Rosa Jamali's Blog - Posts Tagged "ghazaleh-alizadeh"
Ghazaleh Alizadeh's novel THE HOUSE OF EDRISIS to be published ...
Excerpts from the book / TRANSLATED FROM ORIGINAL PERSIAN TO ENGLISH BY ROSA JAMALI
Ghazaleh Alizadeh(1947-1996)
Ghazaleh Alizadeh was born in Mashhad, the central city of Northeastern province of khorasan , Khorasan province with a long history of literature behind has been noted for a number of prominent poets and a literary school featured for its high range of archaic vocabulary, diction and poetic aspects which left a great influence on Alizadeh’s style of writing.
Alizadeh studied law, politics, illumination philosophy and mysticism both at Tehran University and Paris. She became a prolific writer in the 70s, 80s and 90s, quite an influential figure in Iranian association of writers.
The House of the Edrisis, her main work is best known for its rich and poetical language, surrealistic aspects, powerful characterisation, narrative techniques, wealth of descriptions and discourse analysis through different classes of society. Above all quite a number of current slangs and colloquial expressions have been adopted parallel to some layers of intertextuality with the poetry of Rumi and Hafiz.
Though the novel doesn’t infer a certain time or place, still seemingly taken place in Ashkabad, a city built on the ruins of Nisa, the capital city of Ashkanid dynasty.
The novel depicts a group of learned people living with an old culture and literary treasury invaded by commoners and military people.
The house is the metaphor of the land taken by others, it could definitely refer to 1979 revolution of Iran and larger properties confiscated by the government.
Through the narrative techniques implied by the writer we get to know about the life of the generation past. People lived in the house many years before and how they are attached in a mysterious network of relationships. Also some mystical and mythological aspects of codes and symbols can be traced in the novel.
THE HOUSE OF THE EDRISIS and Alizadeh’s portrait have been partly pictured in Daruish Mehrjoei’s film “Banoo”.
Alizadeh committed suicide in 1996, her body was found hanging on a tree in a green spot in Northern Iran which has been researched and cited as the temple of Anahita in ancient Persia.
Her death was widely reflected in the 90s poetry; among the elegies written on her death is Reza Baraheni’s elegy in which he describes her as the bride of Iran’s literature.
Season 1: Ashkhabad
Chapter one
The turn-out of a misfortune in a household is not all in a sudden , in the wooden cracks, on the sheets , throughout the hatchways and in the pleats of curtains, the dust covers everywhere longing for the wind to release the scattered constituents of a lurking-place.
In the house of Edrisis , life was going on; the engraved wall clock with the covered pinnacles of birds and flowers, a piece of work by the carpenters of Bokhara struck 10.
Legha looked at her wrist-watch, she set it forward and stood up, she walked away from the breakfast table and took the bread crumbs for the fish.
Vahhab , the son of household, gulped down the last sip of tea poured from that azure Serve tea-cup, restrained yawning, turned to Mrs Edrisi:”she is better today.” The old lady moved the glasses on her nose, her eyes behind the glasses were dark blue:” It’s not clear what she does.”
The fog descended down to the arcade, fretted the windows, turned around and faced pine and poplar trees. Down at the end, from the corridor, there came the sound of washing the dishes. The tap-water popped and turned out and then there was the bubbling of semavar.
From time to time, Yavar coughed in the kitchen, sluggishly pulled his feet on the floor.
The grand lady crossed her eyebrows:”Poor man, growing old, lost his lung by smoking...!” Vahhab leaned against the margins of table, stood up.”I should go to the library, I read an article about the ruins of a city “Nisa”, it was a magnificent place once, buried now.”
Mrs Edrisi sighed:”A plenty of them have been buried and one day our city is going to be buried.” Vahhab closed his eyes , turned back and walked away.
The household were a kind of quiet in eating, drinking, walking and talking.
Vahhab was thirty but looked much older, thin and droopy shoulders, a pale face, solemn and lightless eyes. He had studied at British boarding schools, for any word or movement he felt the lashes of punishment on his back. He ate a little and took a shower before the noon, clipped his nails every week and filed them. Below his eyes was bloated for the shortage of sleep. He stood across from the mirror, counted the strands of grey hair in a pile of soft and black hair. The other day he had twelve of them, all white. He didn’t go out, residing in a shelter, twice a month he dropped in “Ashena Bookshop”, the man put aside some new books for him, Vahhab knitted his eyebrows and with a tight mouth paid for them, straightly came back home.
In the afternoon if the weather was good , he would sit by the pool , opened the fountain and looked at the patterns and the flow of water, he remembered the past, his childhood was far away.
Gradually when it was getting dark, the dreams faded away. Birds flew in the garden. In the hot weather female feeding cows at the end of alfalfa field were mooing. On the second floor, his grand aunt, Legha sat behind the hatchway with her hand under a cheek, stared at the mulberry trees, clay-roofs and faded attics till the time they would turn on the lamps around and drew the curtains. She closed her eyes. Behind the dark dreamy drowned eye-lids, sometimes a blue and yellow pattern like flowers and silica glass expanded and amused her.
On the rocking chair grannie leaned against the mahogany furniture of walnut trees, rubbed the perfume on the back-ears. The acrid extract of jasmine spread in the house. Once in a while, she would see the dreadful figure of her late husband, in a summer suit, with a white bow and salt and pepper whiskers, in a hoarse and throaty voice caused by tobacco and opium he whispered:” Such a nice smell!”
The time she stared into the dark, the white phantom had gone, then she heard the creaking hinges of the doors on the first storey, Yavar was walking in the corridor. He turned on the candelabra in the vault, it glared on the plaster moulding, the leaves of vine trees, lotus flowers and clusters of grapes. The wind moved the candelabra and the chains squeaked .The rainbow prism glowed on the images of the carpet, the bifurcated winding stairs and bending balustrade, it leaped around.
The first storey had three corridors, a big anteroom, a library and four bedrooms. On the second storey , around the balustrade there were ten attached bedrooms , all except three were locked.
In the morning, when Vahhab was tired of reading, leaning against the velvet cushion in the drawing room , half asleep and behind the flower pots, listened to the creaking of the springs, there were some pillows with the patterns of peacocks and parrots. He put them under his elbow, then he drank a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette.
Staring at the waterdrops, he yawned. There was a slight pain in his bones, shaking his legs he pondered into the past. He was dreaming Rahila, his aunt who had died young of a strange fever. After her death ,Mrs Edrisi’s hair had grown white overnight, Vahhab was ten at that time.
