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    Azita

    Short Storyhooshang danesh

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    Copyrights 2010.All Rights Reserved.

    All characters in this story arefictional, any resemblance to real

    people is coincidental.

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    Chapter One

    Her apartment had Tiffany-styleLamps hanging from ceilings, andposters of Graffiti art and what

    seemed to be absurd but formidableposters of robots, things entirelyinhuman-a dcor that seems nothingbut insipid to me now. But back then, however, it seemed the epitomeof all worldliness. I wanted to bask in its uncommonness, and in theunusual complicity of our meeting,a little longer .-1-

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    But I felt bold enough to try my own

    observations: I wouldnt hangthose posters of anthropoid metal; itreally might scare some people off.And then for the dumbest reason inthe world I added: You should getmarried, and only if youre in love.

    As if pictures of androids necessarilymeant the absence of love!! And asthough one of them might pop outthe poster and propose to her.Azita looked at me dourly, as if trying to determine if I was being

    ironic or smart. In fact she calledme smart from time to time, in-2-

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    her quiet style of undermining me(being smart doesnt cut in her notvery clever outfitted world). But I

    must have looked innocent enough.She said without emotion: Well,sometimes girls have to get married.We have to. You know that.Oh, yeah, I said. She was right.How many times had I myself

    wanted to do just that-get marriedfor the sake of observances. Or the-biologic- clock- is- ticking -awaynotions. To be feminine in that way.Someone has said women wereGods second mistake, if so then they

    are more human than the firstmistake! (Some of you will get this,some of you shake your head andcurse this writer instead.)-3-

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    The conversation was beginning toget interesting. I persisted. Who

    tells the men its time to getmarried? It should be mandated.I think I had unconsciously wishedfor such command, just so as not tobe so forlorn anymore. It would benice to have to be forced into it!

    Biology allows us men to go on asthough were supermen. ( told youwere less human than women.)

    You really are a twit, you know?I am not.

    But everyone knew someone wouldmarry Azita. She had once been alawyer, and now was called acommunication expert. Whatever-4-

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    The hell that meant. I never was

    bold enough to ask. She knewattractive prospects-she had hereyes on some wall-street or IT type,she really measured them by the sizeof the Manhattan flat their incomecould provide. And of course

    Persians were number one on herlist, she adored her father, and of course Freud would have had a fieldday with that But I was certain heridentity to her friend had been likethe bio on her companys web site:

    Hyphenated American,is she being clever?-5-

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    I hated cleverness. Base. Common.Insects. All the evil in the worldmust be looking for clever people,they attract one another.They say Hitler went around saying:Isnt it great that men dont think.

    Isnt great.He must have meant: clever: Isntit great that men are clever, isntit?

    Clearly, if she were to have been

    hyphenated anywhere, it wouldbeen hyphenated Iran!-5-

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    I had digested her banner/bio withcertain unequipped silence: as in I

    wasnt certain how to react. Frozen.I had really been looking for an oldcollege girlfriend also named Azita,and had clicked on every Azita inthe registries without prejudice. Andhad ran into this one. The web lacks

    speed, and compensates by offeringfoolish wisdom, disguised asequilibrium as exchange as in:How about this Azita, - she will do,wont she?Yes master, but she says she is

    hyphenated?She is being clever Sir.-6-

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    Yes itd seemed possible that my oldgirlfriend from college who hadreally majored in microbiology, tohave gone off to law school ?The world as I saw it was always fullof unpleasant things anyways.

