Uncle colonel said nothing further on this subject, but he began to object to Asadollah Mirza’s plan. He was of the opinion that such an important personage from such a prominent family should not be played with in this way. Asadollah Mirza said, “Moment, colonel, you weren’t here today and you didn’t see what a close shave with danger the Master had. Either we have to have the Master confined to a psychiatric hospital, or we . . .”
Uncle colonel angrily interrupted him, “Don’t talk nonsense, Asadollah. I’d rather empty a bullet into my brain than agree that we take my older brother to a psychiatric hospital. The reputation of a hundred-year-old noble family is no joke. I’m ready to give my life for my brother’s health, but think of something reasonable!”
After a great deal of discussion and argument uncle colonel began gradually to soften. But he said in despairing tones, “The point is that I don’t think my older brother will believe that the English have suddenly and so easily forgiven him for what he’s done to them.”
“Moment, moment, we’ll go into every aspect of the matter, of course, if we can find someone to do it. First he’ll lay down strict conditions, and then through our intervention he’ll gradually become more accommodating and then finally he’ll agree that if the Master doesn’t oppose the English, or sabotage their efforts, until the end of the war, he’ll pass the Master’s file up to a higher level with a positive recommendation.”
Uncle colonel thought about it, then said, “What excuse are you going to use to my brother to start all this? Are you just going to say that the English have suddenly decided to get in touch with him?”
“We’ll say that since the war’s been going badly for them, the English have decided to come to an accord with their enemies in every country. Leave it to me to satisfy the Master on that point.”
At this moment Puri arrived looking for uncle colonel and said that a guest had come for him. After uncle had left my father said, “Your excellency, I will spare no efforts, but I still have to say that I’ve no faith in this scheme of yours. The Master I see before me now has decided on his own fate. The English have to persecute him, and finally they have to destroy him, as they did Napoleon; I can assure you that even now he can clearly see the hills and plains of the island of St. Helena.”
I accompanied Asadollah Mirza to the door. When we reached the street he took hold of my ear and said, “You little devil, what was all that about the builder? Is this a time to be gossiping in front of people?”
“I swear to God I didn’t mean anything, Uncle Asadollah, I just . . .”
“Damn you and your ‘I just’ . . . Brigadier Maharat Khan is a very good friend of mine . . .”
“But I’ve never seen you with the brigadier . . .”
“That’s because I’m afraid that Dear Uncle of yours will say I’m an English spy, too.”
“But that night you took Lady Maharat Khan home in the carriage . . .”
“Moment, the brigadier had gone on a trip and he entrusted his wife to me . . . and I’m supposed to leave her to rot in her house? I took her to a restaurant and gave her an ice cream.”
“Just an ice cream, Uncle Asadollah?”
“Yes, just an ice cream. Impossible that the notion of San Francisco with a woman who has a home and a husband would even cross my mind. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s impossible and it’s out of the question! Praise God I can’t be accused of things like that!”
“Uncle Asadollah, wasn’t the seventeenth lesson you gave me that when there’s a chance of San Francisco, you set out first and then you see who your travelling companion is?”
“You’re a really cheeky child, you know! I say something, so you have to repeat it . . . ? All your strength is in your jaw. As the brigadier would say, your virility’s bahot wilted but your jaw is being bahot powerful!”
“Uncle Asadollah, do you think the scheme you’ve worked out for Dear Uncle will come to anything?”
“You should pray for a good result, because you and your father are the sole basic cause of all this trouble. Your father’s sent the old man crazy because they told him he was a country bumpkin with no background, and you’ve gone around setting off firecrackers and gunpowder because you’re not up to a trip to San Francisco. Between you you’ve really driven the poor devil out of his mind.”
One evening three or four days later Asadollah Mirza, accompanied by uncle colonel, came to see my father. He took me by the arm and had me come into the living room with them.
“It looks as though we’re about to get the show on the road. I had a long conversation with the brigadier. Poor devil, he’s full of goodwill but he says he can’t find an Englishman. All he has is an Indian friend who’s a corporal in the British army and he can convince him to be part of our scheme. For a consideration, of course!”
Uncle colonel said nothing.
My father shook his head and said, “It seems very unlikely to me that the Master would be ready to negotiate with a corporal, and an Indian at that. What does this Indian look like? Would it be possible to pass him off as an Englishman?”
“It wouldn’t be possible to pass him off as a Baluchi tribesman, never mind as an Englishman. From what I heard he’s a dyed-in-the-wool milky-coffee-colored Sikh.”
“But your excellency, even supposing we can get the Master to meet with an Indian, what about his rank? The Master’s not going to accept anyone less than a general.”
“That doesn’t matter. The Master doesn’t know the ranks in the British army, we’ll say he’s a colonel.”
“Have you talked to the Master at all, your excellency?”
“I’ve prepared the ground in his mind. I’ve seen him a couple of times and said that in every country—friendly, neutral and occupied—the English are making every effort to get their enemies on their side.”
“What reaction did he show?”
“Of course he made a great fuss and said that if they got in touch with him, he’d never go along with them. But when it gets to the point, I think he’ll agree.”
