A Persian Requiem (31 page)

What had she said to hush them up? Why were they staring at her? A silence and a stare you couldn’t endure. Zari felt as though something fell and shattered inside her. Who had told her once, “A storm raged within the folds of my body”?

Abol-Ghassem Khan put a hand to his waist, stood up and came towards her. “How many times did I tell that poor soul not to let this weak, fragile woman go so often to the asylum? But he wouldn’t listen …” he said.

“For heaven’s sake, man, don’t go jumping to conclusions,” said Ameh.

“Someone was telling me the story of Savushun,” said Zari. “How he’d been all alone and the enemy numbered a thousand … of course, he couldn’t overcome them single-handed …”

Malek Rostam spoke up from where he was sitting, “
Abol-Ghassem
Khan, sir, please sit down.” And he whispered something quietly.

But Zari managed to catch what he was saying. “Don’t worry,” she heard him say, “she hasn’t gone mad. Why can’t someone cry for Siavush?”

Abol-Ghassem Khan beat himself on the head and said, “Who’s Siavush? What’s the Gissu tree? The world is spinning and
crumbling
all around me … under the rubble … a pity, a thousand times a pity.”

“I’ve attended Savushun many times myself,” Malek Rostam said. “When the Ta’zieh passion play was banned, that was stopped too. And the Gissu tree is famous all over the lowlands.”

“The first time I saw the Gissu tree, from a distance I thought it was a wishing tree with all those bits of yellow, brown and black ribbons hanging from it,” explained Zari. “But when I went closer, I realized those ribbons were in fact braided locks of hair. Hair that belonged to young women who had lost their husbands … or sons, or brothers …”

Why was Abol-Ghassem Khan frightened and listened to, but still didn’t believe, whatever they were telling him? Why did Ameh too start to doubt and didn’t say anything anymore, but Malek Rostam kept reassuring them it was all right to cry for Siavush? Zari put her head on the pillow again and thought, “If only they would just let me be happy in my own thoughts, riding horses in my dreams, walking over reaped fields, sitting hand in hand with Yusef by the piles of wheat … I’d put my head in Yusef’s lap and he would rub my temples with his fingers and say, ‘I’m willing to bet you’re going to be just fine.’”

F
inally that bloated night of nightmares and terrors released its grip on Zari. At dawn, she got up. Her knees were shaky and her mouth had an acrid taste. She went out to the garden and listened to the sound of water pouring from the stone head into the pool. She washed her hands and face. The coolness of the air, the freshness of the garden, the smell of the moist earth, the chirping of the early sparrows, the clean water which had reached half-way up the pool—all of these revived her somewhat.

They had left the wooden beds in the shade of the building next to the pool, and covered them with carpets. Khadijeh came out, carrying a tray which she placed on one of the beds.

“I knew you would feel better in the morning,” she said, greeting Zari. “Thank God! I broke an egg for you, I burnt some wild rue to ward off the evil eye. I tried all kinds of vows and prayers.”

She spread a tablecloth on one of the wooden beds, and put some knives and plates on it. She went away to fetch the samovar and came back with it minutes later, boiling and ready for the tea. Zari sat down cross-legged by the tablecloth. Her stomach growled with hunger.

“We couldn’t find your keychain last night even though we searched everywhere for it,” said Khadijeh. “There’s probably some sugar, tea and saffron in the store-room. I know we have a bottle of sugar syrup … by the way, Khanom, we’re short of fans, too.”

“Where are they reciting the Quran?” Zari asked. “The voices seem to be coming from around the well.”

Khadijeh stood and stared at her. “They’ve put the body in the cistern, between big sacks of snow. It was coolest there,” she said, and looking Zari over carefully, began to say, “You’ve changed so much overnight …” but she finished her sentence, “My poor
mistress, what have you done to yourself! You’ve lost so much weight. Do you remember my uncle’s wife who swallowed opium once? I was the one who saved her. She looked just like you do this morning.”

Just then Gholam came in through the garden gates followed by Haj Mohammad Reza the dyer. Gholam was carrying an iron in one hand, and Zari’s black dress and scarf in the other. Haj Mohammad Reza, wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, was balancing a large bundle on his head with hands which matched the colour of his shirt. Zari took her things from Gholam and went to the bedroom. She put the dress on with difficulty; it had become too tight. Digging a hand into the pockets of her dress, she found a crumpled and blackened two-toman bill in the right one. She glanced
involuntarily
in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. She switched the light on and took a closer look. Several strands of hair had turned white, and her parched lips had lines around the corners. Her darkly-circled eyes seemed to have sunk in their sockets. She thought, “It’s not true when they say all of someone’s hair turned white overnight.”

She went to the parlour which had been stripped of all its decorations, even the radio. Gholam and Haj Mohammad Reza were spreading black sheets on the cushions arranged around the room. Haj Mohammad Reza stood up when he saw her. He averted his eyes awkwardly and asked after her health. Zari thought, “Poor soul, he’s been up the whole night dyeing all this material.” It seemed as if he had read her mind because he surveyed the black cushion-covers with satisfaction.

