A Hundred Sweet Promises

by Sepehr Haddad

  The attendants began to apologize for their lackluster service, now realizing they had mistaken Nasrollah for someone of lower stature and thereby had paid him little attention in their rush.

  When the attendants left, a confused Somkhishvili, mystified at Nasrollah’s unexpected action, asked, “I thought you wanted to have some fun with them. What happened? Why did you pay them so much? They will only get more spoiled, being rewarded for a job not well done. But never mind; next time, we will go to another bathhouse that shows more respect!”

  Nasrollah replied, “If you do not mind, I actually want to come back here again. I don’t think they will make the same mistake a second time.”

  Several days later, on the eve before Nasrollah was to leave for Baku, he asked Somkhishvili to join him at the bathhouse once more. As they entered the establishment, the attendants recognized Nasrollah from his visit a few days before. He was promptly given immediate attention, and every step of the way, he was treated with the best care and utmost respect. Somkhishvili soon realized why Nasrollah had wanted to return to the same place, since now the attendants knew he was a man who would grease their palms, especially if they gave him excellent treatment.

  When their bath was over and the time came for the attendants to receive their gratuities, they were surprised when Nasrollah gave them each a kopek, an insulting sum.

  When the proprietor noticed this, he politely asked Nasrollah, “Monsieur, I beg your pardon, was there something lacking in the service, or were you not satisfied for some reason during your visit? I ask since I noticed each attendant was trying to offer their finest courtesy.”

  Nasrollah responded graciously, “On the contrary, Monsieur, I am delighted with the excellent service I have received this day, and I thank you and the attendants for a job well done.”

  The confused proprietor then further inquired, “So, may I ask why you offered such a disproportionate gratuity for their service today if you were satisfied?”

  Nasrollah replied with a smile, “That is because today I am paying for last time’s service, and the last time, I paid for today’s service, and now all accounts are squared away!”

  The disappointed proprietor bowed his head with a hand on his chest in a gesture of apology. He slowly walked back toward the curious attendants who were waiting nearby. Nasrollah and Somkhishvili were within earshot as he explained to the now sour-faced attendants the reason behind the lack of a gratuity.

  Having witnessed this bold move by his friend, Somkhishvili could not contain his excitement, giving Nasrollah a congratulatory pat on the back and exclaiming, “Brilliant idea, Monsieur!”

  Nasrollah chuckled. “Take a look at their faces; I think we have had enough fun with them. I feel bad for them, but they should have known that it’s not the clothes that make the man.”

  So Nasrollah then called the proprietor back, at which point he handed him a generous tip to give to the anxious attendants. The man, now realizing Nasrollah had no ill intent, offered his full apologies, asserting that he would make sure the servers learned their lesson to not judge a patron by his appearance.

  As they left the bathhouse, a bewildered Somkhishvili excitedly said, “That was an interesting way of getting even.”

  Nasrollah flashed a gratifying smile, enjoying the compliment, but admitted that he did not deserve credit for the idea. “To be honest, I just reenacted a story from a fable about a wise man, Mullah Nasrudin, the Persian version of Aesop. Mullah Nasrudin had also been treated poorly in a bathhouse and had done the same thing to settle accounts. The only difference is that unlike what I just did, Mullah Nasrudin did not pay a large gratuity the second time he visited.”

  Realizing that in his attempt to just make a point, he had, in fact, paid a hefty gratuity twice, Nasrollah laughed at himself, adding, “Although it seems in this case, the attendants got the better end of the deal. Nevertheless, we Persians learn much about life through such stories.”

  Since it was their last evening together in Moscow, they decided to go to dinner and settled on the exquisite restaurant at the aquarium. The restaurant was lighted like a cathedral, with beautiful stained glass, and had a stage where entertainment of all sorts was taking place. This included troupes of acrobats dancing and singing national ballads to opera singers performing their art. Many drinks were had to toast this newfound friendship, as they learned much about each other’s lives and families. The two men began to share a closer bond than expected after being acquainted for only one week.

