My Uncle Napoleon

by Iraj Pezeshkzad

  NINE

  I COVERED THE DISTANCE between Shir Ali’s house and our garden quietly and with no problem. The door to the house was ajar; softly I went in. Suddenly I found myself face to face with my father, who had apparently been lying in wait behind the door.

  “And where have you been?”

  “I’ve been to aunty’s house.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have stayed so long . . . go quickly and eat your supper and get to bed.”

  “Aren’t you coming to eat supper?”

  “No, I’ve got something to do; off you go.”

  I realized he was desperately waiting to find out the results of the plot he’d hatched. I ate supper with my mother and sister and went to my room, but I had no hopes that the business of that eventful day was over yet.

  Although I was sure of how Asadollah Mirza’s circumstances stood in Shir Ali’s house, there were still many things I didn’t know. I didn’t know what had happened in Dustali Khan’s house, I didn’t know what was going on in Dear Uncle Napoleon’s house, and, more important than everything else, I didn’t know what new plot my father was brooding about. I was really tired. I went over to the mosquito net to sleep, but with the anxiety and curiosity I felt, I wasn’t very hopeful I’d be able to sleep, especially since my father was standing guard at the door to the yard. But as soon as I set foot inside the net I had no opportunity to think further since I was so exhausted I immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  When I awoke in the morning, silence and profound peace reigned over the house. I was really eager to know what had happened while I slept. I went into the garden to see Mash Qasem but there was no sign of him. I opened the garden door to see if I might catch sight of him in the alleyway. I suddenly became aware of Aziz al-Saltaneh who was hurrying toward the garden. I went to welcome her. As soon as she saw me she said, “What luck to see you, my dear. I was coming to find you, to ask where Asadollah’s gone.”

  “Well, Mrs. Aziz, we went over the rooftops until we got close to the canal, and there I jumped down from a little wall into the street and then Asadollah Mirza went on his way.”

  “He jumped down from a wall? Good heavens, what things that Asadollah gets up to! Didn’t you see where he went?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he went to his house.”

  “No, he didn’t go home last night. I’m really worried. That fool Dustali’s been imagining such stuff, he’s sworn he’ll kill poor Asadollah. Not that he’s got it in him to manage it, but you never know . . . I wanted to say to you if Dustali asks you anything, don’t breathe a word.”

  “No, Mrs. Aziz, you needn’t worry about that. I haven’t seen a thing . . . by the way, what did you do with the detective’s assistant?”

  “Nothing, I threw him out in the street and shut the door on him. After Dustali’d been found, he’d no business staying in our house. Now I’ll go and drop by Asadollah’s house again and, if he’s there, I’ll tell him to steer clear of this area for today. He shouldn’t go to his office either because that idiot Dustali might do something crazy. Anyway, remember, if Dustali asks anything, don’t breathe a word!”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh hurriedly went on her way and I returned to the garden. Mash Qasem was busying himself seeing to the flowers.

  It was from him I heard what had happened after I’d fallen asleep. Dustali Khan had gone to Dear Uncle’s house with a shotgun and searched through all the rooms looking for Asadollah Mirza. Dear Uncle had become so angry that he had slapped him but Dustali had sworn that he wouldn’t be content until he had emptied the shot in his gun into Asadollah Mirza’s belly.

  To make sure that Mash Qasem knew nothing of where Asadollah Mirza was hiding, I asked him, “Mash Qasem, where’s Asadollah Mirza now?”

  “Well, m’dear, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . four fingers. This mornin’ at the crack of dawn the Master sent me to his house, but he hadn’t been there all night; Shamsali Mirza’s really worried, he should turn up here any minute . . .”

  “So what’s happened to Asadollah Mirza?”

  “Well, m’dear, it’s like he’s turned to smoke and gone up to heaven . . . or he’s so afraid of that Mr. Dustali he’s hidden himself someplace . . .”

  “So now we’ve another to-do to find Asadollah Mirza.”