    We became friends over cups of curiosity. Thats the thing with theweb: curiosity unlimited issupported by apps. Things didntseem impossible. I lived in Paris at

    the time, and shesang the praises of where shelived: somewhere in Tribeca, a place-7-

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    had bought a few cheap things

    which looked even cheaper and lessgratifying once they were removedfrom the stores. It was near thesunset when we headed to herapartment. I think we felt at thetime a little shy about having

    enjoyed each others company somuch, so early,

    When we reached her building,something tall and ominous. With adoorman in a suit that opened the

    glass door with a big tall smile.-9-

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    Everything seemed perfect andstill...We got in the elevators, she pushed

    the 11th

    button, Everything smelledlike someone had just sprayed theelevator with a refreshing scent. Iam allergic to everything theysecretly put in them. And wasblowing my nose. I felt comfortable

    to do that. There was a level of intimacy. We arrived at herapartment, everything smelled of New York, New York?For all the enormous the buildingoccupied her apartment was small.

    Very little relativity.-10-

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    The unwell-lit apartment wasorganized in an obviously sensibleway. There were large wooden solid

    desks, old-fashioned things, but theirsurfaces were crammed with tinylittle drawings and water colorworks that were all compulsivelytiny, and huddled against oneanother-like their swarm was to

    keep each others company for thesole purpose of creating meaning,meaning. The wooden floor waspolished and bare. A hyphenated-Persian rug was conspicuouslyabsent!! There was a computer set

    up just exactly where you expected itby the TV set; looking more-11-

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    important, almost regal. There

    really wasnt a couch in the livingroom. And I thanked God for thatbecause I didnt want to have tosleep on one. She showed me thebedroom which has this unusuallylarge beige bed, something too high

    off the floor and looked attended tolike a shrine. Small pink yellowishpillows, with embroidered symbolsrepresenting femininity, and harvestwere visible.I decided thats probably where I

    sleep as well. It looked outrageouslycomfortable. Girls were always-12-

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    taking good care of their beds, I

    think it had more to do with hominginstincts than anything else. (Andthey are more human,, if youremember.)And it really wasnt that I wanted

    to sleep with her for sex, in fact the

    opposite had been on my mind allthe way from Paris. It wasnt thatshe was unattractive or undesirable-

    just the opposite in fact. She had abrooding small face like a Persianminiature, features that were all

    dainty, still and, delicate like aporcelain dolls. And they way shebrushed her dark easy hair off her-13-

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    face with just one quick tilt of her

    head was almost endearing too in asome forgotten tribal way? But theblooming apartment looked like anart class in some old air-locked high-school building.. Even though thesummer night bloomed around us

    outside the shut windows like someenormous blue-black rose. Eventhough over the dust of theapartment I could smell itsfragrance. Though everywhere inthe invisible world locusts must have

    shrilled and swelled. The apartmentlooked like all it needed was a-14-

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    swarm of cats. I believed shed be a

    cat lady in her later years. She hadthose features: the leave-me-alone-until- I -call -you look. Oh, I am soindifferent look.From the 11th story above, all theNew York seemed to be not readying

    for sleep, but sunk in a dream of summer. You could feel this city hadsomething special going for it.Something surreal too, somethinghard to describe. But may be thatswhy I was there.

    I practically tied my tongue in knotstrying to be enthusiastic and-15-

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    the corner place. The order arrivedin nearly minutes and we almost atestanding up. I had known a lot of her psych. features fromcommunicating with her. . Id

    known she could be cold to a lot of different emotions. But Idimagined too that all she neededwas for someone to poke under thehood like a mechanic or dentist,checking someones mouth and

    things would whiten or re-arrangethemselves and we be on our ownromantic way. It still hadntoccurred to me that some human-17-

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    engines might not get fixed at all.

    She let me sleep by her side in the

    massive bed that night. We wereseparated by various pillows, and just the size of her bed, and then itsenormous comfort. Once we laid onits surface it seemed to devour us,take us into slumber.

