My Uncle Napoleon

by Iraj Pezeshkzad

  Dustali Khan yelled, “My dear woman, Shir Ali doesn’t have any children.”

  “That wife of his is just a child . . . Asadollah’s a sensitive person . . .”

  His face contorted, Dustali Khan said through clenched teeth, “I’ll give him sensitive . . .”

  And with quick angry steps he strode from the room. With her eyes full of malice, Aziz al-Saltaneh watched him leave and said, “I’m going to do something now that’ll put Asadollah’s mind at rest so he’ll come out. Shir Ali’s mother-in-law’s house is close by. I’ll go and send her to stay with her daughter so she won’t be alone till that bear Shir Ali gets out of jail.”

  Uncle colonel’s face brightened. He also was uncomfortable with the notion of Asadollah being in Shir Ali’s house but he wasn’t showing it. Excitedly he said, “That’s a very good idea . . . because it would be a pity if Asadollah couldn’t share in our happiness and pleasure . . .” And then he addressed everyone present in a loud voice, “I would like to invite everyone here to come for supper tonight at my house. To celebrate our good fortune in clearing up this misunderstanding, I’m going to serve you a very fine vintage wine, twenty years old . . .”

  “No, this is far too much trouble, Colonel. God willing, we’ll do it another night . . .”

  “It’s no trouble at all . . . everything is ready. My wife’s made a beautiful dish of rice and herbs; those of you who’ve cooked supper, you can bring it over and we’ll eat together.”

  This suggestion of uncle colonel’s met with a warm welcome. My father’s conversation with Dear Uncle continued, and after a few minutes the sounds of backgammon, which hadn’t been audible for many a long day, could be heard once again.

  Despite the fact that I was suspicious of my father’s hidden intentions and was extremely worried about this, I was still ready to burst with happiness at seeing myself once again with Layli next to my father’s and Dear Uncle’s backgammon board. Layli’s surreptitious glances sent a wave of pleasure over me from head to toe. My father threw out challenges apparently with the same old cheerfulness, “You fought against the English but admit it, you don’t know how to play backgammon . . . if I were in your shoes I’d give up backgammon . . . Layli dear, go and get some walnuts for your dad to play with . . . let’s have two sixes now!”

  And Dear Uncle was ready with his answer, “Throw the dice . . .

  Backgammon is for heroes, not for you—

  A peasant’s spade’s more suitable for you!”

  Layli’s mother called her and gave her some work to do. I took a turn around the garden. It was as though peace and reconciliation between the hostile factions had had an effect on the garden, too. The flowers and trees looked more flourishing to me. But through the trees I could see Dustali Khan talking earnestly in Mash Qasem’s ear and from their gestures I could guess at his insistence and Mash Qasem’s refusal. Finally it seemed as though either his logic or his threats and promises convinced Mash Qasem because he rolled down his trousers, which he had hitched up in order to water the flowers, and left the garden. I guessed that Dustali had sent him to satisfy the dough-kneader and procure Shir Ali’s release from prison, and later I found out that my guess was correct. If Shir Ali hadn’t returned home, and Asadollah had stayed the night alone in the house with Tahereh, Dustali would have died of chagrin. From his condition and his actions it was clear that he was prepared to do anything at all to get the philanderer out of the butcher’s house.

  It was nearly sunset when Mash Qasem returned and took Dustali Khan aside. I was very curious to know how his mission had turned out. I quietly went over to them and stood eavesdropping behind a clump of trees.

  “Sir, you really put me in some shameful fixes . . . although I wasn’t talkin’ to that dough-kneader feller, I went to see him. And after he’d taken the money he was messin’ me about and playin’ hard to get for an hour till we went together to the lockup so as he could say how Shir Ali could . . .”

  Dustali Khan impatiently said, “What happened? Did they let Shir Ali out?”

  “Well sir, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . this dough-kneader feller wrote down he’d withdrawn his complaint and handed it over but the boss wasn’t there and they said if the boss weren’t there they couldn’t let Shir Ali go.”

  “When will the boss get back?”

  “Well, he’s gone till tomorrow . . . though they said how it was possible he might pop in tonight.”

