“Hello, detective inspector. I hope that you’ve been successful in your investigations!”
“Silence! Oh, excuse me, you are . . . ? How are you, sir?”
“Thank you very much, officer. You didn’t say how your investigations had turned out . . . although with someone like yourself whose fame has spread everywhere, I don’t think there would be any problems left to clear up. It so happens that only an hour ago I met one of my friends and, as soon as he heard your name, he said there’s no one to touch Deputy Taymur Khan in the whole country! Well, and how did your investigations turn out?”
“Well, the complainant claimed that the murder victim is alive and I . . .”
“Extraordinary! But how could you believe it? Did you see Dustali Khan?”
“No . . . but . . . of course, I should point out that on principle I regard every statement and action with suspicion . . . I have not personally seen the murder victim but he has telephoned the complainant, and I’ve temporarily released the accused.”
“You’ve let the accused go? It’s extraordinary that a person like yourself should . . .”
“Of course, I haven’t completely let him go. With the complainant’s written guarantee I’ve left him to stay for the moment under the complainant’s and my assistant’s observation in the complainant’s house, until tomorrow morning . . . I mean, this was at the insistence of my supervisor, and if it hadn’t been for that, I’d certainly have arrested the accused.”
In this way my father became informed of what was going on and that Asadollah Mirza had been placed under observation in Aziz al-Saltaneh’s house. After the detective had gone my father returned home and, with a thoughtful frown, he paced up and down for a few minutes in the yard. From his footsteps, which became louder from moment to moment, I knew that he was very annoyed and was probably waiting for something.
From my hiding place I heard the outer door open and shut. It was our servant, who came in and immediately went over to my father. As soon as he saw him my father said in an angry voice, which he tried to keep from being too loud, “Idiot! Where have you been from noon till now? I’ve a good mind to brain you . . .”
“That tip you said you’d be kind enough to give me if I found out where Mr. Dustali is . . .”
“What? Really? Quick, tell me. Where is he?”
“I swore I wouldn’t let on to a soul.”
My father flung his hand out, grabbing one of our servant’s big ears, and in a smothered voice said, “Are you going to talk or am I going to twist off this ass’s ear of yours?”
“All right, all right . . . he’s hidden in the doctor’s house.”
“What? Dr. Naser al-Hokama’s house?”
“Yes, sir . . . but Sadiqeh got me to swear I wouldn’t let on to anyone.”
Without paying attention to what the servant was saying, my father said under his breath, “Just look where that bastard’s been found . . . right under everyone’s nose . . . who’d have thought it. Listen, you go immediately to Dr. Naser al-Hokama’s house . . . tell him I’ve got some business with him, say it’s a very urgent matter; got it?”
A few moments later Dr. Naser al-Hokama, wearing his wide striped pajamas, came into our house. My father took him by the arm and together they went into the room with French windows, by the door to the yard. When our servant had gone about his business, I got behind the door to listen; they were in the middle of a conversation.
“. . . agreed, but now how can I get him to leave my house? I can’t say to him . . .”
“Listen, doctor, as far as I can see, the best way to get Dustali Khan to leave your house, so you’ll be free of these headaches I mentioned, is like this. Tell him that everyone thinks he’s been killed, and that the detective from the police suspects Shir Ali the butcher, and that he’s sent someone to arrest Shir Ali. Say that if they arrest Shir Ali they’ll have to tell him that they suspect him because Dustali has had an affair with his wife. As soon as you mention the name of Shir Ali the butcher, you can be sure that Dustali will appear of his own free will . . .”
Poor Dr. Naser al-Hokama was extremely upset. From his worried tone of voice it was clear that my father had painted him a very gloomy picture of the results of keeping Dustali in his house. He left with a worried thoughtful face and my father lay in wait, behind the half-open door to the street, for Dustali Khan to come.
He waited for perhaps half an hour. Suddenly he jumped, shoved his head out of the door, and immediately ran into the street. I was thinking I would go after him, but I had no chance to because Dustali came into the yard with my father following him.
