by Isobel Chace
‘He was not a true sufi, though he was something of a mystic,’ Reza answered, unamused by her levity. ‘Wine, love and roses are things in themselves in his works and should be appreciated as such. To the true sufi they are only symbols of a deeper religious experience.’
Maxine giggled again. ‘You sound exactly like Howard!’ she told him. ‘Don’t tell me that you get all broody and peculiar whenever the man’s name is mentioned too?’
‘I don’t know what this broody is!’ Reza replied huffily.
‘Well, you’re giving a pretty good imitation of it,’ Maxine advised him. She turned impatiently to Deborah. ‘Thank goodness the boys back home do something else besides cluck over someone who’s been dead for six hundred years!’
‘You have no one six hundred years old to talk about!’ Reza retorted. ‘It’s as well to be modern, but it’s better to have a glorious history too!’
Maxine faced up to him with determination. ‘We’ve done a fair amount in the last two hundred years,’ she claimed. ‘What have you done?’
Reza stared at her. ‘You do not wish to visit the Hafezieh?’
‘Yes, of course I do!’ Maxine snapped. She smiled suddenly and, looking very pretty in her repentance. ‘I’m sorry, Reza. I can’t help it if I prefer the up-to-date to anything that happened in history.’
Reza smiled too. ‘I, too, prefer the up-to-date,’ he told her. ‘I have had a modern education, like yours, and I prefer the technical to the poetic. We mustn’t disappoint Miss Deborah, though. She has dreams in her eyes that Hafez will turn to reality if she listens to his voice.’
Deborah smiled. ‘I probably won’t understand any of his poetry,’ she said.
‘No?’ Reza’s eyes flashed as he looked at her. ‘But I shall be there to interpret it for you! I shall like that very much!’
The main road of Shiraz cuts through the middle of the long tunnel that is the bazaar. Porters struggle through the traffic, their loads several times their own size weighing them down as they dice with death, weaving their way back and forth, ignoring the wailing horns of the cars and buses as they screech to a standstill a few inches from the indifferent passengers.
Reza went ahead of the two girls, as careless of the traffic as everyone else. Once he had them safely on the other side, he began to step back into the road, shouting at every taxi that passed them by. At last one drew into the curb and he helped the girls into it, crowding them in on top of the two passengers who were already inside. A few coins exchanged hands with the driver and they all made themselves as small as possible to make the brief journey more bearable for the others.
‘The road to perfection,’ Deborah muttered. But the allusion was lost on her companions.
‘At least Howard will be pleased with us for visiting the last resting place of his hero,’ Maxine put in. ‘He only thought it before, but now he’ll be convinced that Deborah is a good influence on me. I’d never have gone, left to myself!’
But she exclaimed over the beautiful garden that surrounded the memorial buildings as much as anyone else. The grass was watered by hand until it was green and vivid against the paved pathways and the freshly turned earth of the flower beds. Then, as if the beds were not large enough, potted petunias were arranged in patterns, thus adding to the blaze of colour that led up the Mausoleum itself. A domed canopy stood on seven pillars over the modern tomb of Shams al-Din Muhammad, better known as Hafez, or ‘He who knows the Koran by heart’. Some verses by the poet were carved into the stone in a handsome cursive script, but which these were, Deborah had no means of knowing. She had eyes only for the old man who sat in the shade of the marble canopy, his gaze turned upwards to the tiled faience that decorated the inside of the dome. He was wearing the traditional Moslem robes and a turban on his head, and she was quite sure that the book in his hands was a copy of the Divan of Hafez.
‘Will he tell our fortunes?’ she asked.
‘It may be so,’ Reza said with proper caution. He spoke to the old man, who looked at the two girls and smiled, saying something himself in return.
‘What does he say?’ Maxine demanded.
‘He says if you choose a passage, he will tell you what it may mean for you. Who will go first?’
‘I shall,’ Maxine said at once. She took the book from the old man and turned over the badly printed pages, getting more excited by the moment. ‘Here!’ she said at last. ‘Whatever this verse says here.’
