A Hundred Sweet Promises

by Sepehr Haddad

  Having finished their drinks, Nasrosoltan got up and asked the grand duke’s permission to leave, as he didn't want to overstay his welcome. Before departing the room, Nasrosoltan added apologetically, “Your Highness, forgive me for showing such emotion today.”

  With a friendly tone, the grand duke advised him, “Never apologize for shedding tears for a dead friend, for it is not a sign of weakness but a measure of the love and respect you had for another. We lost many good men in the war with the Japanese, and I saw men who shed tears for their compatriots without much grieving and some who suffered without shedding tears. I see the profound sorrow you feel has penetrated deep into your heart. Cherish this and be grateful for the ability to express grief in such a manner. Truly there is no shame in that. But always remember this about death; people only die when you forget them!”

  Nasrosoltan, with his hand on his heart, bowed his head in gratitude for the grand duke’s heartwarming words. The grand duke, wanting to show respect, especially at such a difficult time for him, got up and said, “Let me walk you out.”

  They both walked outside the palace entrance and spent another few minutes conversing. Unbeknownst to them both, Irina had found a window within view, stationing herself in position to have one last glance at Nasrosoltan before he left.

  That evening he could not sleep once again, but this time, he felt excited, not confused. Nasrosoltan had cursed fate for taking away Rustam in the strangest manner, precisely at a time his friendship was needed the most. But he now realized the irony, that the fate he cursed for putting Rustam in front of a bullet was also the same fate that placed him side by side with Irina at the piano.

  To still his mind, he reached for the Divan of Hafez and randomly opened a page in the Persian tradition for consultation. To his surprise, he landed on the same sonnet he had read back in Shiraz, at the tomb of Hafez, which at the time had disappointed him. When he reread it now, it seemed the sonneteer’s words relayed a completely different message:

  “Love,” I cried, “a little pity

  Show to me, a hapless stranger,

  Poor and lonely in Love's City.”

  But she answered:

  “Foolish stranger,

  Yours the fault, not mine, for losing

  Thus, your way; ’t is your own choosing

  Blame not me, O tiresome stranger.”

  Once more, O HAFIZ, dawns the morning cup,

  Another day in which to seek her face!

  Patience! The day will come, in some strange place,

  When thy strong hands her veil at last lift up.

  Upon reading this, it was as if a whirlwind of emotion hit him. Had the poet so many years ago foretold how he would feel this night? Might it be that the love Hafez had spoken of was not the pursuit of music but instead the love of a woman?

  As if standing before him, he recalled how the mute falgir a summer ago in their Tehran garden pointed to the word love on his cloth, adding on a scrap of paper, You do not believe in fortunes, not even those that poets tell you from the grave! All in response to Nasrosoltan’s mockery of fortune-telling. He reflected upon the arrogance of his ignorance years earlier, passionately believing that love would be the furthest thought from his mind when destiny seemed to be hinting otherwise.

  Just as the poet had predicted, Nasrosoltan had been “a hapless stranger, poor and lonely in Love’s City” back in Shiraz, and he now found himself in “some strange place.” He suddenly began to worry about what followed in the same verse, When thy strong hands her veil at last lift up, for he did not want any misstep led by such feelings to take him and the princess down a ruinous path.

  Pieces of this mysterious puzzle were falling into place right in front of his eyes. Nasrosoltan now accepted that he had powerful feelings for Irina. He also knew that this could put him in a precarious position if he was not careful. But he felt different this time than in Shiraz, where he struggled with his own blindness, leading him to be fearful of loving any woman.

  This night, thoughts of Irina did not frighten him. All doubts, despair, and fear had now become insignificant, with Irina on his mind and with her foothold in his heart.

  Chapter 22

  The Invitation

  A few days later, when Nasrosoltan arrived home from the conservatory, he found a note from Madame Lazar asking him to visit her when he had a chance. He went to her apartment, where she greeted him excitedly. She waved an envelope in her hand and announced that a courier from the palace had delivered a personal correspondence for him.

