Climbing the Date Palm

by Shira Glassman

  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my whole life,” Kaveh murmured, resting his curly head on the cushion of Farzin’s shoulder.

  “That was the idea,” Farzin replied. “I’ve always wanted to make you feel good. Even before I knew it made me even more of a weirdo.”

  “How so?” Kaveh asked as he snuggled closer.

  “When we were friends in school,” Farzin explained, “especially after you were so nice to me and treated me like you actually valued me as a person, thinking about you made me happy. I wanted to make you feel the same way. You always looked so glum and unloved.”

  “My family is...”

  “I know.”

  “You never treated me like I was worthless. I used to wish you were my brother.”

  “I think I did too. I didn’t understand.”

  “What made you understand?”

  “As I was saying, I noticed you were always sad and needed affection. I knew a way to bring myself warmth and peace, and I figured that if I did it for you, it would feel good for you. It didn’t even occur to me that what I wanted to do was related to what everyone was talking about doing with girls. I just... I think I was silly enough to think it was something different that I’d come up with all on my own -- something that only applied to me.”

  “When did you figure out what it really was?”

  “I was reading the second page of a love poem one day when I was bored and waiting for my mother to finish with something so I could show her a clockwork eagle I’d built. I was really surprised and fascinated because the speaker in the poem felt about the subject the way I felt about you. I was excited and turned the page back in her book so I could see what was going on, so I could remember to tell you about it the next time I saw you.” Farzin paused to steal another kiss. “Sorry, I just like kissing you so much that I had to do it again!”

  “You can have all the kisses you want for the rest of my life,” said Kaveh enthusiastically. “Let me guess -- the poem was about a man and a woman, right?”

  “Exactly,” said Farzin. “You can imagine my surprise. I immediately asked my mother if a man can love another man the way men love women, and she said she didn’t see why not.”

  “But you never told me...”

  “No, and you were engaged to Azar anyway.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Did you ever like a man besides me?”

  “There were some of my father’s guards that I... Well, I’ve always known I was different, but since I liked women too, and knew I’d enjoy being with Azar, I wasn’t worried about it...” He shuddered with pleasure as Farzin wrapped his arms around him and pressed him close. “Is this real?”

  “I sure hope so. Otherwise you’re lying on the ground under a bridge that doesn’t exist humping the grass on the riverbank.”

  Kaveh chuckled. “Madness. Like eating small animals roasted alive, right?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I suppose we’d better get back to the barracks or they’ll come looking for us.”

  “It wouldn’t look good for the king if they found you with your tongue down my throat,” Farzin agreed.

  Kaveh was slightly aroused by these final words, but since Farzin was right, he stood up. Helping his companion to his feet, he said, mostly as reassurance to himself, “Someday we won’t have to say goodbye to each other at night.”

  “Soon,” Farzin reassured him. “We’ll live together always. It’s fairly easy for me to find work. I can build or design anything that needs creating, and if nobody hires me, I can sell clockwork toys to the children.” They began the climb up the stairs back to the top of the bridge where the roads lay, several stories above the river.

  “I can do anything as long as someone teaches me how to do it,” said Kaveh. “My father thinks I’m useless, but I learned to work with you on the construction project pretty quickly, didn’t I?”

  “I was impressed,” agreed Farzin. “Honestly, if I hadn’t already loved you... I might have started just from seeing how hard you worked to learn all the things you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t know math would have such practical uses.”

  “One prince plus one engineer equals...” Kaveh seized him again, there on the bridge steps, and glued their mouths together one more time.

  They were careful not to kiss each other again once they reached road level, but they walked close together back to the workers’ barracks, their hearts full of dreams. And when they lay down to sleep in their bunks, sharing the room with four other men as they’d been doing throughout the project, their last sight before falling asleep was each other, from across the room.

  If hands were moving around under blankets, well, let the other inhabitants be none the wiser.

  ***

  Back in Home City, Kaveh was himself clinging to the same memories, reliving those few intense days at the start of the holiday. He woke with them, dressed with them, and in waking moments when he was alone, ate with them and prayed with them as well. He told Shulamit the less intimate parts, whenever she wasn’t asking him questions about his father. It made him feel closer to Farzin.

  Kaveh remembered every detail of that dangerous day when Farzin had first defied his father.

  Everyone rose with the dawn to begin the glorious Month of the Sun, during which no meat was eaten, no prisoners were executed, and no morning was wasted. Joy was in the hearts of every resident of the City of the Red Clay, and none so more than the two men who had found each other’s embrace the night before. They dressed in the finest clothing they had brought with them and went along with the rest of the workers to the site of the bridge and the road repairs, all of whom were ready to meet King Jahandar to hear his blessing and proclamation -- and to receive full payment for the work they’d performed.

  Kaveh hadn’t seen his father in a long time, but neither had he missed him. Nevertheless, he looked forward to the dedication of the bridge, because it was recognition of the grand work accomplished by his beloved Farzin.