The old man looked where she was pointing and recited the verse in Persian, his head nodding to the rhythm.
‘He says,’ Reza translated more slowly, ‘that she is able, because of her character and the way she dresses and uses herself, to lay traps for the far-sighted, but she will never capture wisdom for herself. It means,’ he went on even more slowly, ‘that she will have her choice of many men to marry, but the one whom she knows to be the most outstanding will marry elsewhere.’ He laughed, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight. ‘She will not mind very much!’ he teased her.
‘It sounds all right to me,’ Maxine congratulated herself. ‘I wonder what he’ll say about Deborah!’
Deborah took the book with a trembling hand. She felt as though a shadow lay over her, blocking out the light from the sun. She already knew what Hafez had to say to her: ‘and o’er Her head the minstrel of the night shall fling A canopy of rose leaves, score on score’. She had no need to know anything more.
She shut her eyes and pointed blindly at the page, biting her lip as she did so.
‘What does it say?’ Maxine demanded, pressing forward to see the better as if she hoped to read the words for herself.
‘It says,’ Reza translated with a sudden gaiety, ‘that you must not sit alone for one moment without your beloved, for these days are for you the ones of roses, jasmine and celebration. You see how it is, Miss Deborah? You are already known to the man who will possess your heart and it’s too late for you to draw back. Your fate is here and now. It must be the reason why you came to Iran!’
Deborah went white. ‘No, no, it can’t be!’ She pulled herself together with difficulty. ‘I don’t believe in fortune-telling anyway. Besides, I’ve met no one in Iran who would ever want to marry me!’
‘He didn’t say a word about marriage,’ Maxine drawled. ‘Nor did he say anything about the man loving you—only that you’re already in love with him and that, figuratively speaking, you’re sitting at his feet in your heart now. It could be true, if anyone could feel that way about Howard, but nobody could!’
Deborah wasn’t prepared to go quite as far as that. ‘Howard is much nicer than you give him credit for,’ she declared. She spread her hands on the stone tomb. ‘I don’t think I could ever be in love with him, though.’
Reza returned the book to the old man, thanking him briefly for his trouble. When he turned back to the girls, his face was pale and serious. ‘There is another man you know,’ he reminded Deborah. ‘He would like it if you were to get to know him better!’
Maxine frowned. ‘There’s Roger,’ she murmured, ‘but he doesn’t count. He’d never look at someone like Deborah.’ She laughed, delicately touching the corner of her mouth with a single, elegant finger. ‘Besides, he has other interests,’ she added smugly, ‘and the longer he keeps them the better!’
Reza was not interested. ‘We have not thought of the right day for you to visit my mother,’ he reminded them. ‘I have a free day in a week’s time. Would that be suitable for you?’
‘Why not?’ said Maxine.
Deborah hesitated a moment longer. ‘Don’t you think you should check with your mother first?’ she temporised. ‘She may be doing something else.’ Then she caught sight of Reza’s astounded face. ‘You do mean today week, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, a week, today. My mother will be waiting for you—that is, if you wish to come with me? You do wish it. Miss Deborah? There is nothing else you wish to do that day?’
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s very kin
d of your mother to invite us. I’m looking forward to meeting her.’
Reza made a strange gesture with his hand. ‘She and Miss Maxine will have a great deal to talk about together, about America, and other things too. We shall have much time to continue with our Farsi lesson, and for you to see my family home.’
Deborah managed a rather weak smile. ‘I’d like to talk to your mother too,’ she said. ‘There are so many things I want to ask her about the traditional crafts of Persia!’
‘There will be time for everything,’ Reza smiled at her. ‘We have much time. And maybe you will find other things to discuss other than this shop of yours with us both. You need not spend only one day at my home, but a week, or two weeks, if you would like it? My mother will be honoured if you do so.’
