My Uncle Napoleon

by Iraj Pezeshkzad

  “I know, Mash Qasem.”

  “Eh? How do you know?”

  “The doctor’s son told me, in confidence . . . Puri goes to the doctor every other day. They pass an electric massager over his groin.”

  “Eh! More fool me! I thought that, except for the colonel and the Master and me, no one knew. Anyways, however much the doctor tries to tell master Puri that he’s all right now, the lad won’t believe him. It’s like all the fight’s been knocked out of him. Now the doctor’s told the colonel that the way to do it is to marry him off to someone, temporary like, so that, savin’ your reverence, they can put his privates to the test. But master Puri says that either he won’t marry anyone at all or he’ll marry Miss Layli.”

  I stared at him with my mouth open. He went on, “And now the colonel’s found a way . . . they’ve made an agreement with that Miss Akhtar, Ghiasabadi’s sister, that they’ll give her a nice bit of money for her to give master Puri his test.”

  “What? With Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi’s sister? But is that possible? I mean, can things like that . . . ?”

  “Oh yes, lad. And that slut of a woman didn’t say no, neither.”

  “What did Dear Uncle say, Mash Qasem?”

  “At first he said no, no, impossible, but finally he agreed to it.”

  “What about Cadet Officer Ghiasabadi? Does he know about all this?”

  “Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . This man from our town, ever since Mrs. Qamar’s had her baby, and as luck would have it it came out lookin’ just like his sister, there’s no talkin’ to him . . . he’s no notion of how to be civil or decent . . . did you see how they threw Dustali Khan and Mrs. Aziz out of the house?”

  “And so when do they want to do all this?”

  “Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . They said that bit very quiet and I couldn’t hear properly. It seems like today or tomorrow the colonel and his wife will go out of the house and leave master Puri there . . . they’ll find an excuse not to take Puri. Because he’s not to know . . . And then this Akhtar’s to find some excuse to go there and do the job.”

  “Mash Qasem, do you suppose . . . I mean, do you think that this test . . . do you think it’ll work?”

  “Well, m’dear, if it’s that slut she can manage anythin’ . . . savin’ your reverence, savin’ your reverence, savin’ your reverence, she could make the family’s late grandfather rise up in his grave . . . if I was to give her an inch, savin’ your reverence, she’d lead even me into sin.”

  Without knowing what I was saying I said, “Mash Qasem, how about if we watch out and don’t let her be alone with Puri?”

  “But as soon as you’re not lookin’ for a moment she’ll be there . . . we must think of somethin’ else . . . some way so it’s not obvious you know anythin’ . . . except for the Master and the colonel and that slut Akhtar, no one knows . . . if there’s a fuss and it comes out, the Master’ll empty a bullet into my brain . . . the Master says if the English find out such a thing has happened they’ll destroy his reputation throughout the whole town . . . and that’s the truth too. You’ve seen them English!”

  “Mash Qasem, I don’t know what I should do . . . finally we have to come up with something. But for God’s sake, if you find out when they’re going to do this, let me know.”

  “Never you worry, I’ll tell you . . . but you’re not to do somethin’ that’ll leave me in the lurch . . . I want to put a stop to this even more than you do. The virtue of a girl from Ghiasabad’s like my own virtue . . . if you go round this whole country you won’t find one place where they care as much about their virtue as Ghiasabad.”

  Mash Qasem made me swear once more that I would keep this secret to myself, and that I wouldn’t act in any way that would make it apparent that he had told me something; in particular he impressed on me the danger of the English interfering in the matter.

  Bewildered and depressed, I went back to my room. I thought for a long while but no solution occurred to me. Each solution I thought of had some major problem involved with it.

  Hopelessly I set off to call in at Asadollah Mirza’s house. I knew that he had gone away on a trip. When I reached the front of his house it was as if God had opened the gates of heaven before me, because I could hear the noise of his gramophone.

  “Thank God you’re here, Uncle Asadollah. When did you get back?”

