The Blood of Flowers (16 page)

"How much?" she asked, a steely tone in her voice.

Gostaham unfolded the letter and read out the sum. It was the same amount Fereydoon had offered to pay for the carpet he had commissioned from Gostaham. It would be a tidy sum of money for us but insufficient to buy our independence.

My mother clicked her tongue against her teeth. "It's not enough. Once my daughter's virginity is gone, who will want her then? It's far better for her to marry a man for life."

Gostaham looked as if he were about to agree, but Gordiyeh cut him short. "You mean you'd rather give her to a baker's son with hairy, flour-coated arms than to a man of wealth?" she asked. "Don't forget that the sigheh is renewable. If your daughter pleases Fereydoon, he may wish to keep her indefinitely. Each time he renews, he will pay the agreed-upon sum. He may also grace her with gifts of jewelry or even a house. If she is lucky and clever, the alliance could make your fortune."

Gostaham shifted again on his pillow, looking much less optimistic. "Let's not forget it could also end quickly," he said. "The only guarantee is three months. Beyond that, it's entirely his decision."

Gordiyeh spoke to my mother in a sugar-coated tone that made her husband's words seem slight. "Why wouldn't a fine girl like your daughter please Fereydoon? Such a moon would shine on him all night, every night!"

"Yes, she would," said my mother. "But if he likes her so much, why doesn't he make us a proper offer?"

"He can't," said Gordiyeh. "His first wife is dead, carried off by the cholera that wasted his daughter. As the son of a wealthy man, he is bound to marry a highborn woman who can bear his heirs."

I knew that a village girl like myself would not do.

"Homa is already looking for a suitable young woman," said Gordiyeh. "But I imagine that Fereydoon is craving companionship, now that he has mourned his first wife. He could have anyone in the land for the purpose--and yet your daughter is his choice."

I felt a surge of excitement. He had taken notice and made me an offer--me, a village girl whose fingertips bore calluses from carpet making and cleaning!

"Your dangling gems carpet must have made him take a fancy to you," Gordiyeh said to me as if she could hear my thoughts. "Above all other women, he has fixed his attention on you. That must be more than you had ever hoped for--to catch the eye of such a wealthy man!"

"True," I said, blushing.

"Really, there is no way you can err," said Gordiyeh. "Any children you conceive will be legitimate offspring, and will be supported. No man in his position would let the mother of his children go hungry. And just imagine what might happen if you keep him happy and satisfied!"

Gostaham held up his hands as if stopping the flow of Gordiyeh's words. "Remember, Khanoom," he said to my mother, "although any children would be legitimate, they'll never have the same status as the offspring of his permanent wives."

Gordiyeh made a chopping movement with her hand as if to push his words away. "Only God knows what will happen," she said. "It's not for us to decide."

Gostaham looked at my mother. "It behooves you to think very carefully about this offer, Khanoom. You can't predict whether he will leave or stay. You don't know if you and your daughter will live in luxury or be reduced to begging. And even if your daughter has children, she will have no inheritance rights--none."

Gordiyeh sighed in exasperation. "Many odd twists of fate could also occur if she marries a baker," she said. "From one day to the next, he could fall sick and die. The Shah could accuse him of cheating on the weight of bread and cook him in his own oven. He could be thrown off a mule and crack his head."

"No doubt," replied Gostaham. "But then she would have a legitimate family to rely on--her husband's parents, brothers, and cousins. She would be less likely to be alone and sorry after only three months."

"Sorry?" I asked.

"Well, really, there is nothing to worry about," said Gordiyeh. "A sigheh is a legal union."

"Legal, yes, but some people consider it beneath them," rejoined Gostaham. My face burned for a moment, although I didn't know exactly what he meant.

Gostaham turned to my mother. "If he were offering a regular marriage, I wouldn't hesitate to urge you to accept," he said.

"Still," said Gordiyeh quickly, "there's much cause for celebrating. It would be best if you accepted the offer and used it as another source of income, especially since our finances here at home are so unstable."

"Unstable?" said my mother, looking around at the well-kept room. Following her gaze, I observed thick bouquets of red and yellow roses, mounds of honeyed sweets, platters heavy with sweet melons and cucumbers, and bowls full of roasted pistachios. "You're worried about money?" she asked.

"My husband's salary from the royal rug workshop is hardly enough to meet our expenses," Gordiyeh said. "The Shah permits him to perform extra commissions in his own time, which are what keep us comfortable, but they come and go with the wind. A new silk carpet is the first thing a financially troubled family can do without."

She turned to Gostaham. "And isn't it true that even the royal family can't be trusted as patrons? I remember the stories about how the late Shah Tahmasp fired hundreds of miniature painters, gilders, calligraphers, and bookbinders after he became pious. Such a calamity could happen again."

Gostaham looked disgusted for a moment. "Shah Abbas is nothing like his grandfather. He has no reason to stop supporting the royal rug workshop, which is very profitable."

"Still," said Gordiyeh impatiently, "who can predict what will happen? Of course, a mother and daughter on their own should always be cautious about their financial future."

My mother rocked back at those words as if battered by a fierce desert wind. Nothing could have terrified her more than the thought that we might have to struggle on our own again, as we had in the months after my father's death.

"Fereydoon and his relatives have dozens of houses in Isfahan and throughout the country," Gordiyeh continued. "Every house they buy and every tent they pitch in the desert needs carpets--good carpets. Such a family orders silk, not wool."

She turned to me. "Think how such an alliance would benefit our family!"

It was the first time I had heard her say "our family" in a way that included my mother and me. Although the sigheh money would be ours to keep, I began to understand that Gordiyeh had her own reasons for promoting the union.