    In the morning I woke up before herand walked into the living room tosee if things had changed at allovernight. But no, everything wasquite as impersonal and indirect aslast night. My neck was a bit stiff ,

    Im more comfortable sleeping onthe floor. Too much comfort annoysme, and my body suffers.-18-

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    And I must have smelled like the

    crushed flowers shed spread allover the covers. But I put on mystraightest, most noncommittalclothes on (clean jeans and a stripedcotton shirt), and I thought I lookedunremarkable, if not exactly

    unobtrusive.I wanted to go snooping through herthings. On the net her characterhad always been built on somebedrock of solace, and mystery,She either only sang her own praises

    indirectly, tirelessly, or wouldwithdraw from communicating forweeks in the false pretence that hertender feelings had been trounced.Or that she was buried in work. Shemade these dramatic departures-19-

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    from scenes regularly. In absencesmost shrinks would have calledhysterical. I really had made the tripnot to enamor her, but to clear theambiguousness!! Im not certainwhether to clear it for her sake, or

    for mine. Her mystery, her exclusionof her actual culture had puzzledme-I admit on deeper levels Ithought unkindly of her.She always seemed to require thissort of shifting of equilibrium from

    me, guilt replaced by scornwith fondness leaking throughseams.-20-

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    Her sketchbooks were packed withwater colors of people one must have

    seen somehow, but couldnt havehad for they apparently had to haveobscurity in common to be sketched.They appeared to have someunhappy communion of ailments.Ones breasts hung low like a leaked

    balloon. Another titled: Sean Pennresembled him if he had to havesuddenly aged 30 years! On and on.Were these somehow her ideas of eventual suffering by everyone, ordid she dread aging alone?

    She was beginning to stir. I couldhear the massive bed sounding bells.Instead I started to look out the 11thfloor buildings window.-21-

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    behind me, lingering by the door to

    the kitchen to really observe me. Idoubt that she entirely trusted menow. What with sleeping with herand not having even touched her,with nothing having been tactile andstill apparently waking up in a good

    mood she may have found mybehavior odd then.How about some coffee? Shesounded flat, groggy and indifferentas her future cats will be.-23-

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    Oh, youre going to fix some? Somehow I really wanted to ask if she were about to order some fromthe corner store. I hadnt yetforgiven her for cramming my

    stomach with old noodles the nightbefore. But I moved to the kitchendoor to watch her from behind.Shed never revealed her age, but Iguessed she was in her early thirties.And I thought if one looks harder,

    one can see more lovers than werestrictly necessary trailing behind herlike a parachute. The girl hadntsimply lived by her wits alone.-24-

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    The sight of her bare delicate feet onthe cold floor stirred in me the waywarm coffee in the morning stirs thesenses. I suddenly had a longing for

    her: physical, pure lust. The way shemoved quickly and sharp aroundher kitchen reminded me of sensations, and her empty bed. Noopne said anything for a while. Itwas the exact thing Id been afraid

    of: absence of words to-- how toextinguish feelings then? withoutwords? Her physical senses, hersteam, her fragrance, her softness,everything was present, tangible inthe here-and-now!

    I wished with all my heart that abrick, a water pipe or somethingwould fall and knock me out. Ididnt like-25-

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    being that vulnerable with her. Ididnt quite trust her with masculinevulnerability. Instead I heard myself say: Do you always look sounusually perfect in the morning?

    That escaped my lips. It was whatId been afraid of saying all along.She was by the stove and didntutter a word. Didnt even turn herhead. Like shed always expectedthose words to be used in her

    descript ion. Or that she knew theyreally meant something unearthly,brazen, and sensual. Next her bodyleaned toward mine in the way abody doesnt listen to a word. Butcatches their in the air and follows.

    And I grabbed her from behind, andshe let me have-26-

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    her lips. Which were moist, softreceiving, giving and we kissed the

    longest time.And then we kissed with little dipsand hesitations. Light hit her eyesand they looked liquid brown.And then I was already inside her bysheer unstoppable momentum. She

    said: Eh. About 50 seconds late.When I lifted her up and took herback to the massive bed.She cried when she came and itmade everything I had fly to somegolden

    -27-

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    nest. And something more stirredinside her then, somethingtorrential, something in arterial

    waters. And she came again. And forsome reason I felt I had run throughthe fire and come upon a well-spring. We separated then, ourbodies did, though everything elsestayed- frozen--but I felt the tang of

    this separation. A bitterness. Andbegan to make an atlas of her bodywith my fingertips. Of her dewstreaked breasts, classic diamondmouth.-28

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    I think I know understand thelines you draw.It seemed as though we ought to behaving a conversation: it was part of

    camaraderie of sex. I thought you didnt like mydrawings?I loved them-I am here, am I not? You are here because you lovedmy drawings?

