The Blood of Flowers (27 page)

Not long after I returned home that morning, Gostaham received a letter from Fereydoon renewing my sigheh for another three months. He must have written it right after we said good-bye. With jubilation, we sent back a letter of agreement. Gordiyeh congratulated me, surprised that I had succeeded. "I thought he had done with you," she said.

Gostaham gave us another sack of coins from Fereydoon's accountant, after taking his share to pay for our keep. My mother put both her hands to my cheeks and told me I was like the moon. I glowed with triumph. Unlike Gordiyeh, my mother, and all the other women I knew, I had had to prove myself after marriage or risk losing my husband. I had succeeded with only hours remaining, and I vowed not to make the same mistake again. Right away, I began planning what I would do the next time Fereydoon summoned me to his bed.

THAT AFTERNOON, a messenger from Naheed knocked on Gostaham's door to tell me that I was invited for coffee. Although my eyes were burning with fatigue and I longed to rest, I had to go with her to avoid being rude. Naheed had sent for me several times during the last few days, but I had returned my apologies, for I had been too perplexed by my own problems.

I already knew what Naheed was going to tell me. Only a few days before, she had probably met Iskandar's mother and sister at the hammam, and they would have exchanged pleasantries all afternoon as they bathed. At the end of the day, his mother would have been enchanted enough to reveal that she was searching for a good match for her son. Since Iskandar was already in love, I suspected that his family's offer had come quickly and that Naheed's had already accepted. Girls like Naheed were destined to marry wealthy men; but her fate would be even better, for she would be marrying someone she had chosen herself.

I hummed to myself as I walked through Four Gardens. Rosebushes were blooming in a garden near the river, and I stopped to admire them. Small yellow buds with delicate petals were planted near fat red blossoms that had already spread their petals wide. The song that I loved to sing with my father came to me:

I shall plant roses at her feet,

For I am drunk, drunk, drunk on love.

If a girl like Naheed could get what she wanted, perhaps so could a girl like me. I had won Fereydoon as a lover; maybe with more cleverness I could ensnare him as a permanent husband.

When I arrived at Naheed's, we greeted each other with a kiss on each cheek. As her mother's birds chirped merrily in their cages, I looked at Naheed for signs of the good news. But as soon as the servants left us alone, Naheed's face twisted into grief, and she collapsed onto a cushion, crying.

I was astonished. "Naheed, my dear, my life! What has happened?"

She looked up for a moment, her green eyes beautiful through her tears. "They said no," she said, before choking on more sobs.

"Who said no? Iskandar's parents?"

"No, no. My own parents!"

"Why?"

Naheed sat up and tried not to choke on her own sobs. "They found the letters," she said when she finally recovered. "There were too many for me to keep them in my sash. I hid them underneath my bedroll, but I must have been careless. One of my mother's maids betrayed me. She is a wealthy woman now, I'm sure."

"You poor animal!" I said. "Did they even consider Iskandar as a husband for you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He's too poor!" said Naheed, sobbing even more. I reached forward and put my arms around her waist, and she leaned toward me and cried on my shoulder. When she had stopped for a moment, she looked at me with so much pain in her eyes that my heart felt heavy with grief. "I love him!" she burst out. "I will always love him! Whatever happens, he and I will always be as close as a cloud and its life-giving rain!"

I sighed, though I was not surprised that her parents had refused a poor man. "Have you heard from Iskandar?"

"He sent me a letter through Kobra, but we have to be very careful now because my parents are watching me. They said I had shamed the family name by having a secret romance, and that people would talk. They have instructed the head servants to pat down the others for missives when they come in the door."

"What did he write to you?"

"That even if I am old and sickly, if my hair is gray and I walk with a limp, he will love me always."

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I know how much you love him."

Naheed clicked her tongue against her teeth. "How could you know? You have never been in love," she said almost angrily.

I admitted that was true, although now that I had enjoyed an evening of newly awakened delights with Fereydoon, my feelings had begun to change. I wondered if they could be considered love.

"Naheed-joon," I said, "on my way here, I was so certain you were going to tell me you were engaged to Iskandar and were about to obtain your heart's greatest desire that I was singing to myself with joy."

"I thought so, too," she replied.

I considered for a moment. "What if Iskandar does well for himself? Is it possible that your parents will change their mind one day?"

"No," she said darkly. And just when I thought her tears had started to dry, she bent over and moaned like an animal in a trap. I hadn't heard keening like that since my father had died, and the sounds tore at my heart.

I tried to comfort her. "Naheed, my life, you must have hope. Let's pray to God, and trust that He has a compassionate fate in store for you and Iskandar."

"You don't understand," Naheed replied, and returned to her low, guttural wailing. A servant knocked at the door with our coffee. I jumped up and took the tray from her hands so that she wouldn't enter and see Naheed's tear-streaked face.

"It's all right," she said, "they all know about my engagement."

I was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Naheed's tears flowed even faster, like a heavy spring rain. "If I had renounced Iskandar, my parents probably would have done nothing, but I wept and told them I would never forget him. For that reason, they have contracted a marriage for me with another man. I am to be married when the moon is full again."

This news was even crueler than the last. How could Naheed's parents, who had loved and spoiled their girl all her life, throw her at a man while she was still mourning her first love? I felt very, very sorry for her. I put my arms around Naheed again, inclining my head toward hers.

"And whom are you to marry?" I asked, hoping it was a good choice who would make her happy.

"My mother called on Homa, who she said knew of just the man," said Naheed bitterly. "Of course, I have never seen him in my life."

