My Uncle Napoleon

by Iraj Pezeshkzad

  It has to be said that as soon as she entered Aziz al-Saltaneh told him he could forget about a midwife/abortionist, and said that even the famous midwife Zayvar had refused to undertake it.

  Dustali Khan, who was still lying prone on his belly, said, “As far as I can see there’s only one thing to do. We’ll have to find someone who’ll marry Qamar, even if just for a few days. I don’t think that Mamad fellow, the electrician, has a wife and if . . .”

  Dear Uncle Napoleon threw him a furious look and said, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Dustali? . . .þFor Mamad to be one of our in-laws? How could we put up with the shame?”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh started weeping and wailing, “God strike me dead, what high hopes I had for this poor wretched child!”

  Mash Qasem, who was in the room busy serving people, said, “Don’t even think of that Mamad feller.”

  Asadollah Mirza asked, “Why, Mash Qasem?”

  “Because he’s got a health problem.”

  “What health problem?”

  “Well, not to be rude like, and beggin’ your pardon, sir, but he’s not a man.”

  “How do you know?”

  Dear Uncle shouted, “The hell with whether he’s a man or not, don’t even mention him!”

  Asadollah Mirza said, “Moment, sir, a little research never did any harm . . . perhaps we’ll finally have to . . . so, let’s see Mash Qasem, how is it you know that Mamad is not a man?”

  “Why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . I haven’t seen anythin’ with my own eyes, I heard it from the brother of Ebrahim, the grocer . . . he heard it from the wife of the baker, the baker’s wife heard it from Reza who has the cloth shop, Reza heard it from Shir Ali’s wife, Shir Ali’s wife heard it from Seyed Abolqasem’s son, and Seyed Abolqasem’s son heard it from someone who’s name I can’t say . . .”

  “What do you mean you can’t say it, Mash Qasem?”

  “Tear me limb from limb and I won’t tell you, because one of your own family’s involved.”

  “Moment, whether he’s a man or not’s neither here nor there, what he has to do’s already been done for him by someone else!”

  “But I know someone who’d really fit the bill for this job . . . if he’d accept, he’s a very distinguished gentleman with many fine accomplishments . . . I mean to say he’s from our own Ghiasabad.”

  “Who, Mash Qasem?”

  “You remember last year that feller from Ghiasabad that came here with Deputy Taymur Khan who, if you’ll pardon the expression, was lookin’ for Mr. Dustali Khan’s corpse?”

  “Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi?”

  “That’s him, I remember when he saw Miss Qamar his mouth was really waterin’ . . . he was sayin’ he’d really like a wife who looked like that. Well, folks from Ghiasabad like a woman to be a bit chubby and cuddly.”

  Dear Uncle screamed, “Shut up Qasem! . . . Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi marry into our family? You’ve forgotten all sense of shame and decency.”

  Asadollah said with a smile, “And is this Ghiasabadi fellow a man?”

  “Why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . I haven’t seen with my own eyes, but there aren’t any in Ghiasabad who aren’t real men. Women from Qom and Kashan and Esfahan, and sometimes women from Tehran, too, they’re dyin’ to marry someone from Ghiasabad . . . there was a man in our town who . . .”

  Dear Uncle Napoleon’s nerves could not stand any more of this talk. He slammed his prayer beads down on the table so hard that its string broke, and the beads went flying off in all directions.

  “At least have some shame when you’re talking in front of me! There’s a limit even to impudence!”

  With a very serious face, and in a firm voice, Asadollah Mirza said, “Moment, where’s the impudence? An innocent girl who’s not quite all there is in difficulties. Either Allahverdi, the Indian brigadier’s servant, or some other shameless despicable wretch has done this monstrous thing to her. Her life’s in danger if she has an abortion. There’s one way left, which is that we find her a husband. And that’s only to save your face, because she couldn’t care less. She’s ready to have her baby without any husband, and to bring her baby up. Do you expect the son of some aristocratic Sir Leopard of the Kingdom or Lord Lion of the State to come and marry the girl?”

