I am in a swimming pool that has no water. I say, I have come here to swim. Why isn’t there any water? A few fat women are all dressed and sitting around the pool, but they don’t talk to me. They are cleaning vegetables and dumping them in the pool that by now looks green and slimy. The air is hot. I have come a long way to swim in the pool. I want to get my body wet but there is not even one drop of water. Holding their heads down, the fat women are cleaning vegetables in silence. I scream, “Water.” My lips are dry. I open my eyes. The kids have thrown a couple of blankets on me and are fast asleep at my feet.

Chapter 38

38

Amir says, “You’ve become really fat, like a buffalo. I like the slim girls who stroll in the streets, thin and slender.”

I laugh. I gently stroke my arm. It’s silky and smooth. My hand should remain on my arm to feel its softness. If I remove my hand, I might think I have the skin of a rhinoceros, the thick skin of a rhinoceros that would mistake hitting for caressing.

I laugh.

If a marriage lasts, the woman becomes tough. On the surface the skin feels smooth, but it is becoming thick. This woman doesn’t pass out or faint. Neither does she agonize day and night. She doesn’t beat herself up, sleep hungry at nights, or want to kill all the slim girls.

I laugh.

Not a nervous laughter, but a happy one, happiness for what makes any woman rich: self-confidence.

My silence further agitates Amir, because his skin has become thin and my loud laughter passes through it and penetrates his heart.

“What are you laughing at, chubby?”

Chapter 39

39

My belly might get bigger. Mahin’s hips might grow bigger. One day we may look in the mirror, see our faces, and feel sorry for ourselves. One day Mahin may no longer be able to dance so energetically, and perhaps one day I will become less patient and surrender to fate. Destiny can do whatever it wants with me.

That’s why Shahla forces me to go for walks with Mahin. Because all these horrible things may happen to us. As we occasionally walk shoulder to shoulder, I feel that anxiety is pushed away. I say, “To hell with hip and belly.”

I think out loud, “It’s our soul that needs air.”

Mahin objects, “But not this polluted air. This is dirty. There is also too much noise. You know what I want?”

Mahin doesn’t talk about what she wants; she acts it out. Now, she is extending her arms. “Clean air.”

It’s like a dance. Her hands almost reach the ground.

“Clean earth refreshed by rain.” She pushes her arms forward. “And a bicycle.”