“Where are they reciting the Quran?” Zari asked. “The voices seem to be coming from around the well.”
Khadijeh stood and stared at her. “They’ve put the body in the cistern, between big sacks of snow. It was coolest there,” she said, and looking Zari over carefully, began to say, “You’ve changed so much overnight …” but she finished her sentence, “My poor mistress, what have you done to yourself! You’ve lost so much weight. Do you remember my uncle’s wife who swallowed opium once? I was the one who saved her. She looked just like you do this morning.”
Just then Gholam came in through the garden gates followed by Haj Mohammad Reza the dyer. Gholam was carrying an iron in one hand, and Zari’s black dress and scarf in the other. Haj Mohammad Reza, wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, was balancing a large bundle on his head with hands which matched the colour of his shirt. Zari took her things from Gholam and went to the bedroom. She put the dress on with difficulty; it had become too tight. Digging a hand into the pockets of her dress, she found a crumpled and blackened two-toman bill in the right one. She glanced involuntarily in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. She switched the light on and took a closer look. Several strands of hair had turned white, and her parched lips had lines around the corners. Her darkly-circled eyes seemed to have sunk in their sockets. She thought, “It’s not true when they say all of someone’s hair turned white overnight.”
She went to the parlour which had been stripped of all its decorations, even the radio. Gholam and Haj Mohammad Reza were spreading black sheets on the cushions arranged around the room. Haj Mohammad Reza stood up when he saw her. He averted his eyes awkwardly and asked after her health. Zari thought, “Poor soul, he’s been up the whole night dyeing all this material.” It seemed as if he had read her mind because he surveyed the black cushion-covers with satisfaction.
When Zari came out to the garden, Ameh had just finished her morning prayers, and Abol-Ghassem Khan and Khosrow were having breakfast. Khosrow was wearing a black shirt which hung over his grey trousers. Zari sat at one end of the table-cloth, next to the samovar. She poured herself and Ameh some tea, but her hands were shaking and her head swam. Ameh broke two eggs, carefully disposing of the whites in the bowl underneath the samovar tap. She dropped the yolks in a cup, added some sugar, and started to beat it. Zari followed Khosrow with her eyes as he got up and went through the garden gates. Involuntarily she spoke her thoughts, “The poor man has been up the whole night dyeing all of us black!”
Ameh raised her head as she was beating the eggs and changed the subject. “Sister, did you find your keychain?” she asked.
“Keychain?” asked Zari distractedly. Then she smiled and said, “Khadijeh was shocked to see me a few minutes ago. She said I looked like one of those people who’ve eaten opium and been rescued in the nick of time. She said I’d aged a thousand years overnight. No, she didn’t say that. I don’t remember what she said … I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.”
“Khadijeh had no business saying things like that to you!” Ameh replied.
Abol-Ghassem Khan looked at Zari. He stared and shook his head. “Didn’t I say so, sister?” he said. “Last night you said I was making things up about her because I was interested in her money.”
Again Zari spoke her thoughts out loud. “I think Khosrow’s gone to fetch Dr Abdullah Khan.”
Ameh bit her lip and said, “When time heals her wounds, she’ll be all right.”
Hurriedly she poured some milk over the egg yolks, stirred it and handed it to Zari. But suddenly Zari wondered what Abol-Ghassem Khan had meant? Blood rushed to her face. Her heart pounded in her chest and again she felt as though something had shattered inside her.
She felt she had to explain. “In the asylum,” she said, “the first thing every patient says is that he’s not mad and he shouldn’t have been brought there. But Abol-Ghassem Khan, you can be sure I haven’t gone mad … you see … well, it was all so sudden …” She left her sentence unfinished. She was not entirely convinced herself. What if she really had gone mad and didn’t know it? A fear more insidious than the terrors of her recent nightmares gripped her, larger than anything she had ever experienced. She felt chilled to the bone but the palms of her hands were sweating. She had to show Abol-Ghassem Khan, and, more importantly, prove to herself that she hadn’t gone mad. She ate her breakfast delicately, even though her appetite had gone, remembering to thank Ameh for the milk and eggs which she had hardly been able to swallow. Then she got up and called Khadijeh and Gholam. She sent Khadijeh to borrow fans from the neighbours, and then to fetch her keychain from the children at Mehri’s. Then she sent Gholam to find tea and sugar at any cost.
