Read Online Persian Girls: A Memoir by Nahid Rachlin - Free Book Online
Authors: Nahid Rachlin
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father had been mayor of a small town, and his mother mismanaged the money they inherited. Father worked to help support the family and went to school at the same time.
In spite of the fact that our brothers were so high up in the household hierarchy and had much more freedom than us sisters, Pari and I didn’t resent them. There was no competition between us and them as there was between us sisters. In fact we felt they added something to our lives by introducing us to certain things.
Sometimes Parviz put on records and, holding us sisters one at a time, led us through the tango, fox-trot, and a slower dance he said was popular in America. He played Ping-Pong with us at a table that Father had set up on the terrace mainly for him and Cyrus. He joked with me that he and Cyrus had found me inside a large watermelon on the Karoon River’s bank and brought me home to our parents. He praised me for reading a lot.
Cyrus was more reserved than Parviz but still he bought American items for us from a store near the oil drilling company, where he worked a few hours a week to learn certain skills in preparation for engineering school. They were ordinary household products such as Jell-O or Nescafé but Pari and I felt we were getting a piece of America, as we did from American movies.
Seven
M aryam is much better.” I’m not sure how much time had passed before Mohtaram was saying that to Father.
I saw Maryam once or twice a year, when she came for short visits. I still considered her my mother, but now she had no say in the course of my life. Everything was up to Father. Parting after each of her visits was unbearable for both of us. We considered my sudden departure a kidnapping.
Pari became my only consolation. She was happy to have me, the little sister she had once lost, back with her. She told me how nice it was for her to be able to share things with me and have a friend in the household, ignored as she felt by Mohtaram and angry at her favoritism of Manijeh.
Indeed Mohtaram’s extreme attention to Manijeh at Pari’s and my expense was strange and continuous. One evening, at Pari’s suggestion, Mohtaram agreed to take us three sisters to see Giant at Javani Cinema. Sahara Cinema was on Pahlavi Avenue, within a block of our house, but Javani was farther away. Pari and I were excited about the movie and had been talking about it all day.
“Maman, I’m not feeling good,” Manijeh said, as we were getting ready to leave.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” Mohtaram asked.
“I have a headache.”
Mohtaram felt Manijeh’s forehead with the palm of her hand. “You don’t have a fever but you should rest. The movie can wait for another night.”
“Nahid and I will go by ourselves,” Pari said.
“You know your father doesn’t allow that. I have to take you.”
“Manijeh becomes sick whenever she wants to get her way,” Pari said.
Manijeh’s face became red and she put her tongue between her teeth and pressed on it.
“Don’t you talk like that to your sister,” Mohtaram admonished Pari.
We had to skip the movie that evening.
Pari and I started to cut classes in the afternoons and secretly went to Javani Cinema. Father gave us allowances, graded according to our ages and gender, with a big jump from Pari to Parviz. We sisters got enough tooman s to be able to go to the movies, or to a café occasionally, or buy a few desired items. If I ran out of money Pari paid for me.
Usually very few people were in the cinema in the afternoons and we felt safe that no one we knew would see us and report to our parents. Watching the American characters on the screen was magical for both of us, transporting us to another way of life. Once Pari took me to see A Star Is Born. Judy Garland portrayed an actress whose career blossoms as her husband’s declines. Pari was particularly excited by the story.
“Those women can choose a career, marry the person they love,” she said as we walked home. “We aren’t
In spite of the fact that our brothers were so high up in the household hierarchy and had much more freedom than us sisters, Pari and I didn’t resent them. There was no competition between us and them as there was between us sisters. In fact we felt they added something to our lives by introducing us to certain things.
Sometimes Parviz put on records and, holding us sisters one at a time, led us through the tango, fox-trot, and a slower dance he said was popular in America. He played Ping-Pong with us at a table that Father had set up on the terrace mainly for him and Cyrus. He joked with me that he and Cyrus had found me inside a large watermelon on the Karoon River’s bank and brought me home to our parents. He praised me for reading a lot.
Cyrus was more reserved than Parviz but still he bought American items for us from a store near the oil drilling company, where he worked a few hours a week to learn certain skills in preparation for engineering school. They were ordinary household products such as Jell-O or Nescafé but Pari and I felt we were getting a piece of America, as we did from American movies.
Seven
M aryam is much better.” I’m not sure how much time had passed before Mohtaram was saying that to Father.
I saw Maryam once or twice a year, when she came for short visits. I still considered her my mother, but now she had no say in the course of my life. Everything was up to Father. Parting after each of her visits was unbearable for both of us. We considered my sudden departure a kidnapping.
Pari became my only consolation. She was happy to have me, the little sister she had once lost, back with her. She told me how nice it was for her to be able to share things with me and have a friend in the household, ignored as she felt by Mohtaram and angry at her favoritism of Manijeh.
Indeed Mohtaram’s extreme attention to Manijeh at Pari’s and my expense was strange and continuous. One evening, at Pari’s suggestion, Mohtaram agreed to take us three sisters to see Giant at Javani Cinema. Sahara Cinema was on Pahlavi Avenue, within a block of our house, but Javani was farther away. Pari and I were excited about the movie and had been talking about it all day.
“Maman, I’m not feeling good,” Manijeh said, as we were getting ready to leave.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” Mohtaram asked.
“I have a headache.”
Mohtaram felt Manijeh’s forehead with the palm of her hand. “You don’t have a fever but you should rest. The movie can wait for another night.”
“Nahid and I will go by ourselves,” Pari said.
“You know your father doesn’t allow that. I have to take you.”
“Manijeh becomes sick whenever she wants to get her way,” Pari said.
Manijeh’s face became red and she put her tongue between her teeth and pressed on it.
“Don’t you talk like that to your sister,” Mohtaram admonished Pari.
We had to skip the movie that evening.
Pari and I started to cut classes in the afternoons and secretly went to Javani Cinema. Father gave us allowances, graded according to our ages and gender, with a big jump from Pari to Parviz. We sisters got enough tooman s to be able to go to the movies, or to a café occasionally, or buy a few desired items. If I ran out of money Pari paid for me.
Usually very few people were in the cinema in the afternoons and we felt safe that no one we knew would see us and report to our parents. Watching the American characters on the screen was magical for both of us, transporting us to another way of life. Once Pari took me to see A Star Is Born. Judy Garland portrayed an actress whose career blossoms as her husband’s declines. Pari was particularly excited by the story.
“Those women can choose a career, marry the person they love,” she said as we walked home. “We aren’t
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