  As the night wore on, Nasrollah confided to Somkhishvili with great frankness, “Honestly, I am not ready to go back to Persia, even though I do miss my mother, who I have not seen for the past seven years. You know, I came here at the age of thirteen with my father, but now I will be returning to my country as a man. I tell you, as God is my witness, the first chance I get, I will return to St. Petersburg. This is where I truly feel at home, especially since there is still much for me to achieve in my musical pursuits.”

  At this point, Somkhishvili, recognizing a special kinship with Nasrollah, insisted, “Please, my friend, with the next toast, use Rustam instead of my surname,” for the formality that was typical in their initial introduction had by now fallen by the wayside.

  Nasrollah complied with a toast to Rustam’s health, vowing to return for another toast upon completing his short journey back to Persia.

  Recognizing Nasrollah’s double-mindedness, a struggle between what he wanted to do and what his duty to his father was, Rustam gave him this friendly advice, “From my own experience, sometimes in life, you have to play the cards you have been dealt, even if the hand seems unfavorable.”

  Nasrollah replied with the hubris of a younger man, “I do not want to only be a passive spectator in life, but rather an actor that makes his own destiny!”

  Hearing this, Rustam began to tell Nasrollah the story of his namesake, Rustam Raza, the famous bodyguard of Napoleon.

  He said, “At the age of thirteen, the same age that you came to Russia with your father, Rustam Raza had been kidnapped in Georgia and sold as a slave in Cairo. From that day on, he had vowed that he would escape and return to his family in Georgia. But the sheik of Cairo presented him to General Napoleon Bonaparte to serve as his bodyguard. Rustam Raza found great success as a bodyguard of the emperor, living the rest of his life in France, never having fulfilled his vow to return to Georgia.”

  Rustam added, “So you see, divine providence is under no obligation to be kind to us all. Destiny had a different plan for the slave-turned-bodyguard, even though he believed he would also make his own destiny.”

  Nasrollah replied, “But the difference between him and I, my friend, is that I am not a slave.”

  Rustam took a final sip of his vodka, knocking the bottom of his glass to the top of Nasrollah’s drink, signaling it was time to leave, and added, “Everyone is a slave to something or other, but without a doubt, we are all slaves to the whims of fate!”

  The next morning Rustam accompanied Nasrollah to Moscow’s Kasansky railway station, from where he was to begin the second leg of his journey home through Baku. This would be the end of the line for travel by train, and from Baku, Nasrollah would have to catch a ferry to Bandar Anzali (Port of Anzali), on the Persian shore of the Caspian Sea.

  After saying their goodbyes, as Nasrollah took his last step onto the train, he stopped and turned, facing Rustam. He chuckled as he told him, “My friend, I will for sure know when the train is passing through Georgia since it will probably be the most beautiful land I have ever seen,” alluding to Rustam’s earlier story about his homeland’s unrivaled beauty.

  Chapter 4

  Crossing the Caspian

  Baku, Russia, 1905

  After two days on the train, Nasrollah finally arrived in Baku, a city that had changed hands between the Russians, Ottomans, and Persians several times. Baku was forever lost to the Russians after the end of the Russo-Persian wars in the early 1800s. In many ways, Ba
ku reminded Nasrollah of Persia, a city where the Persian language and culture were still very much alive.

  Baku was swarming with Persians, both resident and migratory, and they were seen everywhere as shopkeepers, mechanics, masons, carpenters, and businessmen. The name Baku itself was derived from the old Persian name of the city, Badkube, meaning “wind-pounded city,” due to its renowned harsh winds. It was these same winds that made traveling by boat quite uncomfortable in rough weather on the Caspian Sea.

  Nasrollah booked his passage on one of the Russian steamers that carried mail back and forth between the two countries, leaving that evening and scheduled to arrive in Bandar Anzali two days later.