  “You have to realize that . . .”

  “Yes, I know . . . I know what you want to say. A girl descended from this lordship and that ladyship mustn’t become the wife of a simple cadet officer. If you’re acquainted with Baron de Rothschild, telegraph him and tell him to make sure he sends the fancy marriage mirror for his wedding.”

  Everyone was appalled and stared at Dear Uncle. But contrary to expectations he didn’t become angry, or if he did he suppressed his anger and said in a mild tone, “Perhaps you’re right. My interference was entirely unwarranted. Her mother and stepfather are here. They should decide for themselves.”

  His usual smile returned to Asadollah Mirza’s lips. “What a noble sensitive fellow her stepfather is, to be sure! Here he is lying down for all the world as if the matter had nothing at all to do with him!”

  Dustali Khan, who had been silent since the beginning of the gathering, raised his face from his pillow and yelled, “Asadollah, I swear on the soul of my father that if you once again . . .”

  Asadollah Mirza interrupted him, “Moment, moment, moment, I am really very sorry to have disturbed your innocent, angelic sleep.”

  Dear Uncle said with some asperity, “Asadollah, please, no more of these jokes! As far as I’m concerned there’s no doubt that this incident is another part of their plan to ruin me. A plan hatched by that wretched Indian spy and carried out by his servant and dictated from another place.”

  Asadollah Mirza laughed and said, “Then according to you, whoever the English are enemies of, they delegate some tough guy to put that person’s uncle’s grandchild in the family way?”

  Dear Uncle was extremely angry and said forcefully, “Don’t talk rubbish and don’t be so facetious! You’ve a long way to go before you understand that old wolf’s tricks.”

  “Moment, going by this line of reasoning, the grandchildren of Hitler’s and Mussolini’s uncles must have had three kids each by now.”

  “Asadollah!”

  “I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that in my opinion it’s not a bad idea. Mind you with this method the English are going to have to turn all their armaments factories into factories for making Dr. Ross’s famous virility pills. In any case, I shall be very glad to enroll myself in a special force for paying them back in their own kind.”

  Everyone was horrified because as Asadollah was saying this my father burst out with a loud roar of laughter. Fortunately an interruption by Mash Qasem cut this line of conversation short, “Now we have to see if this Ghiasabadi feller ’ll agree or not . . .”

  Dear Uncle’s anger turned on Mash Qasem, “What? How? . . . Do I understand correctly what you’re saying, Qasem?”

  “Well sir, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . Last year this feller from our town really took a fancy to Miss Qamar. And just look at it this way, you can put all the country—as far as protectin’ the family honor’s concerned—on one side, and Ghiasabad on the other outweighin’ ’em all . . . There was a man in our town who . . .”

  Dear Uncle cut him short, “Yet again there’s someone in your town? Qasem, for how long . . . ?”

  Uncle colonel interrupted, “Brother, let him talk. We have to find a way out of this fix we’re in.”

  Mash Qasem went on, “Yes sir, there was a man in our town who’d had two sons grown up and married. Then one day he heard that before they’d got married his wife’s veil had slipped off in the mosque . . . well, he divorced her. And then all the folks in Ghiasabad blamed him
for not killin’ the woman . . . he became famous for not carin’ about his family honor. And the poor devil was that upset he just wasted away and died . . . I’m tellin’ you this so you’ll know it won’t be that easy, tyin’ Miss Qamar round the neck of a man from our town.”

  For the first time Shamsali Mirza spoke, “Well, it won’t be necessary to mention the matter of Qamar’s pregnancy to him.”

  “You mean you’re sayin’ that folks from Ghiasabad are donkeys? No reflection on you, sir, but there was a man in our town who . . .”

  Asadollah Mirza cut him off, “Moment, if we don’t say anything, how’s he going to know?”

  “Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . beggin’ your pardon like but there’s a difference between a girl and a woman.”

