replied, but I caught a trace of pity in her tone.
The eunuch on duty was still asleep, even though the birds had already started singing. When I was a good distance away and concealed by trees, I threw a handful of stones in his direction to wake him up. He would be punished if discovered snoring when he was supposed to be protecting the ladies—including the slave soon to be favored by the shah. But I had thrown the stones much harder than I intended, and they struck his calf and foot. He uttered a loud curse and leapt up to regain his post. I sped away. A sharp gust of wind rushed through the gardens, concealing the sound of my steps and moaning as it stripped the trees of their leaves.
Back in my room, I fell asleep for another hour. I dreamed that my penis was so erect that it hurt like a wound. All I wanted was to plunge myself into a woman to relieve the ache. Dark-eyed Fereshteh appeared like a savior in my dreams, seeking out my penis with her soft hands, making it even larger and more racked by pain. Tormented, I crawled on top of her and slid in. Just at the moment when I was about to find release, Fereshteh’s eyes filled with disappointment.
“What are you?” she asked accusingly. My penis shrank.
I woke up, sweating all over. Seeking out my parts with my hands, I encountered a sickening void and wrapped my arms around my chest to keep from groaning out loud.
The next day was Friday. Pari sent Massoud Ali to me with a message that I was at leisure until the following morning, when she planned to hold the usual daily meeting with the nobles. Thus liberated for the first time in weeks, I went to the Friday mosque outside the palace to say my prayers. The mosque was located at the end of the Promenade of the Royal Stallions and had been founded during the reign of Harun al-Rashid. Its turquoise dome was lightened by white swirls of tile that made it look as if it were whirling into the heavens.
Later that day, I took Massoud Ali to town with Balamani and a few of the other eunuchs, and we bought fresh skewers of lamb kabob in the bazaar. We walked to a stream not far from the palace and cooked the lamb over a hot fire, and then we ate the charred meat with bread and drank tea with dates.
As the stars began to come out, all of us took turns telling stories, and Massoud Ali asked if he could tell one to me.
“My youthful Ferdowsi, please go ahead!”
Massoud Ali tucked a curl into his turban, which he had just learned to wrap correctly, and whispered a story in my ear until his eyes grew heavy and he wished to be cuddled as if he were a small child. I took him back to the palace so he could get a good night’s sleep, while the rest of the eunuchs went to a tavern, where they could eat opium until they felt completely at home with themselves.
By the time I rejoined them, the tavern was full of men talking and laughing. Balamani had stretched out on a cushion and was sharing a jug of spirits with Mateen Agha, another eunuch.
“Did you tuck him in?” Balamani asked.
“First I had to wipe away his tears.”
He sat up abruptly. “What is the matter?”
“He told me a long story about a boy enslaved by a jinni. The jinni kills his father, marries off his mother, and makes the boy do his dirty work.”
Balamani looked puzzled.
“Massoud Ali’s mother remarried when he was six and abandoned him at court. The jinni is the only way he can explain it.”
“Poor creature! What kind of mother would do that?”
Balamani passed the jug of spirits to Mateen, who refilled both of their cups.
“As soon as I retire,” Balamani added, “I am going to marry a widow with a couple of boys just like Massoud Ali. Praise be to God, I will have a family of my own.”
“Get out of here, papa!” scoffed Mateen. “What is going to stop your widow from craving a tent pole?”
Balamani laughed uncomfortably; he had never experienced sexual desire. “I suppose Javaher can tell me how to . . .”
His words trailed off abruptly when he looked at me. I drank some bang, and then I drank a lot more. There came a happy moment