The Blood of Flowers (38 page)

"At home."

"How strange that they sent you out all alone," he said, "especially on a mission of the heart."

"They're not well today."

"All of them?"

When I did not reply, he beckoned me toward him and said in a whisper, "I'll do it, but it will cost you three times the normal rate."

What could I do? He made a good living by determining how desperate his clients were.

"I will pay," I said.

"And if you ever reveal me as your scribe, I will swear by the Holy Qur'an that it was someone else."

The scribe wrote the letter and read it in a whisper so that only I could hear. It didn't sound as smooth as the letters that Fereydoon and Gostaham wrote, although it was full of flowery, flattering language. I puzzled over it, for I could not tell what was different about it. But I was in a hurry, and I thought it would do.

I took the letter home and waited until Gostaham was out of the house, and then I went into his workroom and removed his seal from its hiding place. I knew he was often careless about locking it up, never dreaming that anyone in the house would dare to impersonate him. I melted some red wax on the back of the letter and quickly pressed the seal into it. Now there could be no doubt it came from Gostaham's household.

When I was finished, I felt clean inside for the first time in months. No matter how severe the penalty, I could no longer endure the sigheh. I knew that Gordiyeh and Gostaham would be very angry and that I would be punished, but I thought they would forgive me as they had before.

I saved the hardest thing I had to do for the afternoon. Sitting alone in our little room, I crafted a letter to Naheed. My handwriting was as ungraceful as a child's, but I wanted her to get a letter from my own hands, telling her exactly what was in my heart. She had taught me to write, and I wanted her to see how much I had learned from her and how I valued her instruction, knowledge, and friendship. I knew Naheed would understand the honesty of the feelings behind the clumsily written words.

Naheed-joon, my dearest friend,

I am writing to beg your forgiveness. I have loved you better than any other friend, and I have hurt you. At first, before I knew of your engagement, the sigheh hurt only me, but when it was renewed and I did nothing to stop it, I broke faith with you. I wish I had made the right decision by telling you about it before your marriage. I hope you will pardon me for my error in judgment. I will always love you; but I see that you can no longer love me. And so I have decided to give you and Fereydoon your peace. I have refused his second renewal and therefore our sigheh is over. I wish you a joyous life, and hope you will one day remember me with all the love I feel for you.

Then I ripped the twist of rainbow-colored threads off my neck and untied the seven knots one by one, murmuring a blessing with each release. Once the threads were smooth, I enclosed them in the letter. Naheed wouldn't know exactly what the twist had meant, but she would understand that I had renounced a charm and done everything I could to unknot her love.

THE NEXT DAY, my mother and I were pitting dates when we heard Gostaham shouting in the birooni. As the sound grew louder, I caught the words "carpet" and "sigheh." I wiped my hands and tried to prepare myself.

"Bibi-joon, my sigheh is over," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"May God protect us!" my mother replied. She continued digging seeds out of the sticky fruit, and I noticed that her hands were shaking.

Gostaham charged into the courtyard with a letter in his hand, with Gordiyeh at his heels pleading to know what was wrong. His turban was askew, and his purple tunic was soaked with sweat. Remembering the time the two of them had yelled at me for removing the rug, I began flushing and sweating, although I knew I had done the right thing this time. I stood up to face them.

Gostaham threw the letter at my feet. "Where did this come from?"

I pretended not to know what it was. "I can't read or write," I said.

Gostaham's face was red with rage. "I went to Fereydoon's residence today to plead for the money he owes us," he said, as if he hadn't heard me. "What a surprise to be told I had written him a letter rejecting the sigheh!"

"What?" Gordiyeh asked, bewildered.

"When I saw my own seal on the letter, it was useless to deny it. I told Fereydoon I had hired a new scribe who would be thrown out of my employ. I begged his forgiveness for the letter's gracelessness, and praised his generosity and his name."

Gordiyeh covered her face with her hands as if the shame were unbearable.

I was quaking now. Although I had listened to the letter before sending it, I didn't read well enough to know that the scribe had done such a poor job. My silence and flushing face made my guilt obvious.

"How dare a woman of my household put me in such a humiliating position!"

He grabbed my tunic and pulled me toward him. "You have no excuse for this," he said. He smashed one hand into my temple and cracked the other against my jaw. I dropped to the ground.

My mother threw her body in front of mine. "Hit me first!" she cried. "Only don't touch my child again."

"I don't suppose Fereydoon paid you," Gordiyeh said to her husband.

"Pay me?" Gostaham snorted in derision. "I was lucky he didn't order someone to poison me. The only way I could gain his for giveness was to invent more stories. I told him we had found a permanent marriage for her and that it was in her best interest to accept it while she was still young, unless he wanted her for himself."

"What did he say?" my mother asked, unable to conceal the hope in her voice. I put my hand to my cheek to stop the pulsing pain in my jaw. The taste of blood was like iron on my tongue.

"He said, 'She is used, and I have had my fill of her.' And then he brushed one hand against the other as if to clean them of dirt."

It was just as I had expected. I might have been able to please Fereydoon a while longer, but one day he would have rid himself of me.

Gordiyeh's face seemed to compress into knots as she peered down at me. "Your very tread is evil!" she said. "If it weren't, your father wouldn't have died at such a young age, Naheed wouldn't have discovered the sigheh, and our friends wouldn't have canceled their commissions."

There was no way to get rid of an evil tread. It would always bring misfortune on the household and taint everything it touched, at least in her eyes.

"Naheed found out from Kobra," I argued, the blood leaking out of my mouth. My mother ripped off her head scarf, her long gray hair falling around her shoulders, and soaked it up with the cloth. "All I did was admit it was true."

"You should have lied," Gordiyeh said.