She was engaged to a broad-shouldered stout man with big eyes and a Moorish face. A widower who was a grand landowner, called Moayyed. People said that he lived in a mansion and had a lot of horses in the stable, in pomp and circumstance he came. They wanted to buy his chestnut horse for 3000 roubles, he came in hurry with three servants, the sound of his shoes on the pavement. Rahila would sit by the bed, didn’t move, her hands on the white satin weary and proud, pouted her lips like roses, grinned. Her head uplifted, her almond eyes half open. The shade of her eyelashes on her moonlit cheeks and with a dreamy glance, tall, airy, introverted and aloof, nothing made her happy. In the end of spring , she would sit in the courtyard. Sipping her tea on a straw chair under the scaffold of lilacs, white pigeons surrounded her feet, hovered in the scaffold. The rain started then she walked in the garden, her garments wet. She looked at the clocks as if she were waiting for somebody, she didn’t have a friend. Never answered the letters, visits or messages.
Vahhab used to look at her through the hatches. Rahila tucked up her skirt, skipping over the brook , soft and agile, pranced and tiptoed on the wet lawn, picked up a rose-bud, smelled and pinned it to her hair, she closed her eyes and opened them once more, wandered in the garden for hours, when she became tired, she went to the shade of that big elm tree then made a house with the rubble stones. She rooted up the grass and squeezed it with her teeth, at the end standing up, she ruined the built-up house with the rubble stones tossing over one another on the steep lawn.
The memory of Rahila was deeply moving, Rahila’s room at the end of the corridor, in the north frontline, had two big windows, one to the garden and the other one to the courtyard and the arbour. The lace curtains had the smell of dust and the perfume of autumn crocuses, when he went to the mirror, his face looked as a stranger. He closed his eyes and wanted Rahila to be alive, her straight hair spreading around, loose on her shoulders , the strands slipped over one another like a flash of silk. Now Vahhab turned to a small boy, pulling her skirt naughtily, the young girl with her very charming eyes would send him off.
He opened the drawers, arranged the perfumes on the dressing table, nineteen hundred from Paris and Moscow, Italian, Chinese, Indian, the longlasting perfumes of far oceans : musk and birch and myrtle and black ambergris. In cosmetics she had nothing but perfume , there were several bottles in each drawer. He bent down the table, took a deep breath. He opened the closet, his face was lost in the white garments, muddy stains, flower buttons, dry grass and thorn and beads. In the dark, it turned up a crack of mouth-worn wood, he tilted his head and closed the door. He put the perfume bottles in the right place, arranged the pleats of curtains , spread the bed-spread to the pillows of lace and embroidery . He left the room, locked the door . In the dark corridor, walked on the polished parquet and went to the library.
They were some magazines in a drawer , he took them out and turned the pages over, he looked at the biography and pictures of Roxana Yashvili, she was a stage actress, starring in plays such as “Small Bourgeois”, “One Month in the Village”, “The Blue Bird” and “Chaika”, they called her a wild flower, the glimmering of a creative will-power in her eyes.
Critics believed she could show the spiritual images and transfer them to the audience, seemingly resembled Rahila , Vahhab looked at her pictures in the costumes of Normandy women, in a black velvet dress with a fan in one hand , beneath an arbour or at the breakfast table while playing with an actor. Painters had painted her on several canvases, poets had written many poems for her. Since six years before, she had been living with “Marenko”; the noted poet.
There was no picture of Rahila in the house. When Vahhab looked at Roxana’s almond and black and glimmering eyes and slim figure remembered Rahila. She came from Tiblisi with a different nature noted for her upheavels. Vahhab didn’t like her complacency, didn’t read the interviews, just looked at her pictures.
Just at twelve Legha climbed down the winding stairs, stepped in the hall, knitted her eyebrows, cross, broad-shouldered and tall, pale with big lips and a sharp chin and hooked nose, grey eyes, rummaging but lightless, fumbled around , wiggled the pouts , her backbones pricking in hatred , she was sensitive to heel-relief stone, even disliked the shape and the name, naked and screaming she ran away and fainted on the floor. Mrs Edrisi sneered and spread a sheet over her hanging boobs.
The smell of men revolted Legha, when the workers came for some days to dig the garden or trim the trees or cut the weeds, she locked herself in the room and didn’t come down. A strike of smell made her sick. She opened all the windows , the candelabra moved, in the arcade the wind blew and howled, for two times a day she took a shower. She had the smell of soap and foam with herself. At nights, right after the dinner she used to brew sour orange blossoms, she stirred it with a little teaspoon, the leaves soaked and spread out, the steam on the cup had a smell of moss and bare moors , she sipped the root beer slowly, in decency and dignity, her lips were not wet. She stood up and very cold said good night, in a flower patterned gown and with plait hair, a hand on the banister, she climbed up the stairs and her pale countenance lost in the dark landing.
Chapter two
Mrs Edrisi sighed in despair, card reading was over. She tossed the deck of cards on the dining table; it's getting worse day by day. Vahhab stopped reading , scratching his nose, nothing's moved.
The old lady smiled:" Poor the man who'd marry her!"
Vahhab's eyes glimmered mischievously. "Is there a man like that?"
"At least for money!"
"One should be periless to marry such a freak!"
Mrs Edrisi closed her eyes:" They do as if you don't know people!"
"Poor the man , what if she saw heel-relief stone...?!"
The old lady chuckled:" She would see far-off!"
"A whole sum of all contradictions!"
Fed up with cards, the old lady nodded. The clock struck eleven , in the far-off distance the owl was howling, placing her ears on the window, grannie listened:" Such a throat, howls excruciatingly loud, won't it cut its throat?"
Vahhab smiled wondering what the owl does.
Grannie left, resting the door ajar.
Vahhab kept solitary vigil at nights, reading and staying up by the daybreak.
About midnight a grey cat popped through the window.
Through the cat's eyes there was a wavy spectrum of seaweed colours, Vahhab pampered the cat, soothed its backbones, purring and mewing around, up and down into the cushions, turning a page over, the cat opened its eyes. Just before the sunrise, he used to move to the kitchen . The kitchen was in the corner of the dinning room. Warsaw Samavars with paintings on the wall, they looked crooked in the copper pans.
A cockroach was squeaking around on onion crusts. Branches of that weeping willow hit the windows, Vahhab would leave the kettle on to boil some water. Brewing tea and setting the silver tea set and then he left for the dinning room.Drinking cups and cups of tea one after another, Yavar was in the next door , the hedge of the doors creaked, twilight glowed on Yavar's salt and pepper beard, shabby and scruffy, untidy hair, bony skinny cheeks, dreamy and bewitched sleepy eyes seemed rather like sockets and holes curved into the darkness.His hunchback and loose and expressionless arms seemed like objects out of his body . He used to make a lot of noise and the cat cocked his ears, peeping around.
