother put them in
A few minutes later, they veered off Pahlavi Avenue into a residential section. The streets were narrower here, and it was quieter. Most of the homes were secluded behind walls; sometimes a canopy of leaves peeked out above. They were entering the affluent area of Tehran, Anna thought. The taxi wound around several streets and stopped at a stone wall that ran the length of the block. The street was on a gentle rise; they were at its highest point.
Nouri spoke to the cab driver who blasted his horn long and loud. A moment later a gate opened, and several people spilled out: a woman, small and round, and a girl, who had to be a few years younger than Anna. Behind them a man and a woman hung back. They must have been the household help. Before she knew it Anna was being hugged and kissed and surrounded by exclamations of joy.
*****
Behind the wall was a huge house that looked like it had been recently remodeled. Anna headed toward it, passing a patio flanked by fruit trees and a garden with blossoms in full bloom. A small pool sat in the middle of the yard. The others barely noticed, but Anna slowed her pace as she walked past. The fact that someone had a private space where they could dip their feet into cool water, read poetry, or contemplate nature seemed like paradise.
Inside the house were high ceilings, thick Persian carpets, and brightly colored tapestries. Silver and gold accessories flashed in the light, which poured in through a floor-to-ceiling picture window. Abstract oil paintings framed in ornate gold designs covered the walls. The furniture was upholstered in what Anna assumed was silk and the walls were white. The entire effect was light and airy, but not quite comfortable. As they strolled from room to room, Anna grew overwhelmed. She had grown up in comfort, never wanting, but this opulence was beyond anything she’d imagined.
Nouri’s mother barked an order to one of the servants. The woman, wearing a scarf over her hair, murmured something back and picked up Anna’s suitcase and duffel.
“No, I’ll take them,” Anna said to the woman.
Nouri’s mother raised her palm and shook her head. The woman picked up Anna’s bags. Nouri’s mother smiled, looped her arm through Anna’s, and led her up the stairs. Parvin Samedi was small and round, but Anna could tell that she was once a beauty. Her dark hair was threaded with strands of gray, but Nouri had her eyes: rich brown with flecks of amber, fringed with dark lashes. She wore a simply tailored beige dress accessorized with gold jewelry. She spoke only broken English, but between her smiles, gestures, and pantomimes she made herself understood.
Upstairs she led Anna down a long hall lined with a series of doors. Opening the second on the right, she mumbled something in Farsi and motioned Anna into the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of northern Tehran, mostly a mass of buildings, many of them still under construction. They looked like they stretched all the way to the Alborz. The mountains seemed to have changed color in the past hour, Anna noticed. They were pinker now, not so brown.
The furniture in the room was Western and included a queen-size bed, a bureau, and bookcases filled with leather-bound books. A few trophies sat on the top shelf, along with framed photos of the family. There was even a shot of Nouri in a soccer uniform.
The female servant with the head scarf struggled into the room with Anna’s luggage. She lifted the bags onto the bed, unzipped the duffel, and began to take out Anna’s things.
“Please. I can do that,” Anna said. But Nouri’s mother said something in Farsi, and the servant kept unpacking. Anna was relieved to see Nouri come into the room. A male servant lugged his bags to a room farther down the hall.
“This is our number one guest room,” Nouri said.
Anna bent her head. She was surprised Nouri’s mother put them in
Similar Books