  “Last night, lad . . . what’s happened now then, why are you so pale? Have Dear Uncle and your father quarreled again, or has general Wavell attacked Dear Uncle’s house?”

  “Worse than that, Uncle Asadollah . . . much worse!”

  Asadollah Mirza lifted the needle from the record that was playing on the gramophone and said, “Moment, moment . . . do you want me to guess? You’ve paid a visit to San Francisco with Layli and you’ve left her a present in her suitcase?”

  “No, Uncle Asadollah. Don’t make jokes about it. It’s something much more important.”

  “Oh, shut up with you, man, so it’s nothing to do with San Francisco? Los Angeles is in those parts, round the back, and if that’s the problem that’s not so bad, either.”

  “No, Uncle Asadollah. But you have to swear that what I’m going to tell you stays just between us . . .”

  “Moment, so it has nothing whatsoever to do with San Francisco?”

  Impatiently I answered, “As a matter of a fact it does have to do with that. But it’s to do with Puri.”

  “Shame on you, lad! You mean you’ve been so wishy-washy for so long that Puri’s taken Layli to San Francisco?”

  “No, no, no . . . you aren’t listening at all. Puri’s going to San Francisco with someone else . . .”

  “Then what are you going around with such a long face for? You want the gates to all of San Francisco to be closed? San Francisco’s to be a forbidden city?”

  Asadollah Mirza was in such a cheerful mood that there was no talking to him. I shouted, “Just listen to me for one minute, will you!”

  “All right, all right . . . I’m all ears, head to toe . . . say what you have to say.”

  After I had got Asadollah Mirza to swear by all his ancestors and by the prophets and saints that the matter would remain strictly between us, I explained to him what the situation was. He was so overcome by gales of laughter that he fell off his bed onto the floor. After some time his laughter quieted down, he wiped away his tears, and said in a voice still interrupted by laughter, “And so to test the effect of his treatment the doctor’s recommending a trip to San Francisco . . . What a splendid doctor! Right from the first I said that Naser al-Hokama’s a genius. I wish I were his patient. Mind you, if I were his patient I’d buy my medicine from a different pharmacy.”

  Although I had neither the spirit nor the patience for all this I started to laugh and said, “Because you’ve used that pharmacy’s medicine before?”

  “No, as God’s my witness, I’ve never laid a finger on the cadet officer’s sister Akhtar.” He swore so many oaths that I was convinced he was lying. After a moment’s silence I said, “What do you think we should do now? If he passes this test he’s sure to be asking for her hand the following week and the week after that they’ll have the wedding . . . at all costs I have to see that he doesn’t pass.”

  “Moment, how do you know he’ll pass . . . a stupid student like him.”

  “Uncle Asadollah, I’ve heard that this Akhtar is very . . .”

  He interrupted me, “Yes, and you’ve heard right, too. She’s a very good examiner. No one fails her tests. Shame on me for not thinking to have her test you first, your geography’s terrible, you don’t know San Francisco from Los Angeles!”

  “Uncle Asadollah, please don’t make jokes! I’ve come to you for help, so that you can think of something to do about all this.”
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  “No problem. You gave him a kick and one of . . . what’s that expression Mash Qasem used? You destroyed one of the pair of his private equipment, now give him another kick and destroy the other one of the pair. Then he’ll be Sir Puri the Eunuch and you’ll have nothing to worry about for good.”

  “Uncle Asadollah!”

  “Although the next day another suitor will come. And the day after that a third suitor and you’ll have to put your life on hold while you go around kicking people in the privates from morning till night.”

  “Uncle Asadollah, I thought that if we let Asghar the Diesel, Akhtar’s friend . . .”

  “Splendid, splendid, congratulations on this stroke of genius of yours! That’s all we need, to set that intoxicated idiot against his mistress, to start a nice bit of bloodshed . . . you can do something much simpler than that, you can take Layli by the hand and at the crucial moment lead her to the room where the exam’s taking place.”