  Upon handing him the envelope, Madame Lazar inquired with curiosity bordering on intrusiveness, “What do you think it could be? I hope it has nothing to do with your tutoring of the princess!” At the mention of Irina’s name, Nasrosoltan opened the letter immediately, revealing a formal invitation to dine at the palace.

  Madame Lazar was surprised that Nasrosoltan had received an invite to such a formal gathering. Ignoring any notion that she may not have even been invited, she exclaimed, “That is strange. The courier did not deliver an invitation for me; I wonder if he forgot?”

  Nasrosoltan felt awkward, knowing how much the Madame desired involvement with the royal family. However, almost immediately after Madame Lazar uttered those words, her eyes met Nasrosoltan’s, and it became evident that, unfortunately for her, a shift in position had occurred. He had gained favor while she had not. And for Madame Lazar, there would probably be no invitation.

  She became envious, and her feelings were hurt, and she quietly thanked the Lord that Nasrosoltan would be going back to Persia soon. Then, she suddenly blurted out, “You know, Monsieur, I have some good news. I visited the doctor, and his prognosis for a full recovery to my finger was better than expected!”

  By offering a veiled threat of her early return, Madame Lazar attempted to shift back the balance by creating uncertainty with Nasrosoltan’s position tutoring the princess. Only she knew that there had been no doctor’s visit and that her hand was feeling stiffer and actually getting worse.

  Nasrosoltan, oblivious to the Madame’s games, was happy to hear of her improvement. In an attempt to reassure Madame Lazar, he offered, “It could be that the grand duke has invited me as a gesture of kindness since he learned of my dear friend’s tragic death just a few days ago.”

  Hearing this explanation initially calmed Madame Lazar’s anxiety about the missed invitation. But then she turned her agitation to the volatile state of the country. With a heightened nervousness in her voice, she vented, “How can a distinguished man such as Monsieur Somkhishvili be gunned down in the street without reason?”

  Madame Lazar started working herself into a frenzy about the political instability and how she did not feel safe anymore. She sarcastically suggested, “Maybe I should emigrate to France, where the people are more civilized.”

  Nasrosoltan tried to change the subject to keep her increasing uneasiness at bay by asking for assistance on an unrelated matter. Pointing to the bottom of the invitation card, which read, White Tie, Formal Evening Attire, he asked, “Madame Lazar, do you think the formal attire I wear when performing auditions at the conservatory is appropriate for such an occasion?”

  It seemed his maneuver was successful at changing her train of thought as she refocused and replied definitively, “No, not at all, the outfit you must wear at these functions is quite different. Really, you must look to acquire the appropriate attire for such an evening, since even the smallest faux pas is readily noticed!”

  Luckily for him, his father had finally wired funds to his account for the last few months of his stay, so money was not going to be an issue. At issue, however, was procuring appropriate clothing, which a tailor would need to custom-make.

  Madame Lazar added with a dismissive tone, “The invitation for dinner is two weeks from now; there is no way anyone can make it for you in time.”

  Just as she had pleaded with him months ago to accept the tutoring position, now he begged for her aid. “There
must be a way; please, Madame, I need your help. Do you have any idea how I can acquire this formal attire in time?”

  Nasrosoltan realized that the more he needed Madame Lazar’s help, the more she softened her stance, as she began to see it wasn’t Nasrosoltan’s fault she had not been invited.

  Since the Madame had introduced him to the royal family, she believed the successful outcome of that introduction was in her best interest. So Madame Lazar agreed to do all she could to assist Nasrosoltan in looking his most elegant. But above all, it pleased her that Nasrosoltan felt indebted to her.

  She mentioned, “It will be difficult, but I may be able to persuade my late husband’s friend, Monsieur Dukemejian, to do it. He is a fellow Armenian and an excellent tailor, well known to St. Petersburg high society. There is a great demand for his exquisite work.”

  Madame Lazar continued eagerly, “He is a true gentleman. Upon hearing of my husband’s death in the war, he was very attentive to me. One truly knows a person’s character in such times, for some offer the obligatory condolences, and you never hear from them again. But this kind man was there for me in my darkest moments, sharing my sorrow.”

