Touba and the Meaning of Night

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1 The sky was crazy. Rain had been falling for three days, bringing an end to the seven years of drought that had caused the pool in the middle of the front yard to be covered with dried scum. Touba took the opportunity to scrub away the old scum with a broom. So that she could continue her work, she emptied the water bucket by bucket onto the ground beside the pool. The earth no longer had to remain a slave to its dream for water. Haji Mostafa’s two wives were staring out of the window toward the pool at the eighteen-year-old divorcée, who was so engrossed in her task that had it not been pouring rain, she would have poured with sweat instead. The younger wife, naïve and childlike, was tempted to join Touba in washing out the pool. The older woman, more shrewd and cunning, was gripped by the fearful thought of what would happen should Haji Mostafa suddenly arrive home and see the half-naked woman in the courtyard pool. She opened wide the window and called out to Touba. Touba stopped her work and turned to face her. The older woman told her that it wasn’t right to be washing out the pool like this, half-naked. What if a man showed up—if Haji himself arrived, or even someone else. Touba pursed her lips and went back to work. But she had lost interest. She paused and looked around. The pool had been cleaned as well as it could be. Nothing else could be done. With a bowl, she collected the remainder of the pool water into her bucket. With 1 TOUBA030206.qxd 3/7/06 12:08 PM Page 1 broom, bucket, and bowl in hand, she lifted herself out of the pool and stood on the edge to let the rain wash her feet. Walking toward her room, she was aware that the women were still gaping at her. She shut the door and pulled the curtain to escape the curious gaze of Haji Mostafa’s wives. She took off her underwear and realized that her body was covered with mud and scum. She prepared her bathhouse supplies and dressed herself, putting on her long black chador and face cover. With her bundle under her arm, she locked the door to her room and headed toward the house gate. Haji Mostafa’s two wives rushed to the window again, and the older woman asked Touba where she was going. Touba replied that she was headed for the bathhouse and that when Zahra returned she was to follow Touba there. Haji’s older wife wanted to say something, because she had orders from her husband—but she did not dare. As she left the house, Touba thought that she would no doubt have to ask these tiresome tenants to leave. The rain pattered on, light but persistent. By the time Touba reached the bathhouse, it was dripping from the edges of her black chador. Touba was neither saddened nor disappointed by the rain. From the first day it appeared, the rain had brought happiness, just as, during the four arduous years of her unhappy married life, each dry day had brought the continuing accusation that she was responsible for the drought. Her husband, Haji Mahmud, had received a vision telling him that there was a connection between the drought and her presence in his house. In the beginning, Touba could not comprehend the significance of this accusation. She was not used to thinking of herself as a damned being. When Touba was nine, her father, Haji Adib, had returned from Mecca and told his daughter that he had stood under the golden waterspout of God’s house and prayed for her life to be as long as Noah’s. Her father was a tall man with penetrating, pensive eyes, a man as great as the world, and the memory of him was dear to her. In addition to the title of Haji, which he acquired because of his pilgrimage to Mecca, he was also titled Adib because of his knowledge. Touba knew this from the day that she had first been able to distinguish her right hand from her left. Touba’s mother, who was an illitSHAHRNUSH PARSIPUR 2 TOUBA030206.qxd 3/7/06 12:08 PM Page 2 erate woman, had often told her and...