  The king gave a grand speech about the Month of the Sun and about the glory of the City of the Red Clay and how all its Citizens deserved this new bridge, which connected the new neighborhoods with the new marketplace and made it easier for them to get their things back home from market. He spoke about how the Sun would light up the red clay of the city all month long with brilliance and splendor, and how the new roads helped the city live up to its potential as a modern paradise. The workers and all those who had come to see the bridge dedicated clapped and cheered.

  When the speech was over, the king instructed the workers to line up to collect their wages. Farzin, as the project leader, was first in line, and he put the purse inside his jacket without opening it. Then he hurried back to Kaveh, who was still standing in the crowd. “I wonder if there’s enough in here to buy that little house we talked about. I’m afraid to count it in the crowd -- I know it’s going to be a lot more than they got, and I feel self-conscious.”

  “Of course you deserve more than they do. You built that bridge up out of your head!”

  “But they did most of the heavy lifting,” Farzin reminded him.

  “They wouldn’t have known what to lift without you.”

  “I couldn’t tell that to the man who’s torn his muscles and sweat himself sick in the sun to move stone and brick.”

  “If you weren’t so precise and perfect at your job, the bridge would collapse.”

  “If they don’t lay the stones right, the bridge-- What’s going on over there?”

  A commotion was growing among the workers. The two men hurried over and quickly learned what was wrong. Apparently, the purses received by the workers contained only a third of the payment they’d been promised. “It must be some mistake,” Kaveh reassured them. “I’ll go figure it out.” He fought his way through the throng of agitated men to the dais where his father stood.

  “Oh, Kaveh. Good. Good job with the bridge,” said his father in gree
ting. “Looks like everything went pretty smoothly. Do you need a servant to help you bring your things home?”

  “The men who built the bridge say they got lighter purses than they were expecting,” said Kaveh. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Jahandar shook his head, a puzzled and innocent expression on his bearded face. “That’s all. A true Citizen of the Red Clay works not only for bread but for the pride in his native land. Now that our roads are smooth and our new bridge shining, their hearts should overflow with patriotism, as does mine.” He smiled warmly and looked out over the structures that his promises, if not his money, had built. “This truly is the dawn of the Month of the Sun.”

  Kaveh stared at him stupidly. “Do you mean you did it on purpose?”

  “Are you arguing with me?” In a flash, a terrifying look came onto the king’s face.

  Kaveh wanted to turn and run, but courage flowed into him as he realized Farzin had joined him at the edge of the dais. “Your Majesty,” said the pudgy engineer. “These men have worked hard, under heat and under rain, lifting backbreaking weights for you. Why can’t you pay them what you promised?”

  “They don’t need more than what’s in those purses,” said the king, obviously shocked that someone, even the son of nobility, was talking to him like that. “All they want for is food. Anything extra, and they’re liable to spend it on this vice or that. Why, just the other day I saw a working-class woman wearing a silk scarf on her hair.”

  “Most likely a cast-off or gift from a rich employer,” Farzin countered. “Should she have declined it simply because it made you think she had wasted money on it that she doesn’t have? Besides, the money in the purses might buy some food -- but what if the man has a large family, or a sick wife who can’t work? And what if someone needs a doctor? There’s nothing in the purse for that, and many of the men have injuries from their toil.”

  “That’s the lot of the working class, I suppose,” said the king. “Those who deserve it, rise above. I can’t do anything to help those who are where they are.”

  “But how can they rise above if you--”

  “I am grown weary of this conversation. Kaveh, come.”

  The king reached out his hand, but Kaveh, who had grown increasingly horrified with his father’s callousness, having seen the lives of the workers up close in these past months, would have none of it. Instead of accepting his father’s invitation, he glared at him with anger and sadness, then whirled around and ran back into the crowd. “Please,” he begged a man who had just taken off his own outer robe because of the heat, and when the man acquiesced, Kaveh quickly covered himself so he looked like all the other workers.

  Soon, he was beside his beloved in the middle of a throng of chanting men. “Give us back our promised pay!” they chanted, over and over again. He heard a sound like coins being thrown, and soft thuds, and when he peered through the milling crowd, he realized that the workers were hurling their deficient purses back at the king.

  “What is this insurrection!?” Jahandar bellowed. “And on the first day of the Month of the Sun?”

  “We should have given you a third of a bridge!” yelled one man.

  “Who said that?” The king’s eyes blazed.

  “Tear up the roads!”

  “Knock down the bridge!”

  “No, no!” cried Farzin under his breath. “Spread the word. Fill the bridge. Stay on it and refuse to leave. He’ll have to listen to us eventually, and the people will see us there and support us. Until they buy it back from us, it’s our bridge.”

  The king didn’t hear him, but some of the men did, and they spread the word. Kaveh, inspired, darted around the group, telling all workers within earshot.

  Finally, all the men had gathered on the bridge, chanting. Their fists pumped in the air, but they had run out of purses to throw.

  Jahandar rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I’ve had enough of this,” he muttered to his guards. “If they’d rather do this than work, I can’t stop them. You -- collect that.” He pointed at the pile of purses at his feet. “It’s not my fault if they won’t accept what I tried to give them.”

  “Sire, what about the prince?” asked one of his guards.

