Izdir dabbed the corner of Minin's mouth with a napkin, wiping away a dribble of soup.
"Sorry," Minin said, spoon shaking in a hand made of old bones and covered by skin thin enough to be tissue paper.
"No problem, dearest." Izdir smiled and stroked Minin's cheek.
"Ashreshteh is my favorite," Minin said. "Mama made it for me all the time. She said if I ate it all up I'd grow up big and strong, strong enough to join the Revolutionary Guard. She always put lots of mint in it. There's not enough mint in this, I prefer lots of mint."
"There wasn't much mint in the market," Izdir said.
"Hmm. It's this weather. So much dryness. It never seems to rain anymore."
Minin spooned more soup, slurping noodles from the juddering spoon. Izdir reached over to dab another dribble away.
"Sorry," Minin said.
Izdir smiled and stroked Minin's cheek. "No problem, dearest."
"Mama made me ashreshteh. Said it'd make me strong enough to join the Revolutionary Guard. She always made it with lots of mint. There's too much lemon in this."
"I'm sorry about the mint," Izdir said. "But you like lemon."
"Yes. I like lemon. Izdir and I used to grow lemons in a pot in the courtyard. But they were always bitter."
Izdir chuckled. "They were, weren't they."
"You look like Izdir. Do you know Izdir?" Minin asked. "I forget what happened to..." Minin frowned and stared at Izdir. "Did you make my soup?"
"Yes. Sorry it's too lemony."
"That's okay. Izdir made it with lots of lemon. Mama used mint. I think I like both. Sometimes I forget. You're too young to remember Izdir, aren't you?" The Maghrib adhan echoed through the house, heard in the dining room as a faint whisper. Minin looked round and said, "We're late for evening prayers."
"You need to finish your soup," Izdir replied.
"I think I'm full. And this ashreshteh is too lemony, not enough mint. Mama made it with lots of mint." Minin turned to listen to the last of the call to prayer. "That doesn't sound like Hatef."
"No. Hamedeh is muezzin these days."
"She has a nice voice." Minin tipped the bowl and slurped the last of the soup, which caused more splashes. Izdir reached over to wipe them away. The arm slowed as it approached Minin's face and stopped with a jerk that made the napkin flutter as if in a breeze.
Minin placed the dish down with trembling hands and looked at Izdir, frozen in place like a Zanjan saltman in the museum in Tehran. "Izdir?" Izdir stared with eyes locked in place, unseeing.
Minin reached forward, took the napkin, and wiped the last of the soup away. Looking at Izdir was like peering into a mirror showing life forty years in the past. Memories which spent more time than not submerged, hidden like rocks ready to wreck life's equanimity, appeared.
Minin remembered them meeting in the white heat of the second revolution; finding a cleric who would bless their union; years of heady bliss; the phone call to come to the hospital, but it already being too late.
A spare power unit was on charge. Minin swapped them over and Izdir powered back up.
"We need to get you new batteries," Minin said.
"We can't afford to. We've had this conversation."
Minin sat back down and held Izdir's hand across the table. "I forget."
"I know."
"What do you see when you look at me?"
Izdir's eyebrows creased. "I see you, Minin."
"Do you see how old I've become? I look at you, and you're still perfect, and I'm so old, so frail. I never considered what would happen. I just wanted you back, I needed you. I still need you."
"We need each other."
"One of us is going to be disappointed soon. Do you ever wonder what we'd have been like if you hadn't died?"
"How could I. I don't remember before, not properly. Only what you've told me."
"I don't remember lots of things." Minin shifted, to ease a stiffening leg. The leg knocked the table, the spoon rattled in the empty bowl. Minin looked at it and could feel the caul of forgetfulness and repetition returning. "The ashreshteh was lemony." Tears started falling.
"Yes." Izdir wiped away Minin's tears.
"You always make it more lemony. Mama made it with mint. She said it'd make me big and strong."
"You are big and strong. Stronger than you'll ever know."
Story by stuartcturnbull. Picture from KoalaParkLaundromat on Pixabay
Also, the pic if anyone can locate a picture of actual AshReshteh I could use, I would be utterly grateful
