When the governor had sent his son to Tehran for his education, he was sent to the same school as Nasrosoltan, which gave comfort to the anxious new student who knew no one else. The governor and Salar Moazaz were family friends, so Salar Moazaz had asked Nasrosoltan to look out for him.
From their school days together, Nasrosoltan recalled how the commander had a boastful attitude, always bragging about something to remind others of his status. He was the only child of a wealthy and influential family and felt entitled to act in this way. But to his dismay, the other students were not impressed since they were mostly of the same social status and actually considered him provincial.
He was pugnacious, getting into arguments over the most trivial matters. His display of aggressive behavior in the school courtyard, like a bully, left him with few friends. He could also quickly change his demeanor with whomever he was trying to impress and become incredibly charming. This was especially evident when he wanted something in return. Nasrosoltan heeded his father’s request by assisting the governor’s son at school and even defending him on several occasions.
And now in Shiraz, the commander was paying back Nasrosoltan for his kindness years earlier. He ordered that Nasrosoltan be given all the allurements one could ask for: a house with a lovely garden inside the garrison, a manservant, a cook, and a gardener.
When he first accepted this new position, Nasrosoltan had his reservations, albeit different than his father’s concerns. He was apprehensive that this remote part of the country, far from the capital, would be provincial and stifling. However, after some reflection, along with his eagerness to escape his father’s influence, he had dismissed these hesitations. With the dignified welcome that he received, he became more confident in the correctness of his decision.
On the evening of his arrival, Nasrosoltan was summoned to the commander’s house for a dinner in his honor. The gathering included prominent dignitaries of the city and the most influential families, including the commander's father, the powerful governor.
Though the party was in honor of Nasrosoltan, the real tribute was being paid to the governor, who presided over his son and all the significant goings-on in Shiraz. Nasrosoltan observed the spectacle with a brief sense of foreboding. As the party progressed, with delicious food and wine being served and introductions to more people than he would ever remember, Nasrosoltan soon forgot this uneasy feeling.
Living in the city of Shiraz was a welcome respite from the years of living in St. Petersburg with its frigid winters and even from the constant hustle and bustle of Tehran, which seemed to grow more crowded every day. Shiraz, by contrast, is a southern city with long, warm summers and brief, mild winters. The population of Shiraz is as sublime as the climate, and the beautiful gardens beckon families to picnic and enjoy the outside atmosphere all year round.
Although life in Shiraz had a restorative influence on Nasrosoltan, after a while, he fell into a lazy routine. His position as leader of the band afforded him great respect in the community, and he was regularly invited to dine with the most prominent Shirazi families.
He soon realized that the position was not as fulfilling as he initially hoped. Nasrosoltan had imagined that he would transform the band from a regular military one to a shining example of innovation for music in the country. His challenge was that the musicians were not disciplined performers. They preferred to play the music they were used to rather than the new music and methods Nasrosoltan was trying to introduce.
Undaunted, Nasrosoltan broached the subject with the commander, appealing for his support to make appropriate changes to promote the needed innovation. Every time he raised his concerns, the commander politely dismissed them. Nasrosoltan’s problems seemed trivial to the commander since he was preoccupied with the tenuous political situation in Shiraz. The commander viewed the reformer movement with suspicion, believing they were trying to wrest away the power his family had held for generations.
As the months passed, Nasrosoltan became frustrated with the lack of progress with the band. Most of his energy was spent socializing and enjoying the many comforts that life in Shiraz offered. What had initially been spiritually therapeutic slowly descended into a feeling of passive complacency. However, this all changed with the arrival of a new guest.
Chapter 7
The Governor’s Guest
One evening, Nasrosoltan was invited to the governor’s mansion, known as the Qavam House, for dinner and entertainment in honor of the governor’s birthday. This mansion, situated at the edge of a vast well-manicured garden, housed thirty-two rooms on three stories and was magnificently decorated with tiled poems from Shiraz’s most notable poet, Hafez. The garden itself was adorned with an abundance of beautiful flowers, aromatic myrtles, and towering cypress trees, including several date palm trees bordering the ornamental pool.
Upon arrival at the Qavam estate, Nasrosoltan noticed a spacious tent erected in the center of the massive courtyard where the festivities were taking place. The tent floor was covered in colorful Persian carpets, and embroidered pillows decorated the large divans, where guests could lounge about. A band of choice musicians was performing, and a young boy with a magical voice sang some of the odes of Hafez, accompanied by the Persian spike fiddle, and in a chorus by the tambourines.
Many of Shiraz’s high society and several foreign dignitaries and friends of the governor were in attendance. Nasrosoltan pitied the foreign guests since, from their expressions, it seemed their ears may not have been tutored to the harmonies and delicacies of traditional Persian music.
Amongst the multitude, Nasrosoltan’s gaze became fixated on a beautiful woman. From her mannerisms, she seemed to possess a fiery energy that reminded him of the European women he was acquainted with when living in St. Petersburg.
Nasrosoltan noticed that she seemed to be holding her own in a conversation with several foreign men, and as he moved closer, he overheard her speaking in French. He thought to himself, Who is this alluring woman?
