10- An Ordinary Evening

Selin navigated the dark and rainy evening on St. Huber Street, her windshield wipers working at full speed. The city had succumbed to the rain, and the roads had turned into wet mirrors reflecting the streetlights. As she used her remote control to open the garage door and entered the parking lot of her apartment overlooking Montreal’s Old Port, she took a deep breath. “What a terrible rain!” she thought. October had been unusually warm, but today, the rain had started with a force well beyond seasonal norms and had continued unabated all day.

She parked her Saab Cabrio in its spot. Her boyfriend Charles had found this loyal beauty in Quebec, cleaned its leather seats meticulously, and polished its bodywork, imagining the joy on Selin’s face.

Selin opened the car door, placed both feet on the ground before stepping out of the low car, and felt a pain in her back as she rose. She wasn’t old yet; she’d be turning fifty-five next month. Still, she had recently been battling aches in her back, neck, and knees. The series of health issues she had faced in recent years had forced her to descend from the realm of gods to the mortal world. Although her genetic legacy had strained her internal organs, it had added to her outer beauty with age, transforming her from the shy and timid girl of her childhood into an elegant, sophisticated, and charming woman.

She pulled the driver’s seat forward and retrieved her green leather backpack and small handbag from the back seat, the backpack purchased last year in Venice. With Charles’s encouragement, she had started using a backpack in the past year to protect her back. Her bag only contained her laptop and a few essentials. Aside from a lipstick and a small perfume bottle, she didn’t carry makeup. In the past, she used to carry large handbags, and her body never ached. She wouldn’t even know what was inside those bags, and sometimes, items that even God couldn’t identify seemed to emerge. Her ex-husband Daniel used to laugh and call her bag a “Woopy bag” after a magician character from a childhood TV show who was famous for pulling all sorts of things from his bag.

They lived on the eighth floor. She didn’t even consider taking the stairs, though it would have been excellent exercise for her legs and heart. Since they had agreed they would only stay in Canada temporarily, they had rented a furnished residence. The lobby, swimming pool, gym, and sauna were luxuries they weren’t used to in Europe, but they enjoyed them.

Selin had always lived in her own home since beginning her career. In fact, she had accumulated substantial savings by buying and selling properties and enjoyed real estate enough to consider turning it into a business, though she had put it aside temporarily to prioritize Charles’s career and, as was trendy nowadays, “change her environment.”

For someone European like Selin, Canada felt excessively American. Even Quebecois French sounded like an American attempting to speak French. Normally, she disliked anything overly Americanized, but knowing their stay was temporary allowed her to feel at ease.

The elevator doors opened on the eighth floor. The neighbor’s door was open, and the entrance was crowded with suitcases and shopping bags. Selin had previously met the petite, white-haired woman in her mid-sixties who lived there, but this was the first time she saw her husband, who was stocky, disheveled-haired, and visibly less refined. Selin knew little about the occupants of the other four apartments on the floor.

The elderly couple introduced themselves, explaining they mostly stayed at their second home outside the city and only visited every two weeks for work. After Selin revealed she was Swiss, the man knocked on her door ten minutes later, delivering a German sentence he had learned. Despite their limited interaction, it was clear they were pleasant people.

Even though she felt safe in this apartment, Selin always locked the door. Although the building’s main entrance was permanently locked, delivery people often entered when residents buzzed them in, and there were many homeless people in the city who might seek warmth in the lobby during such moments. With her knack for conjuring endless catastrophic scenarios in her head, Selin convinced herself that locking the door was the most logical choice, especially after the neighbor knocked and startled her into a brief palpitation.

Charles usually arrived home an hour or two after Selin due to his work at a factory in Granby. During that time, Selin would tidy up the apartment or hit the gym. On this October evening, the heavy rain had darkened the sky considerably. The silver dome of the Bonsecours Market gleamed brightly under the final rays of the setting sun, which found a small opening in the clouds.

Selin had begun capturing this view on canvas as a keepsake to take back to Europe. The canvas sat half-finished on its easel, and for weeks, Selin had been unable to continue the painting. Usually, she preferred portrait work, avoiding overly detailed compositions like this, where she often got lost in the minutiae and struggled to progress.

The floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and bedroom, which framed the boundless view like a painting, were among the apartment’s many attractive features. As long as she didn’t undress near the windows with the lights on, no one could see inside. Selin didn’t mind walking around nude after a shower or while dressing; her slightly exhibitionist side enjoyed the freedom. Now, she changed from her work clothes into shorts, sat on her yoga mat, and gazed at the view. She picked up her dumbbells and, as if to convince herself she had worked out, halfheartedly lifted them a few times. Just then, she heard the lock turn, and Selin ran to the hallway to greet her boyfriend at the door.

