Collaborating with powers that be was part of the family’s DNA. They had always believed that maintaining good relations with whomever was in power and cultivating this relationship was paramount to doing good business. They firmly believed that a sympathetic ruler would allow them the utmost leeway, citing their old family maxim, “no power is without capital.”
This saying came with a cost. One day, prior to the Islamic revolution, Suleiman, the head of the family, was called to visit the Shah’s royal palace, along with other provincial businessmen. Upon entering the lavish reception hall, the guests were seated on padded armchairs across from the Shah’s throne, which was decorated with a golden peacock. Despite the exhilaration of waiting, Suleiman could not help noticing the carpeted floor was slightly worn, so he resolved to make a gesture. ‘The Shah’s birthday would make a good opportunity. I shall present him with a special present,’ he said to himself, ‘a carpet especially made for this hall.’
Back in Tabriz, Suleiman consulted with his mother, Suheila, who was in charge of weaving, and it was decided to have the Shah presented with a unique carpet, featuring a pattern exclusive to the family, a pattern Suheila cherished as a secret that was handed down by one generation to the next. The weaving itself was entrusted to the factory’s best artisan, under Suheila’s direct guidance and supervision, for she alone remembered the pattern.
Suleiman had Ali, one of his sons, whose position in the family business was purchasing raw materials, acquire the special ingredients this particular rug called for: exquisite, rare silk from Sichuan, China, soft sheep’s wool all the way from Lhasa, Tibet, cultivated by priests, and golden threads custom-made in India by renowned artisans.
For two whole years, the weaver confined herself to the special room she was allocated, focusing on the task at hand. The carpet was stunningly colorful. Its dyes were made by the factory’s experts, who used only natural substances. The red dye was made from a special plant, blue came from indigo, yellow was made from saffron, and scarlet was produced from a special worm.
The carpet, 144 inches by 107, was completed ahead of the Shah’s birthday, quite close to the actual date. Suheila’s unique signature was woven into it.
But then, the riots erupted.
A few days after the mass demonstration in Tehran, attended by millions, and the seizure of power by the Islamists, the revolution came to Tabriz as well. Revolutionary Guard officers captured the local government bodies and the imam of the city’s Blue Mosque was declared the supreme local religious authority.
***
“Hazrat Imam,” the head of the Mohammadi addressed the imam, taking care to use the safest honorary title, not too exalted, so as not to appear too obsequious, and yet adhering to the figure’s authority. Suleiman was granted a meeting two weeks after Khomeini’s triumphant return. “In keeping with the appreciation and respect our sacred teaching deserves,” Suleiman continued, “with complete accord with the principles of the revolution, and in great deference to your holiness greatness, whom I have had the privilege of knowing these many years, my family and I would like to bestow our humble gift to the mosque.”
The imam was wary of persecution during the time of the Shah, for the regime went after many a religious figure, whether they posed an actual threat or merely an imaginary one. He had adhered to strict modesty and reserve throughout the Shah’s reign, lest he incur the regime’s wrath. He replied to Suleiman as follows:
“In the name of Islam and our exalted leader, I happily welcome this present of your modest and respectable family, a centuries-old part of our city. I would like to take this opportunity and share with you the news: after many years of oppression, we have decided to renovate the mosque at a cost of five million rial.”
The very next day, four burly men appeared at the Blue Mosque, so named for the mosaic stones that comprised its floor. The men proceeded to replace the old rug at the center of the main floor with the new carpet Suleiman had brought forth. The carpet’s splendid colors and blue motifs matched the mosaic perfectly.
The following day, Suleiman Mohammadi arrived in the imam’s chambers with a large envelope containing five million rial in cash.
“On behalf of my family and myself, I would like to offer you our thanks for accepting our humble contribution.”
“Moteshakeram,” the imam thanked him and proceeded to count the banknotes.
A month after this, Tabriz city hall hosted a ceremony, officiated by the imam himself and attended by the heads of the Revolutionary Guard, honoring the Mohammadi family as champions of Islam and the revolution.
***
Specializing in handwoven carpets, the Mohammadis were among Tabriz’s wealthiest and most respected families. Three hundred years of practice and tradition had made their wares renowned the world over. Their items always fetched the best prices, as they were the most sought after. As the years went by, they amassed a great fortune and their bazaar stalls expanded into several stores and then into a commercial compound known as khana, whose reputation as the best, most prestigious and fairest held fast. This was no small feat for the Tabriz Bazaar, stretching from the Blue Mosque to the Jameh Mosque, was considered one the world’s three largest markets.
The Mohammadis’ khana was a large-roofed complex specifically built around a central yard, surrounded by a two-story property where the first floor comprised stores and the second was reserved for living space. In days of old, the top rooms housed illustrious traders from all over Iran and other countries, who had come to purchase the famous family carpets or to sell the family the raw material for the carpets. These merchants often shared accommodations with tourists and other visitors who came to bask in the magnificence of the historic bazaar, famous for its intense sights, sounds and fragrances.
