A Hundred Sweet Promises

by Sepehr Haddad

Grigoryan grinned. “A reminder of…how many years he had been…happily married to her.”

  Nasrosoltan laughed and said, “Yes, I can see that is something Monsieur Somkhishvili would have done. Even in death, he makes me laugh when I am supposed to be sorrowful, just as he did in life; God bless his soul!”

  The keeper, as if suddenly pierced by sadness, added with a groan, “He was lucky to have had…that many years.” After letting out a deep sigh, he continued, “I fear…I will not be…that fortunate.”

  The keeper’s unexpected comment seemed strange to Nasrosoltan, especially from a man younger than he was. Hearing Grigoryan’s unsolicited remark, Nasrosoltan sensed he wanted him to ask the reason, and so he inquired, “Bat’ono Grigoryan, why do you say such a thing?”

  With waves of swelling grief engulfing him, Grigoryan’s face shriveled with anguish as he once again slowly answered, “Because the only woman I ever loved…the woman I knew for many years…and was going to marry…left me for another!”

  As tears welled up in the keeper's eyes, he drawled, “We were planning our marriage…when suddenly my father died…and when she learned of our family tradition…that I was to be the next keeper…of the pantheon…she begged me to find other work…since she thought it morbid…that I would be dealing with the dead.” He stopped to collect himself before he continued on with his sad tale. “The last time we spoke…was the day… my heart broke forever. She told me…You stay with the dead; I choose life…I do not want to be known as the wife…of the keeper of coffins.”

  Grigoryan turned away as he strained to compose himself under what seemed to be the weight of the world. Once he felt he could continue speaking without choking up, the keeper turned toward Nasrosoltan and confessed his innermost feelings. “But now…I feel like one of these I have laid down…to sleep in the dust of the earth; the only difference is…that I am dead on the inside…and will forever be.”

  Nasrosoltan pitied the poor man since it seemed the telling of this tale had left him without soul or strength. He felt incredibly blessed that, unlike the keeper, he was instead enlivened by Irina’s love.

  Nasrosoltan, aiming to lift Grigoryan’s spirit, said to him, “But you are a young man. You have much time left. Do not despair. Surely you will find a new love that will surpass the one who broke you.”

  The dejected keeper, mired in sorrow, seemed annoyed at this frivolous comment. He dismissed Nasrosoltan’s attempt to comfort him and retorted bitterly, “Sir, if you believe that…then I assume…you have never really been in love. How can a love that never went away…ever be replaced?”

  Then after another lengthy pause, the keeper made his final pronouncement. “Monsieur…pray that you never have to endure such pain. What I had with her…I have not forgotten…It lives in my spine!”

  As the keeper left him to spend a few moments to reflect in solitude at the foot of his friend’s grave, Nasrosoltan wondered to himself about the vagaries of life. That, if not for a stray bullet, the number inscribed on Rustam’s headstone would have surely been much higher.

  Nasrosoltan then posed a question to the heavens: If I can make the necessary arrangements to prepare for Irina, how many years of living happily in love with her will be engraved on my tombstone upon my passing?

  Chapter 30

  The Love Note

  Tehran, Persia, 1913

  After an uncomfortable journey from Georgia, a travel-weary Nasrosoltan finally arrived at his home in Tehran. He had not telegraphed his arrival date, so his parents and younger brother Gholam-Hossein were surprised and joyous when he showed up.

  After only allowing time for some tea, sweets, and small talk, Salar Moazaz, who was eager to assess his son’s progress, asked him to sit at the piano and perform something. Nasrosoltan, knowing his father’s mindset, was not surprised at the request, and even though he was fatigued, he willingly accepted his father’s challenge. After a few moments of warming up, he proceeded to play the work he had dedicated to Irina.

  Once he finished playing, Salar Moazaz exclaimed, “Beautiful! Charming! My son, the light of my eyes, I am happy to have you back with us! You performed with such fire and passion that it is delightful to listen to. It was a superbly lyrical piece with great depth. Whose work was this—was it a Russian composer?”

