When Behrouz arrived, Martin was finally jolted out of his stupor; he hadn’t seen his friend face-to-face for three years, and he couldn’t just exchange a few desultory words with him then let his eyes glaze over.
Behrouz embraced him. ‘I’m so sorry, Martin.’ He bent down to kiss Javeed, who flinched away. ‘You don’t remember me?’
Javeed shook his head.
‘I had some adventures with your father when we were young. Once we saw a dragon fall from the sky; it almost landed right on top of us.’
Javeed buried his face against Martin’s side.
‘How’s work?’ Martin asked. Behrouz was now a correspondent for the Wall Street Journal, which these days seemed to mean as much video journalism as prose.
‘Not bad.’ Behrouz smiled slightly. ‘Business people might be the last paying market left for real news. If they’re convinced that they’re getting fearlessly objective information, they’ll keep shelling out for it – while everyone else gives up caring and buries their head inside their favourite consensual reality.’
Martin laughed softly, self-conscious but grateful for a few words of real conversation, a lifeline out of the pit. ‘You’re not a fan of News Five Point Oh, then?’
‘Don’t get me started. HigherTribe is worse, but they’re all pathological. What isn’t filtered and spun is just invented out of whole cloth.’
‘Yeah.’ The replacement of journalism by rumour aggregators and group-think salons was a serious matter, but Martin’s enthusiasm for talking shop was already beginning to falter. ‘How’s Shadi?’
‘She’s in Canada; she’s doing a Ph.D.’
‘Jesus. Everyone’s kids got old so fast.’
Behrouz smiled down at Javeed. ‘We had a head start on you. But you’ve still got the best part to look forward to.’
Martin struggled to keep his composure. Mahnoosh should have seen Javeed growing into adulthood, studying, flourishing, making his own life. He didn’t know where to direct his anger at the injustice of it. He’d heard people muttering about a court case; the truck driver was in hospital but was expected to be discharged soon. The man probably deserved to be imprisoned, but Martin wanted nothing to do with the process.
‘How long are you staying?’ he asked Behrouz.
‘I have to fly out again tonight. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ Martin suddenly recalled that he’d be in hospital anyway; he was in no position to play host. He shook Behrouz’s hand. ‘I’m glad you came.’
Roused from his paralysis, Martin moved among the guests; Javeed clung to him, saying little. Mahnoosh’s second cousin, Nasim, and her mother, Saba, had been at the cemetery, but Martin had barely registered their presence there. Saba, he now discovered, was a retired economist; Nasim a computer scientist.
‘I’m afraid we never managed to get in contact with Mahnoosh after we came back from the US,’ Saba lamented. ‘She was a teenager when we left Iran. But we had as much friction with the family as she did.’
Martin said, ‘She mentioned you fondly, just a few days ago.’
‘Oh.’ Saba grew distraught; her daughter put an arm across her shoulders comfortingly. Nasim said, ‘I was ten when we left, and I have to admit that I didn’t get on with her parents even then. If I’d realised that she was fighting with them too I would have tried harder to stay in touch with her.’
Javeed looked up at her. ‘Are you fighting with my grandfather?’ He sounded more intrigued than affronted.
Nasim looked at Martin guiltily. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have-’
‘It’s okay.’
Nasim addressed Javeed. ‘Not really fighting, but we weren’t good friends.’
‘What brought you back from America?’ Martin asked.
Nasim said, ‘My mother had a job with the Ansari government. I came back thinking I was riding the same wave, though I’m afraid I ended up with less lofty ambitions.’
Martin had heard that story before. ‘I expect everyone who returned has helped the country in some way. So long as you’re not sending out spam.’
‘Actually I work for Zendegi.’
Javeed had lapsed back into shyness, so Martin spoke on his behalf. ‘My son’s a big fan.’
‘Really?’ Nasim turned to Javeed. ‘What games do you like?’
‘I only went once,’ he said. ‘Mama was going to take me.’
Martin said, ‘I’ll take you again, as soon as I can.’
Nasim dug her notepad out of her handbag and did something in a blur of thumb movements. Martin’s own notepad chimed softly in response. ‘Use this certificate,’ she said. ‘Unlimited access; it won’t cost you anything.’
‘I can’t accept that,’ he protested.
‘I insist,’ Nasim replied firmly. ‘It’s done.’
‘Thank you.’ Martin looked down at Javeed. ‘Say thank you to Aunty Nasim.’
‘Thank you, Aunty,’ he said.
At dusk, Martin lay down beside Javeed in Omar’s guest room. ‘I want to tell you something, but you have to promise you won’t get upset.’
‘What?’
‘Promise me first.’
‘I promise.’
‘I need to go back to the hospital tomorrow, so they can make sure I’m completely better.’
Javeed did not look happy, but he struggled to keep his word. ‘I want to go with you.’
‘No, pesaram, you stay here with Aunty Rana. Or you can go to the shop with Farshid and Uncle Omar.’
‘But you won’t come back!’ Javeed was crying now, snot running down his face. Martin fished out a tissue and wiped it away. ‘Shh. Of course I’ll come back.’
‘Everyone wants to leave me alone,’ Javeed sobbed.
‘Don’t say that.’ Martin forced himself to keep his voice steady. ‘You know Mama didn’t want to leave you. She would have done anything to stay. And this is just… the doctors put some Band-Aids inside me for my cuts, and now they have to check that they’re okay.’
‘They put something inside you?’ Javeed sniffed, his curiosity piqued.
‘Absolutely.’ Martin hesitated; would it frighten him more, or would it help him to understand? ‘They had to open me up to put them in.’ He lifted up his shirt and twisted to show the stitches along his side.
Javeed gazed at them unflinchingly. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘No, I was sleeping. And now they need to make sure everything’s okay. Like when you cut yourself: we always change the Band-Aid a few times, to make sure it’s clean and the cut’s getting better, don’t we?’
Javeed pondered this explanation. ‘I want you to get better,’ he conceded.
‘So I can go and see the doctor?’
Javeed said, ‘You can go.’
In the darkness, Martin felt Mahnoosh beside them, close enough to touch. If he’d been alone with her he would have lost himself to grief, dancing with her memory halfway to madness.
But she wasn’t a wild spirit, begging him to dash himself on the rocks beside her. He heard her voice calmly, in their child’s slow exhalations. And she asked nothing else of him but to do what she could not.
Martin woke before dawn and managed to extricate himself without disturbing Javeed. Omar insisted on driving him to the hospital. As they parted at reception Martin tried to thank him for everything he’d done since the accident.
Omar cut him off. ‘What do you expect? You think I forgot who broke me out of prison?’ Martin wasn’t at his sharpest; he almost opened his mouth to protest that he’d done nothing of the kind before he caught the self-deprecating joke. Omar wanted no praise for what he perceived as ordinary decency.