He knew where he was from.
There was no ancient emperor for him to measure up to.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s okay, Darioush,” he said.
He put his arm over my shoulder and led me down the path after Babou and Laleh.
“I understand.”
BETTE DAVIS EYES
Laleh and I taught Sohrab how to play I Spy on the drive back to Yazd. When it got too dark to play any more, Laleh fell asleep with her face mashed into my side. I unwound her headscarf so it wouldn’t get tangled as she shifted against me.
As we reached the outskirts of Yazd, Babou slowed the Smokemobile down so much, it felt like we were coasting down the evening streets on maneuvering thrusters only.
“Ardeshir?” Mamou said.
Babou looked back and forth at the road signs and said something in Farsi. Mamou put her hand on his arm, but he shook it off and snapped at her.
In front of me, Mom’s shoulders bunched up.
“What is it?” I asked, but Mom shook her head. Laleh stirred against me, yawned, and rubbed her face into my stomach. My shirt was wet where she had drooled a little bit.
I looked to Sohrab, but he was staring at his hands folded in his lap.
Mamou and Babou argued back and forth until Babou slammed on the brakes—not that it did much, since we were barely crawling forward—and pulled over. The Smokemobile’s exhaust plumed around us.
Mamou unbuckled her seat belt, but Mom reached forward to put an arm on her shoulder. She and Mamou startedwhispering in Farsi, while Babou sat in the driver’s seat with his arms folded and his chin on his chest.
Mom popped her own seat belt and tried to get up, but Dad caught her. “What’s going on?”
“I’m driving us the rest of the way.”
Dad glanced at Mamou and Babou and then back to Mom.
“Let me.”
“You sure?” Mom’s voice caught, like she had swallowed tea the wrong way.
“Positive.”
Dad opened the sliding door, letting in a cloud of the Black Breath that nearly suffocated us all. Once Dad got out, Babou climbed in next to Mom and slid the door shut with the finality of a guillotine.
Dad settled into the driver’s seat of the Smokemobile—the most un-Audi car imaginable—and buckled himself in. “You’ll have to guide me.”
Stephen Kellner, Teutonic Übermensch, had never asked for directions in his life.
“Take the next right.”
While Mamou guided Dad, Mom whispered to Babou in Farsi and wound her arm through his.
I cleared my throat and glanced at Sohrab again.
“What happened?” I whispered.
Sohrab bit his lip. He leaned in close so no one else would hear.