  “I can’t do that. Because I’ve promised on my honor that I won’t let who told me all this out of the bag . . . and anyway, how could Layli . . .”

  “You’ve a strange way of living up to your promise!”

  “I didn’t tell you who told me.”

  “You think I don’t realize who told you? Who told you’s written all over it.”

  “Who do you think told me, Uncle Asadollah?”

  Asadollah Mirza held up the four fingers of his right hand and said, “Why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . no more than four fingers!”

  “No, Uncle Asadollah, believe me, Mash Qasem knows nothing about this.”

  “All right, all right . . . you don’t have to swear an oath . . . as far as I can see, either you have to tell Layli and set the cat among the pigeons, or you have to tell Asghar the Diesel and be responsible for shedding the examiner’s and her student’s blood . . . or you have to keep a close eye on Puri and Akhtar from now until the time of the test and, as soon as they’re ready to start, you start screaming at the top of your lungs.”

  I talked with Asadollah Mirza for a while. Part of the time he was seriously trying to help me, and part of the time he was joking around. We reached the conclusion that, even if we got Akhtar out of the way, others would turn up. Finally, as he lit a cigarette, Asadollah Mirza said to me, “In my opinion you should let the test go ahead. And at that moment you should make such a racket that once again the student will put all such thoughts out of his mind for a while, and for another six or seven months they’ll go back to Dr. Naser al-Hokama’s electric groin massager, and after that, trust in the Lord . . . perhaps during that time the English will get hold of Dear Uncle . . . or they’ll do away with Puri in revenge for all they’ve suffered at Dear Uncle’s hands.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to me. I shouted out triumphantly, “Uncle Asadollah, I’ve got it. If we can find out when the test is to be, at the crucial moment we can have a gun go off, or a firecracker, to terrify Puri . . . because you know that Dr. Naser al-Hokama has said to Dear Uncle that this problem of Puri’s isn’t just from the kick I gave him. The psychological disturbance he suffered when the Allies attacked has also had an influence . . . he heard a gun go off and went into shock.”

  “But be careful the firecracker doesn’t blind him in one eye . . . you’ve ruined the equilibrium in the lower part of his body, don’t ruin it in the upper part . . . the country will need this great genius in the future. Especially now that he’s gone into the income tax office and found himself a profession.”

  “No, don’t worry about that. I know what I’m going to do.”

  “But please take every precaution, and when the unidentified spy tells you that the date for the test has been fixed let me know.”

  “Of course, Uncle Asadollah.”

  Asadollah Mirza said with a laugh, “And please don’t make the examiner angry with you . . . I want to ask her to give you a graduation test, now you’re a grown man, and then she can teach you that San Francisco’s a very fine place with a wonderful climate and that Los Angeles is even nicer than that.”

  “Goodbye, Uncle Asadollah!”

  “Goodbye; al-San Francisco’s to be a forbidden city!”

  “Can I come in? . . . In I come then . . . a good mornin’ to you.”

  The classroom door opened wide and Mash Qasem entered. My astonished stare, and the stares of the other pupils, turned from Mash Qasem to the teacher.

  Our algebra teacher was an extremely strict and ill-tempered person. Even the principal was not allowed to come into our class while a lesson was in progress. The teacher’s facial muscles became taut and he peered at the newcomer from behind his thick black-framed glasses. The children, who all went in terror of him, were appalled. It’s easy to guess how I felt in this situation.

  Mash Qasem very coolly surveyed the pupils and then turned back to the teacher, “I said good mornin’ . . . they’ve always said that it’s good to say good mornin’, but if someone says it to you, you have to answer. There are fifty people in this room, and your good self . . . I come in and say good mornin’ and not one of you says it back.”

  In a strangled voice the teacher said, “And who might you be?”

  “I’m your humble servant Mash Qasem. I said ‘Good mornin’.’”

  “Who gave you permission to come into the classroom during a lesson?”