The cat leaped around the sofa and crept away. Yavar coughed huskily in the bright-lit corridor. The long shadow of fences over the yard.Vahhab switched off the candle on the wall , went up the stairs, his footsteps faded into the fluffy carpet.Grannie was snoring , turning the doorknob , he entered the room . Morning twilight with its mellow and pale light murkily was shading a silouette of velvet.Archs over his head and morning sunlight was shading all over the place , dressed in pyjamas, drawing the bedspread, rested and rolled into that satin and soft bed, the crimson blanket over his head , to his chin , while reading he fell fast asleep.
Around ten in the morning, while Legha was playing the piano , he woke up . For another half an hour , he lay down in bed rolling from side to side.
Two times a day Legha played the piano , Italian Caprichoes, List's Rhapsodies and Mandelson's Romances. For so many years she had played them with a great skill in her fingers. No stranger could believe her skill, the spirit in her fingers and many years of practice. The stagnent maidenhood and silent youth , all were her oppressed desires , yearning in music and all this deepened her strength.Closing the piano lid , she felt young once more, while turning back , she was Legha once again, fierce and impatient yelled at Yavar for mixing up her exceptional plate with others on the dish rack , she had secluded herself with her cutlery and dishes , golden felt-tip mug, the blue china dish , Shefield bony forks. Before each meal she watched her mug carefully in a bright-lit place not to observe a speck of dirt and stains on it. If there was a guest at home , Mrs Edrisi would glare at her out of anger.
Yawning in bed , Vahhab got up and dressed impeccably in a white ironed shirt and tied , a trench coat with button cuffs . Brushing his hair , opened a central parting . In the pick of youth , he used to dress like an old man.Wearing a very strong perfume came to the breakfast table.Grannie coughed :" What an awful smell! you're reeking like Egyption mummies, where the hell did you find it?"
Vahhab knotted his eyebrows:" It's the perfume of deep oceans, extracted essence of whale's abdomn, a gift of Buenos Aires."
Mrs Edrisi nodded:"You call it a present?"
Aunt Legha frowned:" Much better than a man's smell!"
Grannie Chuckled :" Don't exaggerate it. A man has a job , a love affair, a riding horse, a hunting game or at least a kinda drinking habit in a pub (sighed) I wish there were a man here."
Legha crumpled the napkin :" If you'd like a man here , I'll go and get a room in the town."
"Dear, nowhere is free of men . One would crawl into your room one night!"
With a twist around the corner lines of her lips, Legha blushed. Hiding her face in her hands, ran towards the door. The sound of crying covered all over the house.
Yavar came in , smiling and peeping , asked the Grannie:" Anything you would like?"
Mrs Edrisi smiled:" Come in!"
"Miss Legha's annoyed!"
Grannie said , her hands clinging :"Then if you could find her a suitor, it would be...."
Stealthily Yavar tiptoed to the door:" Ooooh! Heaven forbid, never ever! Haven't found a suitor and she hates me!"
Mrs Edrisi pointed to the wooden stool:" Get sit down!"
He hesitated , blew the dust over the stool and finally sat down on the clean stool.
Mrs Edrisi said:" Oooooh! Leave it dear ...!You'll dust off the stuff later!"
"There won't be enough time , such a big manor house needs more servants."
Mrs Edrisis's lips wrinkled in the corner:"Come on ! We're single-handed , when the wages are low they come and see Legha and they flee! Nobody's as faithful as you . Remember old days , those were the days .Once we cooked twenty rice bowls, what was the name of that chef ?( Scratching her forehead)....pity I don't remember the name!."
Yavar lifted his chin haughtily:"Ebrahim Beigh!"
" Ooooooh! Good!...I wish he had quit such horrible habits, he used to aim the knife at you as if stabbing!"
Yavar was bitting his lips:" Mr Edrisi sacked him for his dirty look at women!"
Mrs Edrisi placed her hair behind ears:" And you were the eye witness?!"
The air was penetrating into his cheeks, thoughtfully he spoke:"What shall I say ?! He was a Tatar with the habit of dancing with a knife!"
Quite irritated Mrs Edrisi said: "Such nonsense! My Grannie was a half-breed Tatar , never seen such habits among them! Rahila was as decent as her."
Vahhab moved:" Where was she from?"
"Around Cremea , with a glamorous voice like nightingales , her voice got a move on the windows."
With a sparkle in his eyes, Vahhab asked:" What did she sing , Grannie?"
" It's a shame I cannot recall , Legha has taken after her in playing music."
Vahhab grinned:" The only talent she's got!"
Mrs Edrisi said :"She might have some other abilities not flowered yet!"
Vahhab sneered :"It's apparently late now, you've counted on her a big deal!"
Mrs Edrisi's face coloured: " You two bear a resemblence!"
Quite irritated,looking at the table , Vahhab complained:"Grannie!!!...We have nothing in common."
The old lady sighed:" A mere bagatelle ! At least Legha's touching her life in hatred, how about you?(scowling)
as dry as dust!"
Yavar stared into flower patterns of carpet, twisting a hair of his moustache:" Poor indigestion, it's the yellow bile, some jejebu and aloe vera would help."
Vahhab looked at the snowy landscape of the painting over the wall. At the end of poplar trees, dark and cold , the footprints of Rahila which were left seemed fading.
Mrs Esrisi's and Yavar's eyes met. The old lady shrugged her shoulders . Looked at the cards:" The knave of hearts, it's a good sign(lifted her eyebrows) a letter might come. Who is it from? Only God knows, the soldiers of the new government might have written letters to Legha. What were they called?"
"Fire-squad-band they're called."
The wrinkles on Mrs Edrisi's face disappeared at once :" Long ago they used to write letters to me .I never read them , tore up all ( stared at the foggy branches of maple ) a young soldier was in love with me, he wasn't from here, was in the regiment , had a childish face , dark blue eyes . One night I got up and I saw him if my father could get it he would turn him to a piece of..., I got dressed and bare-foot went to the garden , with tearfull eyes he said that he was not from this county ! Had come around to Kick the bucket. I said you must be insane! Lifting the lantern those satanic eyes looked like a hatchway to hell. He disappeared after some months. In the midwinter I got the words that he had taken the journey to the mountains. He entered the anti-government campaign. How's the fire-squad band doing now?"
" Filthy people!"
The old man frowned and nodded :" They're not filthy, it's the smell of yarrow leaves they consume!"
"The yarrow leaves?"
"Their boots are green , their lips livid blue, they consume pure grass."
"When did they come?"
