Equal of the Sun (15 page)

“Thank you,” Pari said. “At last I will meet my dear brother again, and rediscover one of the loves of my youth! I thought this day might never come.” Her eyes sparkled with joy.

Pari covered herself in her chador and entered a domed palanquin draped with orange velvet. Her lower-ranking eunuchs bore her through the gate to Kholafa’s house at the northern end of the city, while I walked alongside them. It was a hot day, but our walk was canopied by the leaves of the large walnut trees that had been planted in abundance in this part of the city. Was there ever a better tree? The stately, gnarled trunks exploded into generous fields of green above us.

As we passed the large gated homes along the street, citizens made way, stopping to stare at Pari’s retinue.

“What rich velvet!” sighed a woman wrapped in a tattered robe.

I too felt envious of Pari, but for a different reason. How my heart would be pounding with excitement if I were about to meet my own sibling, Jalileh, after an absence of so many years. Would she look like my mother? Like me? Would she be understanding when I revealed I had become a eunuch? I had not told my mother before she died, nor had I wished to convey the news to Jalileh by letter. Would her eyes grow tender when I told her the truth, or—

I tripped on a stone, and the captain behind me barked that I had better pay my respects to royalty by paying closer attention to the road.

When we arrived at Kholafa’s house, we used the knocker for women, a large brass circle, and were greeted first by his wife, who led us to a room in the
andarooni
—the area restricted to ladies and intimates of the family. It had finely knotted blue wool and silk carpets on the floors, embroidered cushions, large silver vases full
of fresh flowers, trays heaped with grapes, peaches, pistachios, and sweetmeats, and fruit sharbats in large flagons.

Pari greeted the women who were already present, the late Shah’s four wives Sultanam and Sultan-Zadeh, Pari’s mother, Daka Cherkes, and Zahra Baji, along with their ladies and attendants. Sultanam’s eyes and wrinkled cheeks glowed with motherly pride. Khadijeh sat near her to attend to her, her eyebrows as lush as brown velvet. I thought about the
donbalan
—sheep’s balls—I had eaten the day before and felt the heat rise at my groin. Despite the sobriety of the occasion, I imagined what we would do together the next time I saw her.

Everyone looked her best in her mourning clothes except for Sultan-Zadeh, whose poorly tied headscarf and red eyes testified to her grief over the death of her son. She kept her head bent as if trying to be invisible.

Before long, Isma‘il entered the room accompanied by a small retinue of fierce-looking eunuchs. The ladies rose and began ululating and shouting out praises to God. Isma‘il stood there in a gray silk robe and accepted the tribute, and when he seated himself on a handsome embroidered pillow that had been placed for him on the best carpet in the room, the ladies sat down again on their cushions. Along with other servants, I stood at attention at the back of the room.

He was a medium-sized man with small eyes and a thin beard threaded with gray. He appeared confident and regal, quite unlike the boy Haydar posturing in front of the elders with his sword. Isma‘il claimed the best seat in the room like a man who believed he was finally getting what he deserved.

But he hadn’t aged well. He appeared to be a man in his fifties rather than thirty-eight. The bones in his body seemed too fluid, as if held in a sack of animal gelatin rather than muscle. Looking closely at his face, I detected an unhealthy sallowness as if he were rotting from within. No one would ever mistake this slack-bodied man for the fierce warrior he had once been.

“Welcome, womenfolk,” he began. “This morning, I had a private audience with my mother to express my gratitude to her. All the years I was away, she never relinquished hope that I would return. She is the shepherd of my conduct—of my life as a man, of my
wives-to-be, and of my future. Mother, all praise is yours for my life and for the crown that I will soon wear upon my head!”

I couldn’t help but think that the praise for the crown should be Pari’s, but perhaps he was simply being exuberant.

Sultanam could not contain herself. “
Insh’Allah!
My thanks go to God for watching over my son. To show my deepest gratitude for your safe return, I hereby pledge to build a mosque and a seminary in Qazveen.”

There was a low gasp, for we all knew the costs of hiring architects, engineers, and tile makers, and the labor of a building crew for several years. But all the late Shah’s wives and children had recently been informed by the treasury of the fortunes they had inherited after his death, which for the most favored, like Pari, included the revenue from entire towns.

“Your piety is an example to all women,” he replied.

Isma‘il greeted his father’s wives, each in order of seniority, including Sultan-Zadeh, until finally his attention came to Pari.

“Sister of mine, the last time I saw you, you were a little girl,” he said. “How things have changed. Throughout my journey, I have been flooded with reports of your doings at the palace. Your reputation is larger than you could ever guess.”

Pari bent her head to accept his tribute. I waited expectantly for him to shower her with words of praise, as he had his mother.

“Tell me—do you find me much altered?”

Pari lifted her head in surprise. She didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I wish to know the truth.”

A mist veiled her eyes for a moment.

“I see before me the brother who was kind enough to teach me when I was just a child, though he was already a great warrior,” she said gently.

“Teach you what?”

“The art of the bow.”

“And just look at me now!” he said with a ghastly laugh. Judging from his thin arms, he didn’t have enough strength to pull back a bowstring.

“It would be my fondest wish for us to shoot together again soon,” said Pari softly. “I am at your service.”

“And I suppose you will teach
me
this time,” he replied. Although his tone was playful, the skin on my neck tightened.

“I shall forever be your pupil,” she replied. “I will never forget how you trained me to hold my bow and showed me to keep the target foremost in my mind. Find its soft fleshy weakness, you said, and strike where you cannot fail. I took those lessons to heart. After you left I practiced often, and when you didn’t return, I asked for you. One of our father’s generals took pity on me and told me your locations while you were on campaign. I requested a map of the region, which was drawn for me by a royal cartographer, and marked your progress on it with bits of turquoise.”