  Relieved at her offer to help, Nasrosoltan thanked her profusely and asked, “You say the tailor’s name is Dukemejian? That is interesting. In Persian, that means someone who deals with buttons, dokmechi.”

  Madame Lazar had now fully recovered from her bout of envy and proceeded to impart all she knew about Dukemejian’s background. She told Nasrosoltan, “You see, his father was also a well-known tailor who emigrated from the Ottoman Empire, and the talent of this trade has been passed down from the father to his son. It was rumored that his father was so talented that he did not even need to measure, and just by giving a client a quick look-over, he could make him the most fitting attire in a few days.”

  Madame Lazar sat down and gestured to Nasrosoltan to do the same. “The son, like his father before him, has made quite a name for himself, and because of this, he is a busy person. Even some of the nobility have to wait longer than they would like for their custom-made orders.”

  Nasrosoltan inquired, “But Madame, if he is so much in demand that even the aristocracy have to wait, why would he do me such a favor?”

  Madame Lazar, displaying a confident smile, replied, “Do not worry about that. I will speak to the Monsieur tomorrow, and if he agrees, we will go to his shop together.”

  Nasrosoltan sensed that Monsieur Dukemejian was not only a friend to her late husband but maybe a more intimate friend to her, seeing the way her eyes lit up when she spoke of the man.

  As he got up to leave her apartment, Madame Lazar asked, “Are you by chance familiar with the dining etiquette and seating protocols of the palace?” Nasrosoltan replied that he was not.

  She said, “Well then, let us first get your attire in order, and then we will worry about the variety of forks, spoons, knives, plates, and glasses you will find placed in front of you. It can be quite confusing if you have never experienced it. Do not be alarmed; I will teach you!”

  Then Madame Lazar, recalling a happier time in her life, added, “When my late husband was alive, we were invited to a few such dinners. I also had to learn all the intricate details, which I will impart to you.”

  Nasrosoltan thanked her for being so generous. “I had not thought how much I would have to learn in the next couple of weeks, just for one evening dining at the palace.”

  The next afternoon, Madame Lazar told Nasrosoltan that she had met with Monsieur Dukemejian, and he had graciously agreed to tailor the appropriate clothing in about ten days. She told him, “You should know, this will be no small feat, but it will be in time for your special evening. Monsieur Dukemejian asked that we go to his tailor shop on Nevsky Prospect early tomorrow morning.” Nasrosoltan heartily agreed since time was of the essence, and he had nowhere else to turn.

  The next morning, they made their way to the tailor shop, with Madame Lazar being exceptionally well-dressed for such a regular visit. This confirmed Nasrosoltan’s hunch that there may be more than a flirtatious attraction between them. He wondered whether Madame Lazar wanting to spend more time with Monsieur Dukemejian was the reason she had excused herself from the palace lessons. If this was the case, he was happy for her. Nasrosoltan thought, Why should she be lonely? He believed that as a widow, just like anyone else, she also had a right to love and be loved, a topic that was very close to his heart these days.

  If tailors were supposed to be secretive about their clientele, Monsieur Dukemejian surely was not. As he took Nasrosoltan’s measurements, he shared details about all the famous people whom he prepared attire for. Dresses for high-society ladies, uniforms for decorated military officers, and evening tailcoats and trousers for the well-to-do. It seemed he was trying to impress Madame Lazar with his name-dropping, as his attention was mostly toward her.

  Monsieur Dukemejian told Nasrosoltan, “Madame Lazar mentioned that you need the attire in a hurry. You know, if it were not at her behest, I would not have been able to satisfy your request!”

  Nasrosoltan thanked the tailor. “Madame Lazar speaks highly of your talent, and I am aware of how much you are in demand, especially with all the important people you just mentioned. I feel honored that you have made a special exception in my case.”

  Monsieur Dukemejian enjoyed the compliment, and as he continued taking Nasrosoltan’s measurements, he replied, “Madame Lazar mentioned you are going to dinner at Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich’s palace. That is a special honor; they must hold you in high regard. Madame tells me you are doing her a favor by tutoring the princess while she recovers from her injury. That is very noble of you. I am sure you are well aware that Princess Irina is emerging as one of the most eligible women in all of Russia. I know for a fact that she has several impressive suitors who are interested.”