Vahhab twisted his moustache by his fingers:" Not worth speaking , never understood their attitude, inhumane , vulgar, barbaric, do they ever think? ( He touched the white flowers of the table cloth) vain , hollow mechanical man!"
Mrs Edrisi asked :" Why don't you immigrate? Intellectuals like you have all left!"
The man yawned:" No Civilisation's left. People all over the world are dead from the neck up!" ( he grasped his hands ) never take me a pig-headed intellectual. Greedy and benumbed golden beard and necks , hand in hand with martial law have been buried somewhere in the hell!My books and room would suffice."
Vahhab's words seemed tedious to Yavar, he carried on with no care :" The time we were young , we climbed down the valley at moonlit nights. The fire squad band would stay on the mountain top and set a big fire."
Mrs Edrisi asked: "Didn't you get scared?"
Yavar blinked :" Fear, what shall we call it? Their dazzling sparkling eyes like wolves."
Mrs Edrisi wrapped the woolen scarf around her arms. " I don't know what happened to that soldier? Joined them and became a devil ? He was in the first gang , must be dead now!"
Yavar pondered:" Tongue-tied, a herb they've taken , mouth-shut!"
Mrs Edrisi said:" I've heard they never pay for the things they purchase."
Yavar nodded.
Vahhab closed the book :" This is the previlige we have . Money matters , they never care for the dainty stuff, they return them."
Mrs Edrisi asked :" How can they pull the wool over our eyes?"
Yavar hesitated:" They'd come for an enquiry , they'd asked how many we are and what we do , the neighboiurs have told them about the charity hospital."
Mrs Edrisi bent down:" Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Vahhab clicked his jaws:" So one of these days they swarm over us like bugs, they'll ruin culture and beauty. Decadence has taken its place( He stood up and the chair was knocked by the table, walked along the room)
The world is going to decline . We live at the age of Kali Yuga! Pity a city like Nisa's buried ( looked at Mrs Edrisi) I wish I hadn't been born at the present time. Several centuries ago would fit me better; the age of Achilles, Prickles, the knights of round table, queens and the empress, the story of Shehrzadeh and one thousand and one Arabian nights or saint Acquinas."
( His eyes radiant with the magnificance of the old age.)
The old lady turned up her nose:" You would have been a misanthropist at any age!( looked at the plaster moulding of the ceiling in regret) Before long it'll be our turn . Since last week I've been plagued with the nightmare of the fire-squad. As if their teeth were growing out of grass, fuzzy hair mixed with the smell of fleecing wool, marshing their boots. I got up and went to the window, gazed at the lamp-post in the street, shifting one by one , do they ever sleep?"
Yavar lifted his chin:" Two hours a day with nightmares, got used to it."
" And manners?"
" They laugh all in a group, hairy , bushy , beardy and filthy, people call them beefy!"
The old lady got a glimpse : " a mine of rumours ( asking Vahhab ), don't you look at the papers?"
The man crumbled a piece of paper:" Vulgar , all the same. Scruffy faces holding guns, with a flag in their hands marching, could you get it grannie? Long lists of executions, let's dispense with it!"
Mrs Edrisi stared at the lamp bulb:" No peace anymore!"
Chapter three
Mrs Edrisi was sitting next to the velvet cushion, looking into the garden. She was doing a piece of embroidery on that green table cloth. She was doing some maroon six-petal daisies, the feathers of peacock and some iris flowers, her fingers were really skilled, her hands full of grace.
Legha was dressing up in a long and green robe , wearing white wooden sandals, her fingers were wrinkled of the spa bath. Her wet hair braided, ribboned in pink. She used to do some exercise after breakfast.
For thirty times she stretched and joined her legs, lowering her head between the stretched legs and arms stretched moving along the room . She called it butterfly movement. Turning around her waist, she did some muscle breathing exercise, with each movement hands up, with no direction in the air moved along a curve. She took a deep breath , her belly inflated with the navel out, like new-born babies.
Yavar was sweeping the pavement of the yard. His cigarette unlit in the corner of his lips. He opened the fountains, listened to the music of the fountains. In the front the pigeons with bloated throats, left their feathers on the paved-stones . Somebody was knocking at the door, knock, knock and knock.It repeated for several times.
He left the broom , quite pale , walked to the corridor, opened the door in the corridor, kneeled with his hands posed for praying:" May God help us!"
The old man lowered his head. Legha shouted and took hold of her skirt , big tighs and red knees appeared. One sandal out:" I'll kill myself", half crawling burst into tears , her tears were dropping over her nose, twinkled, her pupils looked much bigger, the knocking at the door repeated. Vahhab was still in his sleeping gown, climbed down the stairs. With shabby hair, a sticky ringlet of hair over his forehead marked his restless nights and sleepiness . The lock of hair was stiffened over the parting, he tied his robe:
" Our game's over! Try not to show fear ( He went to the study and touched the leather binding of the books), they would take whatever we have."
The old lady responded:" I'll go and open the door."
Startled back , Vahhab looked into the mirror then straightened his hair:" Do I look good?"
Yavar buttoned up :"Your look doesn't matter, as if they were raiding into the yard."
Mrs Edrisi lifted her head:" Then I'll go."
She opened the door in the corridor ; a cold breeze was penetrating.
She climbed down the stairs outside in the courtyard. The moist over the lilacs was evaporating gradually. The water drops were dropping down the fir tree. She opened the gate, took hold of the door knob, it was cold and wet.
The one who was shorter leaned against the door.In a pale green uniform, dusty and creased , his fingers on the trigger, his hair scruffy rough like a cloth-brush, brushy waxy beard had covered his lips, all over his chin and cheeks.
He was watching the edifice in triumph . Mrs Edrisi turned and looked at the same point. The attic had become tattered, the hatched roof and the gable hazy in the fog, chimnies, draughty windsweepers, brown hatches and lace curtains, as if they had been forgotten over the years.
The firing-squad members sneered ; the one who was in the front, with thin lanky neck which much looked like the stem of a cherry and the second who was shorter and muscular.
The skinny boy looked at his worn-out boots:" How many people are living here?"
While smoothing her throat, Mrs Edrisi replied:" Four, does it matter?"
The second firing-squad member kicked to the fences:" We're supposed to ask and you're obliged to answer, understood?"
The shawl slipped over her shoulders and arms:
"No problem, there's nothing to say!"
The slim boy looked at her:" How many rooms do you have?"
Mrs Edrisi answered hesitatingly:"I guess twenty ."
They both laughed along, the man with broad shoulders asked:" How long have you been here?"
Mrs Edrisi lifted one hand:" For four generations."
"Then you don't know how many rooms you have?!"
Mrs Edrisi smiled:" Rooms are for living not for counting."