  Nasrosoltan smiled and replied, “No, Father, it is my own work; this is what I composed and performed for my examination. It was well received by the audience at the annual public performance. Even Director Glazunov congratulated me personally. Members of the Russian royal family—the grand duke and duchess, sister to His Imperial Majesty, the tsar—were also in attendance.”

  Salar Moazaz, feeling incredibly proud of his son’s accomplishment, was choked with emotion and gratefully acknowledged, “Well, obviously, you must have been inspired to write such a work.”

  It was a rare moment of praise for his son, as Salar Moazaz brandished a satisfied smile and continued with a confession. “Now that I see your impressive progress, I must admit that I am glad you did return to St. Petersburg, even though it was initially against my will.”

  Nasrosoltan appreciated his father’s compliment and warm reception of his music, which encouraged him to divulge his big news. “Yes, dear Father, I was truly inspired. I could not wait to return home and share with you and dearest Mother my good fortune. My inspiration was the result of falling in love with a woman.”

  Nasrosoltan paused for a moment to let the news sink in with his now startled parents. They looked at each other with surprise, wondering how to respond to his shocking pronouncement.

  Khata Khanoom broke the awkward silence and asked, “Is she Persian?”

  Nasrosoltan responded, “No, dear Mother, she is not.”

  Khata Khanoom was disappointed as she inquired further, “Well, is she at least of our faith?”

  Nasrosoltan replied, “No, she is not. She is Princess Irina Alexandrovna, the niece of Tsar Nicholas II of the Romanovs.”

  The happiness he felt just moments before was wholly shattered when a bewildered Salar Moazaz abruptly demanded, “What are you talking about? This is not the proper way to deliver this news to us, with no warning! What were you doing with this girl and her family? Why did you not write and tell us anything?”

  Nasrosoltan’s father was now furious and got up and paced angrily around the room. Nasrosoltan had anticipated his parents’ surprise, but not his father’s anger. He looked to his mother to see if she could say something to somehow soften the blow, but that was to no avail, as she remained silent and deep in thought.

  Nasrosoltan continued by offering his heartfelt apologies for keeping them in the dark. “Dear Father, I meant no disrespect, but this was a serious matter that I felt had to be discussed in person. We met and got acquainted when I became her private piano tutor. We fell in love and wish to be married, of course, hopefully, and respectfully with your approval. Events unfolded so suddenly, especially during the last few weeks of my stay in St. Petersburg, that I did not find the opportunity to inform you.”

  Salar Moazaz stopped pacing for a moment and stared angrily at Nasrosoltan, indicating that he was not convinced. Nasrosoltan quickly added, “I had an audience with her uncle, His Imperial Majesty, and her parents before leaving St. Petersburg. The tsar suggested that I return to ask for your permission before further discussions. Please, my respected father, my kind mother, give your blessings to this intention and to our love for one another. Your permission would be a great gift to me!”

  His mother and father were awestruck by their son’s request, unsure of how to respond. Nasrosoltan took advantage of their silence, confessing, “I know in your hearts you wish for me to marry a Persian, but I love the princess, and for me, in which country she was born, or to which God she prays makes no difference. All that matters is that she inspires me to do great things, as you have just witnessed with this piece I performed for you.

  “She brings out feelings from the depths of my soul tha
t would have remained buried there forever if I had never met her.” After Nasrosoltan uttered these words, he looked at his parents to gauge whether to go on. When they said nothing in return, he continued to plead his case.

  “I am fully aware that this is not our way and that our traditions dictate that my family find me a suitable Persian wife. Believe me, I would rather be with the woman I love from another country and a different religion than to be with someone I do not love but whom you consider acceptable. I respectfully beg you, do not extinguish the seeds of love that have taken root deep within my heart and have grown to nourish my soul. I implore you to give me your blessing!”

