The Power of a Lie

https://issuu.com/cultureword/docs/shots_202/s/11266245 The Power of a Lie By: Shahireh Sharif Amongst the familiar and anonymous faces of work colleagues and acquaintances saying their last goodbyes to my father, he was the only one that I recall. That said, if it weren’t for his tight embrace and the genuine-looking tear in his eye as he offered his condolences, I might not have remembered him three days later when I was waiting for a taxi. He pulled over and offered me a lift. I told him I was going to Baharestan which apparently was on his way. His car, a white Peykan Javanan overtaken by the stench of lingered tobacco, had miniature prayer beads dangling from its rear view mirror. He had a tattoo on his upper arm, mostly covered by the short sleeve of his off-white T-shirt. He didn’t seem the type that my father would associate with. I asked him how he knew my father and his response added to the aura of mystery that surrounded him. “We must talk about that, but not now.” He suggested we met up after the seventh day of my father’s departure ceremony. His response to such a simple and basic question didn’t make sense. I don’t normally care for people who make everything more complex than necessary. Any other time I would have made an excuse and walked away. But how could I miss the opportunity of knowing something about one of my late father’s unusual acquaintances. I agreed to meet up. The only information that he offered on that occasion was his name, Majid. Four days later, as I joined the men in the close family and friends circle in the local barber to have our beard – the sign of mourning – shaved, I was still thinking about Majid. I wondered if he should have been included... Read the rest here.