  “Too right, m’dear. Your dad’s good at stirrin’ things up and no mistake. Last night, middle of the night, he dragged that Ghiasabadi guy into his house, I heard him, he was tellin’ him Dustali had killed Asadollah Mirza. It was lucky I heard and I told that feller—he’s from my town, you know—that they’re all against one another and they want to stir things up. If it hadn’t been for me that deputy’d ’ve been here again today shovin’ his nose in.”

  “Well, God bless you, Mash Qasem.”

  After hesitating a few moments and turning one color after another, I managed to ask Mash Qasem if he would tell Layli to come into the garden for a minute. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to her but I was extremely anxious to see her. I really missed her. Things had been happening so fast, one after another, that I hadn’t even had time to think of Layli, but for all that I was desperately in love and had to see my beloved.

  Mash Qasem nodded his head and said with a smile, “Eh m’dear, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve fallen for Miss Layli?”

  However violently and insistently I protested, Mash Qasem had seen from the color of my face what was there to be seen. In a kind voice he said, “All right, m’dear, I was just talkin’, there’s nothin’ wrong with it . . .”

  When Layli came into the garden Mash Qasem said close to my ear, “I’ll be by the door to the inner apartments. If the Master turns up, I’ll cough and you take to your heels, m’dear.”

  It looked as though Mash Qasem was fully aware of my secret, but the warm look in Layli’s eyes swept from my heart any horror of its becoming public. And then hadn’t I myself thought of telling my secret to Mash Qasem?

  “Hello, Layli.”

  “Hello. You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes . . . I mean no . . . I missed you.”

  “Why?”

  Layli’s caressing look seemed to want to plunge into my throat, and to drag up from the depths of my larynx the things I didn’t dare say to her. And for my part I was really determined to tell her of my love but I couldn’t find the words. The lovers’ sentences I’d read in books flashed through my brain: “I’m in love with you,” “I’ve fallen in love with you,” “I love you.” Finally, as I felt my face burning bright red, I blurted out, “Layli, I’m in love with you.”

  And then, like lightning, like the wind, I fled so fast toward our house that in one short moment I found myself in my room.

  O God, why had I run away? Why hadn’t I waited to see her reaction? I didn’t understand it myself. I went over what I could remember; I hadn’t read or heard anywhere of a lover running away as soon as he had declared his love.

  After severely reproaching myself and with considerable hesitation and internal debate I once again decided that the best thing for me to do was to finish my love letter and hand it to Layli.

  Again I wrote it out several times and tore it up. I don’t know how many hours had gone by when I heard a racket coming from the garden. Almost all my aunts and uncles were gathered in the area near the sweetbrier arbor. Shamsali Mirza was there, too. When I saw my mother in the midst of the group I hurriedly made my way there. From odd scraps of conversation I learned that uncle colonel had taken upon himself the responsibility of leading a concerted action by the family, and under his leadership the family members had decided to go in a body to Dear Uncle Napoleon and to stay there until the family quarrels were all settled. But their resolve had been somewhat distracted by the subject of Asadollah Mirza’s disappearance. I went after them
to Dear Uncle Napoleon’s house.

  Uncle colonel was in the middle of a rousing speech when he was interrupted by Dear Uncle Napoleon shouting, “Couldn’t you find someone smaller than me to pick on? Why don’t you go to that filthy fellow’s house and make a fuss there? Don’t you ever consider what new evil plots he’s thinking up now? Haven’t you realized that this swine found Dustali and sent him home just to create trouble? Aren’t you aware that poor Asadollah has hidden himself away from last night until now, out of fear of Dustali?”

  Dear Uncle Napoleon had such a blazing red face and shouted in such tremulous tones that no one dared open their mouths.

  Only when Shamsali Mirza began to put forward his notions about Asadollah Mirza’s disappearance did a general commotion start among those present. Everyone realized that Asadollah Mirza had run away from Dustali Khan’s house because of Dustali’s arrival there, but, with an eye to her husband, Aziz al-Saltaneh said that Asadollah Mirza had left the house before Dustali’s arrival there, and she mentioned nothing about his escaping by way of the roof.