"I couldn't bear it any longer!" I cried, although the pain when I opened my lips was fierce. "How would you feel if every three months you had to worry about whether your husband still wanted you? Or if your best friend threatened your children?"

"May God always keep my daughters safe," Gordiyeh replied, ignoring my questions.

I picked up the letter Gostaham had thrown at my feet. Of that, I was ashamed. No one had taught me more than he; and though he hadn't extended as much protection as a father, he had been a loving teacher.

"Nothing can excuse the fact that I took your seal without asking," I said to him. "It was only because I saw no other way of leaving the sigheh."

"You should have told me how unhappy you were!" Gostaham exploded. "I could have announced your decision to Fereydoon with apologies and professions of thanks for his generosity. No doubt he is so angry because he did not expect to be dismissed so gracelessly, and with such poor grammar."

I sighed. Once again I had made the mistake of acting too quickly, yet this time I had had good reasons. "But Gordiyeh told me I had to say yes."

"If you had admitted your plans, I would have seen the danger and found a better way."

I didn't believe him, for he had never gone against his wife's wishes before. "I deeply regret my error," I said nonetheless. "I know I haven't always done things the right way, for I am not of Isfahan. I kiss your feet, amoo."

Gostaham opened his palms to the sky and looked up, as if forgiveness had come to him from above.

"Haven't they caused trouble enough?" Gordiyeh said. "We've lost the commissions for several carpets because of her. They no longer deserve to live here."

I tried again; I had nothing to lose. "I beg your permission to stay under your protection," I said to him. "I will work like a slave on your carpets, so much so that it won't cost you an abbasi for us to live here. I will do everything you say without complaint."

"That was what she said the last time," Gordiyeh said.

Gostaham remained silent. Then he said, "Yes, it is. It's too bad, really too bad."

That was all Gordiyeh needed before pronouncing the words she had been yearning to say for weeks. "You are banished from this household. Tomorrow, you must go."

Gostaham cringed but did not tell her to hold her tongue. He walked away and Gordiyeh followed, leaving me bleeding there. My mother tilted my head back and used her scarf to swab at the soft flesh inside my cheeks, which was ripped and bruised. I winced from the pain.

It wasn't long before we heard Gordiyeh's moans throughout the house, Gostaham's reward for letting her get her way.

"That is a filthy sound," I muttered.

My mother did not reply.

"Bibi," I mumbled, for I could hardly open my mouth, "I'm sorry about the way I did this."

My mother's face became stony. She arose abruptly and went into the kitchen, leaving me alone. "Not her again," I heard Cook say. I lay on the ground, bleeding and bewildered. I stood up slowly and made my own way to bed, moaning with pain.

Shamsi, Zohreh, and my mother finished pitting the dates for the meal. The rich aroma of lamb stew with dates filled the air, and I heard all the servants eating together. I remained on my bed, occasionally dozing, holding my jaw to quell the pain. My mother did not ask how I felt when she came in to sleep. In the middle of the night, I arose to use the latrines and ran into Shamsi, whose eyes grew large when she looked at me. I put my hand to my face and discovered that my cheek had swelled to the size of a ball.

THE NEXT MORNING, I could not open my mouth enough to eat, and my lower lip was numb. Ali-Asghar, who knew about horses and sheep, felt my jaw for fractures. "I don't believe it is broken," he said, but just in case, he wrapped a cloth around my chin and tied it on top of my head, instructing me to leave it on until the pain had gone away.

"How long?" I asked between closed teeth.

"At least a week," he replied. A look of pity entered his eyes. "You deserved to be punished," he said, "but not like that. I wouldn't hurt even a cursed dog the way he hurt you."

"And all for the sake of his wife!" said my mother.

"As always," said Ali-Asghar, who had been their servant for many years. "That will never change."

We put our few clothes into bundles and awaited Gordiyeh and Gostaham in the courtyard.

"Where is your carpet?" my mother asked, looking worriedly at my small bundle.

"I think the Dutchman is going to buy it," I replied, although I hadn't heard from him. I wondered with a pang why his boy hadn't returned with an offer.

Just then, Gordiyeh and Gostaham came into the courtyard dressed in their crisp tunics, hers pink and his like wine. Neither one said anything about the cloth around my head or my swollen face. Gordiyeh offered me her stiff cheeks to kiss good-bye and then resolutely looked away. I thought that Ali-Asghar must have spoken to Gostaham about my injury, for he took my hand and left a small purse of coins in my sleeve when Gordiyeh wasn't looking.

"Thank you for all you have done for us," said my mother to them both. "I apologize for the ways we have been a burden."

"May God always be with you," replied Gordiyeh, in a tone implying that we would need help.

"And with you, too," my mother replied. She looked hopefully from one to the other, as if they might relent, but they turned away and walked back into the birooni. I did not say anything other than good-bye, for my face ached from Gostaham's blows, and my heart ached even more.

Ali-Asghar escorted us into the street, and we watched the tall gates of the house close behind us. From the outside, Gostaham's house now looked like a fortress. Nothing could be seen of the comforts within, not even a light. The other houses on the street were just as blank and unsmiling.

We walked to the top of the road that penetrated Four Gardens. The beggar was at his usual post near the cedar tree. His alms bowl was empty, and he shivered in the wind, the end of his stump blue with cold. At the sight of him, my mother leaned over and began wailing from the depths of her heart.

"Kind Khanoom, what ails you? How can I help?" the beggar asked, waving his stump. To have such a ragged fellow offer assistance only made her wail more loudly. I tried to put my arms around her, but she evaded my embrace.

"Bibi-joon, we'll find a way," I said with my teeth clenched to protect my jaw. But I didn't sound convincing, for I hardly believed it myself.