Khadijeh returned with an armful of fans and said, “Khanom Mehri and Mohsen Khan were quarrelling, so I didn’t dare go inside for the keys.”
Gholam came back and said, “I went all the way down the street, but no-one has opened their shop yet!”
All the time Zari’s eyes were glued to the garden gate in expectation of Dr Abdullah Khan. At first Hossein Agha the grocer and his brother Hassan Agha the local corn-chandler came in, clad entirely in black. Then the two distillers from next door arrived, sweating from the loads on their back. They had each tied a black armband around their bare arms, otherwise they were dressed as usual in a pair of drawers and an undershirt. They put their loads down next to the pool, opened the burlap sacks at the top and rolled them down carefully. Holding their hands in turn underneath the mouth of the stone head, they caught some water with which to sprinkle the roses and the eglantine inside the sacks. Soon the fragrance of the flowers filled the area in front of the house. Zari looked at the flowers and thought, “How far they went to get these … they’ve spent the whole night picking those flowers, and in the darkness too … how many thorns did they get in their hands? Why didn’t the youngest son go with them? I hope he hasn’t come down with typhus as well!”
Gholam, still hatless, approached Hossein Agha and said,
“Brother, I came to you earlier, but your shop was closed. See if you can get us some sugar, tea and saffron, will you?”
Hassan Agha, Hossein Agha and the distillers left. In the driveway, they came across the old distiller himself who had put on Gholam’s worn-out suit and thrown a black shawl around his neck. They stood and talked to the old man who followed them back on the way he had just come.
A droshke drew up at the garden gate and Zari wanted to rush forward and greet the long-awaited Dr Abdullah Khan.
She was longing to make him tell everyone, “Khanom Zahra hasn’t gone mad. She’s had a shock, that’s why she seems distracted. Don’t watch her so closely, because then you really will drive her mad!” But it was Ferdows who came out of the droshke, taking Ezzat-ud-Dowleh’s hand as she stepped out. The old lady descended with a lot of difficulty, and giving her arm to Ferdows, limped slowly up the driveway until she reached Zari who was standing in front of the house in a state of disbelief. The sun had just risen, and before Zari could collect herself from the surprise of this early morning visit, the woman had thrown an arm around Zari and was saying, “The news came so suddenly last night, I wasn’t myself at all and I left without saying goodbye or realizing what I was doing. All night while everyone was fast asleep, I couldn’t close my eyes. You’re like a daughter to me, and your late mother was my twin soul. God forbid, she’d always say, ‘Ezzat-ud-Dowleh, I’m a dying woman. I leave my child in your hands.’ Alas! Alas!”
She sat on the wooden bed—the same one that Yusef’s broken body had occupied the night before, but which was now covered with a carpet. Rubbing her leg, she asked, “Where’s my sister?”
She was swathed in black, including the gloves, scarf, socks … when had she had time to dye her hair black? Come to think of it, why should she dye her hair black at all?
“I said to Ferdows, ‘Get up, child, let’s go there first thing in the morning’,” continued Ezzat-ud-Dowleh. “‘Maybe we can give them a hand or some
thing.’ After all, what good is our so-called sisterhood if not for times of need?” It was lucky for Zari that she managed to hold her tongue. If this woman accused her of madness too then she would be done for. It would give Ezzat-ud-Dowleh a week’s worth of gossip with the Governor’s family!
“My dear child,” said Ezzat-ud-Dowleh again, “what kind of dress is this you’re wearing? A dyed thing, and ironed to a shine, too. It’s not nice in front of people, and it’s too tight for you.”
Zari, who had her eyes on the garden gate, didn’t reply. But Ezzat-ud-Dowleh wouldn’t let up.
“My dear girl, why aren’t you paying attention? Now go along like the nice lady that you are and allow Ferdows to let out your dress for you. There’s probably some room left—she’ll open it at the seams.”
Zari noted silently that those beady eyes didn’t miss a thing. But she made no effort to move.