  “Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . I said ‘Can I come in?’ You didn’t say ‘No, you can’t.’ So I came in. And I said ‘Good mornin’,’ too, but you couldn’t be bothered to give me one little ‘Good mornin’’ back.”

  “A very good morning to you . . . and just who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Mash Qasem pointed to where I was sitting,, mute with fear, in the second row, and said, “I’m that boy’s uncle’s servant . . . his dad’s been taken very poorly and they’ve sent me to fetch the boy home . . .” As he was saying this Mash Qasem winked at me, and fortunately, although the other children saw this, it was not visible to the teacher.

  The ill-tempered teacher’s facial muscles relaxed for a moment. He motioned me to stand up, “Your father’s been unwell?”

  “My father . . . I mean . . . no sir . . . I mean . . .”

  He turned to Mash Qasem, “Then how has he suddenly become ill?”

  “Well sir, I didn’t understand that neither . . . the poor feller was just sittin’ there puffin’ away on his water-pipe and then all of a sudden it was like his breath had got all twisted in his guts . . . he doubled up and gave a yell and fell on the floor . . .” Once again Mash Qasem gave me a wink that he made no attempt to conceal; fortunately the teacher didn’t see it this time either.

  “Very well, very well, off you go home . . . and next time, my good sir, don’t come barging into the classroom like this.”

  I quickly gathered up my books, but as I was going toward the door with my school bag in my hand the teacher shouted, “Just a minute . . . on Wednesday someone’s mother was taken ill and they came to the school for him . . . it wouldn’t be, would it, that you don’t know your lesson and you’re trying to fool me? Go over to the blackboard and let’s see how you do.”

  Mash Qasem wanted to object, but I motioned him to be silent. The teacher gave me an equation to solve on the board, but my mind was incapable of functioning. I was certain that Mash Qasem had brought fresh news about Puri’s “test,” because I had begged him that if anything happened while I wasn’t there to invent some excuse and come after me at school, if that proved necessary.

  Naturally I was unable to solve the equation. The teacher shouted, “Just as I’d supposed . . . my dear idiot child, write on the board as follows: ‘A plus B squared is equal to A squared plus B squared, plus twice AB’ . . . now solve the equation!”

  “I’m sorry, sir . . . I
. . . I mean I can’t think . . . I’m worried about my father and I can’t concentrate.”

  “Amazing! Come here . . . come here . . . closer . . . I will help you to concentrate.”

  Afraid and trembling, I went toward him. He gave me such a slap across the face that my ears rang with it. I put my hand up to my face and hung my head, but Mash Qasem suddenly came forward and shouted, “Why did you hit the poor lad? If, God forbid, your dad was sick, would you be able to think about your lessons?”

  “It has nothing to do with you. Leave the room.”

  “What d’you mean, it has nothin’ to do with me? What I want to know is, is this a classroom or Shir Ali the butcher’s shop? Why don’t you bring a cleaver here like Shir Ali some time and . . .”

  I wanted to shout at Mash Qasem and make him be quiet but no sound came from my throat. The teacher had turned pale with anger; his shoulders shook as he shouted, “Someone go and get Haj Esmail to throw this peasant out!”

  His face flushed, Mash Qasem shouted, “I’m goin’ under my own steam, don’t you worry about that, I’m not stoppin’ here . . . thank God I never had no schoolin’ and never learnt any of this behavior. God rest his soul, there was a man in our Ghiasabad . . .”

  The teacher yelled so that the windows shook, “Out!”

  I grabbed Mash Qasem by the arm and pulled him out of the classroom with all the strength I could muster. A few moments later I was pedaling home with Mash Qasem balanced on the panniers of my bicycle.

  “Mash Qasem, you’ve really landed me in it now. That teacher is going to do something awful to me . . . but tell me quickly what’s happened . . .”

  Holding tightly onto the bicycle saddle Mash Qasem said, “It’s these teachers that are the cause of all them little bastard kids bein’ in the streets bangin’ each other round the head from mornin’ till night.”