Free Women Without Men by Shahrnush Parsipur Page B

solicitations redundant, but she let him go through his routine.
    By now they had reached the river. “As you notice,” said Ostovary somewhat pompously. “The riverbank is the property line. The water current is so fast here that there is no danger of burglars crossing it. Besides, there are no burglars among the people here.”
    â€œIs that so?” said Farrokhlaqa absent-mindedly, as her attention was drawn to the tree, finding it hard to believe that it was real. “Who is that?” she asked in amazement. Ostovary, who had anticipated this moment with dread, tried to answer as casually as possible: “Actually . . . this is a human being. But I promise you,” he continued, trying to reassure his client, “she is the most harmless person you’ll ever meet in your life.”
    â€œSo? What is she doing here?”

    â€œHow shall I say?” Ostovary stammered. “They let the property go so cheap because of this particular detail. I thought it would be a pity for you not to take advantage of the situation, especially, being a woman yourself, you could definitely tolerate this poor tree.”
    Apprehensively, Farrokhlaqa stepped closer. “But this is not a tree; it’s a person.”
    â€œThat is quite so,” affirmed Ostovary. “Actually this poor tree . . . is the sister of the former owner of the property,” he added, as if mortified by the irrationality of his own statement.
    â€œHow strange!” Farrokhlaqa uttered sharply.
    â€œIt certainly is. This poor soul went mad and planted herself in the ground.”
    â€œBut this is not going to work. She needs to be taken to the insane asylum.”
    â€œThat is the problem,” Ostovary explained. “This wretched woman disappeared in the autumn of last year. They searched everywhere for her and did not find her. Finally they gave up and when they came to the garden for the summer season, they found her planted here in the ground. Well, they realized she’d gone mad. I tell you, madam, they tried so hard to pull her out of the ground, but found it impossible.”
    Ostovary brought out a large bandana handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes. He then blew his nose in it noisily. Farrokhlaqa was somewhat moved by his emotional reaction to the narrative. “Is she not one of your own relatives, God forbid?” she asked.
    â€œNo way, I swear to God,” he said vehemently. He
continued, “I haven’t cried in twenty years, but every time I see this poor woman I cannot hold back my tears. Anyway, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get her out of the ground. And she pleaded with them ‘Please, don’t cut me down. Let me grow.’”
    â€œBut she hasn’t sprouted any branches,” Farrokhlaqa observed.
    â€œNo, not yet,” he said, “although she has spread roots and perhaps she’ll grow leaves by next year.”
    â€œWhat about her family?” she wanted to know.
    â€œWhat shall I say?” he replied. “They are all upset and miserable because of this embarrassment. How can they tell people that their daughter or sister has turned into a tree? You can’t tell people that. Any way, they came to see me and to consult with me. They said they’d let the property go cheap provided that the sellers remain anonymous. That is why you are able to buy the garden at a price well below the market value. It was your luck.”
    â€œWhy were they embarrassed by her?” asked Farrokhlaqa, unwilling to leave the subject. “There is no shame in becoming a tree.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by that, madam?” Ostovary exclaimed with unaccustomed sharpness. “A sane person does not turn into a tree. One must be insane like this poor soul for the transformation to take place. The poor brother was crying when he told me, ‘Soon people will find out about my sister becoming a tree and start making