  Nasrosoltan was correct that they did not want him to marry a foreigner, even if she was a Russian princess. What he requested was an alien thought to them. Mainly because his mother, with much effort and diplomacy, had already lined up several Persian daughters of well-known and respected families for him to decide upon for a wife. These ladies were just as eager to be the one chosen by this highly eligible bachelor and son of the revered Salar Moazaz.

  At a loss for words, his father reasoned to himself that playing for time was the best course of action and declared, “Well then, the tsar is correct in that you cannot begin any sort of discussions about her coming to Persia without proper arrangements.”

  And then Salar Moazaz added what had been his plan for his son all along. “The first thing you must do is to attain a respectable position in your career. Now that you have returned, I can also tell you that I have heard you will be promoted to the rank of sargord”—major—“in the Cossack Brigade, and that is a good start for the time being. After that, you must find an appropriate residence befitting a Russian princess. Once these are accomplished, then we can revisit the issue, considering the way you feel about it. Now go and rest; you must be exhausted after such a long journey. Tomorrow we will discuss a position for you in the conservatory at the Dar al-Funun.”

  Nasrosoltan was shocked and surprised at Salar Moazaz’s change of demeanor when his father suddenly acquiesced to his petition. Now that his father was agreeable, Nasrosoltan bowed down low and kissed Salar Moazaz’s hand in appreciation for having consented to his wish. He then asked permission to leave the room to go and rest.

  After he left, Nasrosoltan’s mother turned to her husband, displaying a palpable uneasiness, and asked, “Agha”— sir—“what was the wisdom in such words? Why did you give our son false hope for this relationship when we have already put the wheels in motion with these esteemed families? They will surely take us for fools if, after all this time negotiating with them, we tell them he is to be married to another who was not even in the running!”

  Salar Moazaz hesitated for a moment while searching for the right words and then responded to Khata Khanoom by saying something eerily similar to the tsar's thoughts on the future for such love.

  “Khanoom, our son is young and impressionable; the love he feels for this woman is pure and innocent. It is prudent that we keep him close to us rather than drive him away with our displeasure for this relationship.

  “We are fortunate that he is back in Persia now. You know, my dear lady, unlike what is said, distance does not make the heart grow fonder. In fact, distance can slowly drain the excitement out of any affection. So even though he tells us their love for one another is genuine, that love he so boldly spoke of just now will not withstand the test of time and distance, for these are two of the fiercest enemies of love!

  “Therefore, I suggest you continue your negotiations with these families. I believe once he gets acquainted with the one he favors here, all these thoughts of marrying the Russian princess will soon become nothing but a nice memory of his time in St. Petersburg.”

  Khata Khanoom, relieved that her husband had a plan, responded, “My dear husband, I agree with some of the things you have said.”

  However, she worried his plan may not go far enough. “I don’t believe time and distance are the only enemies of love; the most powerful enemy of love is silence. Distance does not separate lovers; silence does!”

  Upon hearing this, Salar Moazaz nodded and called their manservant into the room: “Haji Murad, any letter that Nasrosoltan wants you to put in the post for Russia, and any letter that comes for him from Russia, you will bring to me immediately! You will not mention a word to him, do you understand?” With a bow of his head, Haji Murad acknowledged that he understood.

  These two lovers were wholly unaware that in two capital cities, thousands of miles apart, all efforts were being made toward the dissolution of their love. Discounting their love as nothing but a youthful fantasy that would soon be forgotten with the passage of time and the experience of new pursuits. But love is blind to such talk and schemes, and Nasrosoltan was determined to bring anxiety to rest by overcoming any obstacle that would hinder their ultimate reunion.

  And so, for the next several months, Nasrosoltan went on about his business and worked tirelessly to secure his position at the conservatory. He also eagerly searched for an appropriate residence to move into with Irina when the time was right. Nasrosoltan spent many evenings writing letters to Irina to remind her of his love, not waiting for a reply before sending another. He relayed his diligent efforts in arranging affairs, preparing for the day they would finally be together again. He wrote, My dear, it is a wonderful mystery to me that in my heart there was never a time when you were not, since I feel my life began on the day we first met!

