No one spoke to me in those dark days. I wasn’t angry but felt intensely hopeless and alone. I still couldn’t believe that anyone could lie so easily. My mother lied sometimes, but her lies were meant to protect me, not destroy me. I slowly understood the meaning of lying, and this understanding made me completely tongue-tied. I didn’t even talk to Asi or Babi any more. It was as if they were lost and had left my mind for ever.
My parents argued incessantly. Father took some workers to Uncle’s house the next day and said he would pay for everything himself. Mother was angry and said, ‘This means you’re accepting the fire was Shahaab’s doing.’
‘Of course it was! Who else could it have been? All those witnesses. He almost killed my poor mother too!’
‘He never does anything bad unless someone hurts or upsets him.’
‘Stop talking rubbish! Everyone was exceptionally nice to him last night. Fereshteh kept kissing him and my brother kept giving him sweets. Even Fataneh sang his praises. He definitely paid them back! I wish I were dead and didn’t have to go through this humiliation! This child is retarded. His actions aren’t based on reason and understanding. Even if we assume he does these things to take revenge on those who hurt him it still means he’s dangerous. You want to know what I’m really afraid of? What if Shadi annoys him some day? Do you just want to sit there and do nothing, and maybe come home one day to find Shadi dead? Is that it?’
These words terrified my mother and made me shake with fear too. I’d stupidly assumed that Mother’s weakness, Father’s lack of attention and their occasional arguments, which had begun once they found out I was stupid, had come to an end. But now they all reappeared and intensified. There was no sign of the woman who had single-handedly saved Fereshteh. She didn’t protect me any more in the way I expected. It was as if she too had accepted my guilt in the fire incident, and could imagine I was capable of hurting Shadi. With her weakness I became more and more miserable and didn’t doubt my own insanity. Imagining that I would one day kill my sister terrified me. I kept obsessing about this thought and it made my hands itch. I would press them together and hide them in my pockets in order to escape from it.
Father came home early one day. Mother dressed me in silence. She took Shadi’s hand and we all got in the car. Shadi kept singing songs. Her singing and childish gibberish always drove me mad.
Babi said, ‘She’s singing to annoy you!’
I was careful to keep my hands from lifting on their own and smashing her head in, but the temptation was getting greater. Once her voice grew loud enough so that I could no longer hear my parents speaking, I couldn’t resist any longer. I hit her on the head. She screamed. Mother turned around, scolded me, picked Shadi up and held her on her lap in the front seat. Father gave her a meaningful glance.
Asi said, ‘What can we do? We can’t help it because we’re insane.’
Father asked, ‘Why are you so quiet? It’s not like we’re doing a bad thing taking him to see a doctor. This is our responsibility. We have to be realistic. He has to start school next year and we should know what kind of school to take him to. If we know what the problem is we’ll be able to help him better. Maybe if they can find out the extent of his mental deficiency they’ll be able to do something about it. I’ve heard there are international boarding schools for these kinds of kids.’
‘What kinds of kids? I still don’t believe he was responsible for the fire! Just because he can’t speak he gets blamed for everything.’
‘When are you going to accept the facts? This child has a problem. Will you believe it if the doctor tells you so?’
‘I don’t see why no one is willing to understand him. Sometimes I feel like you don’t love him at all. Have you ever tried to hug him?’
‘As if I have the time! I had to jump through all sorts of hoops just to clear an hour so I could come to the doctor with you. Why do you always confuse the issues? You always want to blame me for everything. He was retarded from birth, do you understand?’
‘I believe it’s our fault he is the way he is. Maybe we don’t pay him enough attention.’
‘Why are you giving yourself a guilt trip here? We’ve treated all our children the same, so why are those other two fine? They’re both above average. I work day and night to support my kids, what else am I supposed to do?’
‘Maybe your working all the time is part of the problem. We need you. You weren’t like this before. You enjoyed spending time with your family, but now you run away from us. I think you’re happier away from us. You never want to see this child, it’s as if you’re embarrassed by his presence.’
‘What are you talking about? Stop talking nonsense. I’m just trying to be logical instead of emotional. I’m constantly thinking about what I can do about this sick child. Treating a mental illness takes much longer and is more critical than physical illness. So we need more money and more resources for this child. One of my colleagues said psychiatrists are expensive. I’d like to be able to come home early in the evenings too, but I need to make money. I have to save for his treatment, especially if we need to take him abroad.’
‘Abroad? What kind of untreatable illness do you think he has?’
‘Maryam, stop arguing! I just meant that I want to be able to provide him with whatever care he needs so I can have a clear conscience in the future. There are special schools for these types of kids abroad.’
‘But what exactly do you think is wrong with him? It’s not like he has leprosy or cancer!’
‘That’s exactly the problem with mental illnesses. Nothing seems to be physically wrong. Do you think those who commit murder without any sense of guilt are normal? No! Their illness is a thousand times worse than leprosy or cancer. Maybe if they had been treated in time they wouldn’t have become murderers.’
‘Can you even hear yourself? Are you comparing our child to a murderer now?’
‘Be realistic. He’s attempted to kill someone twice already. As parents we are responsible. We can’t sit and do nothing until something terrible happens.’
‘Stop it! I don’t want to hear any more!’ Mother began to cry.
‘There we go again! I can’t talk to you. You can’t bear to face reality. No one can criticize this child in front of you. The doctor will clear everything up.’
‘I don’t want to see the doctor.’
‘Be logical! He has a problem. What are you going to do about school next year? No school will accept him the way he is. Why shouldn’t we seek help from a specialist?’
The doctor’s office was crowded. Mother and Father sat next to each other, and I sat across from them. My heart was racing. The children there all looked strange. One of them was big but was still sitting in a pushchair. His arms and legs were twisted together. Another one was fat and pale, staring at me with half-open, lifeless eyes. His mother kept wiping spit off his face. Fear was added to the other negative feelings I felt inside.
Asi said, ‘This doctor will definitely find out we’re stupid and retarded. Then he’ll take the money Arash’s father has saved and send us far away to a special school. They’ll lock us up with all these other kids and we’ll never see Mother again.’
The thought of being separated from Mother squeezed my heart, even though she too believed I was responsible for the fire. Yes, she must have believed it, otherwise she would have made up a lie and saved me like last time. Like Father, she had really hurt me too.
Babi said, ‘They all want to get rid of us. They would prefer it if we weren’t around.’
I was sure that one day they would go through with it. Arash’s father wouldn’t be embarrassed by having a son like me any longer. Then they would all be happy once more. They would talk to each other and never get into an argument again.
Asi said, ‘Arash’s father has made this plan to get rid of us.’
Babi said, ‘If the doctor agrees with Arash’s father then there’s nothing we can do. They’ll send us away to school.’
Mother got up, took Shadi’s hand and went towards the toilet. She gently asked, ‘Shahaab, do you need to go too?’
I shrugged my shoulders. She asked this question a hundred times a day. She and Shadi continued to the loo. Father was reading a newspaper. I quietly got up and walked out of the doctor’s office.