  In a calmer voice Dear Uncle Napoleon said, “Last night that filthy fellow wanted to phone the detective’s assistant and say Dustali had killed Asadollah Mirza; instead of all coming and giving me an ultimatum and protesting here, go and get hold of Asadollah.”

  Dear Uncle was silent for a few moments, then with a gloomy face he said to Mash Qasem, “Say whatever you know . . . ladies and gentleman, pay attention and then you’ll see what difficulties I have to put up with . . . Qasem, tell them about this Asadollah business!”

  Mash Qasem scratched his head and said, “Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . I was in the covered bazaar, that baker’s boy was sayin’ that in the mornin’ when he took bread to Shir Ali the butcher’s house, he saw through the crack in the door that Asadollah Mirza was there . . .”

  “What?”

  “How?”

  “Really?” Each person’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. Then a general hullabaloo ensued. Everyone started denouncing Asadollah Mirza and the air was full of words like “idiot,” “shameless,” “brazen,” “outrageous,” and so forth.

  Finally uncle colonel shouted, “Silence, everyone! Let me understand what you’re saying. This baker’s boy’s sure he hasn’t made a mistake? Didn’t you go and see if he was telling the truth or not?”

  Mash Qasem nodded his head and said, “God help me, sir, I went to the door of Shir Ali’s shop to ask if it was true or not. As soon as the bastard heard the name Asadollah Mirza he gave such a roar as you’d think it was a buffalo roarin’ . . . ‘who told you,’ he says . . . then he comes after me with his cleaver and I was that scared I said ‘the baker’s boy’ and I got out of there as fast my legs’d carry me, like I’d borrowed an extra pair . . .”

  “And now he’s certainly gone after the baker’s boy, the poor devil!”

  “No, after that I saw the baker’s boy in a street around here and I says to him not to show himself near Shir Ali’s shop.”

  With a frown on his face uncle colonel said, “Sir, think of something! I’ll have to send someone to this idiot to tell him to get out of Shir Ali’s house. This imbecile Asadollah is destroying the centuries-old reputation of our family! Have you considered that? For a respectable person from a good family to go to this butcher’s house . . .”

  At this moment Dustali Khan arrived as well. Outwardly he seemed to have calmed down somewhat and it was clear he’d come there at uncle colonel’s invitation to be part of the deputation and that he was no longer burning for revenge, but as soon as he heard about Asadollah Mirza hiding in Shir Ali’s house, he became violently upset and started cursing not only him but every wellborn loafer. Finally, his voice barely emerging from his throat with rage, he said, “I . . . I’m not a man if I don’t kill that man . . . that shameless . . . that destroyer of people’s honor . . .”

  Dear Uncle Napoleon interrupted, “Enough, sir! Nothing’s happened to your honor, has it, for you to get so upset about Shir Ali’s?”

  “For the reputation of our family . . . for the reputation of the place where we live . . . think of it: a man from our family in Shir Ali’s house, someone from the flower of this country’s aristocracy in Shir Ali’s house . . . with a young woman. If I’d found him last night he wouldn’t have been able to perpetrate this new outrage . . . the snake must be killed, otherwise it’ll bite! The shameless degenerate!”

  The only person who had more or less retained his self control was Dear Uncle Napoleon; the rest of them, the women as well as the men, were furious and screaming and shouting that Asadollah must at all costs be persuaded to leave Shir Ali’s house.

  Finally, after explaining Napoleon’s tactics under similar circumstances, Dear Uncle Napoleon suggested that a party go and talk to Asadollah Mirza and allay his fears and convince him by all means possible to leave his sanctuary. Uncle colonel and Shamsali Mirza volunteered to be members of the party. But Dear Uncle Napoleon said in an imperious voice, “No, you can stand aside, I shall go myself.”

  Voices were raised in protest, “It’s not right for you to go, sir . . . it’s beneath your dignity to go to Shir Ali’s house.”

  Dear Uncle cut them off, “It so happens that it’s exactly right. Because someone who is impartial and unbiased should go.”