  He wrote of many things, like the beautiful places he planned to take her, especially the exotic city of Shiraz to visit Hafez’s tomb, to thank the man whose words had given him strength when he most needed it.

  Nasrosoltan wrote about his life events, such as his promotion in the Cossack Brigade and the various awards and accolades he had received since his arrival. He noted proudly the gold medal of honor awarded to him by the government for his distinguished service in the music education of conservatory students. He confided that grooming the young generation of musicians in his country was now a source of pride.

  Nasrosoltan wrote to her many such affectionate letters, but surprisingly, he received no response from Irina in return. He did not know the reason and began to worry. There was much disruption in mail delivery to Europe due to the severe winter weather they were experiencing, and he hoped that perhaps this was the reason.

  Each passing day that brought no news from her added to his distress. But he only needed to take one glance at the keepsake from Irina, the love note she had written to him of her Saint Paul’s sayings on love—the reminder that “love is patient and it never fails,” that “love always hopes, and it always perseveres”—for him to regain his joyous calm once more.

  But reading her note repeatedly delayed his trepidation for only a short while. Finally, in a state of utter desperation, he wondered if he should write to Madame Lazar, the only other person he knew who was in contact with Irina, to inquire about her well-being.

  One day soon thereafter, in late January 1914, while at the bazaar, Nasrosoltan noticed a newly arrived shipment of fresh Persian pistachios at one of the storefronts. He recalled how much Madame Lazar enjoyed these delicacies and thought to send her some.

  Even though Haji Murad usually did the shopping and shipping of such things, Nasrosoltan purchased the pistachios and shipped them himself from the main post office near the bazaar. He added a short note asking about the princess, informing the Madame that he had not received any of the letters Irina must have written to him.

  As the weeks passed, he continued writing to Irina, but his letters started sounding somewhat frenzied. He questioned why he had not heard from her in response to his numerous letters. Nasrosoltan reminded her of the sweet promises they had made to each other, of their vows to love one another no matter the circumstance. He tried to elicit some response from her by quoting Hafez. Nasrosoltan recalled how she enjoyed his reciting poetry to her every so often, during tender moments together. He wrote: My dear, this verse so perfec
tly describes what I am feeling:

  The days go by, yet not a word you send;

  Of aught befallen you no single word!

  Tell the East Wind he is our faithful friend;

  Or send a letter by some traveling bird.

  Unless you come to meet me, how shall I

  The lofty region of your presence scale!

  O angel, walk a little down the sky,

  And meet me, climbing, lest indeed I fail.

  My sweet Irina, out of a sense of hopelessness, I sent a separate note to Madame Lazar inquiring about you, but that correspondence has also remained unanswered. I beg you to do me the kindness of writing at least once to explain what has happened.

  Even if you cannot write directly to me, for whatever reason, perhaps you could get word to me through Madame Lazar. I beseech you, tell me, has there been a veil placed upon your feelings for me?

  Nasrosoltan became disheartened and began to wallow in melancholy, preferring solitude to the multitudes. Until one day in late March, a few days after the Persian new year, a letter was brought to him by Haji Murad. It was from St. Petersburg.

  Nasrosoltan leapt out of his chair and snatched the letter from Haji Murad’s hand, hoping that it was from his beloved Irina. He was about to tear the letter open when he noticed someone had already opened it.

  Nasrosoltan asked him, “Who opened this letter?”

  Haji Murad responded, “I do not know. Salar Moazaz gave it to me to bring to you.”

  Nasrosoltan thought nothing of this since it was a known fact that the post office sometimes clumsily opened mail from abroad to inspect letters, without any attempt to conceal their sleuthing. And so, with great eagerness, he read the letter:

  St. Petersburg, 28 February 1914

  My dear Monsieur Minbashian,

  Greetings! It was exceedingly kind of you to send me the pistachios, and I am grateful that you thought of me in this way. I received them only yesterday afternoon and have already enjoyed eating more than I should have. I pray that things are going well for you in Persia, and you are cherishing your family's company.