09- A Journey of Life

As Yaşar Kemal's famous words say, "Those beautiful people mounted their beautiful horses and rode away." One by one, the kindest and most gentle-hearted people in the world left us, leaving us abandoned here.

One of these beautiful, extraordinary people was Mr. Hüseyin. Born in 1935 into a poor family in Rasht, a city near the Caspian Sea in Iran, he began his apprenticeship as a tailor at a young age. His mentor was an Azeri tailor, which not only honed his tailoring skills but also allowed him to learn Azeri.

In 1962, he married Mrs. Mükerrem in Rasht. She insisted on being called "Muki Hanım." Perhaps it was because she wasn't considered a stunning beauty or because, at 29, she was deemed to have missed her marital window by societal standards of the time, that she chose to marry the humble tailor. Unlike many women of her age, she quickly obtained her driver’s license, bought a car, and became an indispensable partner to her non-driving husband, supporting his artistic soul with her financial acumen.

After moving to Tehran, Mr. Hüseyin expanded his business, hired employees, and soon became one of Tehran's most respected tailors. He opened a three-story workshop and created clothing for the wives of the political elite surrounding Shah Pahlavi. Despite his success, he remained humble and kind throughout his life.

However, the Iranian Islamic Revolution changed everything for them. What began in 1979 as a liberation movement turned into a regime of moral policing in the 1980s. These enforcers frequently raided Mr. Hüseyin's shop, degrading and falsely accusing him because he tailored women’s clothing. These pressures extinguished the light of life within a man who had never harmed anyone and was a paragon of goodness. Eventually, he was forced to leave his homeland.

In the early years of the revolution, he sent his son and daughter to Sweden for their education. Later, his daughter married and moved to America, and finally, Mr. Hüseyin, along with his wife, had to migrate to Virginia, near their daughter. Yet, the wounds of the last twelve years in Iran remained an indelible scar in his heart, and he even requested that his remains not be returned to Iran.

When they moved to America in 1992, Mr. Hüseyin was 57, and Muki Hanım was 59. They fed birds on the balcony of their small apartment in Fairfax, Virginia. Muki Hanım, who had bought a modest car after moving to America, handled the shopping. Meanwhile, Mr. Hüseyin turned one room of their two-room apartment into a sewing studio, where he sewed evening gowns for the local Iranian community. In the mornings, he worked a few hours at an Afghan tailor's shop, making minor adjustments to garments. Life had taken them to the heights of success, only to confine them to this humble apartment.

He wasn’t just a tailor; he was a creative designer and a master of his craft. When his son was about to marry, he made his future daughter-in-law's wedding dress based only on her measurements and a photograph of the design. When he arrived in Stockholm a few days before the wedding, the gown fit her perfectly. Yet, he modestly attributed this success to the young woman’s perfect physique rather than his extraordinary skill.

Later, he sewed coats, jackets, and dresses for his daughter-in-law, presenting them as though they were insignificant gifts, even feeling shy when thanked. The fact that his daughter-in-law was Turkish brought him special joy. He loved her as his own daughter and relished speaking in Azeri Turkish, which he had learned during his apprenticeship, with her. He felt embarrassed about not knowing the exact Turkish equivalents of some words, but his warm smile never faded.

They lived in Virginia for 20 years. Without retirement savings, Mr. Hüseyin worked until the age of 77, never once complaining. Each morning, he would hold the medallion of Imam Ali around his neck, offer a prayer, and then sew throughout the day. Despite his piety, he was never dogmatic. When his grandson wanted to pierce both his ears, Mr. Hüseyin took him to an Armenian jeweler and bought him his first earrings.

In their final years, life scattered this couple to opposite ends of the world. Mr. Hüseyin fell ill and despite the disagreements he had with his son-in-law, spent his last years in Beverly Hills with his daughter and son-in-law. Meanwhile, Muki Hanım returned to Tehran. Their son and grandson remained in Europe. It seemed to be the fate of good people from that country to be scattered like grains of rice and die separated. 

In September 2020, Mr. Hüseyin passed away in Los Angeles at the age of 85. In October 2024, Muki Hanım passed away in Tehran at the age of 90.

When Mr. Hüseyin was laid to rest, he left behind not just his magnificent garments but also his love, which he gave without expecting anything in return, his ever-present smile, and his philosophy of always responding to both good and evil with kindness.

I remember them both with tears in my eyes and a deep longing. Reflecting on the beauty of the Iranian people and the tragic destiny of this ancient neighboring country moves me deeply.