The Blood of Flowers (23 page)

My foot welcomes pain,

For it reminds me of my beloved.

I would rather walk in Layli's field of thorns

Than in another's garden of roses.

Layli drew in a breath. "Where is he?" she asked the man, knowing Majnoon must be near.

"He has returned," replied the man, "and looks for no one but you."

"And I him," she replied. "Tell him to meet me this evening, in the grove of palms." For she had to test her love to see if it remained pure and strong.

Layli told her husband she was going to her mother's tent to drink tea. She arrived at the palm grove, wrapped in her veils, after dark. Majnoon sat in a patch of moonlight, clad only in a loincloth. He looked taller and thinner, for he had wasted away; she could see all the ribs jutting out of his body. He seemed like a creature of the wild now, naked before God and the sky.

"At last, my beloved!" he cried.

"At last!" she echoed. She had not seen him for more years than she could count.

"My Layli! Your tresses are as black as the night; your eyes as dark and lovely as a gazelle's. I shall love you always."

"And I you, life of mine!" She sat down just outside the circle of moonlight that bathed him.

"Yet now I must question your love," Majnoon added, his eyes full of sorrow. "Why have you betrayed me?"

"What do you mean?" she replied, drawing back with surprise.

"You have a husband!" he said, shivering, though the night air had not grown cool. "Why should I believe that you love me still?"

"I have a husband in name only," she replied. "In all these years, I could have given myself to him a thousand times over, yet my fortress has remained unvanquished."

"For me," he replied, and there was joy in his eyes.

"For you," she answered. "For what is he compared to you?"

She wrapped her garments more closely around her, as if to protect herself from prying eyes. "Yet, truth be told, lately I have come to wonder about the life I have chosen," she added. "You are free. You may go as you please, live with your animals, and compose your verse. You may sing out what ails you, and all will repeat your sorrow. But I am confined here, alone, and may tell no one for fear of losing my honor. Now tell me: For whom is it harder to be faithful?"

Majnoon sighed. "For you, my beloved. For you. That is why, with my whole heart, I abandon you to your husband's love, if you choose to give yourself to him. For you deserve love as much as any woman. For my part, I shall always love you no matter what you do."

Layli remained silent, for she was deep in thought.

"Layli, my beloved, I am your slave. When I see a cur that has passed near your house, I kiss its dirty paws with reverence, for it has been close to you. When I look in the mirror, I no longer see myself, but only you. Don't call me by my name anymore. Call me Layli, for that's who I have become!"

Layli felt her heart blossom. What was the good of the love of a man like Ibn Salam--what was the use of his tired feet, the stink of his tunic after a day at the hunt, the stories he had spoken a thousand times? Yet how could she promise herself to Majnoon, who would never belong to her?

"How do you keep the faith of your love?" she asked. "Do you not shiver with disappointment and dry up with yearning? Do you never wish to abandon me?"

Majnoon laughed. "What good would my love be if it were so easily disturbed by obstacles?" he asked. "When I was younger, I suffered so much disappointment over your parents' refusal that I thought my heart would burst. But the more I thought of you and wept over you, the deeper and clearer my love became. Suffering has revealed to me the depths of my own heart. What is ordinary love compared to that? It ebbs and flows and is easily swayed. But my love for you has become so deep and strong it will never wane. There are few certainties in this world, but such love is one of them."

Layli wanted to melt into Majnoon's thin, wasted body, to live with him and his animals under the clear desert sky, to hear the verses on his lips. But there could be no honor in such a life, for all good people would shun her. There was no hope of ever living with him on earth.

But perhaps that was not the most precious thing. Even if Layli could not have Majnoon by her side, she could always have his love. She felt her heart expanding, growing bigger and bigger until it encompassed nothing but him. That was love, she thought, not the everyday fare that Ibn Salam was offering her. That was what loosened tears from her eyes and made her wild with ecstasy. "My beloved, my heart is yours!" she exclaimed. "When I see my reflection in a basin of water, I shall see only you. We are so close it matters little whether we are near or far."

