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Authors: Shohreh Aghdashloo
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referring to something that you know is right, learn from it. Throw it in the trash can if it is wrong.”
12
Loyalty
A friend of mine, Shirin, had wanted to see me for a while, but I had been so busy at the workshop. We finally set a date, and when I opened the door to her I knew something was terribly wrong. Her big green eyes were red. Her face was puffy, her long curly blond hair was a mess, and her belly was swollen. Despite looking like she had gained weight, she seemed malnourished.
She burst into tears as she came in and explained that she was three months pregnant, out of wedlock. Her parents were extremely conservative and had no idea that she’d had a boyfriend, let alone had gotten pregnant.
“My mother would kill herself. My father would have a stroke, and my brothers would kill me. What am I going to do?” she asked me.
I felt sorry for her. I knew she was right. I asked her how she had managed to cover it up so far. She said by pretending to be ill. She said she was going to go to the Caspian to stay with her aunt, a single woman in her seventies who would understand and be able to help her.
She had tried to get an abortion, but no doctor would do it. “It is too late,” she kept hearing.
I told her that she could stay with us as long as she wanted. But it was impossible. We lived in the same neighborhood as her parents, and her brothers were all over the place. They were respectable people and well known in the area.
I told her she must talk to her boyfriend. She said she did and got nowhere. He was not ready to get married and had his own problems. He was addicted to heroin, and his father, a retired general, had done his best but had to let go of him when he refused to quit for good.
Shirin’s boyfriend was very handsome, somewhere between James Dean and Troy Donahue, with blue eyes. He was tall and charming and was kept alive by friends. He partied every night and crashed on different people’s couches.
I told Shirin I would talk to him.
He came at lunchtime. I made him some soup, knowing he had lost four of his front teeth in a car accident. He looked pathetic and kept telling me about the gutter he lived in. He had rented a room in a slum. He said he could not take care of himself, let alone a baby. But he was willing to reconsider the marriage, if Shirin would go to the Caspian and give him time to do the right thing.
That night I asked Aydin if he would accept the child and marry my friend as his second wife. He was stunned. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he asked me twice if I really meant it, and I said, “Yes, yes, yes. It would save her life and the child.”
He laughed and said he would do no such thing. I said we would keep it quiet, but he still refused.
“Do you love me? Sometimes I wonder,” my husband said. “Be it quiet or not, I do not want to do this. I do not believe you. Do you know what you are getting involved with? It’s dangerous.”
I kissed him and whispered, “But you will do it if she gets into harm’s way, won’t you?”
“Let’s hope she will find a way out of this,” he replied.
Fortunately Shirin found her path and I did not have to share my house with a second wife. She finally told her mother the truth and went to stay with her aunt near the Caspian Sea for a while. Her boyfriend decided to marry her and would eventually take her to his parents’ house, as they were willing to take care of her and their grandchild.
Aydin kept teasing me for months for being so naïve. He told our friends how I had begged him to take a second wife. Everybody laughed their hearts out. People still caught up in old traditions in Iran at this time did have two or more wives, but the modern generation thought it was archaic.
I WAS THRIVING and my career was booming. Aydin was very happy. His business was successful, too, and his collection of calligraphies was growing larger. We were attending parties and clubs during the weekends and stayed home during the
12
Loyalty
A friend of mine, Shirin, had wanted to see me for a while, but I had been so busy at the workshop. We finally set a date, and when I opened the door to her I knew something was terribly wrong. Her big green eyes were red. Her face was puffy, her long curly blond hair was a mess, and her belly was swollen. Despite looking like she had gained weight, she seemed malnourished.
She burst into tears as she came in and explained that she was three months pregnant, out of wedlock. Her parents were extremely conservative and had no idea that she’d had a boyfriend, let alone had gotten pregnant.
“My mother would kill herself. My father would have a stroke, and my brothers would kill me. What am I going to do?” she asked me.
I felt sorry for her. I knew she was right. I asked her how she had managed to cover it up so far. She said by pretending to be ill. She said she was going to go to the Caspian to stay with her aunt, a single woman in her seventies who would understand and be able to help her.
She had tried to get an abortion, but no doctor would do it. “It is too late,” she kept hearing.
I told her that she could stay with us as long as she wanted. But it was impossible. We lived in the same neighborhood as her parents, and her brothers were all over the place. They were respectable people and well known in the area.
I told her she must talk to her boyfriend. She said she did and got nowhere. He was not ready to get married and had his own problems. He was addicted to heroin, and his father, a retired general, had done his best but had to let go of him when he refused to quit for good.
Shirin’s boyfriend was very handsome, somewhere between James Dean and Troy Donahue, with blue eyes. He was tall and charming and was kept alive by friends. He partied every night and crashed on different people’s couches.
I told Shirin I would talk to him.
He came at lunchtime. I made him some soup, knowing he had lost four of his front teeth in a car accident. He looked pathetic and kept telling me about the gutter he lived in. He had rented a room in a slum. He said he could not take care of himself, let alone a baby. But he was willing to reconsider the marriage, if Shirin would go to the Caspian and give him time to do the right thing.
That night I asked Aydin if he would accept the child and marry my friend as his second wife. He was stunned. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he asked me twice if I really meant it, and I said, “Yes, yes, yes. It would save her life and the child.”
He laughed and said he would do no such thing. I said we would keep it quiet, but he still refused.
“Do you love me? Sometimes I wonder,” my husband said. “Be it quiet or not, I do not want to do this. I do not believe you. Do you know what you are getting involved with? It’s dangerous.”
I kissed him and whispered, “But you will do it if she gets into harm’s way, won’t you?”
“Let’s hope she will find a way out of this,” he replied.
Fortunately Shirin found her path and I did not have to share my house with a second wife. She finally told her mother the truth and went to stay with her aunt near the Caspian Sea for a while. Her boyfriend decided to marry her and would eventually take her to his parents’ house, as they were willing to take care of her and their grandchild.
Aydin kept teasing me for months for being so naïve. He told our friends how I had begged him to take a second wife. Everybody laughed their hearts out. People still caught up in old traditions in Iran at this time did have two or more wives, but the modern generation thought it was archaic.
I WAS THRIVING and my career was booming. Aydin was very happy. His business was successful, too, and his collection of calligraphies was growing larger. We were attending parties and clubs during the weekends and stayed home during the
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