  The best of the Caspian mail-boats was most uncomfortable in rough weather. It was not uncommon during inclement weather for three or four attempts at leaving Baku for Bandar Anzali, only to return from less than a mile off the port, back to Baku. Nasrollah was not expecting a comfortable ride, especially after hearing the stories his fellow passengers shared. He became anxious when he heard that for some travelers, this was their second attempt, and even for a few others, their third try to get to Persia.

  Fortunately for him, the journey was not a long one. The steamer was dirty, and the mosquitos sharing Nasrollah’s sleeping cabin were plentiful and voracious, not to mention the bed bugs inhabiting his mattress that made sleeping difficult.

  During the second night of the trip, before they were to arrive, the weather turned stormy. The water became exceedingly choppy, as the size of waves on the treacherous Caspian sometimes rivals the height of oceanic waves, reaching above twenty feet. The movement of the boat in a rolling sea was tremendously disturbing for Nasrollah.

  Every moment it seemed as if the trembling ship was going to break up beneath the force of the waves. Nasrollah was terrified and nauseous by the motion of the vessel. Wondering if he would ever see his family again, he questioned whether an early grave was waiting for him at the bottom of the Caspian. The little time he did close his eyes and let his mind wander, he was disturbed by visions of being hurled into the deep, with seaweed wrapped around his face, sinking to rise no more.

  Lucky for him and the rest of the passengers, his worst fears were not realized. In the morning after the rough night, the storm had abated, but his seasickness had not. He went outside to take some air. As he stood on the deck with the view of Persia now in sight, he hoped that on his return to Russia, he would not have to traverse the Caspian ever again. He vowed from then on to take trains for travel whenever possible. As he stood there, breathing in the fresh air, he began to feel better but could not wait to take leave of this ship and pursue his journey on land.

  Standing close by was an officer, who, unlike most onboard, was not a Swede or a Finn but a Greek. He was waiting to see if the ship could steady itself enough in the winds the storm had left behind to allow the flatbed rowboats to approach for transferring the cargo and passengers to port. The two men acknowledged each other and began to talk about the last evening’s storm. The Greek officer mentioned that having traveled this route so many times before, he was used to the Caspian’s temper tantrums.

  As they continued chatting, the officer said, “You know, whenever I cross the waters of the Caspian towards Persia, I always wonder how it would have been traveling with Alexander the Great, on his expedition to Persia two thousand years ago.”

  Nasrollah, still feeling queasy, responded with little patience, “My dear sir, to a Persian, there is nothing great about Alexander, the man who destroyed our ancestors’ realm. We Persians refer to this man as Alexander of Macedonia, nothing more!”

  The Greek officer, who was not expecting Nasrollah’s defensive reaction, felt offended and countered boldly, “So, Monsieur, please tell me then, why is it that many Persians name their sons after conquerors who have destroyed their country?” He continued, “You have children named Iskandar, the Persianized form of the same Alexander you just belittled, or they name them Chengiz, I assume in honor of Genghis Khan of the Mongols. I have always wondered why? Was it not he who brutally slaughtered your ancestors?”

  Nasrollah, impressed that the man knew so much about his country’s history, realized he might have been somewhat unpleasant in his initial reply. So, he smiled and said, “This is the paradox of the Persian: on the one hand, he despises the conqueror for the destruction he causes, while at the same time, he admires him for his ability to conquer.”

  The Greek officer laughed and mentioned he had a relative living in Persia, right in Anzali. He said, “My cousin came to your country many years ago and has fallen in love with it the same way Alexander did, and like the Macedonian, he also decided to stay for a while. But instead of destroying anything, he built something in your land, a hotel. If you wish to get breakfast before continuing your journey, he does serve a tasty fresh salmon. It will be the best remedy to rid your body of seasickness.”

  Even though the winds were still strong enough to hinder the rowboat from attempting to reach them, a well-seasoned and enterprising navigator finally made his way to the steamer, and Nasrollah hired the boat on the spot. Once his cargo was loaded on the small vessel amidst the constant bumping into the ship, he got on and made his way to shore, riding on top of the breakers, getting soaked every time the rowboat’s nose dipped into the waves.