“By the way,” said Ezzat-ud-Dowleh, “I nearly forgot. I’ve brought you something which I know will really make you happy. A keepsake from your late husband—no, you’re not paying attention to me at all … look!”
Reluctantly Zari shifted her gaze from the garden gate. Ezzat-ud-Dowleh took out a small box wrapped in white paper from her handbag and gave it to Zari. Zari held it in her hand, not knowing what to do with it. Again she stared at the garden gate. Ezzat-ud-Dowleh gave a little laugh and said, “Go on, open it!”
Zari mechanically undid the wrapping. Inside was a black velvet box. She opened it, and saw her emerald earrings shining at her from their small velvet case. She felt depressed. The earrings which Yusef had put in her ears on their wedding night with his own hands. Yusef’s eyes had shone like those very emeralds in the light.
Ezzat-ud-Dowleh smiled. “I knew it would make you happy,” she said. “Last night I went straight from here to the Governor’s house. I decided that since I’d been responsible for having my dear child’s earrings taken away, I had to get them back myself.”
“Do you think I can be fooled like a child?” said Zari. And she closed her eyes. She felt dizzy.
Ezzat-ud-Dowleh neither scolded her nor complained. She merely said, “Ferdows, my child is not feeling quite herself because of her grief. Poor thing! Take her to her room. Tight clothing is bad for a pregnant woman.” She put a hand to her brow and cried a little. Then calming down, she advised Zari in a motherly tone, “Zari dear, put the earrings in a safe place. It will get very crowded here today.”
Zari walked off, feeling like a robot with rusty springs and loosened hinges. Ferdows took her hand to keep her from falling. They went to the bedroom together. Zari took off her dress, put the velvet box on her dressing table and stretched out on the bed.
“Where’s the sewing kit?” asked Ferdows.
“I don’t know,” replied Zari. She felt dizzy and nauseous. This must be the way madness begins, she thought.
She wished Ferdows wouldn’t talk, but Ferdows kept on chatting.
“Khanom Zahra,” she said, “it’s a good thing you and I managed to be alone. These people can get up to anything!”
If only she’d shut up, thought Zari.
“Are you listening to me?” asked Ferdows.
“No.”
“I want to put you on your guard. Last night mother and son were up the whole time, scheming behind your back. I stayed awake on the roof and listened. God Almighty! In the middle of the night she dyed her hair and put henna on it … actually it’s a wonder she doesn’t think she’s the Almighty!”
Zari didn’t respond, though her interest had been kindled. Ferdows had found the sewing kit and was opening the seams of the dress.
How efficient she is, Zari thought silently.
Still undoing seams and re-stitching them, Ferdows continued, “When Khanom got home, Hamid Khan threw himself at her feet again, flattered her and played up to her and finally he said, ‘Mother, I must have this woman at any cost’ … God forbid, he said that every night he’d slept with his wife he’d thought of you. All three of his children had been conceived thinking of you … bless my soul! A grown man like that making up all kinds of verses and poems for you! If you only knew the kinds of things he said …”
Zari didn’t want to know, but Ferdows went on, “Well, to cut a long story short … Khanom was not easily persuaded. She kept saying that you bring bad luck, that your brother-in-law wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on your money, that you’re pregnant and no-one can wed a pregnant woman. Hamid Khan said he’d wait. Khanom …”
If Gholam hadn’t knocked on the bedroom door just then to announce Dr Abdullah Khan, Zari would have vomited.
“Ask the doctor to wait a minute while I get dressed,” she said. And to Ferdows, “Khanom Ferdows, please hurry.”
“Right away.”
But Ferdows kept on talking, and Zari didn’t stop her because now Dr Abdullah Khan had arrived and would relieve her mind one way or the other.
“He pleaded with her until she gave in,” Ferdows went on, “so he asked her to get to work on you from the very next morning. What lies she strung together in front of me! Actually Khanom was a born liar. How she pretended to care about you! Don’t be fooled, she’s after your blood … there, I’m all done.” And she handed over the dress which Zari put on with a sigh of relief. Maybe she had felt dizzy because of the tightness of the dress.
