Reading Lolita in Tehran_ A Memoir in Books - Azar Nafisi [142]
What differentiated this revolution from the other totalitarian revolutions of the twentieth century was that it came in the name of the past: this was both its strength and its weakness. We, four generations of women—my grandmother, my mother, myself and my daughter—lived in the present but also in the past; we were experiencing two different time zones simultaneously. Interesting, I thought, how war and revolution have made us even more aware of our own personal ordeals—especially marriage, at the heart of which was the question of individual freedom, as Jane Austen had discovered two centuries before. She had discovered it, I reflected, but what about us, sitting in this room, in another country at the end of another century?
Sanaz’s nervous laughter brought me out of my reverie. “I’m so scared,” she said, her right hand going to her brow to push back an absent strand of hair. “Up till now, marrying him has been sort of a dream, something to think about when I was fighting with my brother. I never knew—I still don’t know—how it would all work out in real life.”
Sanaz was worried about the trip to Turkey and what it would be like to see him again. “What if he doesn’t like me?” she said. She did not ask, What if I don’t like him? or, What if we don’t get along? Would her brother become more vicious and her mother more depressed? Would her mother, with her martyr’s look, make Sanaz feel guilty, as if she had failed her on purpose? These were serious questions for Sanaz. It was hard to tell if she was going to Turkey to please the others or because she was in love. This was my problem with Sanaz—one never knew what she really wanted.
“After six years, God knows what he’ll be like,” said Nassrin, absentmindedly rotating the coffee mug in her hands. I looked at her with some concern, as I almost always did when our talks turned to marriage and men. I couldn’t help but wonder how she dealt with her buried memories. Did she compare herself with her friends who were free of such experiences? And were they free of such experiences?
Sanaz glanced at Nassrin reproachfully. Did she really need to hear this now? At any rate, going to Turkey would be good for her, even if it didn’t work out. At least she’d get him out of her system.
“Do you love him?” I asked her, trying to ignore the girls’ sardonic smiles. “You’ll always be taking a risk when you decide to marry, but the question is, Do you love him now?”
“I loved him when I was very young,” Sanaz said slowly, too excited to participate in their joke. “I don’t know anymore. I’ve always loved the idea of him, but he’s been away for so long. He’s had so many chances to meet other women. . . . What chance have I had of meeting other men? My aunt says I don’t have to say yes or no. She says if we want to find out how we really feel about each other, we should meet in Turkey alone. We should spend some time together without our families’ interfering presence.”
“What an unusually wise aunt,” I said, unable to stop myself from breaking in like a referee. “She’s right, you know.”
Mahshid raised her eyes in my direction for a fraction of a second before lowering them again. Azin, quickly catching Mahshid’s look, said, “I agree with Dr. Nafisi. You’d be wise to try to live together for a while before making any decisions.”
Mahshid decided not to take the bait, and remained demurely silent. Was it my imagination or did she cast a reproachful glance in my direction as she lowered her eyes, fixing them once more on an imperceptible spot in the carpet?
“The first thing you should do to test your compatibility,” said Nassrin, “is dance with him.”
At first we were puzzled by her statement,