The House on Sun Street by Mojgan Ghazirad EPUB & PDF

The House on Sun Street by Mojgan Ghazirad EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online

  • Status: Available for Free Download
  • Author: Mojgan Ghazirad
  • Language: English
  • Genre: 20th Century Historical Romance
  • Format: PDF / EPUB
  • Size: 2 MB
  • Price: Free

Grapes on the Kufi
Now he had two daughters, Shahrazad and Dunyazad hight of whom the elder had
perused the books, annals and legends of preceding Kings, and the stories, examples
and instances of by-gone men and things.
_______
“The Story of King Shahryar and His Brother”
Every time my grandfather Agha Joon turned his head, the silvery threads
glittered on his kufi. A fine filigree of a vine tree was embroidered on that
hat. I followed the twinkles that climbed the grapes and slid down the curly
stems, fascinated by the flash dance of light on his head. I wished he would
finish the conversation and pay attention to me. I was six years old then,
and I had tried all day to be a good girl, not stamping on Agha Joon’s
beloved flowers when I ran after my younger sister Mar Mar while playing
hide-and-seek. It was hard to be patient when he had promised us a magical
gift.

We had gathered in my grandparents’ house on Sun Street that night in
August 1978. The house was surrounded by a vast garden in central Tehran,
neighboring the mansion of Prince Shapour, the younger brother of
Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi. We were sitting on a wooden divan in the
garden, Mar Mar beside me playing with her bangs, listening to Agha Joon,
Baba, and my uncle Reza as they talked about the Shah of Iran and the
turmoil brewing in the country.

Reza had brought the three wooden divans
from the basement and had spread the paisley-patterned Kashan rugs on
them after washing the scorching terrazzo tiles with cold water to cool
down the terrace. The lanterns gleamed golden light over the intertwined
carpet flowers and brought life to the parched garden. My grandmother
Azra had placed her globe-shaped samovar on a birch table between the
divans and brewed tea in a giant teapot on top of the samovar. Narrowwaisted istikans glistened in china saucers as she poured tea and placed the
istikans on the tray. Maman and my aunts Leila and Saba were listening to
the conversation and passing the tea tray among the family.

Water burbled
in the golden samovar, and the rich aroma of cardamom black tea wafted in
the air as they drank and talked about the events happening in the country.
Reza, tall and slender, in his late twenties, was reading aloud from the
Kayhan newspaper. He worked in Agha Joon’s glaziery, and every day, on
his way back home, he brought the afternoon newspaper.

He had rough
stubble on his jaw and had buttoned his sky-blue shirt up to his neck. His
Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in rage as he read in an irritated voice,
the newspaper trembling in his hands. “Six hundred people burned alive in
Cinema Rex Theater in Abadan. Three hundred and seventy-seven are dead,
and the rest are in critical condition.” Reza turned the page and continued to
read: “Charred carcasses were found inside the ruins of the theater building.
‘We smelled the smoke while we were watching the movie,’ one of the

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