As she looked Zari over, Ferdows added, “And she didn’t go straight to the Governor’s either. Hamid Khan made her telephone the Governor’s daughter. Khanom sent a piece of her own jewellery in exchange for yours. My worthless husband Kal Abbas went and fetched it.”
“Thank you,” said Zari. “Now go and tell the doctor I’m ready.”
Dr Abdullah Khan came in, leaning on his stick. He seemed older than on the day Zari had seen him in Khanom Massihadem’s room. Or perhaps she hadn’t looked at him closely enough then. The doctor sat on Zari’s bed, took her hand in his and said, “What’s the use of reaching a grand old age like mine? When a precious young man like your husband dies, I begin to hate myself. Here I am clinging to life with both hands while our young men are taken …”
“My husband didn’t just die, he was killed,” said Zari sadly.
“I know. Your son told me everything on the way. I congratulate you. A clever boy like him could take his father’s place for you. May the Lord bring both of you prosperity.” He paused and said, “An old man like me shouldn’t step into a house which has lost a young man of his kind. I’m old and useless now. His mourners must surely look at me, shake their heads and think, ‘Old man, you’re alive, and our young one has been martyred!’”
“No-one thinks of you like that. You’re the salt of the earth to all of us.”
Dr Abdullah Khan raised Zari’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Zari tried to withdraw it out of modesty. The old man sighed and said in a pensive voice, “I don’t know where I read that the world is like a dark room which we enter blindfolded. One of us may have his eyes open or others may try hard to open theirs; perhaps it’s even destined that one person should be touched with a ray of light from above so he may see and understand all for an instant. Your husband was one of those rare people who’d never shut his eyes from the beginning. His eyes and ears were alert. More is the pity he had such a short time …”
He spoke like one who had taken in everything there was to know. If there was a God, He had shown Himself for once to this man in the course of his long life …
The old man continued, “I’ve told Khanom Qods-ol-Saltaneh many a time that that brother of hers was a genuine human being. He was an enlightened man.”
“But you’re enlightened as well, you’re …”
“Now tell me what’s ailing you?” interrupted the doctor. “Your son begged me to come and visit you. I said to him, ‘Dear boy, for the wife of such a one as he was, I’m ready to go to the ends of the world. Besides, I’m very fond of your mother herself … she is a queen among women.’”
Zari had no fear or e
mbarrassment in telling Dr Abdullah Khan the truth. “I’ve been so distraught since last night,” she confessed, “I can’t control my mind. I’m afraid I might be going mad … I feel tempted to imitate the lunatics I’ve seen.” And she added in tears, “All last night I was caught up in nightmares. Khanom Hakim gave me three injections but they didn’t seem to do any good and I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept seeing horrific scenes. I said nonsensical things. And I’ve been feeling dizzy all morning.”
The old man stood up and went to the window, looking out on the garden. “Don’t let me hear you say things like that,” he told her with his back to her. “If you were distressed or even delirious, it was perfectly natural. Khanom Hakim couldn’t have given you tranquillizers, either. She gave you a camphor injection to stimulate your heart and the other two shots were distilled water.”
Again he came and sat down next to Zari.
“So you’re saying I haven’t gone mad?” Zari asked innocently.
“Absolutely not.”
“And I won’t go mad either?”
“I assure you you won’t.”
He stared into Zari’s eyes and continued in a soothing voice, “But you have a malignant disease that cannot be cured by my hand. You must get rid of it before it becomes chronic. Sometimes it’s hereditary.”
“Cancer?” asked Zari.
“No, my dear; don’t you understand? It’s the disease of fear. Many people have it—I told you it’s contagious.”
Again he took Zari’s hand and said prophetically, “I have one foot in the grave, so listen to the words of this old man, my dear. In this world, everything is in one’s own hands. Madness, fear, even love. A human being can if he so desires, move mountains, dry up the waters, create havoc everywhere. A human life is a chronicle. It can be any kind of chronicle—a sweet one, a bitter one, an ugly one … or a heroic one. The human body is fragile, but no force in this world can equal man’s spiritual power. As long as he has a strong will and some awareness.”