  “Thank you, Mash Qasem, for passing on this completely new piece of information to us. I always thought there was no difference between the two.”

  Once again Dear Uncle’s Napoleon’s voice rang out, “Asadollah, do not say such things in front of the children!”

  Asadollah Mirza laughed and said, “Moment, this is a scientific discussion, an entirely scientific discussion concerning the difference between women who have been to San Francisco and women who haven’t been to San Francisco.”

  And then he turned to Mash Qasem and said, “After thanking you for the scientific information you passed on to me, I have to say that I also realize that when his excellency Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi has been to San Francisco . . . I mean, after their wedding he’ll understand that something’s happened, but with this concern for family honor that people in Ghiasabad have, it’s obvious he won’t be announcing it from the rooftops. The most that’ll happen is he’ll divorce her. And that’s precisely what we want, that someone come along and marry Qamar and then quietly divorce her. And besides, when he’s signed the register we’ll quietly tip him the wink and grease his palm so that he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  Dustali Khan raised his head, “This is dishonorable and against all conscience. We have to tell him the situation honestly from the beginning.”

  Mash Qasem scratched his head and said, “It’ll have to be one or the other—conscience or the bridegroom.”

  Asadollah Mirza threw up his hands and said, “We should vote on it. My vote goes to the bridegroom. Of course, Mr. Dustali Khan, otherwise known as Sir Conscience of the Realm, will vote for conscience. But in defence of my choice I claim that nothing contrary to conscience will happen. Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi arrives with not a stitch to his name, he eats and sleeps here for a while, he becomes Mrs. Aziz al-Saltaneh’s son-in-law, it doesn’t cost him a thing and he gets a free trip to San Francisco into the bargain. Then if he’s ready to die, let him go off to Ghiasabad . . . we should all be so lucky!”

  Dustali Khan yelled, “Asadollah, when you were conceived it must have been a union of wine and vodka . . .”

  “Moment, moment, first as one whose conception was a union of holy water and rose water, just tell me if it was you, would you be so upset if someone came and took care of all your expenses, asked it of you as a great favor, gave you supper and lunch, and then said off you go to San Francisco four or five times with a nice chubby, cuddly travelling companion? You’d have said ‘No thanks,’ would you? Even without anybody asking, you’re quite ready to look for this kind of . . .”

  At this moment Aziz al-Saltaneh burst out with, “God, I hope the gravediggers get their hands on both of you soon! Is my little darling’s situation so bad that we have to be asking favors from that Ghiasabadi?”

  She was prevented from coming to blows with them by Shamsali Mirza and uncle colonel. Mash Qasem said, “Whatever happens, we have to find out if Ghiasabadi will agree to it or not. Even if the girl was innocent as a newborn just popped out of her mom’s belly, maybe he doesn’t want to get married!”

  “And even if he does, maybe the girl doesn’t . . . in my opinion we have to settle this fifty percent of the matter first and then refer to the bridegroom . . . in my opinion Mrs. Aziz al-Saltaneh must have a chat with Qamar. If she agrees, then Mash Qasem can go after the bridegroom.”

  After a little discussion of the subject Aziz al-Saltaneh went to find Qamar, who was busy chatting and playing with my sister and Layli in the next room. She talked to her for a while, privately in another room. When she came back everyone’s eyes were fixed on her mouth.

  “What happened, Mrs. al-Saltaneh? What did she say?”

  Gloomy faced, Aziz al-Saltaneh said, “That poor little wretch of mine can’t think straight. She says things that make no sense at all.”

  Asadollah Mirza said, “Will you permit me, ma’am, to question her?”

  “You won’t get anything out of her. God strike her mother dead, I say. From the time this disaster’s happened the girl seems to be out of her mind.”

  “Call her now and I’ll question her here.”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh hesitated for a moment, then went and fetched Qamar. A bland smile played about the child’s lips. Asadollah Mirza sat her down next to himself. He talked a little about her doll, which she was clutching against her chest, then he said, “Well, my dear, a nice husband’s been found for you . . . would you like to have a husband?”

