Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,169

The scribe sputtered, “What is the rush? Has your mother come back from the grave?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I replied.

Outside, the day was sunny, the sky like a turquoise bowl. I hurried down the Promenade of the Royal Stallions toward the Friday mosque. The white swirls on the dome seemed to spin, as if it might lift off to partner with the swirls of cloud. I felt my heart surge at the sight. At long last, my sister might be here! Would she have a face like the moon? How would I even recognize her?

As I passed the mosque and walked toward Caravanserai Kamal, I came upon the entrance to the cemetery where our father was buried. Someday, when Jalileh was established, I would bring her to see our father’s grave. We would sprinkle it with rose water together, and we would pray in the spiritual presence of our father, hoping he could see and hear us from the place where all souls await the Day of Judgment. Although Jalileh probably didn’t even remember him, I hoped she would be eager to come. I wanted to tell her the story of our father’s bravery and of the politics that cost him his life. I would make her understand that he had risked everything because he believed in the possibility of a perfect world. How satisfied I would feel when I told her that his soul had been avenged! Of course, I would not relate my part in it, to avoid putting her at risk.

In the distance, I saw the narrow wooden gate that marked the entrance to the caravanserai, which had high walls so that travelers would feel embraced and safe at night. As I approached, a hot breeze surged off the street and lifted my robe all of a sudden, making me aware of the place where my parts used to swing. They had been gone now for almost half my life. I thought wryly of the nickname mothers used for their baby boys: “Ah, my little penis of gold!”

How horrified my mother would have been to learn of my fate. Would Jalileh understand why I had acted as I had? As soon as she saw me enter the harem, she would know I had been unmanned. Would she love me anyway? Or would she merely pretend to care for me because she needed me so badly? Would our reunion be filled with disappointment, like Pari’s with Isma‘il? My stomach dropped away.

Inside the caravanserai, the large open courtyard pulsed with activity. Men unloaded their animals, women helped their toddlers descend from camels, and older children fetched water for younger ones. As the loads were removed, the animals were led away and fed, while the caravanserai’s owner accompanied his guests to their rooms, followed by a porter who offered his strong back. I searched the crowd for a face that was like my mother’s, scrutinizing each person one by one as the crowd diminished.

Too dark, that one. Hair too curly. Face too round. Too old. Wearing a Christian cross. That one lacked an arm, poor thing. The crowd began to thin even further as the travelers were shown to their rooms. Had Jalileh joined a different caravan? I went in search of the caravan’s leader, an older fellow with a long drooping mustache.

All of a sudden I heard my name in a voice that sounded ragged with relief. “Payam! Payam!” I turned around to find her, but before I could identify her, I felt two thin arms around me and a head buried in my bicep. Was it her? How had she recognized me? Her body was trembling as she murmured a prayer of thanksgiving. My heart quickened and I could not see anything for a moment, just the top of her faded blue headscarf and the wisps of black hair escaping the fabric at her temples. The noon call to prayer came from a nearby mosque, and as its sweetness filled the air, she continued reciting her thanks.

Finally, the young woman drew away from me and lifted her face. I took a step back in surprise. How strange was my first glimpse of her! It was like seeing myself reflected in a mirror, except that she was a girl half my age. She had my mother’s rich, honey-colored eyes, fringed with dark black lashes and eyebrows, and from what I could see of it, my father’s looping black hair. She was small like my mother, yet the energy