  In a voice trembling with anger, Dustali Khan said under his breath, “I spent all this money so they could release him tomorrow? And so tonight this shameless, unprincipled . . .”

  “All the better, sir, serve him right so he won’t be wavin’ his cleaver at folks!”

  Dustali Khan yelled, “I’m not talking about him, where’s your common sense?” Then he took Mash Qasem’s arm and guided him out of the garden.

  Half an hour later when there was still no sign of them, I too went out. The alleyway was dark and completely quiet as I walked toward Shir Ali’s house. In the darkness of the night I saw Dustali Khan hidden behind a tree near the butcher’s house. For a while I watched him from a distance, but when he didn’t move, I had no choice but to go back to the garden.

  The party at uncle colonel’s house was well under way. Virtually everyone from our close family was there. Dear Uncle Napoleon and my father were sitting next to one another at the end of the room, chatting away like a bride and groom, and loud music was coming from uncle colonel’s ancient horn gramophone. Some people were clapping in time to the records and uncle colonel was insisting that everyone drink some of his vintage wine. Aziz al-Saltaneh looked very merry, except that occasionally she seemed worried that Dustali Khan hadn’t turned up. It seemed as though Asadollah Mirza’s absence had been completely forgotten; even his brother Shamsali Mirza made no mention of him. The retired examining magistrate’s frowning face had, for the first time, completely opened up, and he was even encouraging fat, simpleminded Qamar to dance.

  I was wallowing in a sea of happiness, whispering in Layli’s ear, despite the furious glances of Puri. We laughed out loud. Uncle colonel gave orders for a fire to be lit to barbecue kebabs. At this moment Dr. Naser al-Hokama entered, saying “Your good health,” and, before he had time to turn round, uncle colonel poured a glass of wine down his throat. As soon as he sat down, the doctor looked about him and said, “Your good health . . . your good health . . . but where’s Mr. Asadollah Mirza?”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh answered with a laugh, “The little devil’s attending to wives and widows as usual.”

  Uncle colonel gave a forced laugh and said, “But weren’t you supposed to tell Shir Ali’s mother-in-law so that she could go and stay with her daughter and let Asadollah go free?”

  “God damn her if she hasn’t gone off to Qom.”

  When I heard the name Qom I glanced around; there was no sign of Mash Qasem either. And this was strange because there never was a party when Mash Qasem wasn’t in the main room, or busy going back and forth nearby and adding his opinions to the guests’ conversation.

  Dinner wasn’t yet ready when two or three women who were out in the yard could be heard joyfully shouting, “Well, I never, Asadollah!”

  And a moment later Asadollah rushed into the party, shouting, “My dear brother, what’s happened?” But when he saw Shamsali Mirza’s shining, cheerful face he stood there rooted to the spot.

  When the sounds of happiness and welcome from those present had died down, Asadollah Mirza said, “So what were they talking about when they said you’d collapsed?”

  With a loud laugh that was not at all part of his usual behavior Shamsali Mirza said, “I’ve never felt better in my life.”

  Asadollah Mirza frowned for a moment, but his face soon resumed its usual cheerful expression and he said, “Moment, so that little bastard Mash
Qasem wanted to drag me here?”

  And he immediately began singing:

  “Oh, we’ve come, we’ve come,

  With guitars and a drum we’ve come . . .”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh pinched his cheek and said, “God bless you and keep you for all your fooling . . . however did you drag yourself away?”

  “Moment, moment . . . I’ll just say hello and be back there again.”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh drew her eyebrows together, “You want to go back to that butcher’s house again?”

  With an innocent face Asadollah said, “Just think, Aziz . . . they’ve taken this poor helpless woman’s husband off to prison and she’s all by herself. She’s got no friend or protector there . . . and if I want to leave her all alone, too, your conscience shouldn’t stand for it.”

  What with all the confusion and getting up and sitting down by the guests Asadollah hadn’t seen my father and Dear Uncle sitting next to each other, and suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. Staring straight at them he shouted out, “Well well, God willing, it’s all for the best . . .”

  And he immediately started snapping his fingers, “Here’s to friendship and all for the best, all for the best . . . a splendid wedding and all for the best, all for the best . . . a fancy party and all for the best . . .”