  After a harrowing thirty-minute turbulent boat ride, the expert rower finally got them to shore safely. Nasrollah, still feeling under the weather, took the Greek’s advice and had breakfast at the officer’s cousin’s hotel. He then left for Tehran through Qazvin by carriage, traveling on the cart road that had just recently been constructed by the Russians. The building of this road, however, was not out of the kindness of the Russians’ hearts but more as a system of quick communication between their Caspian base and the capital city, Tehran.

  Two days later, and after a tiresome journey of two hundred miles, Nasrollah finally arrived in his hometown with an ever-increasing excitement that he had surprisingly lacked when departing St. Petersburg weeks earlier.

  Chapter 5

  The Homecoming

  Tehran, Persia, 1905

  In 1865, Tehran was first connected by a telegraph line to Moscow and St. Petersburg through Tbilisi. While in Russia, Nasrollah had only communicated by letter with his family, and the first time he telegraphed a message was to acknowledge his father’s request to return home. The second telegram he sent was from Baku, informing them of his impending arrival in Tehran before the week was out.

  Nasser Al-Din Shah of the Qajar dynasty had instituted The Persian Telegraph Department, a symbol of technological innovation for the country. This department also functioned as a secret agency, which the king used to get reports from the far reaches of the land through the service of the telegraph master. In this way, the shah made his power and presence felt in the distant parts of his realm.

  Another innovation of Nasser Al-Din Shah, a great patron of music, was the founding of the Cossack Brigade Military Band, several years before his assassination. This orchestra was conducted by Nasrollah’s own father, Salar Moazaz.

  Salar Moazaz was an extraordinarily talented and creative man. He played and taught the piano and various wind and brass instruments and was considered an expert at playing the Persian tar. In 1898, he had the foresight to leave Persia and take his young son to study music at one of the most prestigious schools in the world. This move was quite unique since Persian attitudes toward music were ambivalent, with many disapproving of music as a career choice. In Persia, music-making, including teaching, was mostly a private affair, with individual classes held at a master’s house. Therefore, the concept of general music education was a totally foreign idea.

  Salar Moazaz had studied at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, and he was eager to set up a similar system of music education in his own country. He was a pioneer who intended to transform the Persian music scene from traditional instruments and religious hymns to what he considered “new music.” Sala
r Moazaz was also the first person to introduce the Western notation system to his country.

  The new music Salar Moazaz envisioned would be based on Western-oriented symphonies and orchestras, with complementing instruments such as pianos, clarinets, violins, and woodwinds. In this quest, he needed the assistance of other classically trained musicians, of which there were only a few in Persia. As his own son was included in this select group, he was eager for Nasrollah’s return.

  Nasrollah arrived at his family home in Tehran before noon on Friday, the day of rest. As was customary, a lamb was sacrificed to give thanks for his safe return from the long journey, with the meat from the slaughter distributed to the poor as charity. This was one of the traditions Nasrollah had not missed while in St. Petersburg. Though he had no quarrel with the charity, he did not appreciate the street-side butchery of the animal and considered this act a superstitious ritual.

  This would not be the last time Nasrollah would find himself rejecting what he considered backward traditions. This event somehow reflected his own transformation from the child who had left Persia to the European-influenced man who had now returned.

  After greeting his mother, Khata Khanoom, his two sisters, and his youngest brother, Gholam-Hossein, who at a very young age was a musical prodigy himself, Nasrollah attempted to greet his father.

  But instead of hugging his eldest son and welcoming him back home, Salar Moazaz gestured to Nasrollah to instead go and sit at the piano. In all of Persia, there were only a handful of people who had such an instrument, and this particular piano had become a symbol of pride in the Minbashian home, having been gifted by Nasser Al-Din Shah to Salar Moazaz. This was one of the four pianos the shah had purchased and brought back to Persia after visiting Europe.

  Salar Moazaz said to his son, “Nasrollah Khan”—sir—“before any welcomes, I want to make sure the many years you spent in St. Petersburg have not gone to waste. I want you to perform the piece of music I have chosen and left for you on the piano!”