Daughter of Sheena (3)

Behnaz Zarrabizadeh

Daughter of Sheena-3

Memories of Qadamkheyr Mohammadi Kanaan
Wife of Sardar Shaheed Haj Sattar Ebrahimi Hajir
Memory writer: Behnaz Zarrabizadeh
Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company, 2011 (Persian Version)
Translated by Zahra Hosseinian

Chapter 2
My uncle’s house was next-door to ours. Every day, I would go there for a few hours. Sometimes, my mother would accompany me too.
That day, I had gone alone to my uncle’s house. It was noon. As I was coming down the staircase, which had a lot of high steps and was stretched from porch to the yard; a young man appeared in front of me out of the blue. I startled. I was struck dumb. Our eyes met, for a brief moment. He looked down and said hello. I was hearing the sound of my heartthrob. I was so in shock that I couldn’t greet him mutually. Without saying hello and goodbye, I ran into the yard and I kept running from there to our house breathlessly. My sister-in-law, Khadija, was pulling water from well. She dropped bucket of water as she saw me. The bucket fell to the bottom of the well. She was frightened, "Qadamkheyr! What has happened?” she said, “Why are you so paled?
I stopped a little getting my breath back. I was very intimate with Khadija. More than all my sisters-in-laws, she was on familiar terms with me. I told her the story. “I thought what a terrible thing has happened to you. Hadn’t you seen a boy by now?!”She smiled and said.
I had seen the boys. Is it possible to live in a village, be the playfellow of boys, and then cannot speak to them a little?! Although, I didn’t like any boy or man but my father.
For me, my father was the best man in the world. I loved him so much that my only wish then was to die sooner than him. Sometimes when participating in someone’s funeral in our village and along with my family, I would think of losing my father, someday; and I would start to cry. I would weep so much that I might black out. Everybody would think that I was crying for their dead.
My father had the same sentiments to me. Sometimes he would hug me and kiss my hair, while I was fourteen years old.
Among my mother words, that night, I realized that the boy was the grandson of my father’s uncle, and his name is Samad.
Suspect commerce began, tomorrow after that day. First, my father’s uncle came to our home and spoke to my father. Then, it was my father’s aunt turn. After her works were done in the morning, she came to our house, sat in the yard, and talked to my mother until noon.
After that, Samad's mother appeared and a few days later his father arrived. My father did not consent. “Qadamkheyr is still a kid. The time isn’t ripe for her to marry.” He said.
“We were younger than Qadamkheyr when we got married. Why does not she get married?", my sisters were complaining. “The time has changed.” My father made an excuse.
I was happy that my father loved me so much. I knew that because of his concern, he will not consent to detach himself from me so soon, but the family didn’t give over. They sent message, and our friends or acquaintance came as mediator to gain my father’s consent.
A year had passed from that story and I was sure my father wouldn’t consent to my marriage so soon; but one night, some men of family came to our house unawares. My father’s uncle was with them too. Shortly after, my father closed the door. For hours, the men sat in the room and talked to each other. In the yard, I had sat under one of apple trees. The yard was dark and nobody could see me, but I could see well the room where the men had sat. A few minutes later, my father’ uncle took a paper from his pocket and wrote something on it. I learned what happened. “Finally they separated you from your daddy, Qadamkheyr!” I said to myself.

 
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