The Persian Whispers

The Persian Whispers

October 17, 1967

Bluebirds fly overhead, streaking serene azure in the autumn sky as I lie in the field behind the school. They remind me of Daddy, who adored every single kind of bird. I loved going bird watching with him on the weekends. Mommy threw his binoculars away right after the cops came to tell us Daddy was dead.

Since that day, I have searched the night sky, looking for him. But there has not been a full moon this whole year. I wonder at that, I think an Ogre climbed a crooked ladder up to the sky and took all the air out of the moon and shriveled it up, like a deflated balloon.

A sudden chill overcomes me as the sun goes behind the clouds, returning quickly- and as it does, a shadow looms over me. Cupping my right hand over my eyes, I see Nadia looking down at me. I start to get up to greet her, but she lowers herself to the ground next to me.

My heart is all aflutter- Nadia is a sixth grader and the prettiest and smartest girl at Our Lady of Mercy.

“You come here after school a lot, don’t you?” she asks.

“I guess so. Why?”

“No reason, Silly, just an observation.”

“Oh, so you’re getting all grown up on me now with your vocabulary!”

“What? Is ‘observation’ too daunting a word for you, Maura?”

“There you did it again- ‘daunting’ isn’t a second-grade word! “I yell at her.

“You’re kind of funny for a little kid, ya know that? Anyway, Teta told me that I had her gift- the gift of seeing light shining around someone’s eyes. Teta told me that whenever I saw this light, it was my duty to get to know this person. “

“Who is Teta? And what are you talking about?”

“Teta is my grandmother. She died two years ago.”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Nadia.”

The word “died” causes a volcano to rupture inside of me- “died” means only one thing: plutonium.

Yet, Nadia said the word “died” without fear. Her voice didn’t even crack.

I ponder at that.

Silence envelopes us and the universe seems to expand in the gentle slanting field we find ourselves upon.

I break the silence by bluntly asking:” What do you mean about light being around someone’s eyes? I I have never heard about this.”

“Well, it is just there. It’s kind of like trying to explain the colors of a rainbow to a blind person. It’s complicated- sort of like poetry. Only certain people appreciate poetry. I bet you like poetry, Maura. Colors, sounds smells, and touches demand attention. And the best way to honor them is to describe them with words. Words give us access to the feelings these things bring to us …and once the words are out there, the meaning of living causes us to think beyond what is right in front of our own faces.

Now I understand all the hushed whisperings in the hallway about Nadia being a genius.

What shocks me are her statements on poetry.

What can be more magical than a poem?

My favorite poem is the one Daddy used to read to me The Walrus and the Carpenter. I have read the last stanza about a million times- I can picture them walking, the Walrus (who Daddy told me was really St. Peter) and the Carpenter (who Daddy said was really Jesus) hand in hand and weeping and hoping everything would be grand.

Sometimes I think Daddy knew he was going to die. He told me how important it was to be like the oysters in the poem- like a disciple who would walk with Jesus.

Nadia continues:

“I can see that kind of light because I am Teta’s granddaughter. And Teta told me that if someone has light around their eyes, it means that they carry a deep sadness- and because of it they are close to God. Teta said the only way to fully understand God is if you have suffered.”

“I am not sad, Nadia!” I shouted defensively. “Plus, I don’t understand God! I haven’t even had my First Communion!”

Nadia nudges my left side with her elbow and exclaims,” Don’t be stupid, Kid. Anyone with half a brain cell can tell that you are sad. If you weren’t so cute and smart, you would be doomed. I have no idea why you are sad, but all the bruises on your body, the way you keep your head down, and the baggy uniform are clues that something is not okay. I don’t know what it is, but it seems as though you are living through something harsh. You don’t need to get all huffy about it. At some point in all our lives, we will experience this sadness. You are just maybe ahead of the game. Besides, you probably know more about God than half the adults running around on this planet. First Communion isn’t a magic bullet, Maura. Understanding God means being merciful like Jesus. And you are a kind kid, even to that loser Todd. That kid is a jumbo jetter and every day, I watch as you silently hand him your sandwich.”

She pauses for a moment. I sneak a peek at her and see that her eyes are closed. I follow suit, for fear she will discover that I am much more of a loser than poor Todd. Mom’s boyfriend says I am a disgrace of a kid.

But Nadia’s words cause dancing in my heart. I don’t understand exactly what she is saying, but her words feel true -like they are coming from a different world.

Not a scary or weird Twilight Zone kind of world, but one more like Narnia.

Clouds shift through the open sky, and I feel a lifting up of something within me.

“Nadia, do you like “Clair de Lune?”

“I have never heard it, Maura.”