"I would do anything to aid our family," I replied.

"And I, too," added my mother. "What does he say about providing a house for my daughter?"

"He hasn't offered one," said Gordiyeh. "But if your daughter is pleasing and obedient, that may come."

My mother sighed. "It's certainly not the offer I thought it was at first."

"I understand," said Gordiyeh in a soothing tone. "Of course you want the best for your daughter. But what better offer could a young woman with no dowry expect?"

My mother's brow furrowed, and I saw a look of helplessness in her eyes. "I'll have an answer for you in a few days," she finally said.

"Just don't keep him waiting too long," replied Gordiyeh.

"And do not say a word about the offer to anyone," added Gostaham. "We'll want to keep quiet about it even if your daughter does marry Fereydoon."

"Why?" I asked.

Gordiyeh looked away. "It's perfectly legal," she repeated, and then there was a long, uncomfortable silence during which Gostaham cleared his throat. My mother looked at him, waiting for an answer.

"It's not the type of thing a family like ours would advertise," he finally said.

I had another concern that felt like salt under my skin. "What about my schooling?" I asked. "Gostaham is still teaching me about carpets."

For the first time that morning, Gostaham looked pleased, as if I were truly the child of his heart.

"No matter what your mother decides about the marriage, I will continue to instruct you for as long as you want to learn," he said.

It was as though a light had passed from his heart to mine. "I want to keep learning," I said. "What if I have to live far away?"

"Since Fereydoon hasn't offered a house, you will remain here," said Gordiyeh.

"Won't he insist on shutting her away from the eyes of strangers?" my mother asked.

"He's rich, but he's not from a high-class Isfahani family," Gordiyeh said. "The only women he's likely to sequester are his permanent wives."

She turned to me. "Don't worry--I'm sure it won't matter to him what you do during the day."

AFTER THE MEETING, I went to the chamber where my mother and I slept and looked around without seeing anything, then climbed the stairs to the roof as if to check on laundry, although there was none, then visited Cook to see if she needed help. I chopped onions for a few minutes until I spilled a bowl of cleaned fenugreek onto the floor, after which I was thrown out of the kitchen and told not to return.

It was not that I objected to Fereydoon's person, for even though he was not as handsome as Iskandar, he was erect, well muscled, and gave off the appealing smell of horses. But his proposal was not the respectful offer I had hoped to receive from a suitor. If Fereydoon wanted me, why didn't he offer to marry me forever? And if he required a highborn woman to bear his heirs, why not marry her first and then offer to make me his second wife?

I fretted at my chores, knowing that my fortunes might change in a single day. If I married, I would give up my virginity, once and always; and I might bear children. I would be forever changed. I imagined the days of leisure and nights of love, the bowls of honey and dates, the growing rolls of flesh on my belly. But what if I was no longer married after only three months? I would hardly have time to grow fat.

I wished I could go to Naheed's and ask her and her mother what they thought. But Gostaham had instructed us to remain silent about the offer. If the sigheh ended after three months without a pregnancy, so much the better for my later prospects if no one knew. That seemed odd to me, since every marriage I had ever heard about was announced and celebrated with great joy. Why was there a veil of secrecy over this one?

"Daughter of my heart," said my mother when we met in our room that evening, "what have you been thinking?" There were dark circles under her eyes, and her feet were red again. The work in the kitchen had been very hard that day.

I took a cushion and put it under her feet as she stretched out on her bedroll. "You and my Baba always told me you would marry me to a good man," I said. "How can Fereydoon be that man, if he only wants me for a few months?"

My mother sighed. "From everything we've heard, his reputation is upstanding," she said. "There's no reason to believe otherwise."

"I feel as if he wants to buy me cheaply," I replied. "You and my Baba raised me to expect better."

My mother took my hands in hers. "We cannot have the same hopes we once had," she said. "This offer surpasses what I thought possible."

"What else is possible?"

"Nothing," my mother replied darkly. "Gordiyeh is right. How can two penniless women expect more?"

I adjusted the white cloth that covered my hair and returned my hands to my mother's warm ones. "If it were my decision, I would say no. After all, Hajj Ali said that marriages made in this period would be full of passion and strife."

My mother withdrew her hands from mine. "It's not your decision," she said with iron in her voice.

"I have the right to tell the mullah no if I object," I replied angrily, remembering what Goli had once told me.

"If you do that, you will forever estrange yourself from this family, and that includes me."

My heart was chilled by her reply. "You mean you would have me marry Fereydoon against my will?"

"Our position in this household is unsound," she replied.

"I'm sorry," I said, knowing that I was much to blame.

"That's why I am asking you not to be so imprudent for the first time in your life," said my mother more gently. "This decision is best left to your elders, who have your interests at heart."

The merest allusion to my mistake made me want to hide my face in shame. Having acted rashly, I longed to show that I could learn from my misconduct.

"Chashm," I said meekly, using the word of obedience that soldiers give their commanders. "I submit to your will." And with that, I touched my head to my mother's swollen feet, determined to do whatever she asked of me.

THE NEXT MORNING, my mother gave her consent to the proposal. Gostaham wrote a letter of acceptance to Fereydoon and offered his congratulations to us without enthusiasm. Almost immediately, we received a note back from Fereydoon proposing to formalize our union the next day, the first of Ramazan.

We slept late that morning because we knew we would be observing the fast until nightfall. My mother helped Cook chop vegetables and fry meat, while I picked bugs and stones out of the rice and soaked it to remove its starch. Even that simple task seemed to take longer than usual because I was hungry and parched. My thoughts wandered often to Fereydoon as I worked. Since I had not seen him for several months, I wondered how he would look and whether I would regret bowing to my mother's decision.