"My Layli," he replied, "you are like the blood circulating in my veins. If I cut myself, I rejoice, for I feel your warmth."

It was late, and Layli dared not stay any longer. She walked back to her tent alone, her heart bursting with joy. She would remain Ibn Salam's wife, but in name only. Her love for Majnoon was so deep it needed nothing but itself. From now on, he would always be Layli, and she would always be Majnoon.

Chapter
FOUR

A week went by with no word from Fereydoon. Perhaps he had gone to the south on business, I thought, knowing his father often sent him to examine costly steeds to determine their worth. Or perhaps he had gone to visit his parents or his sister, or taken a hunting trip for pleasure. Every evening, I asked Gostaham and Gordiyeh if any letters had arrived that pertained to me. At first they simply said no, but as the days passed, they began to answer my question with pitying looks. After another week, I started to jump when I heard the knocker and scurried to the door on any excuse.

Although he had been angry with me the last time we parted, still I hoped he would want me for another three months. My mother and I needed the money. And although I wasn't in love, at least not the way Naheed loved Iskandar, there were mysteries I still hoped to understand. Perhaps if we had more time together, I would learn to love him. And there was always the hope that he would make me a permanent wife, or that I would get pregnant.

I had already bled twice since I had married Fereydoon. Before each time, my mother had watched me closely for signs that I was carrying a child. After I began bleeding, my mother said, "Don't worry, azizam. There is always next month." But I knew she was disappointed and worried that I would be as slow to conceive as she had been.

In the third month of my marriage, my mother made me a special medicine that was supposed to encourage pregnancy, a green brew that reminded me of brackish water. She also commented on everything I ate and did.

"Praise be to God!" she said one day when I had consumed a mound of sour fruit torshi with my meal. "That's just what I craved when I was pregnant with you."

I was delighted, for I hoped for a child as much as she did. Then it would be certain that we would have a home of our own, and would be taken care of by Fereydoon for the rest of our days.

That evening, my mother spent a long time on the roof reading the stars. When she returned to our room, she told me the child would be a boy, for Mars was in ascendancy. "He will have your father's good looks," she said, more pleased than I had seen her in a long time.

Gordiyeh encouraged my mother's hopes. "You're looking very round today," she said to me one morning, staring at my face and my stomach. And then, turning to my mother, she said, "Being a grandmother is even better than being a mother."

"I hope I will hold my grandchild soon," she replied. But I didn't feel any different. I began counting the time remaining until the end of my contract, feeling more restless with each passing day.

THE AFFECTIONATE TIES between Gordiyeh and Gostaham never ceased to baffle me. I had seen my father perform kindnesses for my mother--massaging her feet when they were weary, or surprising her with new leather shoes--but I had never seen a man give as much as Gostaham gave to Gordiyeh. He was always bringing her gifts, such as date cookies, bolts of velvet, or flasks of perfume. Why did he love her so? What did she do to bind him to her like a moth circling a flame? From the outside, she had little to offer. Her face was doughy like unbaked bread, and she moved heavily, her flesh lumpy and dimpled. She often wielded a sharp tongue, especially when she was worried about money. And yet Gordiyeh was like a diamond, hard but with a flash in her eyes that made her desirable.

One afternoon at the midday meal, Gordiyeh came into the Great Room dressed in a fine silk tunic the color of a lake, the curve of her large breasts visible beneath the fabric. A single emerald on a gold chain drew the eyes there. She had covered her hair with embroidery, drawn a line of kohl on her eyelids, darkened her lush eyebrows, and put a touch of color on her cheeks and lips. When Gostaham arrived, she told him she had spent the morning helping Cook make one of his favorite dishes, rice with lentils and lamb. As I brought hot bread into the Great Room, I watched her offer him the most tender bits of lamb and refill his drinking vessel with sweet pomegranate sharbat. She even brought out some wine, closely guarded in her storerooms, and served him a few glasses with his food. Gostaham's eyes softened and his round body relaxed into the cushions. Before long, he began telling jokes.