“Really? Well, it is the most beautiful song! It oozes magic, like when you look at baby Jesus in the creche at Christmas time. If pixie dust had a sound, it would sound exactly like Clair de Lune. Listening to it makes me believe that there is holiness in the world You remind me of that song, Nadia.”

“Teta would have liked you. She was weird like you. Always feeling things no one else did.”

I don’t like being told that I am “weird” but somehow the way Nadia says it, it, feels okay.

“Hey, Nadia, today in Religion Class, Sister Alice said that when we receive our First Communion, we will experience. “Purification of the Spirit.” I wonder if it is the same thing as the light around the eyes thing that your grandmother spoke about.”

“I don’t really know. Teta wasn’t Catholic- she was from Persia.”.

“But do you think they could be the same thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Images of majestic horses, candlelit rooms, gypsies wearing silk dresses along with gold bracelets, dangling, earrings, sparkling emeralds and diamonds began to parade around inside my head. A sense of enchantment squeezes my heart.

“Teta taught me a trick-’ one that helps when you feel sad. I will share this trick with you. But you cannot tell anyone else about this trick-, promise me you can keep this a secret between us, okay, Maura?”

“I promise, Nadia. But if it is a Protestant trick, I can’t do it. “

“I swear to God, it isn’t Protestant. And it isn’t sorcery or anything bad- don’t worry about that- it is meant to help heal sadness, okay?”

“Okay,”

“Close your eyes, Maura.”

I do as I am told.

“Now you must envision a forest in your mind. And as you do, you must walk barefoot into the deepest part of this forest.”

“Wait a minute, Nadia. Does it have to be a certain kind of forest?”

“No, but it must be one that you really like, okay?”

I immediately think of the forest in Hans Christian Andersen’s The Fir Tree with all its brooks, secluded clearings and sunlight shining through the big trees. I find myself squishing my toes on the mossy earth around an oak tree. Peace consumes me.

A few moments later, Nadia clears her throat and says, “Next, you must find something from the forest floor to take with you and keep in the palm of your right hand.”

“Can it be anything?”

“Whatever you want: an acorn, a pebble, a twig, a leaf, - you choose it.”

I do as she instructs and choose a little pinecone and picture holding it in the palm of my right hand.

“Okay, I have it, Nadia.”

“Good! And finally, imagine there is a chair- a big purple velvet chair right smack dab in the middle of this forest. You are to go to that chair and sit on it.”

“Is it a throne, Nadia?”

“Yes, it is, Maura!”

Again, I do as Nadia suggests and in my mind’s eye, I walk to the purple chair. The smell of wet spring blossoms engulfs me. I sit down in the chair. A humming voltage of energy springs forth inside of me. So, this is what being a Princess feels like!

“Maura, you are to put your right hand over your heart, keeping your forest floor item tightly held within that hand.”

I hold my pretend pinecone in my right hand and place my right hand over my heart.

“Are you ready, Maura?”

“Yes, I am ready, Nadia.”

“Now you are able to ask for The Persian Whispers.”

“I don’t understand, Nadia. What are you talking about?”

“Just do it, Maura. Ask the forest to bring you The Persian Whispers. Trust me, it is important.”

With slight hesitation, but with complete faith in Nadia, I ask the forest to bring me The Persian Whispers.

A calm stillness skirts my being.

And unexpectedly, a soft current rises and brushes against my bare legs and arms; a circular flame ignites within me as a flock of Canadian geese honk loudly overhead Somewhere within me, I hear a light drumming and a whimsical flute playing.

Nadia abruptly grabs my left hand and squeals loudly, “The Persian Whispers came, Maura! They came for us! Teta told me that if the wind blows even a tiny bit and there is a sound of an animal after you ask for The Persian Whispers, it means they heard you! They heard us, Maura! We both felt that breeze and heard those geese! Your sadness will go away for now, Maura!”

I begin to breathe heavily – angels’ wings feel like they are covering me with tenderness.

The wind picks up vigorously; leaves scatter about. This zephyr carries its own melody; each whiff of air creates a distinct syllable of love.

A single tear slips down my left cheek.

Nadia leans over me and kisses the tear and says emphatically:” No one alone has just one life. We are all in this together, Don’t ever forget that, Maura.”

And with that, Nadia gets up, leaving me alone on the sloping hill behind the school.

The jolt of recognition, the global map of belonging, of God-stretches out and holds me.

Nadia- the prettiest, the smartest, kid at Our Lady of Mercy- with her tale of The Persian Whispers- single handedly has unbarred the passage to my soul.

And that night, as I search the night sky for Daddy, the full moon rises high; the moon rises proudly and fixing its shine upon me, solicits safety.

The windows of Hope that were boarded up within me open wide.

I am not a disgrace.

I am an oyster.

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