“Then you haven’t talked about the Master himself yet?”
Asadollah Mirza said, “I’ve made hints. He said that he would never trust the English and their promises and that if they were supposed to send a representative to him one day, first he’d give orders that the man be disarmed and then he’d hide Mash Qasem behind the curtain with the shotgun so that if the representative were about to try anything he could jump out and send him packing.”
“Now would you just consider, your excellency? I’m afraid that this is going to mean trouble for all of us. If this is how it’s going to be, suppose the Indian puts his hand in his pocket to get his handkerchief out to blow his nose on, and the Master orders Mash Qasem to fire. Do you know what kind of hell will break loose for us then?”
Asadollah Mirza thought for a moment and said, “In my opinion we’ll have to put Mash Qasem in the picture, too.”
After a few minutes of discussion Asadollah Mirza asked me to go and find Mash Qasem.
“Good evenin’ to you.”
“Good evening, Mash Qasem. How are you? No illnesses, God willing?”
Asadollah Mirza insisted that he sit down. After a great deal of protest, Mash Qasem finally knelt on the ground in a corner of the living room. “Listen, Mash Qasem. I know you love the Master very much and I know you’re very upset about this illness of his.”
“Well sir, I don’t believe in them doctors’ medicines. It’s like the Master’s insides are overheated somehow. There was a man in our town who . . .”
“Listen, Mash Qasem! For some time now the Master’s been really living in a fantasy world. That day, just because of some silly fancy of his, he nearly killed you, God forbid! Just think of it, someone in their right mind would never go and make such an accusation against you, that you ha
d agreed with the English that you’d spy on the Master . . . and so in this case it’s clear that the Master is not at all well. Don’t you agree?”
“Well sir, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . I don’t want to go against what you’re sayin’, but you can’t be too careful with them English.”
Asadollah Mirza looked at him in astonishment and said, “Mash Qasem, you at least know that all that kind of talk is nonsense.”
“How would I know that, sir?”
Impatiently Asadollah Mirza said, “But Mash Qasem, all right, so the English are bad, vicious, evil—but is it true what he said about you, that you were cozying up to the English?”
With his head bowed, Mash Qasem answered, “Well sir, that’s not too far from the truth neither.”
My father broke into the conversation and said angrily, “So the English did contact you?”
“Well sir, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . If you want the truth, yes.”
Uncle colonel joined in for the first time. In a voice clearly affected by anger he said, “Qasem, we didn’t come together here to make jokes. Don’t talk rubbish!”
“Right sir, if you think I’m talkin’ rubbish, then it’s better I don’t talk at all . . . now can I go and water the flowers?”
“Moment, moment, colonel sir, let him have his say.”
Then he turned to Mash Qasem and said mildly, “Say what you have to say, but make it quick because we’ve a lot of business to get through.”
“Well sir, I’ve not got nothin’ to say. You asked somethin’ and I gave you the answer.”
Asadollah Mirza was ready to explode but he tried to control himself. “But Mash Qasem, how is it possible the English contacted you? The Master got some crazy notion into his head, he mentioned it and you swore it was a lie . . .”
“Well now, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . The lie wasn’t a lie neither.”
“What? But Mash Qasem, didn’t I myself tell you to confess! In the kitchen, didn’t I tell you what to say? And now you’re telling me that . . .”
Mash Qasem interrupted him again, “Well sir, the truth is, you told me but I didn’t tell a lie neither.”
“You mean the English really got in touch with you? But Mash Qasem, just think about it for a moment. Why are you saying such senseless things? Where did they get in touch? Who got in touch? Whatever did they get in touch for!”
“You won’t let me talk, sir!”
Uncle colonel yelled, “For goodness sake, say what you have to say and we’ll shut up. How did they get in touch?”
Mash Qasem took one of his knees in his arms and said, “Well now, sir, why should I lie? To the grave it’s ah . . . ah . . . They’ve tried a hundred times till now to get me on their side . . . I remember in Ghiasabad one time an Englishman came . . .”
Asadollah Mirza said in a voice which he tried to keep calm, “Mash Qasem, please leave the time in Ghiasabad aside and tell us about this time.”
“Right you are then . . . this time . . . meanin’ a few days ago, well, one day I’d gone to the baker’s, and I saw an Englishman walkin’ up and down two or three times outside the shop. He was lookin’ at me with them blind squinty eyes of his like you’d think I was a fourteen-year-old girl . . . At first I says to myself it’s because he’s squinty-eyed and he’s lookin’ at someone else, then he came into the baker’s and he asked the feller behind the scales somethin’. When I came out he kept pace with me . . . it was like, savin’ your reverence, savin’ your reverence, he was after me. Then when we got to our house he said in a voice that . . . may you never see such a day, sir, his voice was like you’d think it was a leopard snorin’ . . . and such language he used, his language was like between Turkish and Rashti and Khorasani . . . he asked me ‘Are you from this place?’ . . . I didn’t answer but in my heart I said God strike all them English blind . . . I dashed in the house . . . But I watched him through the crack in the door . . . I saw he went this way and that a bit . . . he looked at the doors to the houses and then knocked at the door of that Indian and went into his house.”