She stopped there, no doubt wishing to avoid reminding him of his humiliating incarceration.

“And then what happened?”

“One day the map disappeared, and so did your name,” she replied. “I am very grateful God has sent you back to us again.”

“It must be like seeing a man from the dead,” he said. His yellow countenance made it difficult to disagree.

“I see a noble shah with cheeks as red as pomegranates,” Pari protested.

He waved his hand to forestall any more talk he could not believe. “Speaking of which, I visited our father’s grave early this morning.”

Pari tensed. Her father was still buried in a temporary grave at a nearby shrine, pending Isma‘il’s decision about where to inter him permanently. The other ladies began wailing, as they must do when the late Shah’s name was raised. Tears sprang to Pari’s eyes, while Isma‘il’s remained dry.

The moment was so awkward that I was glad I could justify loosening the silk handkerchief that I carried at my waist for Pari and offering it to her. She wiped her eyes and said, “Now we shall weep together, brother of mine.”

He laughed again, a ghoulish sound. “My tears are all dry,” he said.

His manners were very poor.

“Your suffering has been great. My biggest wish is to devote myself to you, dear brother,” Pari said quickly, to change the subject. “I promise to be useful.”

“Yes, I imagine you will, having spent so many years basking in the light of our father. What a waste!”

Pari drew back on her cushion. “I am very grateful to have benefited from his wisdom.”

“Oh, dear sister, don’t take offense. I only mean that his knowledge could have been put to better use by a child who could be shah.”

Pari looked bewildered.

“No matter,” he said. “That hasn’t been my fate, yet look what grand surprises God has brought me. I have selected a caravanserai in Ardabil as a gift to express my thanks for your service.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” said Pari.

It was a rich gift, since its rents would be a regular source of income, yet I was certain she would rather have had a humbler one given with true gratitude.

“You are welcome.”

“Brother of mine,” said Pari, “perhaps you will wish to hear about palace business. There are pressing matters to discuss.”

“All in good time.” He shifted on his cushion. “There is only one thing I want to know right now. How did the nobles behave?”

“With confusion.”

“Did they treat our family with respect?”

“Yes, for the most part.”

“Who didn’t?”

“I should hate to identify anyone. The situation baffled them.”

“But I insist on knowing.”

“Perhaps you have already heard that a few nobles refused to heed me. When I read to them from your letter, however, they fell into line.”

“Who? You must not hold anything back from me.”

“Well, it was mainly Mirza Shokhrollah, the chief of the treasury, and his supporters.”

“I see. I will take that into account.”

“Thank you.”

“Brother, may I tell you now about court business?” Pari was overeager, but it was impossible to know how soon he would allow her to see him again. Isma‘il’s eyes scanned the area around him as if he needed something.

“What is it, my son?” asked Sultanam.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I must go.”

He arose abruptly, signaling that the meeting was over. All the ladies stood up, surprised.

“I thank you all for your attendance. Now I leave you to feast, while I attend to a matter of some urgency.”

He hadn’t even graced the women with his presence during a meal. They looked at each other, perplexed, except for Sultan-Zadeh, who seemed relieved. Pari’s mother and Zahra Baji filled the awkward silence by offering their congratulations to Sultanam.

I took the damp handkerchief from Pari.

“What is wrong with him?” she asked in a low tone.

“I fear he has forgotten himself,” I whispered. “He wouldn’t be in power if it weren’t for you.”

“Yes, whether he admits it or not.”

“Perhaps he requires time to settle in. It must be difficult to be a prisoner one day and a shah the next.”

“It was like speaking with a hermit who has forsaken proper manners,” she said, her face drained of color.

Servants entered with tablecloths and the beginnings of a feast of roasted meats and stews, but Pari told me she had no appetite and didn’t wish to stay. As she said her farewells, pleading a womanly ache, Khadijeh smoothed both ends of the kerchief that covered her hair and caught my eye. I adjusted my sash, our signal that I would visit her later in the evening, and she looked over her right shoulder to give her assent.

When it was so late that the moon had risen and all that could be heard was the howling of jackals, I arose from my bed to go see
Khadijeh. The moon was obscured by a cloud, and I had to count the steps to where the path branched to the one I followed to her quarters. When I arrived, the eunuch on duty was asleep on the ground, his head against the door, his jaw open, his weapon slack in his hand. All the better for my purposes, since it saved me a coin. I stepped over him into the building and walked down the corridor softly until I came to Khadijeh’s door, which I pushed open. Despite the late hour, she was dressed and seated in a dark corner of the room. I sat beside her and took her small brown hand in my own.

“How I needed to see you!” she said. “Was it easy to get past the guard?”

“He is as fast asleep as if he were dead.”

Khadijeh smiled. “I put a sleeping potion in a jug of wine and offered it to him,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“Because he must not know you are here. No one must know,” she added vehemently, and then flung her arms around me and buried her head in my neck. I felt a tear on her cheek.

“Khadijeh—soul of mine—what ails you?” I asked, perplexed.

Her body trembled against mine. “I am to belong to another.”

My throat closed for a moment. I held her tightly and stroked her hair, inhaling the rose oil she used on her temples.

“Alas! I hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”

She pressed herself against me, and I felt the roundness of her breast and thought about how she would soon be pressing against someone else.

“Ah, my beloved. How I will miss you!”

“And I you,” she said, tears springing to her cheeks.

“Who is your intended—a warrior from the provinces?”

“Better than that.”