The short man said:" Not an excuse ( he stepped in) we'll go for further observation."
They went into the manor house, the march of boots on the stairs was echoing. One by one they came in , Legha was peeping , she jerked and ran away to the back room. Vahhab got dressed , buttoned up disorderly, as if one shoulder looked broader, holding hands, leaned on the wall. Yavar's lips moved in silence. Startled while facing them.
They entered the anteroom . They examined the walls and and the ceiling. The skinny boy whistled :"All accessories!"
The broad-shouldered turned around, pulling a thread of moustache:" Just four, (clapped hands and laughed), how many were we in each tent?"
" The number of these rooms."
The shortie nodded:" The number was adding up day by day, isn't it stupid to miss such horrible days?"
The other one sighed:"Just right at the dawn the skyline was clear, the wild birds used to sit over our shoulders, we shivered in cold."
The broad-shouldered pointed to the painting :" Is it a replica?"
Mrs Edrisi paused :" It should be the original."
The man got closer and touched the paint :" I had seen the replicas, never thought one day I could see the original. The waves look vivid, the seagulls flow away in a flock, just like us ( suddenly became firm) the possession of such items should be clarified. Belongs to the museum."
Mrs Edrisi objected : " people's posssession is not your business."
They both burst into laughter; the thinner blushed:" It's a part of our duty."
They went to the window, shoulder by shoulder, they stood. In the cloudy sunlight they looked vulgar and despicable. The broad-shouldered poked :" Such a garden has no borders!"
The scrawny pointed to a tree:"Silver leaves!"
The broad-shouldered nodded:" I hadn't seen such a tree before."
"Grows in cold places."
Mrs Edrisi followed them :" Would you like to chop it off for your museum ? Fourty-two at least, as old as my elder daughter."
Somebody who was hiding back at the partition said:" The silver fir tree is not over thirty."
The firing-squad band turned back, the broad-shouldered pleaded:"Who's voice was that?"
There was the hustles and bustles, a short breath , a short sigh, the broad-shouldered peeped in. Legha leaned on the closet, pushed the door knob." Don't get closer!"
The young one looked at the other in surprise, his finger on the trigger:"Why? Is she armed?"
Legha burst into tears, down in the partition, you could see her ankles. Her wooden sandal heels were being pressed on the floor, the scrawny looked at the old lady and said:" Has she got a contagious disease?"
Mrs Edrisi nodded:"She hates men."
The young men laughed loud. The candelabra moved. The sighs were short, something was falling down.
The broad-shouldered kicked over:
"And she detests us?"
The door opened and the smell of ambergris mixed with tiny waves was blowing over:" Legally you cannot hurt us, we are not guilty."
The slim-necked winked:" Good morning , living in such a house is the biggest crime."
Vahhab's nose vibrated, he put his hand over his mouth, something inside him was twitching:
"It's our heritage, should we have destroyed it?"
"No, you should have dedicated it to us."
" For the sake of Republic ? If it was easy you'd never resided in the mountains."
"Anyone willing can join the firing band."
" On what cost?"
" The cost of your life."
"Very kind of you! We don't deserve it! So what? what could get your place?!"
The slim figure headed forward:
" You would have been honoured if you could be in our place."
"We don't need an honourary degree."
The broad-shouldered knocked the gun stock over his shoulder.
As if your body's itching for a real punishment, go ahead but we'll behave you at the end."
Legha moaned and then collapsd . The old lady opened the closet , unfolded jasmine scented sheets. The aroma spread in the house, she covered her with a white sheet, the maiden sighed and fell asleep.
The fire-band turned around, inspected the first storey . They went to open Rahila's room , Vahhab pushed them away, held the door knob.
"The room's bleak , hasn't been open since twenty years ago."
The broad-shouldered twisted the new-grown moustache :" We'll inagurate it."
Vahhab shielded his breast:" Over my dead body."
His eyes flamed in the dark.
The fire-band member panicked and went back , furious and tempted turned back:
"What's the secret in the locked door?"
Mrs Edrisi explained :" It's not a secret, all perfume and dress, turned to a legend now. The room belonged to my daughter who died young( she wrapped the hems of the shawl around her fingers.)
The mysterious story of her death was never disclosed to us ( sighed bitterly) she died of ill-fate and the stuff there are Rahila's memorabalia, we kept everything untouched , even the strands of her hair over the comb.
One poked the other one and whispered some words and took out a stroll out of his pocket, lit a match , the light was faltering , he pointed to some lines in the stroll, marched on the floor and yelled:" For now there's nothing to do with this room."
They came back to the hallway, the broad-shouldered stared into the ceiling :
" Obscure and dim."
Over the arch windows the piegons were flowing. Over the twigs and foliage was covered with dung and droppings, hovered over the winding stairs on the landing of the second storey, they opened the white doors with the white golden-bread room, the stuffy air spread around . The satin bedspread's lustrous radiant in the sunlight, its heavenly image reflected in the dusty mirrors. In Legha's room there was a wet towel hanging on the chair. The flared flappy pyjamas on the side of bed, the breeze which was blowing made it look much bigger in size.
On the bedside table the book of memoirs was turning page by page .The virgins of the rocks was the only ornament on the walls.
In Vahhab's room the canopy curtains had been drawing back . The smell of ambergris had covered the house. Rablais' "Great Garagantu" was open on the floor. In the light of lamp bulb, a bottle of water and the sleeping pills were seen on the bedside table. The broad-shouldered entered . Backed the bedspread. The dust over the fluffy velvet spread in the room.
"What's the use of it?"
Vahhab leaned against the door:" It barricades the sound and night . Gives security to me. "
The fire-band frowned:"Not a necessity ( he looked at his comrade ) stupid ! Let's take it the store!"
Vahhab complained :" I cannot sleep without them, ( marking the table) see the pills ! I suffer from insomnia."
While drawing the curtains, they parted it ! They folded the heavy velvet , bundled it and took it, punched to the shelf, the plaster moulder was dropping down, they made a fuss and left the room.
Vahhab hid his head in his knees, under the checkered coat his shoulders were trembling.
The slim figure turned back, put the pills into his pocket, slammed the door and left.
Yavar got closer to Vahhab, kneeled in front of him :" Don't worry sir, we'll make another!"
The broad-shouldered opened the door :" No curtains ! You'll sleep this way or you'll die of insomnia."
They went to the old lady's , the rocking chair was creaking and moved.There was a raw of small bottles on the dressing table, jasmine and pansy in a bottle of perfume, powder pad and a golden comb.
The broad-shouldered took a plastic bag out, put them all in. The rocking chair was moving , kicked to the legs of the table , looked at the comrade : "You like such stuff?"
