Shahin searches the rooms, the bathroom, too. He looks down from the stairway. There is nobody. He looks out the window. He is not tall enough to see the end of the street. He returns to the room, kicking the closed door and screams, “Jerks!”

Chapter 35

35

I feel the tremors of this life. I can smell the whiff of separation. Life will change. We could do anything, but still not be able to stay together as we are. I make a soup. Soup reminds Amir of his mother. A mother who could be summed up in two words: devoted and hardworking. But my mother couldn’t be defined even by a thousand words. I make spaghetti and cutlets for Shahin and Shadi. Everybody should leave a table full and satisfied. Everybody should enjoy their food. Doesn’t everybody try to have what we have, enough food and a life together?

There is a celebration at our house, and I am the only one who knows about it. It is a feast to preserve the moment, a moment that will probably not be there tomorrow. I feel the turbulence under my feet. I smell separation.

Patiently I listen to Shahin’s silly jokes. Shadi doesn’t want to be left behind either. “A boy was walking on his hands. Somebody asked him, ‘Why are you walking on your hands?’ The boy said, ‘Because my father has said I am not allowed to put a foot in the street.’”

Shahin says, “Ha, ha, very funny!”

But I laugh wholeheartedly. This little man and woman who are close to beating each other up bring me so much joy, and Amir doesn’t know why he feels like telling a joke that’s not really funny, and doesn’t know why he’s teasing the kids. He doesn’t know why he joins Shahin to make fun of Shadi. Now I have to play my usual role and come to Shadi’s rescue and tell them, “Don’t be so mean.” Amir and Shahin keep at it and turn into real monsters and laugh harder. Amir, Shadi, and Shahin don’t realize they are participating in a feast that I have arranged. This is a celebration of life and sitting together at the table; I laugh heartily, feeling the passage of every second.

Chapter 36

36

In his letters Amir writes about Azerbaijani people, about Baku, the boulevards, and the underground metro. He writes about museums, statues, and the libraries. In response I write about the weather, the newspaper reports, and the new highways that the government is building, about the supermarket that has opened recently, the gas pipelines, and the farmer’s market.