My father got rid of Dr. Naser al-Hokama, who seemed to want to come in after them. “Dr. Naser al-Hokama, sir, you go and have a rest. Thank goodness everything has turned out just fine, doctor.”Then he took Dustali Khan into that same room where he’d previously gone with the doctor.
It was important for me to hear their whole conversation. Although I didn’t know what my father’s plan was, I guessed that things hadn’t turned out as well as my father was claiming.
After spending a few moments scolding Dustali Khan for running away, my father said in a sympathetic voice, “But really, you know, you’re very childish; don’t you realize that a man mustn’t leave his wife and run off just because of one of these little arguments that happens between every husband and wife?”
“I hope I never have a wife again as long as I live; you call that witch a wife?”
In a fatherly tone my father said, “Oh, come on now, how many years have you lived together, sharing in your sorrows and joys, and now you’ve to go on living together . . .”
My father’s tone was so kind that I was ashamed I’d ever doubted his good intentions. He continued in the same tone, “When you’re alone, without anyone, you’ve no one to back you up except her and she has no one except you . . . when all’s said and done she’s your wife . . . your better half . . . your honor . . . you don’t seem to care that when you carry on like this and disappear, there are all sorts of wolves around these days ready to take advantage of your house and home . . .”
Dustali Khan impatiently said, “I wish these wolves would tear her to bits!”
“Well, you say these things, Dustali, but just think for a moment . . . people are really evil . . . people have no humanity or compassion . . . I’m like an older brother to you . . . I want you to understand clearly. If it should turn out, and God forbid it should, that something had happened while you were away . . . that something had occurred . . . you ought to realize that it’s not your poor wife’s fault.”
Dustali Khan pricked up his ears, “I don’t get what you’re talking about . . . what is it that might happen?”
“I don’t want to worry you but these relatives of yours are not the purest of people . . . this man who as they say is the head of the family . . .”
Agitatedly Dustali Khan said, “It’s as if you want to tell me something! What’s happened?”
“You have to swear you didn’t hear it from me!”
“Please, tell me what’s going on, what’s happened?”
“I swear on your life, and by the death of my children, that I’m only telling you this because I want everything to be for the best . . .”
“What’s going on? What’s happened? What are you talking about?”
“When you were hiding . . . they put it about that—God strike me dumb if I tell a lie—something awful had happened to you . . . and then the head of the family told that Asadollah Mirza fellow, the one who’s always flirting and is such a notorious lady-killer, to go and sleep tonight at Mrs. Aziz al-Saltaneh’s so that she shouldn’t be afraid. Of course, Mrs. Aziz al-Saltaneh’s not the kind of person who would enjoy a relationship like that, God forbid, all right, but neighbors’ tongues . . .”
Dustali Khan was sil
ent for a moment, and then in a voice trembling with rage, he said, “That fellow has gone in my house tonight, with my wife?”
“Don’t upset yourself . . . he’s not the kind of person to . . .”
“He’s not the kind of person to what? I’m afraid to be in the same room as that thief of everyone’s honor myself. I’ll kill that fellow . . . I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
My father sat Dustali Khan down on a chair, so that he could finish talking to him.
For a moment I stood frozen to the spot, dumbfounded. This was really terrible. In his enmity toward Dear Uncle and his family my father would stop at nothing. In a flash I decided to run as fast as I could to Dustali Khan’s house.
I pounded on the door with all my strength. After a few moments Aziz al-Saltaneh herself opened the door. I threw myself into the yard and shut the door behind me. Aziz al-Saltaneh was wearing a lace nightdress and Asadollah Mirza had stuck his head out of an upstairs window to see who had come.
I quickly ran upstairs and Aziz al-Saltaneh ran after me shouting, “What do you want? What’s happened? What’s going on?”
When I got to Asadollah Mirza I panted out, “Uncle Asadollah, get out of here quickly, my father’s found Dustali Khan and has told him you’re sleeping here with his wife.”
