Read Online The Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anita Amirrezvani
Tags: Bestseller
Ads: Link
"But as the poor relatives of your grandfather's second wife, we are not good news."
Feeling more tired than I could remember, I closed my eyes and slept as if dead. It seemed only moments before Cook knocked on our door and asked for help. The family would be up and about soon, she said, and they'd be anxious for their coffee, fresh fruit, and sweetmeats.
"What a honeyed existence!" I muttered under my breath, but my mother did not reply. She was asleep, her eyebrows knitted together in a furrow of worry. I couldn't bear to wake her, so I told Cook I'd work for two.
TWICE A YEAR, Isfahan's Great Bazaar was closed to men so that the ladies of the royal harem could shop in freedom. All the shopkeepers' wives and daughters were sent in to run the stores for three days, and all the women, whether buyers or sellers, were allowed to walk around the bazaar without their heavy chadors.
Gostaham kept an alcove in the bazaar with a few rugs on display, not so much for sale but to remind people such as the royal courtesans that he was available for commissions. Since these could be the most lucrative of jobs, and since they improved his contacts within the harem, he always put his most fashionable wares on display for the women.
Gostaham normally sent his daughter Mehrbanoo to run his shop during the harem's visit, but she became ill the night before. Gordiyeh was sent to sell the carpets instead, and I begged Gostaham to let me accompany her. I had heard stories about the Shah's women, who were gathered like flowers from every region of our land to adorn him. I wanted to see how beautiful they were and admire their silken clothes. I had to promise I would be as quiet as a mouse if Gordiyeh was making a sale.
On the first day of the harem's visit, we walked to the Image of the World just before dawn. The vast square, normally so busy with nut sellers, hawkers, musicians, and acrobats, was now the province of girls and pigeons. All men had been ordered away under penalty of death, lest they catch a glimpse of the unveiled women. The empty square looked even larger than before. I wondered how the Shah made his way between the palace and his private mosque on the other side of the square. It seemed a long way for royalty to walk in public.
"How does the Shah go to pray?" I asked Gordiyeh.
"Can you guess?" she asked, pointing to the ground beneath us. It looked like ordinary dirt to me, and I had to think for a moment.
"An underground passageway?" I asked, incredulous, and she dipped her chin in assent. Such was the ingenuity of the Shah's engineers that they had thought of his every convenience.
When the sun rose, the burly bazaar guards opened its gates and permitted us to enter. We waited near the doors until the women of the harem began to stream in, mounted on a procession of richly decorated horses. They held their chadors closed with one hand and the reins in the other. Not until all the horses and horsemen had disappeared did they shed their wraps and pichehs, throwing them off with merriment and frivolity. They lived in palaces only a few minutes' walk away, but such ladies were not allowed to travel on foot.
There were thousands of shops in the bazaar to answer every desire, whether for carpets, gold jewelry, silk and cotton cloth, embroidery, shoes, perfume, trappings for horses, leather goods, books, or paper, and on normal days, all kinds of foodstuffs. The two hundred slipper makers alone would occupy the women for some time. Although we could hear their chattering and their laughter, it wasn't until the end of the day that we spoke to any of them.
I had imagined that all the women of the harem would be beauties, but I was wrong. The Shah's four wives were in the fifth or sixth decade of life. Many of the courtesans had been in his harem for years and were no longer beautiful. And most of them weren't even ample. One pretty girl caught my eye because I had never seen hair like hers, the color of a flaming sunset.
Feeling more tired than I could remember, I closed my eyes and slept as if dead. It seemed only moments before Cook knocked on our door and asked for help. The family would be up and about soon, she said, and they'd be anxious for their coffee, fresh fruit, and sweetmeats.
"What a honeyed existence!" I muttered under my breath, but my mother did not reply. She was asleep, her eyebrows knitted together in a furrow of worry. I couldn't bear to wake her, so I told Cook I'd work for two.
TWICE A YEAR, Isfahan's Great Bazaar was closed to men so that the ladies of the royal harem could shop in freedom. All the shopkeepers' wives and daughters were sent in to run the stores for three days, and all the women, whether buyers or sellers, were allowed to walk around the bazaar without their heavy chadors.
Gostaham kept an alcove in the bazaar with a few rugs on display, not so much for sale but to remind people such as the royal courtesans that he was available for commissions. Since these could be the most lucrative of jobs, and since they improved his contacts within the harem, he always put his most fashionable wares on display for the women.
Gostaham normally sent his daughter Mehrbanoo to run his shop during the harem's visit, but she became ill the night before. Gordiyeh was sent to sell the carpets instead, and I begged Gostaham to let me accompany her. I had heard stories about the Shah's women, who were gathered like flowers from every region of our land to adorn him. I wanted to see how beautiful they were and admire their silken clothes. I had to promise I would be as quiet as a mouse if Gordiyeh was making a sale.
On the first day of the harem's visit, we walked to the Image of the World just before dawn. The vast square, normally so busy with nut sellers, hawkers, musicians, and acrobats, was now the province of girls and pigeons. All men had been ordered away under penalty of death, lest they catch a glimpse of the unveiled women. The empty square looked even larger than before. I wondered how the Shah made his way between the palace and his private mosque on the other side of the square. It seemed a long way for royalty to walk in public.
"How does the Shah go to pray?" I asked Gordiyeh.
"Can you guess?" she asked, pointing to the ground beneath us. It looked like ordinary dirt to me, and I had to think for a moment.
"An underground passageway?" I asked, incredulous, and she dipped her chin in assent. Such was the ingenuity of the Shah's engineers that they had thought of his every convenience.
When the sun rose, the burly bazaar guards opened its gates and permitted us to enter. We waited near the doors until the women of the harem began to stream in, mounted on a procession of richly decorated horses. They held their chadors closed with one hand and the reins in the other. Not until all the horses and horsemen had disappeared did they shed their wraps and pichehs, throwing them off with merriment and frivolity. They lived in palaces only a few minutes' walk away, but such ladies were not allowed to travel on foot.
There were thousands of shops in the bazaar to answer every desire, whether for carpets, gold jewelry, silk and cotton cloth, embroidery, shoes, perfume, trappings for horses, leather goods, books, or paper, and on normal days, all kinds of foodstuffs. The two hundred slipper makers alone would occupy the women for some time. Although we could hear their chattering and their laughter, it wasn't until the end of the day that we spoke to any of them.
I had imagined that all the women of the harem would be beauties, but I was wrong. The Shah's four wives were in the fifth or sixth decade of life. Many of the courtesans had been in his harem for years and were no longer beautiful. And most of them weren't even ample. One pretty girl caught my eye because I had never seen hair like hers, the color of a flaming sunset.
Similar Books