So, with much curiosity, Nasrosoltan turned to his friend, the commander of the garrison, and asked, “Who is that lady?”
The commander replied, “She is Shams-e-Zaman, a guest of my father who recently arrived from France.”
Nasrosoltan said, “She seems to be a captivating character, don’t you agree?”
The commander did not immediately respond to his question but instead stared back at Nasrosoltan like he was searching for the right words. “Perhaps, but now that you ask, I must say she has a certain way about her that can be annoying!”
Surprised at this blunt assessment of the lady in question, Nasrosoltan asked, “How so?”
The commander explained, “For instance, she likes to be addressed as madame instead of khanoom, as we say in our own beautiful Persian. So, to keep her contented, we call her Madame Shams-e-Zaman.” And with a roll of his eyes, he added, “Not only that, but with people she feels close to, she says she prefers to be called Madame Shamsi. What is more ridiculous is that she addresses the men as monsieur, as if she were still in Paris!”
He then offered, “I think she suffers from gharbzadegi”—a pejorative term meaning “Euro-mania.” “She thinks everything here is backward and everything in Europe is so much better. No doubt, she even wishes she were born a firangi” (the term by which all foreigners were distinguished).
Nasrosoltan, familiar with the commander’s character, was not too surprised by this comment. Even though they had been childhood friends, both had grown up with vastly different worldviews. Nasrosoltan, having lived in St. Petersburg during his formative years, welcomed progressive ideas, while the commander, on the other hand, possessed a narrower view of the world. He had never left the environs of Shiraz, except for having lived in Tehran for a short while during his early childhood. The commander was quite satisfied with the status quo and admired all things Persian, even the traditionally accepted roles for men and women.
Nasrosoltan sensed from his friend’s words th
at everything about Madame Shams-e-Zaman’s being, from her style of dress to the manner with which she spoke, ran counter to these local customs of etiquette that the commander believed women should uphold.
The commander’s comment about everything being better in Europe did strike a chord with Nasrosoltan. Even though he could have taken his friend’s utterance as an insult due to his own affinity toward things European, he was not offended. He decided the commander’s mindset about Madame Shams-e-Zaman had more to do with her being a woman rather than her being a Europhile.
Changing the subject back to what he was more interested in discussing, he pressed his friend further. “And is she married?”
“No, she is a widow. She had been married at a young age, from a not-so-glamorous family to my father’s close friend, who was appointed the ambassador to France. They lived in Paris for close to seven years until her husband’s untimely death. Since her return, she has been staying here at the mansion.”
Nasrosoltan then asked, “So how is it that she is staying with the governor?”
The commander replied, “Her husband has left her a great fortune in properties in Shiraz. When she returned to Persia, my father, out of respect for his late friend, requested that she spend her time as a guest at the mansion while arrangements are being made to settle her husband’s affairs.”
Then he added with a cunning smile, “Dear Nasrosoltan, as a musician yourself, you might find it of interest that she says she plays the piano and the violin. Of course, I have not had a chance to hear her perform, so she might just be bragging!”
Nasrosoltan did not know what to make of this frivolous comment, but this was more in line with the commander’s thoughts about women; that for a man, a woman’s purpose is to be pleasing to the eye and have a talent that delights his ear.
The commander then quickly suggested, “Why don’t we go over, and I will introduce you?”
Nasrosoltan agreed, and they both walked over to where she was in deep conversation with a group of gentlemen.
Her back was toward them, so to draw Madame Shams-e-Zaman’s attention, the commander interrupted their conversation by saying, “Pardon me, Madame Shamsi … ”
To Nasrosoltan’s surprise, she turned abruptly with a disagreeable face, as if she were startled when she realized who was addressing her. This alerted Nasrosoltan to a sense of animus toward his friend, realizing that their feelings of distaste for one another may be mutual.
However, when she fully turned around and noticed Nasrosoltan also in the commander’s company, her demeanor changed, and she quickly composed herself by displaying a pleasant smile for them both.
The commander continued, “I would like to introduce you to my friend that I had told you about, the composer Nasrosoltan Minbashian, son of the esteemed Salar Moazaz.”
They made acquaintances. After this brief introduction, where Madame Shams-e-Zaman greeted Nasrosoltan kindly, she started to turn back around to continue the conversation she was having with the other guests before being interrupted.
But Nasrosoltan wanted to continue talking with her, so he tried to think of something to say to keep her interest and blurted out, “Madame Shams-e-Zaman, I understand from the commander that you are a student of music, especially piano and violin.”
She turned back toward Nasrosoltan and said, “That is correct, Monsieur.”
Nasrosoltan took advantage of the opportunity and added, “The reason I mentioned it is that these two are also my favorite musical instruments; it is encouraging to see such a love of music.”
Then, to keep her from walking off, he hurriedly asked, “So tell me, if you had to choose, which of these two instruments would you say is your favorite?”
She responded with surprise, “What an amusing first question to ask someone you barely know. The answer is neither!”
A puzzled Nasrosoltan was taken aback by her forwardness and dismissive attitude, and he asked, “Neither? But how can that be?”
