The Blood of Flowers (46 page)

The boys and Davood had fallen asleep. Malekeh thanked my mother for the story and curled up beside her husband. Only my mother and I remained awake.

"What a tale!" I said. "Azadeh must have had a heart as big as blessed Fatemeh's to forgive those who had wronged her so much."

"It was the right thing to do," said my mother tenderly, holding my gaze. I returned her gaze, and when I saw how full of love it was, I suddenly understood what she meant. She had forgiven me, despite the pain I had caused her. We sat quietly for a moment, and for the first time since we had left Gordiyeh and Gostaham's house, I felt peace in my heart.

My mother and I moved closer together, sitting knee to knee so that we could talk quietly without waking the others. When the korsi went out, we put an oil lamp between us and wrapped blankets around our shoulders. The wind howled outside and the snow turned to freezing rain. When a drop darkened my blue cotton robe, I moved to evade the leak. Despite the chill, we stayed awake and began talking about all we had experienced in recent years: the evil comet, my father's untimely death, Gostaham's peculiar household, and the marvel that was Isfahan. At first, my mother did all the talking, but before long, I began speaking instead. The words flowed out of me, and I felt as if I were in a saint's shrine whispering the truth of my heart into the saint's ear.

My mother listened carefully, just as I had listened to her stories so many times before. Sometimes what I said seemed to surprise her, but her gaze was tender, and I felt as if I were growing into a woman before her eyes. It took until a cock crowed outside, signaling the dawn, before I was finally done.

My mother said, "Daughter of mine, your heart is now as pure as a carnelian, for you have spoken the truth."

She blew out the oil lamp and burrowed under the covers, closing her eyes. Yawning, I took my place beside her, happily tired. As my mother's breathing became quiet and smooth, I thought back to the comet and Hajj Ali's predictions, and how sharply they had afflicted me. Was there any reason I must live forever under an unlucky prophecy, now that the year of the comet had come and gone? It seemed as if Azadeh herself had been under such an evil influence, for her luck had died, but then it returned to burn even brighter than before. Even her suffering had not been in vain, for her heart had grown large enough to forgive those who had wronged her.

I could not guess what fate promised me, but I knew I would strive to make a good life, just as Azadeh had done. I thought of my father, and his love coursed through me like a river. As I began to fall asleep, I could hear him giving me advice. He said, "Put your faith in God, but always fasten your camel's leg."

Chapter
SEVEN

Winter was almost over at last. The weather had softened, bringing sweet rains and the first warm days of the year. As the New Year approached, we prepared our home and ourselves to welcome it. Malekeh, my mother, and I mopped our tiny room, swept the courtyard, washed the bedding, dusted our few possessions, and scrubbed our tattered clothing and ourselves, so that we could greet the spring with freshness and hope.

We celebrated the first day of the New Year with a bounteous meal of chicken cooked with greens, and took Salman and Shahvali to play near the river. As the boys dipped their feet in the water, they seemed giddy with delight, for it had been long since they could enjoy themselves without cares. After they had finished playing, we sat in a teahouse underneath the Thirty-three Arches Bridge and refreshed ourselves with hot tea and cookies made with soft, sweet dates. The river seemed to dance by our feet, spraying us from time to time with revitalizing drops. It was the first time that all of us, including Davood, were well enough to have an outing together as a family.

The next day, even though all of Isfahan was beginning a fifteen-day holiday, Malekeh, Katayoon, and I began work on the cypress tree carpet for Gostaham. It was difficult to make progress in the courtyard with so many children underfoot and so many neighbors coming and going, especially during the holiday. But we labored through the commotion, for nothing rivaled the importance of creating a rug to dazzle Gostaham.

Shortly after the end of the holiday, Gostaham made his first visit to inspect our work. When he arrived, looking princely in an indigo silk robe over a saffron sheath and a purple turban, I jumped to my feet from behind the loom to greet him. Malekeh and Kata-yoon showered him with thanks for being our benefactor, while keeping their eyes fixed respectfully on the loom.

