She was mad at Mom and Dad, but she was content with me.
It was so hard to stay mad at my sister, even if I wanted to.
And it was Dad who had decided to replace me, anyway.
Not Laleh.
The drive to the Towers of Silence wound around the base of the mountains outside Yazd. I sat in the back and tried not to throw up as Stephen Kellner navigated the undulating roads at unsafe velocities.
“Here!” Mom shouted.
My neck nearly snapped when Dad slammed the brakes. He pulled into an unmarked gravel parking lot.
The Smokemobile sputtered and fell silent when Dad pulled out the key. The Black Breath enveloped us again, heavy with the scent of burnt hair and scorched popcorn and a hint of The End of All Things.
The rising sun painted the khaki hills red and pink as we hiked the dusty trail. Mom and Dad led the way, Dad offering an arm to Mamou here and there. Babou took the slope on his own, more slowly. For a moment I wondered if he needed help, but then I remembered how he had clambered over the roof to water his fig trees. And how Sohrab said we were supposed to watch him until he was done. So I hung back to keep an eye out and hoped he wouldn’t fall.
Laleh walked with me. When her energy ebbed, and she started to whine, Babou turned around and took her hand.
“Laleh-khanum,” he said. “Don’t you want to see the top? It is very beautiful.”
“I don’t care!” Laleh pouted, stretching her complaint out until it snapped.
I had learned to recognize the early warning signs of an impending Laleh-tastrophe.
I jogged forward and took Laleh’s other hand. “Come on, Laleh. We’re almost to the top.”
But my sister slowed her pace even more, pulling Babou and me to a stop.
I turned and knelt down in front of her. “This is important, Laleh. It’s part of our family history.”
But I knew such appeals did not usually work with Laleh, not when she was this far gone. She was immune to logic.
There was only one way to get her to calm down.
“And when we get back to Mamou’s, I can take you into town. Sohrab’s uncle owns a store. We can go and get faludeh.”
Laleh drew in her lower lip as she mulled it over.
My sister could never resist a good bribe.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay.” Laleh let go of Babou’s hand and sprang forward to catch up with Mamou.
When I stood up, Babou looked at me for a second.
“You are a very good brother, Darioush-jan.”
I blinked.
It was the nicest thing Ardeshir Bahrami had ever said to me.
Yazd stretched below us, stray pockets of fog tucked into the shadows where the morning sun had yet to burn them away. Line after line of baad girs marched into the distance, and the azure minarets of the Jameh Mosque sparkled when they caught the light.
The Towers of Silence, where Zoroastrians buried their dead—it was called sky burial—had stood sentinel over Yazd for thousands of years.