Deborah gave him a thoughtful look. ‘I think not—’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Maxine cut across her protest. ‘One day will be enough for all of us! If your mother wants us for longer, she can issue her own invitation! You’re not to make her do what she doesn’t want to, Reza. She may have married your father, but she’s still an American and she’ll have her own ideas as to what she wants to do, and if she hasn’t she jolly well ought to have!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was Howard who raised the first objection to the proposed visit to Reza’s mother.
‘I don’t think you ought to go alone,’ he said diffidently. He didn’t quite look at either girl. His hair fell into his eyes and, although it was still early in the day, he was already sweating profusely. With an effort he brought his mind to bear on the problem. ‘You see—er—it might cause difficulties.’
‘Difficulties?’ Maxine repeated, exasperated. ‘What difficulties?’
Howard’s sweating face coloured to an unattractive red. ‘We have people coming to stay. You know, Maxine. You were there when they said they might come if they could. Well, they are coming.’
Maxine looked at her brother with ill-concealed delight. ‘People,’ she said. ‘What people, for heaven’s sake?’
Howard muttered something about California. ‘I don’t remember his name,’ he added, ‘but you ought to. You went about with him for long enough!’
Maxine was suddenly still, her face more serious than Deborah had ever seen it. ‘Are you talking about David Edgar?’
‘I guess so,’ Howard agreed. ‘Yes, that’s his name all right. I remember now. Well, he’s coming on a visit to look us up.’
Maxine was deathly white. ‘Howard, I know you’re not really on this earth at all, but you might have remembered that I came to Iran with you to get away from David Edgar.’
Howard blinked at her. ‘Sure, I remember that,’ he claimed, not without indignation. ‘But what was I to say? That he couldn’t come and see us while he’s in Shiraz?’
‘No, but you could have thought of something! I won’t see David! I will not! I’ll go and stay with Mrs. Mahdevi until he’s gone!’
‘You can’t do that,’ her brother said flatly. ‘I told him you’d be here. He wants to see your latest work—’
‘I haven’t done any!’
Howard shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’d better tell him that. He isn’t coming to see me and that’s a fact. I didn’t ask him either. We had enough of your friends running wild all over the place back home! They don’t do a hand’s turn themselves and their main object in life seems to be to prevent anyone else from doing any either—’
‘David works hard enough!’
‘It depends what you mean by work!’ Howard snapped. ‘He’s always been contemptuous of anything I might choose to do, but his silly daubs are something different! You asked him here, Maxine, and you can look after him! I won’t have him sitting there and sneering at me on my own. If you go to the Mahdevis, I’ll take myself off somewhere too!’
‘But I didn’t ask him!’ Maxine protested. ‘I didn’t! And where would you go?’
‘I daresay Roger would put me up for a few days,’ Howard said.
Sensing that this would turn into an all too familiar family row, Deborah got silently up from the breakfast table and prepared to slip away to her room, leaving the Reinhardts to have their quarrel in peace. It was the first she had heard of David Edgar, but Howard frequently mentioned the names of the many male friends Maxine had left behind her .in California and Deborah had built up a picture of the other girl’s life at home, the centre of a large circle of admirers, eagerly enjoying everything that came her way.
‘Where are you going?’ Maxine demanded. ‘Debbie, I need your help! Someone has to put David off!’
‘But if he’s already on his way—?’ Deborah began.
‘I won’t see him!’
‘She’s just being silly,’ Howard added, his expression as stubborn as his sister’s. ‘She never liked him much, not until he walked off with my girl! Then, suddenly, she couldn’t bear the sight of him. If that isn’t just like a woman! It wasn’t as though he had done anything to her!’
Deborah was less than convinced of that. ‘Is he bringing his wife with him?’ she asked, hoping that the question wouldn’t raise yet another storm.
Howard’s mouth jerked again. ‘He didn’t marry her,’ he muttered. ‘Said he’d only wanted to paint her in the first place!’
Deborah sat down again. ‘Have you known him long?’ she asked brightly.
