The Blood of Flowers (47 page)

These were things that Maryam would never know. Instead, I told her coyly that the carpet would distinguish her in everyone's eyes--just like her thick red hair. I argued that any man who appreciated fine carpets, as I knew Shah Abbas did, would take great pleasure and pride in such an unparalleled design.

She replied that she desired a carpet just like it, but twice as long to fit one of her rooms. When she asked the price of a commission, I replied sweetly, but there was iron in my voice. I would not give away my carpet this time. I, better than anyone else, knew the value of every knot.

Maryam didn't wince over the steep price, and after a brief bit of bargaining, we came to a deal. Her eunuch wrote up our agreement, which included a first payment that would allow me to buy the wool. I was so gleeful when they left that I wanted to dance around the shop, for I had finally achieved what I wanted: sold a carpet on my own, of my own design, on my own terms.

The end of the day held an even greater surprise. Right after the guards announced that the bazaar would be closing soon, Jamileh slipped into our shop. She was alone and behaved as if she wanted to conceal her visit. Although she was still beautiful, the faint valleys under her eyes hinted that the first flower of her youth was gone. Rather than the brash confidence she had exhibited when I first served her years before, she showed a touch of weariness and bitterness, for her star had already dimmed in the eyes of the only person who mattered.

Without looking at our wares, she inquired about whether we were offering a carpet with the lightness of feathers. Mehrbanoo and I were both surprised that she knew of it. When I pointed it out, she pretended to examine it and then disparaged it, saying she thought it ought to be cheap, but the lust in her eyes told me she would not leave without it.

"It's a rare treasure: Only one other has been commissioned," I said, and when her face darkened, I surmised that her spies had informed her of Maryam's purchase.

My initial price was very high, but I left enough air in it to be able to give her a discount. Jamileh did not like my price. She pouted, protested, and finally begged, but to no avail. All rug dealers learn to identify naked desire in their buyers and trap those who display it. Jamileh could not hope for a bargain, and she hated herself for having bared her heart.

To console her, I asked Mehrbanoo's permission to give her a free knotted cushion cover. Knowing it would be best for future business to appease her, Mehrbanoo agreed. I think she, too, felt vindicated, for she had heard the story of how Jamileh had talked Gordiyeh into a spectacular discount on the cushion covers, and how Gostaham had had to design and make them at a loss.

Jamileh called in a eunuch to write down our agreement. I was to claim the money later from one of the Shah's accountants, for the women did not carry any silver. She left with the coveted carpet, triumphant despite the price. I knew it would give her great satisfaction to be the first to show her treasure to the Shah, knowing that Maryam's carpet would seem old to him when it was finally delivered.

WHEN I ARRIVED HOME, my mother brought me a vessel of hot tea, and the family gathered around and made me tell them everything that had transpired during the day, including what the women looked like, how they bargained, and how I had managed to get the better of them. To celebrate our success, my mother cooked eggs with dates, and served the meal with fresh bread. As we ate, we began to discuss how we would accomplish all the work that lay ahead of us, for now we had two commissions to fulfill at once.

"It would be best to work on the carpets at the same time, so that we can increase our income," I said.

"True," replied Malekeh, "but the neighbors are already annoyed with us for using so much of the courtyard--more than our share."

"If only we could have our own home!" my mother said, and there was loud agreement.

That began a discussion about how much money we could expect over the next few months. After calculating the amount, Davood declared that it might be possible to afford larger quarters and promised to find out how much they would cost.

It took him only a week to find a house in the neighborhood that most people didn't want, for it had very small rooms. He bargained over the price, receiving a reduction in rent after offering to make all the owner's shoes and to fix any leather goods that needed repair, for he had been a cobbler before his illness. We concluded that our income would still be slim, but agreed that new accommodation was the only way we could get several looms under way at once, and seek to improve our fortunes.

At the end of the month, we moved into our new lodging. It was a humble mud-brick home with two small rooms on either side of a large courtyard, and a tiny, dark room that served as a kitchen. But to me, it was like a palace, for now my mother and I had a room of our own again. The first night, after Davood, Malekeh, and their sons disappeared into their room, I had the courtyard all to myself. I sat there after everyone else had gone to sleep, with a vessel of hot tea, enjoying the snug feeling of being alone yet surrounded by kindhearted companions.

There was ample room in the courtyard for two looms. Davood busied himself with setting them up and stringing them, while Malekeh and I looked for workers. We found five women knotters who needed to earn money and asked them to come for a trial day of work. One of the women was too slow, while another made sloppy, loose knots and would not be corrected, but we were pleased with the other three and retained them.

Before we started, I taught Malekeh how to call out colors for a loom. She supervised Katayoon and one of the workers on the second cypress tree carpet for Gostaham's client, whose design she already knew, while I presided over the other workers on the large feathers carpet for Maryam. In the mornings, the only sound that could be heard from our courtyard was of flowing colors, me calling them out at one end, Malekeh at the other. My mother cooked for us all, and the fragrance of her stews made us work well, in anticipation of the midday meal.

One morning, my mother told me she was making one of my favorite dishes, pomegranate-walnut chicken, and I thought about how Gordiyeh had made me pound the nuts into powder.

"I'm using crunchy nuts," my mother added, as if she could see my thoughts, "because that's the way we like it."

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard her singing a folk song that I remembered from happy days in our village, which told about a visit from the sweet nightingale of luck.

When the stew was ready, we put aside our work and ate together in the courtyard while I enjoyed the view of the two rugs. I loved watching them transform from scraps of colored wool into gardens of unforgettable beauty.