  Although she wasn’t all there, the fat child blushed and bowed her head. She mumbled, “No, I wouldn’t like to. I like my baby, I want to knit it two red jackets.”

  “My dear, I’ll buy your baby a beautiful jacket, too. But a baby has to have a father. If you don’t have a husband your baby will be sad. Because a baby needs a daddy.”

  For a moment Qamar stared at him silently, and then said, “All right.”

  “So shall we start getting ready for the wedding? A beautiful white dress with a beautiful veil . . .”

  Qamar said cheerfully, “With orange blossom!”

  “Of course, my dear, with a crown made of orange blossom.”

  Qamar thought for a moment then said, “Where’s my husband now? . . . You know, Uncle Asadollah, I want him to have really thick, black hair so that my baby will have beautiful black hair like his!”

  Asadollah turned round and threw a mournful look at Dear Uncle. “All right, dear, off you go and play now.”

  After she had gone out Asadollah Mirza said quietly, “Poor thing, what a nice girl she is.”

  Mash Qasem, who had been standing silently in a corner, said, “This ain’t workin’ out . . . it’s like this business doesn’t want to work out.”

  “Why, Mash Qasem, what’s wrong?”

  “But didn’t you hear her say she wanted her man to have thick black hair?”

  “And isn’t Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi’s hair black?”

  “Why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . .Them two or three days I saw this neighbor of mine his hat was pulled right down over his ears but one time when he took his hat off careless like I saw how his head’s all bald . . . meanin’ the middle of his head’s clean as a whistle, but at the edges there’s a few wisps here and there like.”

  “And was the color of his hair black or not?”

  “Why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . It was all colors. Some strands were white, some black, and some he’d put henna on.”

  Aziz al-Saltaneh slapped herself across the face. “God strike me dead! My little girl’ll curl up and die if she sees a head like that on her pillow.”

  “Well, ma’am, this Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi’s no Rudolf Valentino, but we’ll buy him a wig so his head’ll be hidden.”

  Mash Qasem shook his head and said, “I don’t think he’ll go along with that . . . folks from Ghiasabad are very particular about their dignity.”

  “Moment, the dignity of people in Ghiasabad’s located on their heads?”

  “Why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah .
. . it’s not on their heads, no, but men don’t wear wigs. There was a man in our town who . . .”

  “All right, all right, we’ll solve the matter of curls and tresses later on. When can you talk to this Mr. Ghiasabadi?”

  “Whenever you say . . . I’ll go and find him tomorrow . . .”

  Dear Uncle Napoleon, who had been sitting there in frowning silence, couldn’t bear not to speak and he said severely, “Even a child wouldn’t talk like this. Do you realize what you’re saying? Mash Qasem is to go off to the office of criminal affairs and find Mr. Ghiasabadi and say to him ‘Come and get married to my master’s uncle’s grandchild!’ What was in that wine, Asadollah?”

  “Well, in any case we can’t ask the cadet officer to marry into the family over the phone.”

  General discussion and argument ensued, until finally uncle colonel said, “In my opinion it’s best if Mrs. Aziz al-Saltaneh phones that head of the department of criminal affairs and says for example that something’s been stolen from her house but that she doesn’t want to lodge a formal complaint. However she’d like an officer to come, quietly and privately, to question her maid and servants, then she can say that if it’s possible they could send that same cadet officer who came last year . . . these things can be done in a friendly way. When he comes she can say that fortunately the thing that she’d missed has been found . . .”

  “And say the head of the office sends someone else? . . . just supposing he agrees to it.”

  Asadollah Mirza laughed and said, “All the better! Because I don’t think any of the officers can be uglier than Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi. Whoever they send, we’ll proposition him. As soon as he comes we’ll slam the door on him and we won’t let him go till he’s signed the marriage register.”

  “Asadollah!”