Asadollah Mirza looked at me thunderstruck for a moment, and then ran toward the chair where he’d put his jacket and bow tie. While he was putting his jacket on, he said, “Moment, really moment . . . now I have to answer to that idiot!”
Aziz al-Saltaneh took him by the arm, “I’ll answer to him. Don’t be afraid!”
Agitatedly I said, “Please, let him run away. Dustali Khan’s eyes were like two bowls of blood . . . where’s the detective’s assistant? If he comes, tell him to stop him.”
“I sent him to buy some things at the end of the road.”
Asadollah Mirza was hurriedly knotting his bow tie. “God bless you and keep you, my dear . . . God willing, I’ll come and see you another time.” At this moment there was suddenly the noise of banging on the door.
“God strike me dead, he’s come!”
Aziz al-Saltaneh said this and looked wildly round. Asadollah Mirza was also distractedly looking for somewhere to hide. A thought occurred to me. I said, “How about if you ran away over the roof?”
“Yes, Asadollah, run.”
Asadollah Mirza ran toward the stairs to the roof, holding in his hand one of his shoes that had a knot in its lace, and I went with him. Aziz al-Saltaneh locked the door to the roof behind us and then went toward the outer door, where the noise of the banging hadn’t stopped for a moment.
A little later we heard the sound of Dustali Khan shouting furiously in the yard, “Where is the shameless bastard . . . where is he, that thief of everyone’s honor?”
Very quietly Asadollah Mirza said, “What a hoarse voice he’s got. But I owe you one for having saved me from this wild bear. May you live to a ripe old age, lad!”
The sounds of Dustali’s and Aziz al-Saltaneh’s shouts and screams could be heard mingling and clashing with one another. Aziz al-Saltaneh swore on the soul of her dead grandfather that such a thing was a complete lie and Dustali Khan searched one room after another, roaring as he went. At this moment the sound of someone banging on the outer door started up. Aziz al-Saltaneh insisted they shouldn’t open the door and said it was certainly some guest who’d turned up at the wrong time and would stop them from sleeping, but Dustali Khan, still in a fury, opened the door and came face to face with Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi.
“Ma’am, they didn’t have any of the wine you wanted . . . I bought this . . . so, let’s see, where’s Asadollah Khan? Well? Where is he? Where’s he gone? Quick, now, answer!”
Asadollah Mirza, who had been stretched out at the edge of the roof listening, said under his breath, “Saints alive . . . let’s get out of here, the cat’s out of the bag.”
While the voices of Dustali Khan and Aziz al-Saltaneh and Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi mingled and clashed, we doubled over and took to our heels across the rooftops. We’d got clear across the roof of one house when we heard a racket on the stairs leading to the roof in Dustali Khan’s house. Dustali Khan was yelling, “The key . . . what have you done with the key?”
We quickly got across one or two more roofs. But we’d reached a dead end, because to get to the next house we’d have had to cross over a narrow wall. We were scrambling about in the dark looking for a way to escape when suddenly a gruff voice stopped us in our tracks, “You bastard, come here thievin’, have you?”
I turned round; a monstrous silhouette had grabbed Asadollah Mirza from behind and lifted him off the ground and, before he could protest, had dragged him over to the stairs up to the roof we were on.
I ran after the silhouette that had lifted Asadollah Mirza up and dragged him off. When everyone’s face was lit up by the lamps in the yard I recognized Shir Ali the butcher, and Shir Ali recognized Asadollah Mirza.
He gently put him down and said, “I’m really sorry, Mr. Asadollah Mirza, sir . . . I didn’t recognize you . . . but what was you doin’ on the roof?”
Asadollah Mirza still hadn’t shaken off his terror at being suddenly attacked in this way; he said, “You frightened me, Mr. Shir Ali Khan . . .”
“Shame on me, sir . . . I’m at your service, sir . . . I never forget your kindness to me, sir . . . but what was you doin’ up there?”