Over the years, some of the top floor rooms had to be converted to weaving floors where dozens of women worked tirelessly. The Mohammadis, citing the family tradition, “they haven’t the fine fingers and patience for such delicate work. They are too coarse,” never hired men as weavers. “Besides,” the rationale continued, “any expert easily can tell the difference between a carpet woven by a woman and a one woven by a man.”
The ground floor consisted of stores, some of which, serving hundreds of prospective shoppers each day, were also open to the general public, all of whom marveled at the magnificence and fine workmanship of the wares, but only some daring to make a purchase, as the least expensive Mohammadi carpet was still priced at a senior bank clerk’s entire annual salary.
The sale of the Mohammadi wares was an art in itself, the quintessential “Persian bazaar” that any “Turkish bazaar” could hardly keep up with…
The venders, who were as seasoned as they were driven, were all skilled salesmen who knew their entire catalogue by heart, the quality, the faults and the history of each and every carpet. They had their sales targets and commission, their expertise.
Each carpet had a pre-set minimum price that reflected its cost and desired profit, so that the basic price was one hundred and twenty percent of the target price. Their very first lesson during training was dedicated to learning that the first price quoted was the hook, greatly impacting the final price.
***
“Afghan, ninety by sixty, hand-woven with silk trimmings, one hundred and twenty thousand rial!” shouted the salesman as his young assistant showcased the carpet before the crowd that pushed closer.
“I’ll get it for forty thousand,” this young man told his wife proudly, and then raised his voice, high above the crowd that gathered there. “Those vendors won’t fool me!” he promised her.
“One hundred and ten thousand. No less. This one has a unique design. There are only nine others like it!”
A crowd of curious bystanders watched the unfolding match with mounting attention.
“Not a single rial above fifty!”
“If he
isn’t budging, I’m in for sixty, then,” one spectator interrupted the eager husband.
The salesman noticed the disappointed look in the young man’s wife’s eyes. “Thank your wife. I am willing to go as low as one hundred in honor of her beauty for this beautiful carpet.”
Half of the crowd that gathered was certain this was a great bargain. The other half suspected some trick was being employed.
The spectator from before intervened again. “I’m willing to pay seventy.”
The salesman noticed the wife nudging her husband. However slight the movement was, he nevertheless saw her elbow. “Eighty then. That’s my last price.”
“Sold!” The husband shouted back.
The salesman’s assistant rolled the carpet as his boss quickly crunched the numbers. ‘Good sale. Fair commission. Even after the bonus to my man in the crowd,’ he thought, while taking in the cost of the guy’s assistance in driving the price up.
Further deep into the Mohammadis’ khana lay other shops, the realm of the real pros, where only the greatest were allowed. The center of the room had a round table with two chairs. The task of constantly serving the vendor and the merchant sweet tea fell to the hands of one of the boys, as another would present the guest with hundreds of carpets, one after the other. Each item was numbered. The buyer quietly kept to his notes atop his padded armchair. When the parade of carpets concluded, he would call on those he liked, kicking off the haggling.
Contrary to the loud, theatrical negotiations between everyday shoppers and salesmen, which followed the traditional, customary social ritual of gesturing and raising one’s fists and voice as the sums hurled back and forth, the inner rooms were the backdrop of a calm scene of minute nuances. Fully aware of the quality and value of their wares, the Mohammadi vendors would not easily budge from their unique carpets’ true prices. Likewise, the buyers sought a reasonable profit after their worthy commissions.
***
The Mohammadi family carpet factory was run by Suleiman, the paterfamilias, aided by both his sons. His two daughters were responsible for weaving and for preserving the rich heritage of patterns. Nevertheless, the most important woman in the family business was none other than Suheila, Suleiman’s mother. Her vision, leadership and personality were the key elements of the factory’s uniqueness and its singular stature as a leader in the industry. An age-old tradition, down the generations, decreed that the women were the keepers of the tradition, preserving the range of exclusive patterns and passing them down the line. Thus ran the chain of family tradition, conferring continuity and venerated customs.
Suheila was a legend even during her own lifetime. Any person even remotely connected with the carpet industry knew of her. From the holy city of Qom through Nain out in the desert and Esfahan, the city of bazaars, all the way to the ancient city of Kashan, everyone exalted in Suheila’s feats and incredible skills. They said of her that she could weave no less than three thousand knots in one tenth of a square inch of a silk carpet, whereas an experienced weaver could barely tie one hundred knots, while the most seasoned weaver might reach as many as one hundred and fifty. The tales surrounding her also said she retained in her wondrous memory each and every pattern sample of the factory’s three centuries of carpets.
Each carpet Suheila wove bore her own woven signature, affixed in silk and gold tassels. Such carpets were so rare only museums and lavish palaces could afford to showcase them. At some point, the Shah of Iran considered declaring her carpets a national heritage, but other, more influential carpet merchants dissuaded him.