Gostaham glanced around the courtyard in disbelief. A dirty child with a runny nose shrank against the door of his home, awestruck by Gostaham's presence, while another in tattered clothes ran for her parents. The weather was already warm, and the courtyard bore the rancid smell of feet, which emanated from shoes left outside the doors. My mother begged Gostaham to sit and accept a vessel of tea, but when the odor reached his nostrils, an expression of barely concealed disgust flickered on his face and he said he could not stay. He did not touch the weak tea that was nonetheless placed near him, with an old but coveted saffron candy that drew a small crowd of flies.

Gostaham examined the rug from both sides to check the tightness of the knots and the accuracy of the pattern against his design, and professed his satisfaction with the few rows we had completed. Then he said he had pressing business elsewhere and turned on his heel. I ran behind him and thanked him for coming.

"God be with you, my child," he said, as if divine help were the only thing that could save me. I watched him mount the horse that awaited him. Before he rode away, he said with something like admiration, "Mash'Allah! Neither earthquakes, nor plagues, nor misery will ever stop you from making carpets that delight the eyes."

I returned to the loom with a light step. Malekeh and Katayoon looked at me expectantly, and I showered them with praise and assured them that our patron was pleased with our work. Feeling relieved that we had passed our first test, I sang out the colors like a nightingale until it was time for the midday meal.

After we ate, the others took up household tasks, while I turned my attention to knotting the new feathers carpet. It was much easier this time, for I knew the pattern well and had chosen colors based on Gostaham's criticisms of my first attempt, in an effort to make the design seem even more delicate. I took great pleasure in the work. My fingers seemed to fly over the knots like birds skimming the surface of a river, and the carpet flowed from under my fingers like water.

It was hot in the courtyard, and I had to wipe away the sweat from my brow. From time to time, my mother brought me water mixed with the essence of roses to refresh me. But I was intent on what I was doing and forgot about the children in the courtyard and the sound of braying donkeys bearing their burdens down the street. It was as if I were living within the surface of the carpet myself, surrounded by its soothing colors and its images of eternal tranquillity. Lost in its beauties, I forgot the misery around me. At nightfall, my mother had to pull me away from my work and remind me that I must eat, rest my hands, and stretch my limbs.

My mother recited:

My love is sweet-waisted, like a cypress.

And when the wind blows, my love

Neither breaks nor bends.

It was several months later, and we had just finished the cypress tree carpet for Gostaham. We had laid it out in the courtyard and gathered around in a circle to admire it from above, as it would look to its owner.

"How like the gardens that await us, God willing!" Davood proclaimed. "Its owner will feel soothed when he rests his body upon this treasure."

Salman and Shahvali were so excited that they were running on and off the carpet, until at last they veered into each other and fell into a tangle of arms and legs.

"It's just like being in a park!" Shahvali declared, and indeed with his limbs splayed in every direction on the carpet, he appeared to be entangled in the very heart of a garden.

I began laughing at his boyish disarray, as did the others, and when my eyes met my mother's, Katayoon's, and Malekeh's, my heart soared with joy over the completion of our first project. We had worked well together, with the sense that we were building a future that would benefit everyone. And through it all, like the cypress itself, we did not break, nor bend.

Gostaham sent one of his men to pick up the carpet, and a few days later, I went to see him about it. I wanted to know if we had delivered exactly what he had wanted, and to hear his assessment of our work. I was pleased to learn that the owner liked it so much he had commissioned another of the same size, so that he would have a pair to adorn his Great Room. Gostaham advised him that it would have been cheaper to make them simultaneously, for I could have called out the colors for two groups of knotters. But I was only too happy to accept the commission.

Gostaham asked how my work was proceeding on the feathers carpet, and I told him I worked on it every afternoon.

"Try to complete it soon," he said, "for it's nearly time for the harem's twice-yearly visit to the Great Bazaar."