‘David?’ Maxine frowned at her. ‘Of course I have! We went through grade school together—and high school. Then he went away to college somewhere in the East, but we still kept in touch. We never had all that much to do with each other. We never went around together, or anything like that, but we knew each other okay. He lived just down the road from us.’
‘And he paints too?’ Deborah prompted her.
Maxine nodded, looking rather white. ‘Not too,’ she said. ‘Better than anyone! If I had an eighth of his talent I’d be a happy woman. I’ve always felt that someone should look after him and see that he has time to work, but everyone puts on him all the time. It’s too bad!’
Howard leered at her. ‘Why shouldn’t he support himself as everyone else has to? He claims to have his share of brains, why doesn’t he use them?’
Maxine bristled angrily. ‘Last time I saw him he was wearing a Phi Beta Kappa key—’
‘He probably stole it, or borrowed it,’ Howard said disparagingly.
‘Only a fool would do that—a fool like you!’ his sister retorted. ‘I guess Roger might belong to a similar British fraternity, but I didn’t ever hear that you graduated well enough—’
Howard turned brick red with fury. ‘I could have done!’
‘What is a Phi Beta Kappa key anyway?’ Deborah interposed hastily.
‘It’s an academic fraternity restricted to those who graduate from university with the highest academic honours,’ Maxine told her, keeping one eye on her brother. ‘The badge is in the shape of a key and is most often worn on the watch-chain. That’s what Howard doesn’t like about David. He’s a genius as an artist and does better in Howard’s field than Howard can do himself and so Howard doesn’t like him. Naturally.’
‘I don’t like to think of him messing with any sister of mine,’ Howard insisted, an edge to his voice. ‘I don’t apologise for not liking him—the parents don’t like him either!’
Maxine sighed. ‘I don’t know that I like him myself,’ she said. ‘Geniuses are kind of hard to like, but his paintings are out of this world I One can’t have everything!’
‘He seems to have a pretty good try at it,’ Howard pointed out. ‘He had Janice running round in circles!’
Maxine’s face contracted into a tight smile. ‘What does he want with us here anyway?’
Howard shrugged. ‘He just said he was coming. Can’t you put off your visit to the Mahdevis until after he’s been? He won’t be staying long!’
‘Okay,’ said Maxine, ‘I’ll-stay. Deborah can go ahead without me. You don’t mind, do you, Debbie?’
Deborah did. ‘I’d ra
ther put it off until we can go together,’ she murmured. ‘If David isn’t staying long—’
Maxine opened her eyes wide. ‘You’ll never make your fortune, honey, unless you make a start soon. Besides, I’d sooner see David on his own. I may think he’s a genius, but that doesn’t mean I approve his attitude to a great many things. I’m no man’s slave!’
Deborah wished her luck, but she still didn’t want to go to the Mahdevis by herself. Nothing could happen to her there, she knew that, but she was uncomfortable at the thought of spending too much time alone with Reza.
Reza was enthusiastic. ‘Miss Maxine can come later,’ he said, his voice light and exultant. ‘We shall be very pleased to see her. But it is better that you should come on your own, kouchuk, and have all my mother’s attention to yourself for a few days. There are so many things she wishes to show you, and Miss Maxine might have prevented her doing so, for she is less interested in our traditional crafts and culture.’
‘I thought it was she who attracted you in the first place,’ Deborah said drily. ‘Honestly, Reza, I’d rather wait until she can come too!’
Reza smiled. ‘We Iranians are more subtle than you allow.’
Deborah looked at him, raising her eyebrows a trifle. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning exactly what you think I mean,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to frighten you that day. Miss Maxine is not easily frightened, I think.’
‘And I am?’
He leaned towards her. ‘Are you?’
Now was the time to take a firm stand, she thought. She didn’t, and she never would, see him in a romantic light, and now was undoubtedly the time to say so.
‘Reza, it’s your mother I’m going to see,’ she began. ‘I don’t want you to get any ideas—’
‘Everything will be just as you wish, Miss Debbie. You don’t have to worry. I’ll look after you. You’ll see.’
