Reading Lolita in Tehran_ A Memoir in Books - Azar Nafisi [154]
When we parted and I headed back home, my mood had already changed. I was thinking of the new novel I had lately been planning to add to our list—Saul Bellow’s The Dean’s December—one that dealt with the ordeals of the East and those of the West. I felt guilty about my complaints to my magician. I had so much wanted him to change everything right there and then, to rub the magic lamp and make the Revolutionary Guards vanish, along with Azin’s husband and Mahshid’s boss. I wanted him to put a stop to all this, and he was telling me not to get so involved. I felt ashamed of myself for refusing to understand him, for acting like a petulant child carelessly punching a beloved parent.
The sun had already started to set as I returned home; it seemed to withdraw one by one the brilliant specks it had scattered over the snow. When I got home I felt grateful to see a fire blazing in the fireplace. Bijan looked serene in a chair drawn closer to the fire, a small glass of bootleg vodka near him on the table, reading The Long Goodbye. From the window I could see the snow-covered branches and the faded outlines of the mountains, barely discernible behind the haze.
8
“They tried to be very modern about it,” Yassi said with a hint of sarcasm, sprawled in her usual place on the couch. Yassi was narrating her latest adventure with a “gentleman caller”—her term. There was a great pressure on her to get married: her best friends and closest cousins were either married or spoken for. “Both his family and mine agreed that we had to get to know each other before coming to any decisions. So we go to this park, and we’re supposed to become intimately acquainted by walking and talking for the next hour,” she said in the same sarcastic tone but with an expression that suggested she was enjoying herself.
“He and I walk in front, followed by my parents, my older sister and two of his sisters. I can almost hear them as they pretend to talk casually about all kinds of things while the two of us pretend to ignore their presence. I ask him about his field: mechanical engineering. Reading anything interesting? Doesn’t have time to read. I have a feeling he wants to look at me, but he can’t. When he came to my uncle’s house to officially ask for my hand, he had to keep his head down the whole time, and here again it’s impossible to get a good look. So we walk side by side, our eyes glued to the ground. All the time I’m thinking crazy thoughts, like, How would a man know that the woman he was intending to marry was not bald?”
“That’s easy,” said Nassrin. “In the old days, women from the man’s family used to scrutinize the would-be bride. Even her teeth.”
“Thank God I have all my teeth! Anyway, we were passing our time in this fashion, until suddenly I got a brilliant idea: I started to walk faster, catching them all by surprise. As they tried to adjust to my pace, I came to a sudden halt, forcing them to almost collide into us. He was genuinely startled but tried to hide it by adjusting to my pace. I made some futile attempts to catch his eyes. Here’s what I was thinking: if he gets it and laughs, I’ll give it a chance. If he doesn’t, that’s it—I won’t waste my time. I knew every one of my uncles would have immediately joined me in the game.” After this, she fell silent.
Well, what happened? “Oh,” she said as if she’d woken from a trance, “nothing.” Nothing? “No, the idiot didn’t even ask me why I was suddenly walking faster. Out of politeness, he just tried to fall into step with me. After a while I got tired of it and then we said good-bye and I didn’t respond to their inquiries until they stopped asking. I’m sure he’s by now