The slim man nodded:" Such trinkets make me sick." ( glared at the chair) I dislike them."
Mrs Edrisi objected :" You don't have to like it, it's my personal stuff , I sit there in the afternoons."
The fire band shrugged :" You're not a child!"
The broad-shouldered confirmed :" It's okay."
He put the chair in the balcony , it was getting dark and cloudy, the fog was descending , it was raining, he lifted the chair but dropped it. The chair fell down and broke. He burst into laughter, a hysteric laughter perhaps , poked into his comrade . As a sign of victory , tapped on his knees. Showed some lines of the dirty stroll to the lady, Mrs Edrisi pushed back to the stroll :" These stupid lines doesn't make for the chair."
The rain and fog showed her face a little bit paler. She looked at the broken chair:" I used to sit there and reminisce old days, my whole family used it before me, all fingerprints of my mother, my husband and my young daughter who died young."
She placed her head into the frame, the fire-band had gone, they slammed the door, pranced over the stairs. Mrs Edrisi came into the room. She lay down, covered her body in the blanket, hands over her eyes.
TRANSLATED BY ROSA JAMALI
Ghazaleh Alizadeh(1947-1996)
Ghazaleh Alizadeh was born in Mashhad, the central city of Northeastern province of khorasan , Khorasan province with a long history of literature behind has been noted for a number of prominent poets and a literary school featured for its high range of archaic vocabulary, diction and poetic aspects which left a great influence on Alizadeh’s style of writing.
Alizadeh studied law, politics, illumination philosophy and mysticism both at Tehran University and Paris. She became a prolific writer in the 70s, 80s and 90s, quite an influential figure in Iranian association of writers.
The House of the Edrisis, her main work is best known for its rich and poetical language, surrealistic aspects, powerful characterisation, narrative techniques, wealth of descriptions and discourse analysis through different classes of society. Above all quite a number of current slangs and colloquial expressions have been adopted parallel to some layers of intertextuality with the poetry of Rumi and Hafiz.
Though the novel doesn’t infer a certain time or place, still seemingly taken place in Ashkabad, a city built on the ruins of Nisa, the capital city of Ashkanid dynasty.
The novel depicts a group of learned people living with an old culture and literary treasury invaded by commoners and military people.
The house is the metaphor of the land taken by others, it could definitely refer to 1979 revolution of Iran and larger properties confiscated by the government.
Through the narrative techniques implied by the writer we get to know about the life of the generation past. People lived in the house many years before and how they are attached in a mysterious network of relationships. Also some mystical and mythological aspects of codes and symbols can be traced in the novel.
THE HOUSE OF THE EDRISIS and Alizadeh’s portrait have been partly pictured in Daruish Mehrjoei’s film “Banoo”.
Alizadeh committed suicide in 1996, her body was found hanging on a tree in a green spot in Northern Iran which has been researched and cited as the temple of Anahita in ancient Persia.
Her death was widely reflected in the 90s poetry; among the elegies written on her death is Reza Baraheni’s elegy in which he describes her as the bride of Iran’s literature.
Season 1: Ashkhabad
Chapter one
The turn-out of a misfortune in a household is not all in a sudden , in the wooden cracks, on the sheets , throughout the hatchways and in the pleats of curtains, the dust covers everywhere longing for the wind to release the scattered constituents of a lurking-place.
In the house of Edrisis , life was going on; the engraved wall clock with the covered pinnacles of birds and flowers, a piece of work by the carpenters of Bokhara struck 10.
Legha looked at her wrist-watch, she set it forward and stood up, she walked away from the breakfast table and took the bread crumbs for the fish.
Vahhab , the son of household, gulped down the last sip of tea poured from that azure Serve tea-cup, restrained yawning, turned to Mrs Edrisi:”she is better today.” The old lady moved the glasses on her nose, her eyes behind the glasses were dark blue:” It’s not clear what she does.”
The fog descended down to the arcade, fretted the windows, turned around and faced pine and poplar trees. Down at the end, from the corridor, there came the sound of washing the dishes. The tap-water popped and turned out and then there was the bubbling of semavar.
From time to time, Yavar coughed in the kitchen, sluggishly pulled his feet on the floor.
The grand lady crossed her eyebrows:”Poor man, growing old, lost his lung by smoking...!” Vahhab leaned against the margins of table, stood up.”I should go to the library, I read an article about the ruins of a city “Nisa”, it was a magnificent place once, buried now.”
Mrs Edrisi sighed:”A plenty of them have been buried and one day our city is going to be buried.” Vahhab closed his eyes , turned back and walked away.
The household were a kind of quiet in eating, drinking, walking and talking.
Vahhab was thirty but looked much older, thin and droopy shoulders, a pale face, solemn and lightless eyes. He had studied at British boarding schools, for any word or movement he felt the lashes of punishment on his back. He ate a little and took a shower before the noon, clipped his nails every week and filed them. Below his eyes was bloated for the shortage of sleep. He stood across from the mirror, counted the strands of grey hair in a pile of soft and black hair. The other day he had twelve of them, all white. He didn’t go out, residing in a shelter, twice a month he dropped in “Ashena Bookshop”, the man put aside some new books for him, Vahhab knitted his eyebrows and with a tight mouth paid for them, straightly came back home.
In the afternoon if the weather was good , he would sit by the pool , opened the fountain and looked at the patterns and the flow of water, he remembered the past, his childhood was far away.
Gradually when it was getting dark, the dreams faded away. Birds flew in the garden. In the hot weather female feeding cows at the end of alfalfa field were mooing. On the second floor, his grand aunt, Legha sat behind the hatchway with her hand under a cheek, stared at the mulberry trees, clay-roofs and faded attics till the time they would turn on the lamps around and drew the curtains. She closed her eyes. Behind the dark dreamy drowned eye-lids, sometimes a blue and yellow pattern like flowers and silica glass expanded and amused her.
On the rocking chair grannie leaned against the mahogany furniture of walnut trees, rubbed the perfume on the back-ears. The acrid extract of jasmine spread in the house. Once in a while, she would see the dreadful figure of her late husband, in a summer suit, with a white bow and salt and pepper whiskers, in a hoarse and throaty voice caused by tobacco and opium he whispered:” Such a nice smell!”
The time she stared into the dark, the white phantom had gone, then she heard the creaking hinges of the doors on the first storey, Yavar was walking in the corridor. He turned on the candelabra in the vault, it glared on the plaster moulding, the leaves of vine trees, lotus flowers and clusters of grapes. The wind moved the candelabra and the chains squeaked .The rainbow prism glowed on the images of the carpet, the bifurcated winding stairs and bending balustrade, it leaped around.