“And that was all, Mash Qasem?”
“No sir, that was just the beginnin’ . . . I saw him twice later on. He gave me such a look I felt my heart give way . . .”
Asadollah Mirza threw a despairing glance at my father and said, “Of course, of course, they made those contacts with you . . . and it’s exactly because of those contacts that we’ve brought the matter up.”
And after winking at my father he turned to Mash Qasem and said, “Mash Qasem, tell us the rest of the story later . . . we see that you have well understood what dangerous plans the English have for the Master.”
Mash Qasem interrupted him, “And the same for me, too . . .”
“Of course, certainly . . . now we’ve learned that the English wish formally to get in touch with the Master himself, so that they can clear up the differences between them, and that, God willing, the whole affair will end in peace and concord.”
“But sir, you’ve got be on the lookout for the tricks these English get up to.”
“Completely correct . . . but what we are asking is that you help us . . . of course, when the representative of the English sees the Master, certainly the Master will ask you to stand guard and see that he doesn’t try anything . . .”
Mash Qasem said with a sneer, “The English try anythin’ with me? . . . one time, and what a time it was, too, I remember ten Englishmen went for me in Ghiasabad . . . from evenin’ till the next mornin’ I kept swingin’ my spade around my head and none of ’em dared come forward . . . finally their boss, who was from the village further down, said to his mates, ‘Let’s go, I know this Mash Qasem. He’s not one of those we took him for’ . . . and they put their heads down and went. And I shouted after ’em, ‘You bastards, go tell your masters Mash Qasem’s not one of those, over my dead body you’ll be takin’ the water’ . . . ’cause the quarrel was over water . . .”
Uncle colonel yelled, “Mash Qasem, what has the water in Ghiasabad got to do with the English?”
Mash Qasem shook his head and said, “You’ve a long way to go before you know the English . . . there’s no place in all this world the English hate so much as Ghiasabad. They wanted to take the water so that Ghiasabad would be ruined and wrecked and crushed . . .”
Asadollah Mirza interrupted, “Colonel, Mash Qasem is not saying anything illogical. Naturally when a town or citadel has its water supply cut off, the people in the town surrender.”
“Really? What wisdom issues from your mouth, I’m quite overcome.”
“Now Mash Qasem, what we are asking is this: say the representative of the English comes to see the Master, then you should be careful that if it happens that the conversation doesn’t lead to any conclusion, no harm comes to the representative, because the British army’s here. If one of their men is harmed, all our people will be blown to kingdom-come . . . The representative’s coming to talk, if the conversation leads somewhere, all well and good, but if it doesn’t lead anywhere . . . Well, even if the Master gives some order or other because he’s angry, you have to see to it that the representative leaves the house safely.”
After bringing forward various objections, Mash Qasem was finally convinced that whatever happened he had to watch out for the representative’s safety.
After Mash Qasem had been dismissed, Asadollah Mirza said, “I feel quite delirious . . . there’s no doubt that Mash Qasem sees himself as Talleyrand . . . now the second problem is that Brigadier Maharat Khan says that this corporal friend of his will only agree to play his part if we give him an Esfahani rug. Now I myself only have two rugs in the house. Perhaps the colonel . . .”
“My older brother has some Esfahani rugs, perhaps one of those could be . . .”
“Moment, moment, colonel sir, do you want to tell the Master that if they’re to overlook his sins he has to give a colonel in the British army, who’s also Churchill’s personal representative, a rug?”
“No, but there’s no other choice.”
My father, who had been deep in thought, joined in, “No colonel, you have to make this concession, compared with getting rid of the Master’s illness, what’s one rug worth?”
“I’m ready to die to get rid of my brother’s illness but hang it all, those rugs of mine are a pair, one won’t be right by itself.”
It took some time before my uncle agreed to hand over a rug to Brigadier Maharat Khan, as payment for the Indian corporal.
The result of these discussions was reviewed the next day. Asadollah Mirza, helped by my father and uncle colonel, convinced Dear Uncle Napoleon to submit to a meeting with a representative of the British army. However, they didn’t dare tell him that this representative was an Indian, because it had taken an immense amount of trouble to get him to accept that a colonel was coming to see him and not a general. Discussions as to the site of the meeting also took a very long time. Dear Uncle insisted that the representative of the English should come to his house, and Asadollah Mirza and his accomplices said that Dear Uncle should go to the General Staff headquarters of the British army. Finally it was agreed that the meeting should take place at a third location, i.e., our house. Uncle colonel’s rug was sent to the Indian corporal by means of Brigadier Maharat Khan. It was agreed that on Wednesday evening Asadollah Mirza and my father would meet the Indian corporal in the Brigadier’s house, and there they would set out the details of the scheme for him. Dear Uncle Napoleon, who appeared to consider himself as being in the same situation as Napoleon at Fontainebleu before the representatives of the Allied armies arrived, did not set foot outside of his room as he awaited the moment of the encounter.
My Uncle Napoleon Page 51