    Confirm. Confirm. But anothervoice said:Do you know in just one of yourblogs you use the words: erudite,vexing and transfiguration in onesentence alone?

    Did I?-29-

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    She quit talking, and the sweat driedout on our skins. And later on wemade love again like one of us was

    going to war next day.I was beginning to fall in love andhoped she knew nothing about it.First she was kind of cranky. Twoshe didnt know how to cook, thirdshe was going to be a cat lady? (The

    second night wed lived on pizzawith bits of box stuck to the crust.)-31-

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    And fourth: she went on puttingblogs that made no human sense atall. They all read like the dialogues

    inebriated people have in expensivebars. Full of semi-professionalconceit and things generally no onecares about. And us bloody Persiansare supposed to be metaphorical,but you couldnt read in between

    her lines if old Rumi sat by youtranslating the unconscious !!By the time I woke up next day-shewas cranking the computerkeyboard like speed, intelligence, ordetermination is measured by how

    quickly you hit the keys.-32-

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    But I had to think positive. I had tobelieve there was something inbetween us that wasnt possibleotherwise. I took a look at themonitor for a quick inventory: she ischatting with friends: science fair

    projects, music arts reports. (Nope,nope, nope.) Academic achievementsin the past discussed in ironic terms.,Big financial success of so and so,She let me read it all, like it must beamusing, entertaining. But still

    coming up for craps. May be theytalked each other into going outafter work -33-

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    lush cocktail music. She probably

    left the matches around to piss meoff. (I should have never made loveto her.)I picked one of the matches off thecrowded table, and said: niceplace. I said being totally sarcastic,

    but of course she didnt get it.Yeah, very uptown. Do you want me to fix somecoffee?Its already fixed some, pouryourself a cup.

    What are you exactly doing?I am planning our Sunday withfriends.-35-

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    Didnt even blink an eye.What are you exactly planning? A visit to an exhibition about

    robot-generated music!! I can play guitar and piano!! Thats not what this is about-itsabout me-my interests!! Dont you prefer to go with one of your boyfriends??

    I thought you were my boyfriend inthere? Nodding her head towardthe bedroom.She looked daggers at me, like Idcomplicated a simple arrangement.-36-

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    If I responded in any snooty way. Idbe sleeping in some hotel roomtonight? I am sorry about shootingoff my mouth, but robot music is

    just not my idea of goodtime!!

    Well, thats too bad because yourecoming with me.What should I dress like? Something inconspicuous.I came up to her shoulderI wished I was a little closer to eye

    level for what I was going to say. You mean I should dress like I-37-

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    dont exist, or have no gender.You are simply being stupid now.

    One thing, I said business-like. If it doesnt work out we can go toCentral Park-or even stop by aPersian restaurant and havesomething substantial for dinner.She smelled of starch and very

    faintly of perspiration.I can cook Persian food quite well

    I was taught by my mother.Splendid.-38-

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    By the way, when can I meet yourparents?You are never going to meet them.