When Zari came out to the garden, Ameh had just finished her morning prayers, and Abol-Ghassem Khan and Khosrow were having breakfast. Khosrow was wearing a black shirt which hung over his grey trousers. Zari sat at one end of the table-cloth, next to the samovar. She poured herself and Ameh some tea, but her hands were shaking and her head swam. Ameh broke two eggs, carefully disposing of the whites in the bowl underneath the samovar tap. She dropped the yolks in a cup, added some sugar, and started to beat it. Zari followed Khosrow with her eyes as he got up and went through the garden gates. Involuntarily she spoke her thoughts, “The poor man has been up the whole night dyeing all of us black!”

Ameh raised her head as she was beating the eggs and changed the subject. “Sister, did you find your keychain?” she asked.

“Keychain?” asked Zari distractedly. Then she smiled and said, “Khadijeh was shocked to see me a few minutes ago. She said I looked like one of those people who’ve eaten opium and been rescued in the nick of time. She said I’d aged a thousand years overnight. No, she didn’t say that. I don’t remember what she said … I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.”

“Khadijeh had no business saying things like that to you!” Ameh replied.

Abol-Ghassem Khan looked at Zari. He stared and shook his head. “Didn’t I say so, sister?” he said. “Last night you said I was making things up about her because I was interested in her money.”

Again Zari spoke her thoughts out loud. “I think Khosrow’s gone to fetch Dr Abdullah Khan.”

Ameh bit her lip and said, “When time heals her wounds, she’ll be all right.”

Hurriedly she poured some milk over the egg yolks, stirred it and handed it to Zari. But suddenly Zari wondered what Abol-Ghassem Khan had meant? Blood rushed to her face. Her heart pounded in her chest and again she felt as though something had shattered inside her.

She felt she had to explain. “In the asylum,” she said, “the first thing every patient says is that he’s not mad and he shouldn’t have been brought there. But Abol-Ghassem Khan, you can be sure I haven’t gone mad … you see … well, it was all so sudden …” She left her sentence unfinished. She was not entirely convinced herself. What if she really had gone mad and didn’t know it? A fear more insidious than the terrors of her recent nightmares gripped her, larger than anything she had ever experienced. She felt chilled to the bone but the palms of her hands were sweating. She had to show Abol-Ghassem Khan, and, more importantly, prove to herself that she hadn’t gone mad. She ate her breakfast delicately, even though her appetite had gone, remembering to thank Ameh for the milk and eggs which she had hardly been able to swallow. Then she got up and called Khadijeh and Gholam. She sent Khadijeh to borrow fans from the neighbours, and then to fetch her keychain from the children at Mehri’s. Then she sent Gholam to find tea and sugar at any cost.

Khadijeh returned with an armful of fans and said, “Khanom Mehri and Mohsen Khan were quarrelling, so I didn’t dare go
inside for the keys.”

Gholam came back and said, “I went all the way down the street, but no-one has opened their shop yet!”

All the time Zari’s eyes were glued to the garden gate in
expectation
of Dr Abdullah Khan. At first Hossein Agha the grocer and his brother Hassan Agha the local corn-chandler came in, clad entirely in black. Then the two distillers from next door arrived, sweating from the loads on their back. They had each tied a black armband around their bare arms, otherwise they were dressed as usual in a pair of drawers and an undershirt. They put their loads down next to the pool, opened the burlap sacks at the top and rolled them down carefully. Holding their hands in turn underneath the mouth of the stone head, they caught some water with which to sprinkle the roses and the eglantine inside the sacks. Soon the fragrance of the flowers filled the area in front of the house. Zari looked at the flowers and thought, “How far they went to get these … they’ve spent the whole night picking those flowers, and in the darkness too … how many thorns did they get in their hands? Why didn’t the youngest son go with them? I hope he hasn’t come down with typhus as well!”

Gholam, still hatless, approached Hossein Agha and said,

“Brother, I came to you earlier, but your shop was closed. See if you can get us some sugar, tea and saffron, will you?”

Hassan Agha, Hossein Agha and the distillers left. In the
driveway
, they came across the old distiller himself who had put on Gholam’s worn-out suit and thrown a black shawl around his neck. They stood and talked to the old man who followed them back on the way he had just come.

A droshke drew up at the garden gate and Zari wanted to rush forward and greet the long-awaited Dr Abdullah Khan.

She was longing to make him tell everyone, “Khanom Zahra hasn’t gone mad. She’s had a shock, that’s why she seems
distracted
. Don’t watch her so closely, because then you really will drive her mad!” But it was Ferdows who came out of the droshke, taking Ezzat-ud-Dowleh’s hand as she stepped out. The old lady descended with a lot of difficulty, and giving her arm to Ferdows, limped slowly up the driveway until she reached Zari who was standing in front of the house in a state of disbelief. The sun had just risen, and before Zari could collect herself from the surprise of this early morning visit, the woman had thrown an arm around Zari
and was saying, “The news came so suddenly last night, I wasn’t myself at all and I left without saying goodbye or realizing what I was doing. All night while everyone was fast asleep, I couldn’t close my eyes. You’re like a daughter to me, and your late mother was my twin soul. God forbid, she’d always say, ‘Ezzat-ud-Dowleh, I’m a dying woman. I leave my child in your hands.’ Alas! Alas!”