She replied, “As someone who likes to sing, I also consider my voice an instrument, and that is the one I would pick as my favorite!”
The self-assurance she displayed gave Nasrosoltan the sudden feeling of being off-balance and in over his head. He was not sure if he should abandon this uncomfortable conversation and move on or continue. After a brief pause in which he considered a gracious exit, he decided to remain to see where the conversation might lead. She was a challenge, and he determined he was up for one—partly because he sensed she was cultivating an air of aloofness to keep him at a distance.
The commander then suddenly interjected, “Madame Shamsi, Nasrosoltan is also well versed in the French language; you should converse!” as if to test Nasrosoltan’s prowess or lack thereof. Or it could have just been a well-intentioned but mistimed pronouncement on his part. Nasrosoltan preferred to see this as a sign of his friend’s ignorance rather than his wickedness.
The two grudgingly agreed to demonstrate their command of French, attempting to satisfy what they thought was the commander’s curiosity. Even though the commander himself did not speak the language, he stood uncomfortably between them like a chaperone with an awkward smile on his face, acting as if he was a party to the conversation.
While they spoke, Nasrosoltan sensed from Madame Shamsi’s reaction toward the commander that she did not want him there. But she did seem delighted knowing that he could not understand their conversation.
They continued speaking in French, and Madame Shams-e-Zaman said to Nasrosoltan, “You know, the commander had earlier mentioned to me that you had lived in St. Petersburg. It must have been wonderful.”
He replied, “Yes, Madame Shams-e-Zaman—”
But she cut him off and said, “Please, call me Shamsi if you don’t mind; Shams-e-Zaman is too formal.”
Nasrosoltan appreciated her request that she be addressed more casually. He saw it as a sign of a potential thaw in her initial stance, and it pleased him that she seemed to want to be on a less formal footing.
Unlike the commander, Nasrosoltan considered Madame Shamsi a breath of fresh air, and he replied, “Yes, I miss St. Petersburg dearly and look forward to getting back soon. Have you ever been there?”
She answered with a sigh as if recalling a magical experience. “Yes, with my late husband when he was ambassador to France, we took a trip to Russia. St. Petersburg is a beautiful city, but if you miss a city so enchanting, think about how I feel having lived in the loveliest city in the world, Paris, for seven years myself. I am glad to see another person who also misses Europe and does not think it a sin to want to live there instead of here. You, who feel the same way, can perhaps understand why my desire to return to Europe burns that much deeper, especially for a woman with my many interests.”
Nasrosoltan was curious to know what interests she meant and was about to ask as a ruse to continue their conversation. But instead, Madame Shamsi herself continued to explain, “Even though I love Persia and missed it when I was away, it is difficult for me to pursue my passions while living here compared to living in Europe. I have come home only to put my late husband’s affairs in order so I can move back to Paris permanently.” And then, with a laugh, she added, “I was born a few years too early for Persia, and it seems a few years too late for Paris! I miss Europe very much and will be going back at the earliest opportunity.”
Nasrosoltan felt as she did; he also wanted a quick return to St. Petersburg, which seemed to some not as glamorous as Paris, but it was a city he had come to love.
After this brief but intriguing conversation, they parted company as dinner was being served, and she went to join the governor at his table. Nasrosoltan and the commander were seated at another, with a group of decorated military officers.
After dinner, and as the night wore on, Nasrosoltan kept watch of Madame Shamsi from across the tent, and as he followed her with his eyes, he became more spellbound by this beguiling woman.
Chapter 8
The Wager
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br /> Later that evening, Nasrosoltan, with feverish impatience, decided to approach Madame Shamsi to engage in further conversation. But no matter how much he searched, he could not locate her. When he finally found her, she was surrounded by several men who were watching her play takhte-nard, backgammon. She was the only single woman Nasrosoltan had ever seen in Persia sitting amongst men, smoking a water pipe, and playing the game.
Witnessing the desperate looks on the faces of her dispatched opponents, Nasrosoltan could sense their embarrassment at having lost. No player of this ancient game likes to lose, but Madame Shamsi’s challengers seemed to especially hate losing to a woman. She, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing merrily at the expressions of gloom on their faces.
She momentarily raised her head and noticed Nasrosoltan intently studying her every move on the board (for he considered himself a connoisseur of the game). After she defeated her last opponent, Madame Shamsi turned to Nasrosoltan, revealing a victorious smile, and asked, “Monsieur Minbashian, would you care to play?”
He responded in jest, “Madame, after seeing how you wounded these other masterful adversaries, I fear sitting across you with only this wooden board as a shield between us, for I do not wish to be the last in the line of those you have vanquished.”
Madame Shamsi looked up from the board she had been arranging in preparation for the next bout, and with a flirtatious smile, responded, “You give me too much credit, Monsieur; this was all the luck of the dice, and it has very little to do with my skill. But as you have heard, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so let us then make a friendly wager. If I win, you will promise to play the piano for me, which you mentioned is one of your favorite instruments. And if I lose, I will promise to sing you a chanson, using my favorite instrument! What do you say? Are you up for the challenge?”
A Hundred Sweet Promises Page 5