At sixty-two, Suheila would no longer weave by herself, but she was nevertheless the undisputed queen bee. She inherited the rich tradition of exclusive family patterns and passed them on to only unique, highly skilled, women members of the Mohammadi family. Handpicking a fresh class each year, she would convene the new disciples of weavers, tell them about herself and how fortunate and privileged they were to have the great honor of working at the family factory and of learning from her.
As early as he was six years old, Mehdi would surreptitiously sneak into the great weaving hall to listen to Grandma Suheila teaching the new girls. He would secrete himself among the bales of carpets, a single man among the all-female class, his attention focused on the queen.
“Khosh amadid,” welcome, she began. “Bismillah,” in the name of Allah.
The girls were transfixed. Fully aware of the honor that befell them and the rare fortune that smiled on them, they quivered with excitement. Only precious few were accepted to Suheila’s class, and only the most skilled among them were asked to stay on and work at the factory.
“I was your age, maybe even younger, when I was first introduced to the wonders of weaving.”
Their legs crossed, the girls who were seated around were aged twelve, the optimal age for starting a career as a carpet weaver. The advantage of their tender age was having thin and supple fingers that could handle the highly intricate knots that formed the basis of each carpet.
“I never had a dull moment in my entire life since I began weaving,” Suheila told her young admirers. “My gift is from Allah. I learned the glory of creating lovely things and what gives life its purpose. Weaving, let alone becoming a successful weaver, calls for talent, skills, physical attributes, perseverance, patience and complete and utter dedication to the work,” she taught them.
“Once, there was a time when even six and seven-year old children would weave, for only their exquisitely thin and lithe fingers could tie the most delicate knots.” Child labor was only stopped when teachers complained. “In the rarest of cases,” she continued, “when a uniquely intricate pattern was called for, a special permit from the imam had to be obtained for children to be brought in, and even then, at least one of the parents would have to be present during the child’s work.”
The girls hung onto her every word, all the more determined to excel, for passing Suheila’s workshop successfully meant high pay, equivalent to one dollar fifty a day rather than one dollar, which was the average pay in the carpet industry. The girls’ elevated position would mean upward social mobility and better chances of marrying well to a husband with good qualities.
“Best of luck to you all, and may Allah be always in your favor,” Suheila concluded the short introductory meeting with her new trainees.”
***
Mehdi was the youngest child, younger than both his brothers and both sisters. His two older brothers were clearly destined to become managers in time, as they were trained to follow in their father’s footsteps from a very young age. Suleiman, who knew the importance of a good education, saw to it that they attended the best private schools in Tabriz. When the two boys graduated high school, they went to the University of Tehran to study business management. They spent their holidays at the family carpet factory in Tabriz, learning the ropes firsthand, including all the family business secrets.
Mehdi’s sisters were not so fortunate as far as their education went. They were enrolled as weavers right after graduating elementary school, literally tying ropes and weaving knots, keeping up the family tradition by learning the secrets of the trade.
Early on, even as a mere child, Mehdi was different from his brothers. He loved playing hide and seek throughout the khana, the family complex and running around there. Whenever he would grow tired of everything and everyone, he would dive into a stack of carpets, hide himself so expertly no one was the wiser. He also loved escaping into the silkworm farm adjacent to the factory. Most of the factory’s silk threads, save for a small quantity of Sichuan silk, came from there. The Mohammadi family’s silk farm produced the most unique and exquisite raw fibers. Mehdi used to follow each molting stage along the larvae’s metamorphosis with great curiosity. When he was so disposed, the foreman allowed him to handle the cocoons with great care and comb them using a special instrument that was designed to produce the long silk fibers.
<
br /> Mehdi’s favorite thing to do was to listen to his grandmother recount her exploits. One day, he quickly seized the rare occasion of her taking a break from weaving and asked her, “how come your eyes are blue, grandma, how did you come by this color?”
“From the Yezidi tribes high up in the mountains,” Suheila replied. “That’s where. They also gave me another pair, which I gave you as a present.”
“And why does everyone fear you?”
She laughed. “Who?”
“Everyone,” he replied. “Even Dad.”
“Do your fear me, too?”
“No! I am not afraid of you.”
“Listen, you only get respect if they fear you.” She patted him on the head and continued with her weaving.
Mehdi was a beautiful boy. His blue eyes were not the only thing that set him apart from his brothers and sisters. His character was very different to theirs. He was talented, daring, courageous, decisive, and also, much to his parents’ lament, belligerent. They often had to berate him for abusing his brothers, who were too timid to strike him back, however bigger and older they were.
One day, when he was eight, he came, all excited, into his grandmother’s bedroom. Only Suheila and Mehdi had their own private rooms.
“Maderbozorg,” he called her as he entered. Mehdi was the only one who called her Grandmother. Suleiman called her Mama and the rest of the family turned to her saying, Khanom (lady or Mrs.).
“What is it, pesare aziz? (dear boy).
Mehdi exchanged an azure glance with her and said, “I would like to become a carpet weaver.”
Deadly Ties Page 5