"Do you know anything at all about him?"

Her parents would have been able to choose from among thousands, for Naheed had money and beauty in equal measure. Perhaps he would be her match in those things and unveil the nighttime pleasures that I now had learned to enjoy.

She shrugged. "He's a horseman, which my parents thought would make him a good substitute for Iskandar."

The hair on my arms stood on end suddenly, as if there was a draft in the room.

"What else?" I asked.

"Just that he is the son of a wealthy horse breeder who lives in the north."

I stared at Naheed. I knew I had to say something, but I couldn't get my lips to form words. Instead, I began coughing and gasping for breath. I bent over at the waist, head bowed, trying to find air.

"Voy!" said Naheed. "Are you all right?"

It seemed as if the attack would not end. I coughed until tears ran out of my eyes, and then I remained wordless.

"You look miserable," Naheed said as I was wiping my eyes.

"If you only knew how much," I replied. I forced myself to hold my tongue, since I had been hasty many times before. Weren't there hundreds of wealthy horse traders? Or at least dozens? And didn't most of them have sons? Surely it must be another man.

"Your parents must have told you more," I said encouragingly.

Naheed paused to think for a moment. "He lost his first wife, but that's really all I know," she replied.

I felt a chill inside that made me want to wrap my arms around myself to dispel it.

"What's his name?" I asked abruptly, my voice tight in my throat.

"I don't know why it would mean anything to you," Naheed replied, "for it doesn't to me." She sighed. "He could be Shah Abbas himself, and I wouldn't care."

"But who is he?" I insisted, feeling as if I might burst out of my skin.

Naheed looked surprised at my persistence. "I hesitate to say his name--I dislike the very sound of it," she replied. "But if you must know, it is Fereydoon."

I had another fit of coughing which felt as if I might lose my vital organs. I could have told her everything about her husband to be, of course; how his hair looked when released from his turban, how he closed his eyes in rapture at the sound of the kamancheh, the way he smelled when he was excited. Now I even knew how to please him, yet only she would have the right to become his proper wife for the rest of her days. A hot surge of jealousy coursed through me. At the thought that he might prefer her, I started sputtering so hard, it was a wonder that she didn't suspect what was wrong.

Naheed looked very moved by my outburst. "My dearest friend, I'm sorry that my plight has disturbed you so deeply. Please don't allow my bad luck to dim your life's blood."

I thought quickly about how to explain myself. "It's just that I wanted you to be happy," I said. "All the things you have told me have torn my heart."

The tears slid out of her eyes, and mine too were veiled with mist. But while Naheed's tears were mixed with gratitude for my friendship, mine sheltered a guilty secret.

The last call to prayer erupted in the air, signaling that it was time for me to go home. I left Naheed with her grief and walked back slowly with mine. Alone on the street, I could finally stop pretending why I was heartsick. No wonder Fereydoon had ignored me for so many weeks; he must have been busy discussing the marriage contract with Naheed's parents and arranging the details of the wedding.

And what about our night of pleasure? He had let me gratify him until the cocks crowed, taking all my gifts as if they were his right. My blood began to seethe, and I walked faster and faster through Four Gardens until I bumped into a hunched old woman with a cane and had to excuse myself for disturbing her.

I heard a cat yowl in the bushes, probably in search of a mate, just like me. I had never desired anything but to be married to a good man. Why must I be the pleasure girl, while Naheed, who already had everything, could be the permanent wife? And why, of all the men in Isfahan, did her intended have to be Fereydoon?

When I arrived home, Cook heard my steps and called out to me from the kitchen. "You're late," she complained. "Come help us clean the dill."

"Leave me alone!" I snapped. Cook was so surprised, she dropped her knife.

"I don't know how you manage such a mule," she said to my mother. I ignored her and stormed through the courtyard to our little room. How could Fereydoon have contracted a marriage without telling me? He didn't know Naheed was my friend, but concealing such a momentous step showed how little I mattered in his eyes.

WHEN FEREYDOON SUMMONED me the next day, I went to his house but refused to let Hayedeh and Aziz bathe me, perfume me, or brush my hair. Now that my status had been restored, they were afraid of me again. They begged and pleaded until I yelled at them to retreat, and they left, cowed. I sat in the little room where we usually frolicked and waited for Fereydoon, still wearing all my street wraps. I was so angry I could feel the air getting hot around me, and my cheeks burned.

When Fereydoon arrived, he noticed my unusual attire but didn't say anything. He removed his shoes and his turban and told his servants to leave. Then he sat down beside me and took my hand in his. "Listen, joonam," he began, as if he were going to explain something. It was the first time he had ever used the term "soul of mine."

I didn't let him continue. "You don't want me anymore," I said.

"Why wouldn't I want you anymore? Especially after that last night." He smiled and tried to push open my knees. I kept them squeezed shut.

"But you're getting married."

"I have to," he said. "Don't worry: Nothing else will change."

His answer implied only one thing. "You mean, you intend to keep us both?"

"Of course."

"You don't know what problems that will cause."

"Why?"

"Naheed is my best friend!"

He looked truly surprised. "Of all the women in Isfahan--"

"And she doesn't know about my sigheh with you."

"Why not?"

"My family told me to keep it quiet."

Fereydoon shrugged. "Your family is concerned about their social standing," he said, "but people do this kind of thing all the time."

"Doesn't it affect your standing?"

"A man can marry the way he likes," he replied.

I looked at his costly blue velvet robe patterned with falcons, and in that moment he seemed to possess everything, while I had nothing.