My mother asked me why I was smiling, and I told her it was because I was enjoying her food. But there was more to it than that. In my village, I had never imagined that a woman like myself-- alone, childless, impoverished--could consider herself blessed. Mine was not the happy fate, with the husband and seven beautiful sons, that my mother's tale had foretold. Yet with the aroma of the pomegranate-walnut chicken around me, the sound of laughter from the other knotters in my ears, and the beauty of the rugs on the loom filling my eyes, the joy I felt was as wide as the desert we had traversed to reach our new life in Isfahan.

WE TOILED TOGETHER for many months before we finished the commissions for Gostaham and Maryam. Malekeh worked until her belly became too big for her to sit at the loom, for she had become pregnant with her third child.

Davood delivered the second cypress tree carpet to Gostaham's home, but when he offered to deliver Maryam's, I thought of a better plan. A man would have to wait outside the harem gates while Maryam looked at the carpet and indicated through a servant whether it met with her approval. As a woman, I suffered no such strictures and could present the carpet to her myself.

Davood carried the carpet for me to the Shah's palace at the Image of the World and left me at the entrance. I approached one of the guards and told him I needed to deliver a carpet ordered by one of the ladies. As proof, I showed him the paper written by the eunuch, which confirmed the order.

The guard took me to the side of the palace and delivered me into the care of a tall black eunuch. After unrolling the carpet and checking that nothing prohibited was hidden in it, he escorted me through a group of wooden gates, each manned by a different guard. When I was finally through the last of them, I found myself directly behind the Shah's palace in a forbidden area that contained houses for his women. Maryam lived in one of the best, an octagonal building known as Eight Heavens.

I waited near a fountain on the ground floor, which was open to the air. A high brick wall surrounded the harem buildings, with no doors; the only exit was by way of the gates the eunuchs had ushered me through.

After I had consumed several vessels of tea and eaten half a melon dripping with juice, I was summoned into Maryam's presence. At the top of the stairs that led to her quarters, a servant took my street wraps, and I smoothed my hair and my simple cotton clothes. An old, bald eunuch followed with my carpet on his back. Maryam was lounging in a room decorated with turquoise and silver cushions. She was attended by a woman with large, wise eyes, whom I later learned was a physician revered for her knowledge.

The eunuch unrolled my carpet in front of Maryam, who was wearing a dark blue robe that made her red hair look ablaze. I told her that I hoped the carpet would meet with her satisfaction, though it would always be unworthy of her beauty. She arose, gazed at it, and said, "It is more beautiful than I ever imagined."

"It is my privilege to be your servant," I replied.

Maryam told the eunuch to remove the old rug she had been using and place mine in the position of honor. Its colors blended beautifully with those she had chosen for the rest of the room.

After admiring it, she said, "Why is it that you've delivered this yourself instead of using a man from your shop?"

"I wanted to be sure the carpet met your desires," I said, and then I paused. She knew that was not the only reason and looked at me with curiosity.

"I hope this is not imposing on you," I said, "but I would be honored to know what you think of it, for it is a carpet of my own design."

Maryam looked surprised. "Your own design?"

"I drew the pattern myself," I said.

I could see from her expression that she did not believe me, so I asked if she would call for paper, a reed pen, and a writing stand. After the bald eunuch brought them in, I sat cross-legged next to her, dipped the pen in the ink, and drew one of the feathery shapes, after which I let my pen dance around other common carpet motifs, like roses, cedar trees, onagers, and nightingales.

"Can you teach me?" Maryam asked.

Now it was my turn to be surprised. "Of course," I said, "but as a lady who belongs to the Shah, why would you need to make rugs?"

"I don't need to make them," she replied, "but I should like to learn to draw. I am so often bored."

Her honesty delighted me. Drawing would be a new way to amuse herself inside the harem.

"It would be an honor," I said. "I will come to you whenever you like."

A servant entered bearing coffee in pure silver cups, which were decorated with scenes from legends like the story of Layli and Majnoon. I had never seen such costly vessels, even at Fereydoon's house, and I marveled at their size and weight. The hot drink was followed by fruit heaped on silver trays, sweetmeats, including my favorite chickpea cookies, and cold cherry sharbat in porcelain vessels. The sharbat contained ice, which I had never seen before in a summer drink. Maryam explained that the Shah's servants dug up blocks of ice in winter and stored them underground to keep them cold during the hot months.

After we had enjoyed the refreshments, Maryam asked me to look at another carpet she had bought in the bazaar, and I praised its simple, geometric design, which looked as if it came from the northeast.

"My mother used to make carpets like this one when I was a child in the Caucasus," Maryam said, and then I understood why she wanted to learn to draw patterns.

"If you like, we can study the designs from your native region," I said, and she replied that she would like that best of all. Then I rose and begged her permission to depart.

"I will send for you soon," Maryam said, kissing me warmly on each cheek.

After I said good-bye, the bald eunuch took me to the harem's accountant, who gave me a large bag of silver for the carpet, the largest I had ever held in my hands. It was nearly dark when I was ushered back through the gates to the Image of the World.

As each of the thick wooden gates slammed behind me, I thought about how richly dressed Maryam was, how soft her hands, how glittering her rubies, how perfect her face, how lovely her red hair and tiny red lips. And yet, I did not envy her. Each time a gate closed with a thud, I was reminded that while I was free to come and go, she could not leave without an approved reason and a large entourage. She could not walk across Thirty-three Arches Bridge and admire the view, or get soaked to the skin on a rainy night. She could not make the mistakes I had, and try again. She was doomed to luxuriate in the most immaculate of prisons.

EVERY WEEK, Maryam summoned me to give her lessons in drawing. We became friends, and around the harem quarters, I became something of a curiosity. The other women often invited me to look at their carpets and give my opinion. I had the freedom to mingle with them that no man had, except for the Shah, and they welcomed the diversion of visitors.