  All the guests started singing along with him. Asadollah Mirza drained a glass of wine and went on, snapping his fingers, “From garden to garden . . . they’re bringing the sweets, and San Francisco’s coming!”

  And Aziz al-Saltaneh, her gaze lovingly fixed on his face, said with an extremely coy giggle, “My God, it kills me, the things he gets up to!”

  The party had reached a peak of happiness and enjoyment and everyone was capering around in the middle of the room dancing to Asadollah’s racket.

  At this moment an unexpected event occurred. Mash Qasem threw himself, panting for breath, into the hallway and screamed out, “Help . . . he’s killed him . . . he’s cut off his head . . . Blessed Morteza Ali help us now . . .”

  Everyone stood as if transfixed and held their breath.

  Pallid and gasping, Mash Qasem said, “Run . . . help him . . . Shir Ali’s killed Dustali Khan.”

  “What? Why? How’d it happen? Speak man!”

  In broken sentences Mash Qasem explained what had occurred. “It seems like Dustali’d gone in Shir Ali’s house . . . and all cheeky-like he was wantin’ to give Shir Ali’s wife a kiss when Shir Ali comes back; he really swiped him one . . .”

  “Shir Ali was in prison!”

  “They let him out . . . the dough-kneader feller said it was all right for them to let him out.”

  “Where’s Dustali now?”

  “He ran away, he threw himself into the garden here. I shut the door after him . . . but Shir Ali’s behind the door with a cleaver . . . he’s tearin’ the door off of its hinges . . . can’t you hear?”

  We listened for a moment. Such heavy blows were being struck against the door that the noise was audible where we were. The men ran toward the door with the women following. Mash Qasem yelled out, “Run . . . that poor Dustali Khan’s fainted . . .”

  When we arrived at the garden door, which was shaking under the kicks and blows being showered on it, we saw Dustali Khan lying limply by the wall with his clothes all torn and a bloody nose. In a weak voice he whined, “Phone the lockup . . . get the police . . . he was going to kill me. He’s after me now with a cleaver . . . help me . . . call for a cop.”

  Dear Uncle shook him by the shoulders and said, “What’s going on? What’s happened? Why did you go to Shir Ali’s house?”

  “This is not the time to discuss that . . . phone the lockup . . . that bear’s going to break the door down any minute, he’ll kill me . . . tell the police to come.”

  “Why are you talking such rubbish? You want the police to come and I tell them you went after someone’s wife in someone’s house?”

  The thumping and kicking against the door went on uninterruptedly, and Shir Ali’s hoarse voice could be heard, “Open up, and if you don’t, I’ll tear the door down . . .”

  In the midst of the general tumult Asadollah Mirza said, “Well really, what people there are to be found in the world . . . have you no sense of honor, Dustali, that you go and insult other people’s honor in this way?”

  Dustali Khan threw a furious look at him and yelled, “You just shut up!”

  “Moment, moment, then if you’ll allow me to open this door and see who it is that Mr. Shir Ali is looking for.”

  Dustali Khan let out a loud wail, “I beg you all, don’t let him open the door . . . that bear’ll kill me.”

  At this instant Aziz al-Saltaneh hit Dustali Khan such a blow on the head with her shoe, which she had taken off, that a sob escaped from the helpless wretch’s throat. “God damn you and your dirty-minded manners . . . so now you’re carrying on in front of everyone’s eyes are you?”

  Asadollah Mirza grasped her hand, which she had raised to deliver a second blow, “My dear lady, forgive him, he’s at fault . . . he’s an ass, he’s a fool, he has no common sense, he’s an idiot, out of the greatness of your heart forgive him!”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh lowered her hand and said, “Well, and why should I be bothered . . . I’ll let that fellow with the cleaver behind the door take my revenge for me.” Having said this, before anyone could move, she made a lunge for the door and lifted the latch.

