“From that bear’s paws, nothing escapes. Go on into the living room. Your grandfather’s been waiting to see you.”
I sidestepped the living room and went to wash up. I was convinced my grandfather would see right through me in a way KokoGul never could. I couldn’t look at him with the flush of embarrassment still on my cheeks.
Another day, I thought and put my exam in my room.
CHAPTER 5
Fereiba
IN MY LAST YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL, THE ORCHARD DREW ME IN more than ever, the fruit-laden branches like curled fingers beckoning me to enter. In the cradle of peach trees, sucking on the gummy, amber-colored sap I’d peeled from the trunk, I considered what I might do after my graduation. Some girls were going on to university. Others were becoming teachers. Many would be married. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I had no interest in marriage and the household that would come along with it.
When my chores were completed, I would slip into the orchard with a book. The grass felt cool against my feet, its soft blades tickling my toes. I would read with my back against a mulberry tree or sometimes lying on my stomach. My sisters asked me why I was so drawn to the mulberry trees and I told them it was there that I dreamt best.
“What do you dream about?” they would ask.
“I dream about tomorrow.”
“What will happen tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember what happens, but I wake feeling that it is amazing. A story worth telling.”
It was that summer that my grandfather fell ill with a bitter, relentless cough. He lay in bed for days, nursing cups of herb tea meant to exorcise disease from the body. I watched his heavy breathing, perspiration on his upper lip. Padar-jan summoned a doctor who gave an injection and then left two bottles of pills. I held the cup of water to his lips to wash the chalky tablets down.
I went to see him almost daily, hoping for signs of improvement. But his face paled even as his fever spiked red and hot. On my fourth visit, I made him soup and sweet tea. He took no more than a few sips before begging me to let him rest.
We called for the doctor again. Boba-jan looked so frail and small in his bed. I longed to see him stand up, reach for his cane, and walk to the kitchen. My father and I were at his side most of the time, but neither of us spoke of just how weak Boba-jan looked. Padar-jan did not say much at all but that was his way, as if he was afraid of his own voice.
“Fereiba-jan,” my grandfather called out.
“Yes, Boba-jan?”
“My sweet granddaughter. You’re nearly finished with high school, are you not?”
“Yes, Boba-jan. Just this year left.”
“Good, good. And what will you do after you have completed your high school studies?”
“I’m not sure, Boba-jan. I was thinking of college but . . .” His eyes were half closed. I let my voice trail off, thinking he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t.
“But what?”
I had no answer for him. I shrugged my shoulders and wiped his forehead with a cool cloth.