But Maman’s brightest daughter, I don’t really feel jealous when you write about the most beautiful smiles of the world. Instead I need to get something off my chest. You don’t remember those days. You have always lived as if life begins right now. Shahla too, God help us, nobody has yet heard her recalling a memory. A woman with no memory, she is always ready to throw around those pretty pop psychology phrases. “You have to live in the moment.”

Not that her moment is very pleasant! Shahla is always complaining about her coworkers and the way Maman goes to the bathroom. But I can remember very well that one side of my face was always swollen. I often had an infected tooth that made my mouth smell horrible. When they finally took me to the dentist, the tooth had to be removed. I have so many memories of toothaches and the metal smell of the dentist’s drill that I sometimes feel like I had twice as many teeth as normal people. Of course, I don’t even have half of them now. To hell with not chewing well or getting stomach gas, what about my laughter? I think they ruined my smile, and not my teeth. That’s why I am not upset when I cry, but I am sad when I laugh. It’s impossible for the person sitting in front of you to pay less attention to your teeth than to what you’re saying.

Father would see me and say, “Give me my dentures.”

There was nothing more difficult than taking his dentures out of the glass and then hearing him adjusting them.

He said, “Dentures are good.”

I’d look at him doubtfully. I didn’t know whether he meant his dentures or something else. I couldn’t even tell whether he was laughing or his dentures were out of place. His wet dentures were shiny. My tooth was aching as usual, and thinking about the near future of my teeth wasn’t that comforting either. I really wanted to complain to somebody but Maman was washing clothes and weeping, and Father couldn’t understand a word. There is no joy in persecuting the weak. It kills the desire to seek justice forever.

It was right then that Father said something he shouldn’t have.

“Any pistachios?”

Maman hissed like a snake and got up from her washtub.

“Even if this man’s heart stopped, his appetite wouldn’t.”

I looked at Father. Was he laughing or showing his dentures? I couldn’t tell any more.

Amir was reading the letter with excitement and emotion and I was laughing. I am sure that over there foreign women cannot laugh this way. Because it’s not chic at all, and it’s the kind of laughter that shows discolored crowns instead of white shiny teeth.