  He continued, “Why, just the other day, I took Prince Felix Yusupov’s measurements. Some say he is amongst her admirers, coming from one of the wealthiest families in Russia. I believe he has the best chance for her hand. I like him very much because while all the royal court exclusively gives their orders to House Brizak, he only wears my custom-made attire and has been a client for many years.”

  The tailor then added with a proud smile, “Prince Yusupov told me himself that he appreciates my choice of fabric and superior craftsmanship, preferring it to theirs.”

  Upon hearing this gossip about Prince Yusupov's interest in Irina, Nasrosoltan became disheartened and realized in his naivete that there was formidable competition for Irina’s attention. Nasrosoltan questioned if he was living in a deluded bubble orbiting around the princess and ignoring almost everything else. And if so, he worried that he had imagined feelings between him and Irina that did not exist.

  If Monsieur Dukemejian had spoken the truth about the prince’s attraction to Irina, Nasrosoltan wondered how he could ever compete with a wealthy Russian nobleman of such prominence. Once again, self-doubt and despair engulfed him. He began to think his memory of recent events with Irina may have been nothing but a flight of fancy. He anxiously started to believe that the princess probably did not give him a second thought the minute the lessons ended.

  Nasrosoltan questioned whether Irina was simply showing kindness the other day by placing her hand on his, in empathy, when she heard of his friend’s death. This made him worry that his boldness in grasping her hand and kissing it in return may have been a colossal error in judgment on his part. He wondered if the reason Irina did not pull her hand away was due to her being caught off guard and not because she was consenting.

  As Nasrosoltan was deep in thought about Irina, he totally forgot where he was, and he hunched as if deflated. The tailor then, with a hint of agitation, said, “Please stand straight, Monsieur; I need to measure your chest now!”

  In a matter of minutes, a few unsolicited words from this man’s lips ruined Nasrosoltan’s morning, as he became miserable and was no longer excited by the invi
tation that had elated him only two days ago.

  When the tailor finished his measurements, he told Nasrosoltan he would need to see him twice more to make necessary alterations for the perfect fit, and they scheduled the times and dates.

  Upon leaving the shop, Nasrosoltan asked Madame Lazar, “Is what he said about the princess true?”

  She replied, “Oh, yes! Her Serene Highness has come of age, and the most eligible bachelors of Russia are pursuing her, as Monsieur Dukemejian mentioned. Nana also told me that many respectable suitors are paying her the most marked attention. She has also revealed to me that Princess Irina is to be introduced to society at a ball in the Salle de la Noblesse later this year.”

  The hope that Monsieur Dukemejian was just gossiping untruths faded fast with Madame Lazar’s confirmation. Although Nasrosoltan should not have been surprised that Irina would be pursued by many regal suitors, he felt the bubble they shared during their weekly lessons had suddenly burst. The tailor’s words turned out to be sharper than his needles.

  When love rules the mind, the heart only knows what the person wants to believe is real, and Nasrosoltan desperately wanted to trust that Irina had similar feelings toward him. But he now recognized that the odds were stacked against him, as he asked himself: Why would she ever favor a foreigner of no regal station over a Russian prince?

  How appropriate that Nasrosoltan thought about odds, for it had been the wrong odds at the gaming house that placed him in her presence in the first place. If he had never lost his money that evening, he would have never accepted Madame Lazar’s offer to tutor the princess. When the roulette ball avoided his number seven at the wheel, he cursed fate under his breath. Nasrosoltan had come to later realize that by losing there, he was given a chance to possess something far more precious than any winnings he could have imagined that fateful night: the heart of Irina.

  However, now it seemed that this fantasy was to be laid to rest. Nasrosoltan once again decided to try to keep thoughts of Irina out of his mind, no matter how difficult a task. The potential obstacles to be surmounted for Irina’s affection seemed too tremendous and hung like a heavy veil upon Nasrosoltan’s face.