"Once there was a woman who married three times and was still a virgin," he was saying to her as I brought in some of the candied almonds we had made earlier that year. "The first husband was a Rashti who couldn't do anything because he was as limp as old celery. The second was a Qazvini who liked boys, so that's the only way he took her."

"And the third?" asked Gordiyeh, with a teasing smile.

"The third was a language teacher who only used his tongue."

She laughed deep in her belly, and I saw Gostaham's eyes alight on the opulent flesh that trembled around her emerald. She was courting him! But why? It was not something I imagined that older couples needed to do. And what did he mean by the teacher who only used his tongue?

By the end of the meal, the air around Gostaham seemed heavy with desire. When he suggested it was time for an afternoon nap, Gordiyeh arose and followed him out of the room with a long, husky laugh. I watched her go with him into his rooms rather than her own, which was peculiar. I had never seen her behave this way before.

My mother and I helped Cook clear the dishes from the Great Room and put them into buckets for washing. After I cleaned the serving plates, she rinsed them and stacked them to dry. It wasn't long before I began to hear Gordiyeh make a noise that sounded like small repeated screams. I strained to hear what she was saying, bracing myself for bad news, but her cries were wordless.

"What's wrong with Gordiyeh?" I asked Cook.

She was putting away the leftover rice. "Not a thing," she replied, avoiding my eyes.

My mother and I continued washing in silence. After we finished the serving spoons and vessels, we began scrubbing the oily pots used to cook the meat and rice. All was quiet for another half hour, at which point I heard the same loud cries again.

"Voy!" said my mother. "Even after all these years!"

"That's how she gets what she wants," replied Cook. "Just wait and see."

"It doesn't sound real."

Cook laughed so hard she began coughing and had to put down the pot she was scrubbing.

"You may be right, but it still works," she said when she had finally recovered.

What exactly was making her scream with such abandonment and pleasure? With Fereydoon, I had had occasion to pant, but nothing I had ever done with him had made me feel like howling like that. I wished I knew why.

Early the next morning, Gostaham sent a servant to summon me to his workroom. He looked better rested than I had seen him in weeks; even the bags under his eyes were less dark than usual. I wondered if that was because of what Gordiyeh had given him the afternoon before.

"Sit here," said Gostaham, patting the cushion beside him. "I need your help on a sewing project."

He unrolled a scrap of carpet about two handbreadths long. It had a coarse pattern of wild red tulips and had been abandoned before its fringes were finished.

"I bought this yesterday evening for Gordiyeh," he said.

I must have looked surprised, for surely she would not appreciate such an ordinary carpet when her husband was a master of the craft.

Gostaham laughed at my expression. "Here's the real gift," he said, pulling something out of his sash. It was a heavy gold chain with rubies set in square mounts, each of which was surrounded by hanging pearls. I caught my breath.

"I want you to sew this onto the surface of the carpet, trying your best to conceal the rubies among the humble tulips," he said.

Gordiyeh would unroll the carpet, thinking it was nothing, and would have to search for a moment to uncover the hidden gems.

"She will be dazzled," I said. "Wouldn't it be a wonder to knot a whole rug with jewels like these!"

"It happened once," replied Gostaham. "The most famous treasure of the last Sassanian shah, Yazdegerd, was a jewel-studded carpet. That's what gave me the idea, although my approach is necessarily more modest."

"Where is it now?" I asked, eager to see it.

"Destroyed," Gostaham replied. "Nearly one thousand years ago, the Arab general Sa'd ibn Abi Waqqis marched to Yazdegerd's white stone palace and stormed it with an army of sixty thousand men. When they entered the palace to loot its booty, they were awestruck by its wondrous carpet, a lush garden whose roses gleamed with rubies and whose river sparkled with blue sapphires. Even its trees were knotted in silver, with white blossoms made of pearls. Sa'd and his looters slashed the carpet into parcels of booty--according to their own accounts!--extracting the jewels to sell and using the remaining scraps as trophies."