    She said with a sneer and got upfrom her chair.I am going in the shower-gotta beready in 45 minutes.The sneering was the best front shecould put on. Hearing things like

    that made me sick and afraid.Just then the phone rang, it was afriend of hers, it was a female friendand they spoke in the most convivialterms. That aroused a suspicion inme. I was always real keen to the

    way a woman dressed.-39-

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    And Azita had greeted me at theairport in a white shapeless shirtand drooping black pants. I hadattributed this to the way

    professional women dressed in amans world. I suppose I reallydidnt want to think of her as beingbi-sexual or anything radical likethat.I stopped listening to them, and

    looked out the window not reallycaring anymore what was there.New York was looking at themoment like one of those cities in-40

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    a monopoly game. I was beginningto think I was never going to get outof it.But small towns have a worst effect

    on me, theres nothing in the worldquite as stupid-looking as cattle.She was in the bathroom, I couldhear the sound of water dropping onher head. And the apartment whichhad managed to smell of airlessness,

    now felt trapped with perfumes of adozen different soaps.-41-

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    Her eyes flicked sideways over mewhen she walked out of the shower. Ithink the usually sweet after-taste of

    sex had left her, and created aconfused vacuum in there. Like shewas about tolose her identity in mine. And of course every fiber of her body was

    jumping to rise in rebellion to that

    feeling.So what do you think I shouldwear.Why are you so set on pretendingyoure stupid? I dont think you are,really.

    Thanks. Why are you so set onpretending youre smart?-42-

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    She let that pass for now. I said, I

    just think you havent met a lot of men like me before, and you dontwant to admit it.There didnt seem any pressingreason for arguing with her. She wasbeing her indifferent person,

    indifferent and careless as a cat.If youve changed your mind aboutthings, I said, I mean, abouthaving me here and all. Thats OK.Ill just get off here. You dont evenhave to take me back to the airport,

    I mean Ill get-43-

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    friends pretended to be gracious to

    me. Her female friends openlyflirtatious. I think I smiledidiotically at everyone, the way Ismile at mirrors. I must have peeredinto a million different mirrors inmy life with the same stupid

    flirtatious smile. Some things neverchange. I wondered how I came tostand in front of these people, rubbing my head in mynervous fashion, I couldnt think of a reason. Oh, I knew I was there

    because of her and, before that,because shed picked-45-

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    me up at the airport, before that,because wed made friends. But Icouldnt get much further. Therewere a lot of small reasons that

    branched off from one another, butno grand design, no roots or heavytrunks. I tried to remember why Idwanted to leave home in the firstplace, why I had wanted to go outwest. It had something to do with

    Azita, the hyphenated--46-

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    Persian girl, but I realized I hadntreally thought much deeply abouther lately. She was just part of themess I carried inside my head. Shecouldnt matter, not any longer. I

    wondered if I would ever doanything right.Then I squeezed my eyes shut for amoment, and when I opened them, Ihad forgotten where I was.When I stared back at Azita it felt

    as though Im seeing her for the firsttime. There are tiny cobwebs aroundher eyes, she was-47-

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    somewhat older than I, and thebaggy masculine pants make herthighs bigger than I had felt in myhands. And her conviviality wascautiously tempered with men, she

    isnt out to win their attention atall, I think. But for the womentheres an unmistakableanimatedness, something sublime,

    just under the surface of things.Like a brow that should be dropped

    but it isnt. I really dont know whyshe was attracted to me, somethingis always alluring about writers,-48-

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    We are thought to have the magic

    powers of uprooting. And thatpower is more crucial than speed,than velocity? I am not sure. But wearent capable of performingmiracles. But even we falsely think we sometimes are. Azita and Id

    been dreaming of miracles. It seemsto me here and now.I decide then and there to leave herapartment that night. I know a semi-fancy hotel downtown. And I realizeIve only come here fishing for

    stories and Azitas is going to49-

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    be just one of them. And then for thefirst time I also re-realize: I canmake love out of nothing at all. Andit isnt at all amorphous, it has flesh

    and bone, its from the earth throughsome crinkled spark,It carries some often absurdexplanation and meaning in betweensunset and sun dawn. It bends, dayand night, as over a chart. Shadows

    of thorns, and bushes, and of meeting with dry figures explainablefigures. They can be started by asimple-50-

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