Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,49

sheets of gold.

When the ceremony was almost finished, I slipped away, walked through the checkpoints, and entered the harem. The women had sworn their oath to Isma‘il earlier in the day, and now they were taking turns watching the ceremony from screened areas on the top floor of Isma‘il’s new residence. He had spared no expense in appointing the building. The large guest room where the women had gathered was filled with the sweet aroma of jasmine and the soothing burbling of a fountain that wafted up from the floor below, which was open to the air. I slipped off my shoes; the carpets were made of such thick silk that they seemed to caress the soles of my feet. A wall decorated with battle shields caught my eye. One was made of lacquered black leather with a central medallion of gold, pale turquoise, and pearls; another boasted open silver metalwork with a spray of emeralds, like drops of dew caught in a spiderweb.

The ladies had attired themselves in robes the felicitous colors of a sunrise and laid chains of gems against their foreheads or under their chins. How beautiful they were, from the golden-haired women of the Caucasus to those from the south whose curls glistened as black as naphtha! They kept their eyes on the coronation scene below, and the room buzzed with excitement when the elephant moved into view.

“Look at his jewelry.”

“If you had half as much, you would be rich!”

The elephant let loose a steaming pile of dung, and shouts of laughter erupted throughout the room. It had been months since anyone had felt free to celebrate, and the excitement seemed almost hysterical.

Although Pari had told me she would be there, she had already left. I pretended that she had instructed me to wait for her, so that I could watch the other women.

Sultanam sat near Khadijeh, her new daughter-in-law, and held her hand on her day of motherly triumph. Sultanam seemed to have expanded in width so that everyone in the room appeared insubstantial beside her. Khadijeh, who was seated on a cushion at her right, looked as ripe as a peach. I couldn’t deny that her marriage agreed with her. When she saw me, her lips curved into a tender smile.

I had never before seen Khayr al-Nisa Beygom, Mohammad Khodabandeh’s wife, who lived with him in Shiraz. She had small, stern features except for her mouth, which was so large that it seemed to overpower her whole face. As she watched the ceremony, she kept adjusting her legs on her cushion as if she couldn’t get comfortable.

“How my head aches!” she complained, her voice loud and high-pitched.

Sultanam offered her rose water, herbs, and cool compresses, but Khayr al-Nisa rejected all of them.

“Look!” said Khadijeh. “He is arising to take his leave.” Through the latticed windows, I saw Isma‘il mount his horse and canter in our direction, while all the men bowed low.

Sultanam leaned toward Khadijeh like a conspirator. “So now it is official. After nearly forty years of waiting, the bird of hope has stirred in the ashes of my heart and taken flight! How sweet the beat of its wings! How my heart soars!”

Khayr al-Nisa’s lips turned down, but she kept her eyes carefully averted from Sultanam’s. If not for her husband’s blindness, she would have been queen of all Iran.

Sultanam didn’t seem to care how she felt. She put a hand lightly against Khadijeh’s flat belly. “Is it too much to ask that I should also be grandmother to the next shah? May God forgive me for entertaining this hope on a day when my other hopes have been realized—but may he also look kindly on my desire.”

Khayr al-Nisa’s torso twitched as if she had been struck. At that moment, a maid offered her saffron rice pudding on a silver tray. She reached out her hand as if to accept, but then, with an almost imperceptible flick of the wrist, she sent several bowls flying to the floor. They landed with a great crash on the carpet, the embroidered pillows, and on her, the sticky pudding clinging in great white clumps.

“Forgive me!” wailed the maid, her face twisted with fear. Khayr al-Nisa glared at her. Servants rushed to clean the spill.

“Ah, ah! How clumsy you are. I must go change.”

“Yes, I suppose you must.” Sultanam dismissed Khayr al-Nisa from the room with a condescending look.

“What a spoiled child!” she said to Khadijeh after Khayr al-Nisa had left. “It is lucky for the

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