“Don’t ask, Shir Ali, don’t ask . . . people are so bad, so evil. That Dustali had invited me to his house to get revenge for that argument about property we’d had. I went to his house, the shameless so-and-so wasn’t there himself, I sat down to chat with Mrs. Aziz al-Saltaneh and all of a sudden he bursts in to accuse me of acting in a dishonorable fashion . . .”
“You don’t say so, sir? Spit on him for a shameless bastard.”
“Think of it, a man who’s ready to impugn his own honor just so he can annoy people.”
Shir Ali picked up a long knife that was lying next to the garden pool and in a terrifying voice said, “You give the word and I’ll spill his guts!”
“Moment, moment, I beg you not to do anything you might regret later. I’ll hide somewhere tonight, till tomorrow, and by then this shameless fellow will have calmed down.”
“You’ll do me the honor of stoppin’ here tonight . . . your humble servant, sir, I’ll fix you up a place in the cellar . . . don’t give it a second thought. An accusation like that, and against someone like you! I’d put the honor of my sister, my mother and the whole house in your hands . . .”
“My dear Shir Ali . . . you’re a real brother to me . . .”
And then he turned to me, “Now lad, you be off home . . . you have no idea where I am.”
And immediately he said to Shir Ali, “If it weren’t for this young fellow, that shameless wretch would have really done for me tonight. Just think of it, is it conceivable a man like me would be involved in a relationship like that? And then with that witch of a wife he’s got?”
“God forbid, Mr. Asadollah Mirza . . .”
And he laughed and added, “It’s not like you and it’s not like that Mrs. Aziz lady neither, who’s old enough to be your mother, God save her. A woman’s got to look out for her own reputation. You’re just like my own brother. My missus is young enough to be Mrs. Aziz’s granddaughter . . . the nail of her little finger’s worth a hundred Mrs. Azizes. Have you caught sight of her in the street or down at the bazaar?”
“Good heavens, no, God save the mark, why are you comparing your wife with that witch? God forbid! God forbid!”
“A young woman, sir, well . . . whatever happens, the young men are bound to be flockin’ around her, but first, my missus never goes out the house, and second, every mornin’ when I leaves the house, I leaves her in God’s hands, then I goes off to work with an
easy mind. I don’t make eyes at nobody else’s better half and God keeps my better half safe.”
“Wonderful, wonderful . . . this is la mieux garantie. Well done! Leave her in God’s hands and then rest assured all is well!”
Shir Ali went to fetch some bedclothes from upstairs, to make up a bed for his unexpected guest. I was about to leave, when just at that moment I became aware of a twinkle in Asadollah Mirza’s eye. When I looked in the direction he was looking I saw in the dimly lit porchway the beautiful glittering eyes of Tahereh, Shir Ali’s wife; she was watching the scene with a winsome smile, peeping out from behind the veil she wore for prayers.
I said, “Goodbye. You don’t want me to bring you anything, Uncle Asadollah?”
Without taking his eyes off Tahereh’s beautiful face, Asadollah said, “No lad, there’s everything here, you go and sleep, but don’t forget, you don’t know where I am. Especially don’t tell that witch that I’m here . . .”
And as his greedy eyes were wandering over the body of Shir Ali’s wife, he added, “God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform . . . Don’t you forget, if any time you need something done or you’re in some difficulty, you tell your uncle. You’ve really done me a very good turn tonight. I hope you live to a ripe old age!”
At this moment Shir Ali, with a huge bundle of bedclothes and rugs under his arm, came down from upstairs and stepped into the yard. I went toward the outer door. Before I left I glanced at Asadollah Mirza. With smiling eyes he was staring at Tahereh’s breasts and saying, “They’ll kill me in the end . . . oh, I wish they they’d kill me soon and get it over with! Oh, let them kill me soon!”
Shir Ali’s gruff voice could be heard, “Over my dead body they’ll be killin’ you . . . anyone looks at the door to this house, your humble servant here’ll cleave him down the middle. I’m not called Shir Ali for nothin’; up till now I’ve cleaved two of ’em in two, and this’ll be one more!”
My Uncle Napoleon Page 19