Blogical Conclusion

OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES

SEPT 13, 2008 – THE LOFTY TITLE NOTWITHSTANDING, the younglings of Majid Majidi’s Children of Heaven – Ali (Mir Farrokh Hashemian) and Zahra (Bahare Seddiqi) – are definitely of this earth, a rundown corner of Tehran, to be precise. Their father toils away, preparing endless cups of tea for little remuneration, while their mother is frequently unwell. The tab at the grocer‘s is unpaid, the landlord demands rent that is overdue – and it’s understandable, therefore, that Ali does not want to make known the news that he has lost his sister’s shoes, which he had taken for repair. When he returns home, his long face is made longer by Zahra’s expectant smile and her subsequent query, “Ali, did you get my shoes?”

Ali ignores his sister and busies himself unwrapping his purchases – bread and potatoes. “Mom said to peel the potatoes if the baby is asleep,” he says, carefully avoiding looking at her. But Zahra needs to know, and she needs to know now. “I said, did you get my shoes?” Ali mumbles that he did, and the smile returns to Zahra’s face. “Has he repaired them nicely?” she asks. He mumbles again, that he did. The infant – their youngest sibling – begins to whine as Zahra gets up. Ali rises too, and demands where she is off to. “I want to see what they look like,” she says. Ali knows he cannot delay the inevitable. His face crumpling up, he confesses, “Your shoes are not there.”

What follows is a moving exploration of what runs through the minds of children, and how they react to molehills that are mountains in their worldview. Zahra’s first thought is that her brother is teasing her, but Ali’s words dispel that idea. “No,” he says, “I swear I’m telling the truth. I went to the store, and the shoes disappeared. I looked all over, but I couldn’t find them.” Zahra is now off-camera, but her voice, suddenly shrunk, leaves us in no doubt about her disappointment. She struggles with the realisation by stating the obvious, “You mean they’re lost?” Ali has already answered this question, but now he’s racing ahead, trying to tackle the consequences. “Don’t say anything to Mom,” he pleads. “I’ll find them.”

Zahra, meanwhile, has begun to consider practical difficulties. “How will I get to school tomorrow?” She begins to snivel. Ali tries on a big brother pose, a vain stab at reassurance. “Don’t cry,” he says. “I’ll go after them right away. I’ll find them.” But Zahra isn’t buying her brother’s false comfort. “But you said you looked all over,” she insists. “Not all over,” he quibbles, and heads to the door. He pauses to remind her, “Please, don’t tell Mom anything.” He lets himself out, and searches for the shoes. He cannot find them, and that evening, brother and sister resume their conversation – this time in writing, because their parents are in the room.

“Ali,” writes Zahra, clearly not having forgotten a thing, “how am I going to school without shoes tomorrow?” She pushes the notebook to Ali, who thinks for a while and comes up with a practical solution. “You can go to school with slippers.” He slides the notebook back to Zahra, who reads his response and shoots a dirty look in his direction. Enough is enough, she decides, and writes, “Ali, you really have some nerve. You lost my shoes. I’m going to tell Dad.” He replies, “Zahra, if you tell Dad, he’ll beat both of us…” And he plays his trump card, “… because he doesn’t have money to buy you a pair of shoes.”

Zahra understands. She doesn’t want to see her father in a position of embarrassment, but she doesn’t see why she should be the one to suffer either, for Ali’s mistake. Unwilling to let him off the hook, she writes, “Then what should I do?” Ali, now, comes up with his second practical solution of the evening. “You can wear my sneakers,” he writes, outlining a time-share plan. “I’ll wear them when you’re back from school.” Zahra mulls over her response, her much-used pencil poised in the air, ready to follow her dictate, when Ali makes a master politician’s manoeuvre. He places on the page a longer, shinier pencil, its stubby pink eraser head still intact, and he whispers, “This is for you.” All appears well between brother and sister, until, the next morning, Zahra slips on the sneakers and discovers they’re too big for her. Her feelings about the deal brokered the previous day are revealed a second later, as she opens the gate that leads to the road and the light catches a tear coursing down her cheek.

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