Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,36
turban, conveying the profound oneness of the man and bird. Any human would be lucky to be loved as much.
“It is fit for a shah!” Maryam said.
“Yes, but too bright for the first meeting with my brother,” Pari replied. “I am still in mourning.”
Azar pulled out another garment, this one with a repeated pattern of bright orange poppies and a delicate young doe. Gold-wrapped thread made the garment glow as if infused with sunlight.
“Bah, bah, that one is lovely,” Maryam said, her honey-colored eyes sparkling. Maryam was one of dozens of pretty village girls who had been brought to court to serve Tahmasb Shah, but who ended up becoming companions to the royal women if he showed no interest in bedding them. Her family had probably gotten a little money or a goat in exchange.
Pari took the robe from Azar and laid it against Maryam’s body, spreading out the wide sleeves so that they covered her arms. Her golden hair flowed over the robe as if there were no separation between the two.
“The little doe with the pretty face reminds me of you,” Pari said teasingly. “You may take that one.”
Maryam’s eyes widened with disbelief. Her everyday attire was lovely, but nothing could match the fineness of the robes made for the princess. She wrapped her arms protectively around the robe and stroked one of its sleeves with the tip of her fingers. “It is softer than skin!” she said, and Pari smiled.
“I need a robe in a much darker color,” Pari told Azar, who plunged her hands obediently into the trunk, though her mouth looked bitter. After some time, she pulled out a brown silk taffeta robe, whose surface seemed to shimmer. Pari caressed the robe with satisfaction.
“Touch this one,” she said to Maryam, who leaned forward to feel it.
“Who wove it?” she asked.
“The head of the taffeta weavers’ guild, the master Borzoo.”
Even the Venetians declared his silks to be finer than any produced in their own city. I held the robe gently. It was light enough to fold up into a package the size of my hands, yet as sumptuous to behold as velvet. A delicate pattern of gold brocade peonies seemed to tremble on its surface as if in a light breeze. White roses paraded on its pale orange borders, which were edged with stripes of brown, orange, and blue.
Maryam urged her to try it on, and Azar slipped the robe over Pari’s outstretched arms. It fit tightly at her bodice and tapered to meet her narrow waist, then flared out pleasingly over her legs. The delicate brown made her black hair look darker than usual, while her cheeks blazed with color.
“You are magisterial,” said Maryam.
I stared at Pari and had the strange feeling that I was looking at the late Shah. “You are the very image of your father,” I blurted out. To some women, that would not have been a compliment, but Pari’s smile was immediate.
“Now I need help choosing the garments to go with it. Maryam, you have the best eye for this.”
Maryam bent over another trunk and assembled a pale blue tunic, beige trousers with bands of flowered embroidery at the ankles, a silk sash with bands of orange, beige, and gold, and a chain of dark rubies and pearls for Pari to wear on her forehead. Meanwhile, Pari directed Azar to put away the other garments, which she folded and stored away as tenderly as if they were precious gems. Then Pari called for tea and sweetmeats and for her box of earrings. Massoud Ali brought in a brass platter with small chickpea cookies shaped like clovers and round walnut cookies that made me think longingly of Khadijeh.
Maryam spooned a surprising amount of sugar into her tea. Only a member of the court could be profligate with something so costly.
“Your brother will be pleased to see you in such finery,” she said.
“I hope he will recognize me. I was a child of eight when he was sent away.”
Pari watched Maryam peruse her earrings, her eyes lighting with pleasure when she came upon an especially beautiful pair. Maryam looked up to find us staring at her, and a smile played at her lips.
“What do you remember of him?”
The princess put down her steaming glass of tea. “He was always in good spirits, his big laugh booming from one end of the courtyard to the other. My heart would leap at the thought of seeing him.”