She sat on the wooden bed—the same one that Yusef’s broken body had occupied the night before, but which was now covered with a carpet. Rubbing her leg, she asked, “Where’s my sister?”

She was swathed in black, including the gloves, scarf, socks … when had she had time to dye her hair black? Come to think of it, why should she dye her hair black at all?

“I said to Ferdows, ‘Get up, child, let’s go there first thing in the morning’,” continued Ezzat-ud-Dowleh. “‘Maybe we can give them a hand or something.’ After all, what good is our so-called sisterhood if not for times of need?” It was lucky for Zari that she managed to hold her tongue. If this woman accused her of madness too then she would be done for. It would give Ezzat-ud-Dowleh a week’s worth of gossip with the Governor’s family!

“My dear child,” said Ezzat-ud-Dowleh again, “what kind of dress is this you’re wearing? A dyed thing, and ironed to a shine, too. It’s not nice in front of people, and it’s too tight for you.”

Zari, who had her eyes on the garden gate, didn’t reply. But Ezzat-ud-Dowleh wouldn’t let up.

“My dear girl, why aren’t you paying attention? Now go along like the nice lady that you are and allow Ferdows to let out your dress for you. There’s probably some room left—she’ll open it at the seams.”

Zari noted silently that those beady eyes didn’t miss a thing. But she made no effort to move.

“By the way,” said Ezzat-ud-Dowleh, “I nearly forgot. I’ve brought you something which I know will really make you happy. A keepsake from your late husband—no, you’re not paying
attention
to me at all … look!”

Reluctantly Zari shifted her gaze from the garden gate.
Ezzat-ud-Dowleh
took out a small box wrapped in white paper from her handbag and gave it to Zari. Zari held it in her hand, not knowing what to do with it. Again she stared at the garden gate.
Ezzat-ud-Dowleh
gave a little laugh and said, “Go on, open it!”

Zari mechanically undid the wrapping. Inside was a black velvet
box. She opened it, and saw her emerald earrings shining at her from their small velvet case. She felt depressed. The earrings which Yusef had put in her ears on their wedding night with his own hands. Yusef’s eyes had shone like those very emeralds in the light.

Ezzat-ud-Dowleh smiled. “I knew it would make you happy,” she said. “Last night I went straight from here to the Governor’s house. I decided that since I’d been responsible for having my dear child’s earrings taken away, I had to get them back myself.”

“Do you think I can be fooled like a child?” said Zari. And she closed her eyes. She felt dizzy.

Ezzat-ud-Dowleh neither scolded her nor complained. She merely said, “Ferdows, my child is not feeling quite herself because of her grief. Poor thing! Take her to her room. Tight clothing is bad for a pregnant woman.” She put a hand to her brow and cried a little. Then calming down, she advised Zari in a motherly tone, “Zari dear, put the earrings in a safe place. It will get very crowded here today.”

Zari walked off, feeling like a robot with rusty springs and loosened hinges. Ferdows took her hand to keep her from falling. They went to the bedroom together. Zari took off her dress, put the velvet box on her dressing table and stretched out on the bed.

“Where’s the sewing kit?” asked Ferdows.

“I don’t know,” replied Zari. She felt dizzy and nauseous. This must be the way madness begins, she thought.

She wished Ferdows wouldn’t talk, but Ferdows kept on chatting.

“Khanom Zahra,” she said, “it’s a good thing you and I managed to be alone. These people can get up to anything!”

If only she’d shut up, thought Zari.

“Are you listening to me?” asked Ferdows.

“No.”

“I want to put you on your guard. Last night mother and son were up the whole time, scheming behind your back. I stayed awake on the roof and listened. God Almighty! In the middle of the night she dyed her hair and put henna on it … actually it’s a wonder she doesn’t think she’s the Almighty!”

Zari didn’t respond, though her interest had been kindled. Ferdows had found the sewing kit and was opening the seams of the dress.

How efficient she is, Zari thought silently.

Still undoing seams and re-stitching them, Ferdows continued, “When Khanom got home, Hamid Khan threw himself at her feet again, flattered her and played up to her and finally he said, ‘Mother, I must have this woman at any cost’ … God forbid, he said that every night he’d slept with his wife he’d thought of you. All three of his children had been conceived thinking of you … bless my soul! A grown man like that making up all kinds of verses and poems for you! If you only knew the kinds of things he said …”

Zari didn’t want to know, but Ferdows went on, “Well, to cut a long story short … Khanom was not easily persuaded. She kept saying that you bring bad luck, that your brother-in-law wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on your money, that you’re pregnant and no-one can wed a pregnant woman. Hamid Khan said he’d wait. Khanom …”

If Gholam hadn’t knocked on the bedroom door just then to announce Dr Abdullah Khan, Zari would have vomited.