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Back My Bird Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. My Bird
  4. Chapter 2
  5. Chapter 3
  6. Chapter 4
  7. Chapter 5
  8. Chapter 6
  9. Chapter 7
  10. Chapter 8
  11. Chapter 9
  12. Chapter 10
  13. Chapter 11
  14. Chapter 12
  15. Chapter 13
  16. Chapter 14
  17. Chapter 15
  18. Chapter 16
  19. Chapter 17
  20. Chapter 18
  21. Chapter 19
  22. Chapter 20
  23. Chapter 21
  24. Chapter 22
  25. Chapter 23
  26. Chapter 24
  27. Chapter 25
  28. Chapter 26
  29. Chapter 27
  30. Chapter 28
  31. Chapter 29
  32. Chapter 30
  33. Chapter 31
  34. Chapter 32
  35. Chapter 33
  36. Chapter 34
  37. Chapter 35
  38. Chapter 36
  39. Chapter 37
  40. Chapter 38
  41. Chapter 39
  42. Chapter 40
  43. Chapter 41
  44. Chapter 42
  45. Chapter 43
  46. Chapter 44
  47. Chapter 45
  48. Chapter 46
  49. Chapter 47
  50. Chapter 48
  51. Chapter 49
  52. Chapter 50
  53. Chapter 51
  54. Chapter 52
  55. Chapter 53
  56. Afterword
  57. About the Authors

Now I want to search all its gaps and openings in the light. The kids are calling me. The phone is ringing. Shadi puts a pencil sharpener in my hand, and I climb reluctantly out of the basement. I shake myself. I’m in no rush. I’m carrying out the kids’ orders. I know that I can return to the basement anytime I want, like a traveler who returns to her homeland.

Chapter 53

53

image The woman enters the bedroom and the man, after apologizing, looks inside the room over the woman’s shoulder. They apologize again for checking the bathroom. The real estate man winks at Amir. The sound of the tambourine is heard. The woman and man look at each other. The real estate man says, “What’s that?”

He leaves, following the woman and the man. Amir follows them and returns after a few minutes.

The kids look at Amir as they watch me getting ready to leave. Amir is standing in front of the kitchen and looks like a warrior who can’t believe his opponent is walking away quietly, leaving the battlefield.

I step outside. I am in the yard when Shadi taps on the window. From the movement of her lips, I realize she is asking for cheese puffs.

I start walking. I pass the intersection and go into a quiet alley. This alley has no resemblance to the other alleyways on this street. It has trees and smells nice, the scent of jasmine, the fragrance of roses, the aroma of freshly cooked rice. The houses have large windows and the chandeliers are visible through lace curtains.

“The person whose bird has already flown away has difficulty staying put. He’ll become a stranger in his own house.”

Do I have a bird too? My bird? But is it possible for anybody not to have a bird? Even the neighborhood gigolo, with his dark glasses and curly hair, who is always lingering in the streets, has his own bird. Whistling under his lips, he is perhaps calling out for his bird.

Afterword

Afterword

Fariba Vafi and Her Bird: On Pens and Feathers

FARZANEH MILANI

Pen and Feather are varieties of the same word, the root being the Sanskrit pat, to fly.

—Brewer, Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1894

In the cage of my breast / the birds of my words / have lost their feathers.

—Simin Behbahani, “In My Necessary Silence”