  The mountainous body of Shir Ali the butcher burst into the garden, dragging after him his dainty wife, Tahereh, who with one hand was clinging onto her veil and with the other was clutching his massive arm. Anyone colliding with this 250-pound body would have been reduced to a fistful of mincemeat and bone on the spot. Luckily he crashed into the trunk of a walnut tree and a few walnuts pattered down to the ground. His roar, which was a match for any lion’s, resounded throughout the garden, “Where is the bastard?”

  Dear Uncle, my father, and Shamsali Mirza shouted at the tops of their voices, “Shir Ali . . . Shir Ali . . .”

  Tahereh’s voice could be heard, too, “Shir Ali, I beg you, on my life, let him go.”

  Asadollah Mirza was standing to one side, staring at Tahereh’s body; under his breath he said, “My God, I’d die for you . . .”

  For a moment all was confusion and voices on all sides, but with a quick movement Shir Ali scooped up Dustali Khan, who had been hiding behind Dear Uncle, as if he were a babe in arms. Tahereh’s pleading cries and Dear Uncle’s and everyone else’s angry reproaches fell on deaf ears; still roaring, Shir Ali carried off Dustali Khan, who was waving his arms and legs about, toward the garden door. Suddenly Aziz al-Saltaneh blocked his way, “Put him down!”

  “Ma’am, get out of me way or I’ll . . .”

  “Damn your impudence! Are you threatening me now as well? Put him down, and if you don’t, I’ll smash your false teeth down your throat!” And she set about kicking and punching Shir Ali. But neither her kicks nor her blows had any effect on Shir Ali and many of them landed on the head and face of Dustali Khan, whose teeth were clenched in terror.

  Aziz al-Saltaneh shouted, “Asadollah, you say something!”

  Asadollah came forward, without taking his eyes of Tahereh, “Shir Ali Khan, I beg you to forgive him . . . he’s an ass, he’s a fool, he’s no common sense, he’s a donkey . . .”

  Without releasing Dustali Khan, Shir Ali said, “Mr. Asadollah Khan, sir, ask me anythin’ you want but don’t ask me that . . . I’ve got a bone to pick with this here shameless person.”

  “Shir Ali, I know this man better than you do, he didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just he’s an ass, he’s no common sense, he’s a donkey . . . it’s because he’s such an ass he did something wrong . . .”

  Then he lectured Dustali, “Dustali, say you’re an ass, say you’ve no basic common
sense . . . well, say it, man!”

  With difficulty, through gritted teeth and in a whining voice, Dustali Khan said, “I’m an ass . . . I’ve no common sense.”

  “Say, ‘I did it because I’m such an ass’.”

  “I did it . . . I did it because . . . because I’m such an ass.”

  Asadollah Mirza laid his hand on Shir Ali’s arm. “You see, Shir Ali . . . now I beg you to forgive him . . . for the sake of your Tahereh, poor thing, whose body’s trembling like a sparrow’s, forgive him . . .”

  Shir Ali had softened. “But just think of it . . . Tahereh’s like your sister . . . if I forgive this shameless thing, you can’t forgive him!”

  “Obviously I won’t forgive him . . . I’ll give him a very hard time indeed . . . but you leave him be for tonight, until I teach him some manners . . . God damn his senseless head!” And saying this Asadollah Mirza hit Dustali, caught as he was in Shir Ali’s embrace, smartly over the head.

  Shir Ali brought his arms down and set Dustali on his feet so forcefully that a sobbing sound came up from his throat. “I’m doin’ this only for you, because you’re a real gent, a gentleman among gentlemen . . . you get someone like yourself what goes and gives money to this lousy dog of a dough-kneader so as he’ll come and withdraw his complaint and I won’t have to go to jail . . . and then you gets one like this shameless gentleman here who, as soon as my house is empty, comes after my missus . . .”

  “Oh, don’t mention it, Mr. Shir Ali . . . you’re like a brother to me, your wife is like my sister, she’s the light of my eyes . . . and you’ll see that I’ll be teaching this Dustali a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry . . .”

  “You’re such a gent. I don’t know how to thank you . . .”

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Surreptitiously staring at Tahereh, Asadollah Mirza said, “Now, Mr. Shir Ali, if you really want to make us all happy, do us the honor of coming to the colonel’s house tonight and having supper with us . . . tonight we’re having a celebration, a party.”