The first storey had three corridors, a big anteroom, a library and four bedrooms. On the second storey , around the balustrade there were ten attached bedrooms , all except three were locked.
In the morning, when Vahhab was tired of reading, leaning against the velvet cushion in the drawing room , half asleep and behind the flower pots, listened to the creaking of the springs, there were some pillows with the patterns of peacocks and parrots. He put them under his elbow, then he drank a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette.
Staring at the waterdrops, he yawned. There was a slight pain in his bones, shaking his legs he pondered into the past. He was dreaming Rahila, his aunt who had died young of a strange fever. After her death ,Mrs Edrisi’s hair had grown white overnight, Vahhab was ten at that time.
She was engaged to a broad-shouldered stout man with big eyes and a Moorish face. A widower who was a grand landowner, called Moayyed. People said that he lived in a mansion and had a lot of horses in the stable, in pomp and circumstance he came. They wanted to buy his chestnut horse for 3000 roubles, he came in hurry with three servants, the sound of his shoes on the pavement. Rahila would sit by the bed, didn’t move, her hands on the white satin weary and proud, pouted her lips like roses, grinned. Her head uplifted, her almond eyes half open. The shade of her eyelashes on her moonlit cheeks and with a dreamy glance, tall, airy, introverted and aloof, nothing made her happy. In the end of spring , she would sit in the courtyard. Sipping her tea on a straw chair under the scaffold of lilacs, white pigeons surrounded her feet, hovered in the scaffold. The rain started then she walked in the garden, her garments wet. She looked at the clocks as if she were waiting for somebody, she didn’t have a friend. Never answered the letters, visits or messages.
Vahhab used to look at her through the hatches. Rahila tucked up her skirt, skipping over the brook , soft and agile, pranced and tiptoed on the wet lawn, picked up a rose-bud, smelled and pinned it to her hair, she closed her eyes and opened them once more, wandered in the garden for hours, when she became tired, she went to the shade of that big elm tree then made a house with the rubble stones. She rooted up the grass and squeezed it with her teeth, at the end standing up, she ruined the built-up house with the rubble stones tossing over one another on the steep lawn.
The memory of Rahila was deeply moving, Rahila’s room at the end of the corridor, in the north frontline, had two big windows, one to the garden and the other one to the courtyard and the arbour. The lace curtains had the smell of dust and the perfume of autumn crocuses, when he went to the mirror, his face looked as a stranger. He closed his eyes and wanted Rahila to be alive, her straight hair spreading around, loose on her shoulders , the strands slipped over one another like a flash of silk. Now Vahhab turned to a small boy, pulling her skirt naughtily, the young girl with her very charming eyes would send him off.
He opened the drawers, arranged the perfumes on the dressing table, nineteen hundred from Paris and Moscow, Italian, Chinese, Indian, the longlasting perfumes of far oceans : musk and birch and myrtle and black ambergris. In cosmetics she had nothing but perfume , there were several bottles in each drawer. He bent down the table, took a deep breath. He opened the closet, his face was lost in the white garments, muddy stains, flower buttons, dry grass and thorn and beads. In the dark, it turned up a crack of mouth-worn wood, he tilted his head and closed the door. He put the perfume bottles in the right place, arranged the pleats of curtains , spread the bed-spread to the pillows of lace and embroidery . He left the room, locked the door . In the dark corridor, walked on the polished parquet and went to the library.
They were some magazines in a drawer , he took them out and turned the pages over, he looked at the biography and pictures of Roxana Yashvili, she was a stage actress, starring in plays such as “Small Bourgeois”, “One Month in the Village”, “The Blue Bird” and “Chaika”, they called her a wild flower, the glimmering of a creative will-power in her eyes.
Critics believed she could show the spiritual images and transfer them to the audience, seemingly resembled Rahila , Vahhab looked at her pictures in the costumes of Normandy women, in a black velvet dress with a fan in one hand , beneath an arbour or at the breakfast table while playing with an actor. Painters had painted her on several canvases, poets had written many poems for her. Since six years before, she had been living with “Marenko”; the noted poet.
There was no picture of Rahila in the house. When Vahhab looked at Roxana’s almond and black and glimmering eyes and slim figure remembered Rahila. She came from Tiblisi with a different nature noted for her upheavels. Vahhab didn’t like her complacency, didn’t read the interviews, just looked at her pictures.
Just at twelve Legha climbed down the winding stairs, stepped in the hall, knitted her eyebrows, cross, broad-shouldered and tall, pale with big lips and a sharp chin and hooked nose, grey eyes, rummaging but lightless, fumbled around , wiggled the pouts , her backbones pricking in hatred , she was sensitive to heel-relief stone, even disliked the shape and the name, naked and screaming she ran away and fainted on the floor. Mrs Edrisi sneered and spread a sheet over her hanging boobs.
The smell of men revolted Legha, when the workers came for some days to dig the garden or trim the trees or cut the weeds, she locked herself in the room and didn’t come down. A strike of smell made her sick. She opened all the windows , the candelabra moved, in the arcade the wind blew and howled, for two times a day she took a shower. She had the smell of soap and foam with herself. At nights, right after the dinner she used to brew sour orange blossoms, she stirred it with a little teaspoon, the leaves soaked and spread out, the steam on the cup had a smell of moss and bare moors , she sipped the root beer slowly, in decency and dignity, her lips were not wet. She stood up and very cold said good night, in a flower patterned gown and with plait hair, a hand on the banister, she climbed up the stairs and her pale countenance lost in the dark landing.
Chapter two
Mrs Edrisi sighed in despair, card reading was over. She tossed the deck of cards on the dining table; it's getting worse day by day. Vahhab stopped reading , scratching his nose, nothing's moved.
The old lady smiled:" Poor the man who'd marry her!"
Vahhab's eyes glimmered mischievously. "Is there a man like that?"
"At least for money!"
"One should be periless to marry such a freak!"
Mrs Edrisi closed her eyes:" They do as if you don't know people!"
"Poor the man , what if she saw heel-relief stone...?!"
The old lady chuckled:" She would see far-off!"
"A whole sum of all contradictions!"
Fed up with cards, the old lady nodded. The clock struck eleven , in the far-off distance the owl was howling, placing her ears on the window, grannie listened:" Such a throat, howls excruciatingly loud, won't it cut its throat?"
Vahhab smiled wondering what the owl does.
Grannie left, resting the door ajar.
Vahhab kept solitary vigil at nights, reading and staying up by the daybreak.
About midnight a grey cat popped through the window.