  “I can’t figure out what he’s up to,” said the king, “but I suppose he’ll come home eventually. If everyone on the bridge threw back their purses, then none of them have any money for food -- even the prince. And he’s probably the least used to sitting in the sun with nothing to eat or drink. I expect he’ll be home in a day or two, in time for his brother’s wedding.”

  He and his men filed away, leaving the chanting, angry men on the bridge shouting at the sun. But he was wrong about the food, because Farzin had taken the bigger purse containing his own salary to Mother Cat’s and spent it all on bread and juice for the men.

  Chapter 8: The Non-Reign of King Farzin

  “Is our labor worth nothing?”

  “Are we slaves?”

  “Our time is worthless!”

  For two days, the men on the bridge shouted and chanted. Strengthened by the food Farzin had provided, they were able to keep up the vigil until the clamor attracted the attention of sympathetic supporters. Some joined them on the bridge; others brought food or water. There wasn’t much to go around, but they tried to keep up hope.

  The king ignored them at first, hoping they’d get tired and give up. On the third day, when he realized the group was growing larger, not smaller, he sent a guard patrol to keep an eye on them. They prowled the streets menacingly, focusing their stares on the workers. Blinding sunlight glinted from their weapons.

  Farzin did his best to keep morale up. He spoke quietly, but he spoke about justice and fairness and how all should be respected equally who had done equal amounts of work. Having impressed them with his compassion on the first day, he now impressed them with his zealotry and wisdom.

  Kaveh began to overhear things.

  “You’d never know one who looks so funny would be so wise.”

  “I can understand why they were so angry, but aren’t you relieved that he stopped those guys from ripping up everything we’d done? I know I am.”

  “A decent man. Decent, honest man. Not like our king.”

  “Farzin should be king.”

  “I’d gladly go to war for a man like that.”

  “Aren’t we already at war?”

  What he heard both thrilled him and scared him. In his deepest heart, where the thoughts without words lived, he relished the strange and dangerous idea of his beloved as king. He imagined Farzin covered in richly dyed clothing embroidered with gold thread, and a crown on his head, and himself at the engineer’s side as royal favorite. He had no doubt Farzin could run the City of the Red Clay as well as he’d run the construction project.

  On the other hand, the murmurs of the crowd were treasonous, and the penalty for treason was death. He was nervous that the campaign to restore the workers’ rightful wages would get mixed up in a more radical dream of revolution. Such a dream might be a lethal, if seductive, poison -- given the glares of his father’s guards.

  A melon seller who had been blessed with a bumper crop brought some of her fruit to the men on the bridge, and they were cutting up the fruit to share for supper. Kaveh brought a slice over to Farzin, keeping another for himself. “I needed this,” said Farzin between bites as he wolfed it down. “It’s getting hot.”

  “Do the people have enough food?” Kaveh gazed out over the throng pensively. “I still have this. I can sell it and get us more than melons and pitas.” He reached inside the proletariat brown robe he still wore, the one he’d begged off one of the workers when he had first darted into the crowd to avoid his father, and drew out a gold medallion.

  “But that’s from your mother...”

  “I know, but... if you can give up all your money for these people, I feel like I should too.”

  Farzin took his hand and squeezed his fingers. “I think we have enough for now, but it’s good t
o know we have that in reserve.”

  Kaveh gazed up at him adoringly. “I thought I cared for you already, but when you spent all your money making sure everyone was fed, I fell in love all over again. My heart is completely consumed, and recreated to exist within you.”

  “I’ll tend it well and keep it safe, here -- with my own,” said Farzin, pulling Kaveh’s fingers to his own chest.

  “What will you do without payment?”

  “I’ll have to take you as payment,” said Farzin playfully, pulling him closer with his other hand, “to be mine forever. And even if they build up a mountain of gold as tall as you, and try to hide you behind it, if I can still see you through the cracks looking at me with those stars in your eyes just like you are now, I’ll kick the money aside and hold you close.”

  “Oh, sweetest delight... Oh, blessed king of my heart.”

  Farzin chuckled. “If your talk was any more flowery, you’d be attracting bees instead of just engineers. And I wish you didn’t call me a king. It makes me feel like I’ve got an honor I don’t deserve.” He kissed the corner of Kaveh’s mouth. “I’m just your engineer.”

  “Some of the people in the crowd think you should be king.”

  “That’s not going to help convince the king to pay them.”

  “Do you really think this is going to work?”

  Farzin looked at him with sad eyes. “I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go along, and I’m doing my best. I want to believe... And with each day, the crowd with us grows bigger. That’s got to count for something.”

  “I’ll trust in hope,” Kaveh decided firmly. “And if hope fails, let the sword that will save us come bursting from my breast, born from the righteous anger in my heart.”

  “I thought your heart was here with mine,” Farzin joked. “Kiss me. I’ll taste of melon.” He was right.

  The next morning, some of the king’s guards dressed themselves as workers and infiltrated the crowd. They asked innocent questions and listened to gossip and kept their eyes sharp, and it didn’t take them long to find Prince Kaveh. The group of men pounced on him before he knew what was going on; one minute he was waking up snuggled into Farzin’s side with his back against the bridge’s safety wall, and the next he was being dragged to his feet and marched at swordpoint out of the crowd, surrounded by enemies.