For all those children who lost one or both parents during the eighties and in the mass executions in 1980 in prisons of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
MAMAN JAAN, IS IT TRUE that you’ve gone to paradise, among the stars? If that’s so, why does Grandma take me to Beheshte Zahra every Thursday afternoon and sit by a grave and lament for you? I can read your name on a piece of stone: “Setareh Dadfar.”
I asked Grandma why my mother’s family name is different from mine and she said your mom has her own father’s family name and you have yours. Where is my father anyway?
I haven’t seen you to be able to tell you that since you sent me home with Grandma, Ammeh Pooran came to visit and took me to Khanum jaan’s place. But I didn’t see my Baba jaan there. When Khanum jaan saw me, she hugged me and wailed loudly. I asked for Baba jaan. Khanum jaan said, “Your Baba jaan is in paradise.” So, are you both together in paradise?
You know, Maman jaan, when I was with you in Evin, I was so happy. I had many khalehs and ammehs over there. All of them loved me, and when you were taken away from me, then came back—sick with your feet swollen and unable to walk—they entertained me, telling me stories and making me small toys like that doll. Do you remember that doll? I liked it very much even though it wasn’t pretty. I don’t know what happened to that doll. I lost it when I was in Evin. Actually, I didn’t lose it. The guards took it from me. But why? It was a little doll, not very pretty, not like those I had at home. She had only two dots for eyes and some loose black threads on her head for hair. Whenever the guards came for you, I started to cry, but the khalehs and ammehs kept me occupied with that doll and told me stories about her.
Now just Grandma tells me stories. She says they are the same stories she told you when you were the same age as me. I love Grandma but I don’t like that she calls me “poor child.” I tell her, I’m not poor, my father and mother are engineers. She still calls me “my poor child.” Nobody calls me “my daughter” anymore. I envy Lili. Do you remember Lili? But I know that you didn’t see her. She was born when we were in Evin. She’s Khalehs Ladan’s daughter, still just a baby. She’s so cute, and Khaleh Ladan calls her “my daughter,” “my darling.” I ask her what about me? Whose daughter am I now? She hugs me and says, “You are a courageous girl, like your maman.” I want to be like you, but I don’t want to be in Evin, to be flogged, have swollen and black feet, and then to go paradise. I don’t want to leave my little girl without a maman and a baba. Sometimes I envy Lili, even though she’s just a baby; she has a maman and a baba and I have neither.
Still, I’m wondering what happened to you. It’s hard for me to believe that you left me behind and went to paradise. After you sent me home with Grandma, I never saw you again. I asked Grandma many times to take me to Evin to see you and be with you. She cried, “Damn Evin. My daughter is not there anymore.”
“Where’s she now?” I asked.
“She’s in paradise, my poor child,” she wailed. “She’s among the stars.” But where’s paradise, for God’s sake? Why won’t anyone take me to paradise to be with you and Baba jaan? I miss both of you. I miss our apartment, too. You remember I had a room for myself: a bed, a dresser, and a desk. I had beautiful dolls, many toys and books. I ask Grandma to take me to our apartment. I want to sleep in my bed. Sometimes I think you and Baba jaan are there and sent me to visit with Grandma for just a few days; that you will come back and get me. But sometimes I can’t remember Baba jaan’s face. When I see Lili’s baba, I mean Mr. Shapoor, I remember that I once had a baba too. But what happened to him? When Ammeh Pooran took me to Khanum jaan’s place, I looked for my Baba jaan, but he wasn’t there, either. I remember the days we went there with you and Baba jaan, and Khanum jaan always made me cookies, which I liked very much. Baba jaan made me a swing that hung from a big tree. He sat me on the swing and pushed it. Khanum jaan warned Baba jaan, “Be careful. Don’t let my little girl fall or get hurt.” We were so happy in those times. You and Baba jaan loved me. Whenever you picked me up from daycare, you kissed me and called me “my dear daughter.” Now nobody calls me “my daughter” anymore, as if I am no one’s daughter any longer. Grandma calls me “poor child.” If you and Baba jaan hadn’t gone to paradise or if you’d taken me with you, nobody would call me poor.
One day, when I was crying and asking for you, Grandma called me “poor child” again. I got so angry with her, I banged my head against the wall and screamed, “I don’t like to be called poor! I am not poor.”
She hugged me and caressed me, and said, “I know you’re not poor but…”
But what? I don’t understand. If I am not poor, why does Grandma call me that?
You know Maman jaan, even though I am in Grade Two, there are things I don’t understand. First, why did you leave for paradise without me? Am I not your adorable daughter anymore? Is paradise a better place than our apartment? Still, I can’t believe that you forgot about me. You loved me so much. I remember when we were in Evin, you hugged me so tight sometimes I couldn’t breathe. Well, I didn’t say anything, but I liked it. I wish those days had never ended and that I was with you all the time. I don’t know what happened that you sent me home with Grandma. Your eyes were full of tears but you didn’t cry. You told me, be a good girl, a courageous girl. I asked you, when are you getting out of Evin? When can I be with you again? You said nothing. I started to cry, but you hugged me and said, “You shouldn’t cry. Never cry. Be a brave girl.” Maman jaan, I don’t know if I’m brave or not, but I know I miss you terribly.
I remember you always kissed my hands or feet when I got hurt. I wanted to do the same when your feet were swollen and black but you wouldn’t let me. Why? I regret it so much that I didn’t kiss your wounded feet.
You know, my Maman jaan, since you’ve left, the worst thing for me is going to school. I don’t want to talk about it, but, well, it’s hard to keep it to myself. Grandma takes me to school every day and when the kids see me with her, they ask me, “Is she your Maman?” I say, “No, she is my Grandma.” Then they ask me, “Where’s your maman and baba? Why don’t they take you to school? Are they dead?” I scream at them and shout, “No, they’re not dead! They are in paradise!”
Once, our teacher saw me crying and hitting my head with my fists. She called me and asked me what happened. I told her everything about you and Baba jaan. I even told her that I was in Evin with you and told her I don’t know what happened to you and Baba jaan. Then I told her that I don’t know if you’re in paradise or in Beheshte Zahra. She hugged me and caressed me and said, “You are a courageous girl, like your maman. You should be proud of your maman and baba. They have been brave people.”
I asked her, “Are they really in paradise? And why didn’t they take me with them?”
She said, “They left you behind to continue their lives.” I didn’t understand her very well, but her words soothed me. She changed my seat to the front row and every once a while she smiles at me. Since then my classmates don’t ask me about you and Baba jaan any more. But I don’t like to be friends with them. All of them have a maman and a baba and I don’t have either one. Some of them come to school in a car, but Grandma doesn’t have a car. She even doesn’t know how to drive. Sometimes Khaleh Ladan gives us a ride to Beheshte Zahra, but mostly we get there by bus and it makes me so tired.
Maman jaan, to tell you the truth, I don’t like to go to Beheshte Zahra. I don’t see you and Baba jaan there, only your names on a piece of stone. And there’s nothing for me to play with, not even a swing, and if there were, who would push me?
You see Maman jaan, since you and Baba jaan left me behind and went I don’t know where, I am so miserable. If Grandma calls me poor, she might be right. But I don’t want to be poor. I want to be your little daughter, your adorable child, as you used to call me, to be a courageous girl. Please come back to me. I don’t want you to be among the stars. There’re so many stars in the sky. I want you to be here, a star with me as you were before going to Evin. I want you back, you and Baba jaan. Please, please, please.