The kids started school again and our lives resumed their old routine. Fereshteh didn’t come back to see Shahaab again. I don’t know what happened between them, but Shahaab didn’t want to go out with her any more. He had grown quieter and more introverted, and didn’t even run around the room playing his strange games. He no longer showed me the drawings he made, and the few times I accidentally saw them I couldn’t make head nor tail of the jumbled lines. Once when he saw me looking at one he grabbed it and tore it up, and I sensed it was something I shouldn’t have seen. My main worry however was his relationship with his father. Nasser was a decent, hard-working man who had dedicated his life to his family, but he lacked something; something he should have learned as a child. He didn’t know how to show his love. He found the expression of emotions ridiculous, and felt ashamed to do so. He thought anything that wasn’t based on pure logic was pointless and unnecessary. He was a perfectionist and didn’t forgive any shortcomings in me, or our children. Arash tried so hard to meet his father’s demands that he too became obsessive in this regard. He buried himself in schoolwork and private tutors. Nasser spoke of him with pride and everyone applauded his efforts, and this made him obsess about school more and more. Once Nasser became convinced that Shahaab was mentally deficient, his expectations of Arash grew even more. It was as if the only way he could put up with the shame of having a dumb child was to have his other son be a genius.
How could such a person understand Shahaab? They did not have a healthy emotional bond and grew further apart day by day, and I was worried and confused, trying all sorts of tricks to create a connection between them. One day I handed a plate of fruit to Shahaab and asked him to take it to his father. He slammed the plate on the table.
‘Shahaab, what’s wrong? Your dad just got home and he’s tired. Take him some fruit and sit next to him. He misses you.’
He didn’t look pleased. I handed him the plate once again.
‘Go on, son, don’t be so stubborn. Take this to your father. Don’t you love him?’
He pressed his lips together and threw the plate. It broke into pieces.
Nasser yelled, ‘What was that?’
I looked at Shahaab in confusion. He ran and hid in his room.
‘Nothing . . . I dropped a plate.’