  Uncle colonel wanted to protest but Dear Uncle Napoleon said in a curt voice, “I said someone who is impartial and unbiased should go.”

  And he particularly emphasized “impartial and unbiased.” Then he adjusted his cloak over his shoulders, “Come on, Qasem, come and show me where Shir Ali’s house is . . . hurry up, I have to talk to that silly fool before Shir Ali returns home.”

  I set off like a shadow after Dear Uncle and Mash Qasem. Dear Uncle strode toward Shir Ali’s house. It was obvious he didn’t want to attract the neighbors’ attention.

  They knocked at the door once or twice and then the delicate voice of Tahereh, Shir Ali’s wife, could be heard from behind the thick door, “Who is it?”

  “Is this Mr. Shir Ali’s house?”

  “He’s not in. He’s gone to the shop.”

  Dear Uncle brought his head close to the door; while trying not to raise his voice too much he said, “Ma’am, would you please tell Asadollah Mirza to come to the door.”

  “Who? We haven’t anyone like that here.”

  “Ma’am, please listen to me. We know Asadollah is there. It’s a matter of vital importance . . . if he doesn’t come he’ll be sorry . . . it’s a matter of life and death . . .”

  After a moment’s silence Asadollah Mirza’s voice came from behind the door, “You wanted me, sir?”

  “Asadollah, come outside, I want to talk to you.”

  “Moment, is that you? How are you keeping?”

  “Asadollah, open the door!”

  Asadollah answered from behind the door in a terrified voice, “I daren’t, sir. It’s not safe for me. My life’s in danger . . .”

  “Listen Asadollah, open the door! I give you my word the matter’s been solved . . . it was a misunderstanding. Dustali has given me his word that he’ll forget the matter.”

  “Moment, moment, even if you accept the word of that wild raving idiot, I don’t.”

  Dear Uncle said, in a voice trembling with rage but which he tried not to raise too much, “Asadollah, I’m telling you, I order you, to open the door!”

  The tone of terror and anxiety in Asadollah’s voice increased. Emotionally he said, “Sir, I don’t want to disobey your order, but my life’s in danger. I know I’ve no way to escape from this savage executioner . . . I’m an inch away from death, but I want to live a few hours longer.”

  “Asadollah, shut up! Open the door!”

  In a grief-stricken voice Asadollah said, “Why, have you no mercy . .
. if you saw my face you wouldn’t recognize me . . . in one night worry and the fear of death have aged me twenty years . . . tell my brother to forgive me . . . I’ve given the matter some thought, and Dustali won’t have to go to any more trouble.”

  “Damn you and your face! Damn you and your brother!”

  Dear Uncle said this, and then, with the veins on his neck standing out in rage and with his complexion deep crimson verging on black, he turned his back on Shir Ali’s house and set off toward his garden. I put my eye against a crack in the door of Shir Ali’s house and peered into the yard. I was curious to see Asadollah Mirza’s aged face. I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t let on about his hiding place and that I wasn’t responsible for his pain and suffering and getting old. He was wearing a shirt and trousers. The buttons on his shirt were completely open, his face was fresher and more cheerful than usual. He had a bowl of sherbet in his hand and he was stirring the ice in it with one finger. Shir Ali’s wife, Tahereh, stood a little further off with her fingers pressed against her white flashing teeth to stop herself laughing out loud. I stopped worrying.

  When I returned to Dear Uncle’s house, Dear Uncle was telling the family members, in a choked voice, about his unsuccessful expedition.

  After a few moments of everyone shouting at everyone else, Mash Qasem’s voice was heard saying, “We have to think of somethin’ quick . . . that poor innocent gentleman, he’s in a really bad way . . . and he might do somethin’ terrible to himself.”

  Uncle colonel exclaimed, “He’s doing something terrible to us . . . he’s destroying our reputation. What the hell’s the matter with him? And what better place . . . ?”

  “Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . When I heard his voice from behind the door it was really upset . . . you’d think his voice was thirty years older . . . like his head was trapped in a leopard’s jaws . . .”