I stayed silent, but a spring of hope welled in my heart.

"If it is finished, I will grant you permission to display it in my alcove."

At that, I thanked him forty times and nearly ran home to get back to work. I was so eager that I did not heed my mother's warnings but worked on the feathers carpet every day, from the moment it was light until it was too dark to see. When time became short, I hurried my work by knotting by the light of an oil lamp deep into the night.

I completed the fringes just a day before the harem's visit, and when the carpet had been sheared, I saw that Gostaham had been right about the color choices: Just a few delicate variations in the shades had made this carpet superior to the first one. All the elements had fallen into place, like the ingredients in a stew cooked to perfection, and the carpet pleased both the eye and the heart.

Early the next morning, Salman and Shahvali helped me carry the carpet to the Image of the World. They were young enough not to be prohibited, like grown men, from catching a glimpse of the Shah's women. To protect them, though, I sent them home before entering the gates of the square, and carried the rolled-up carpet myself to Gostaham's alcove. His eldest daughter, Mehrbanoo, had been summoned from her family to run the shop. She greeted me with a cool peck on each cheek and said, "It's going to be a long day. I wish I could be doing anything other than this."

She wore a tunic in such a brilliant shade of orange, I was certain it had been dyed with saffron. The tree of life design on her hennaed hands was pristine. From this, I knew how idle she was. I choked back the words that came to my lips.

"Don't worry, I shall devote myself to helping you," I said as gracefully as I could.

Needing no further offer, she sank onto a large, comfortable bolster with a sigh that indicated exhaustion and instructed me to move a bundle of carpets from one end of the alcove to the other.

I bent down and pretended I couldn't move the bundle alone. I tugged and huffed until Mehrbanoo was shamed by her own indolence and arose to help me with it, although she added little strength to the endeavor.

The ladies of Shah Abbas's harem had begun to filter into the bazaar and penetrate the shops. I hung my feathers carpet on one of the most prominent walls in the alcove and waited to see what would happen. Before long, Jamileh, who was as beautiful as I remembered her, walked by without giving our shop a glance.

"There's the Shah's favorite!" I exclaimed.

Mehrbanoo laughed at my ignorance. "Not anymore," she said. "The latest is Maryam. You'll know her by the color of her hair."

When Maryam entered our shop later that morning, I realized it was the same harem woman I had seen years ago, whose hair flamed red like the dawn but who had looked lost and scared. She had an entourage now, spoke Farsi as well as her native Circassian, and appeared to be in charge of her sisters. Her dark eyes and eyebrows made a pleasing refuge from her bright red hair. After greeting us, she began looking at Gostaham's wares and saw my carpet.

"Look at that!" she said, attracted to it as if it were a lodestone. After gazing at it for a long time, she announced wistfully that the feathers reminded her of the birds in her homeland.

I did not reveal that I was the carpet's designer and knotter. I thought if she saw my callused fingers or looked closely at my tired red eyes--if she understood the fearsome work that a carpet demanded--its beauties would be forever tarnished in her eyes. Better for her to imagine it being made by a carefree young girl who skipped across hillsides plucking flowers for dyes before settling down to tie a few relaxing knots in between sips of pomegranate juice.

I knew otherwise: My back ached, my limbs were stiff, and I had not slept enough for a month. I thought about all the labor and suffering that were hidden beneath a carpet, starting with the materials. Vast fields of flowers had to be murdered for their dye, innocent worms boiled alive for their silk--and what about knotters? Must we sacrifice ourselves for the sake of rugs?

I had heard stories about women who became deformed by long hours of sitting at the loom, so that when they tried to deliver a child, their bones formed a prison locking the baby inside. In such cases, mother and child would die after many hours of anguish. Even the youngest knotters suffered aching backs, bent limbs, tired fingers, exhausted eyes. All our labors were in service of beauty, but sometimes it seemed as if every thread in a carpet had been dipped in the blood of flowers.