Through the cat's eyes there was a wavy spectrum of seaweed colours, Vahhab pampered the cat, soothed its backbones, purring and mewing around, up and down into the cushions, turning a page over, the cat opened its eyes. Just before the sunrise, he used to move to the kitchen . The kitchen was in the corner of the dinning room. Warsaw Samavars with paintings on the wall, they looked crooked in the copper pans.
A cockroach was squeaking around on onion crusts. Branches of that weeping willow hit the windows, Vahhab would leave the kettle on to boil some water. Brewing tea and setting the silver tea set and then he left for the dinning room.Drinking cups and cups of tea one after another, Yavar was in the next door , the hedge of the doors creaked, twilight glowed on Yavar's salt and pepper beard, shabby and scruffy, untidy hair, bony skinny cheeks, dreamy and bewitched sleepy eyes seemed rather like sockets and holes curved into the darkness.His hunchback and loose and expressionless arms seemed like objects out of his body . He used to make a lot of noise and the cat cocked his ears, peeping around.
The cat leaped around the sofa and crept away. Yavar coughed huskily in the bright-lit corridor. The long shadow of fences over the yard.Vahhab switched off the candle on the wall , went up the stairs, his footsteps faded into the fluffy carpet.Grannie was snoring , turning the doorknob , he entered the room . Morning twilight with its mellow and pale light murkily was shading a silouette of velvet.Archs over his head and morning sunlight was shading all over the place , dressed in pyjamas, drawing the bedspread, rested and rolled into that satin and soft bed, the crimson blanket over his head , to his chin , while reading he fell fast asleep.
Around ten in the morning, while Legha was playing the piano , he woke up . For another half an hour , he lay down in bed rolling from side to side.
Two times a day Legha played the piano , Italian Caprichoes, List's Rhapsodies and Mandelson's Romances. For so many years she had played them with a great skill in her fingers. No stranger could believe her skill, the spirit in her fingers and many years of practice. The stagnent maidenhood and silent youth , all were her oppressed desires , yearning in music and all this deepened her strength.Closing the piano lid , she felt young once more, while turning back , she was Legha once again, fierce and impatient yelled at Yavar for mixing up her exceptional plate with others on the dish rack , she had secluded herself with her cutlery and dishes , golden felt-tip mug, the blue china dish , Shefield bony forks. Before each meal she watched her mug carefully in a bright-lit place not to observe a speck of dirt and stains on it. If there was a guest at home , Mrs Edrisi would glare at her out of anger.
Yawning in bed , Vahhab got up and dressed impeccably in a white ironed shirt and tied , a trench coat with button cuffs . Brushing his hair , opened a central parting . In the pick of youth , he used to dress like an old man.Wearing a very strong perfume came to the breakfast table.Grannie coughed :" What an awful smell! you're reeking like Egyption mummies, where the hell did you find it?"
Vahhab knotted his eyebrows:" It's the perfume of deep oceans, extracted essence of whale's abdomn, a gift of Buenos Aires."
Mrs Edrisi nodded:"You call it a present?"
Aunt Legha frowned:" Much better than a man's smell!"
Grannie Chuckled :" Don't exaggerate it. A man has a job , a love affair, a riding horse, a hunting game or at least a kinda drinking habit in a pub (sighed) I wish there were a man here."
Legha crumpled the napkin :" If you'd like a man here , I'll go and get a room in the town."
"Dear, nowhere is free of men . One would crawl into your room one night!"
With a twist around the corner lines of her lips, Legha blushed. Hiding her face in her hands, ran towards the door. The sound of crying covered all over the house.
Yavar came in , smiling and peeping , asked the Grannie:" Anything you would like?"
Mrs Edrisi smiled:" Come in!"
"Miss Legha's annoyed!"
Grannie said , her hands clinging :"Then if you could find her a suitor, it would be...."
Stealthily Yavar tiptoed to the door:" Ooooh! Heaven forbid, never ever! Haven't found a suitor and she hates me!"
Mrs Edrisi pointed to the wooden stool:" Get sit down!"
He hesitated , blew the dust over the stool and finally sat down on the clean stool.
Mrs Edrisi said:" Oooooh! Leave it dear ...!You'll dust off the stuff later!"
"There won't be enough time , such a big manor house needs more servants."
Mrs Edrisis's lips wrinkled in the corner:"Come on ! We're single-handed , when the wages are low they come and see Legha and they flee! Nobody's as faithful as you . Remember old days , those were the days .Once we cooked twenty rice bowls, what was the name of that chef ?( Scratching her forehead)....pity I don't remember the name!."
Yavar lifted his chin haughtily:"Ebrahim Beigh!"
" Ooooooh! Good!...I wish he had quit such horrible habits, he used to aim the knife at you as if stabbing!"
Yavar was bitting his lips:" Mr Edrisi sacked him for his dirty look at women!"
Mrs Edrisi placed her hair behind ears:" And you were the eye witness?!"
The air was penetrating into his cheeks, thoughtfully he spoke:"What shall I say ?! He was a Tatar with the habit of dancing with a knife!"
Quite irritated Mrs Edrisi said: "Such nonsense! My Grannie was a half-breed Tatar , never seen such habits among them! Rahila was as decent as her."
Vahhab moved:" Where was she from?"
"Around Cremea , with a glamorous voice like nightingales , her voice got a move on the windows."
With a sparkle in his eyes, Vahhab asked:" What did she sing , Grannie?"
" It's a shame I cannot recall , Legha has taken after her in playing music."
Vahhab grinned:" The only talent she's got!"
Mrs Edrisi said :"She might have some other abilities not flowered yet!"
Vahhab sneered :"It's apparently late now, you've counted on her a big deal!"
Mrs Edrisi's face coloured: " You two bear a resemblence!"
Quite irritated,looking at the table , Vahhab complained:"Grannie!!!...We have nothing in common."
The old lady sighed:" A mere bagatelle ! At least Legha's touching her life in hatred, how about you?(scowling)
as dry as dust!"
Yavar stared into flower patterns of carpet, twisting a hair of his moustache:" Poor indigestion, it's the yellow bile, some jejebu and aloe vera would help."
Vahhab looked at the snowy landscape of the painting over the wall. At the end of poplar trees, dark and cold , the footprints of Rahila which were left seemed fading.
Mrs Esrisi's and Yavar's eyes met. The old lady shrugged her shoulders . Looked at the cards:" The knave of hearts, it's a good sign(lifted her eyebrows) a letter might come. Who is it from? Only God knows, the soldiers of the new government might have written letters to Legha. What were they called?"
"Fire-squad-band they're called."
The wrinkles on Mrs Edrisi's face disappeared at once :" Long ago they used to write letters to me .I never read them , tore up all ( stared at the foggy branches of maple ) a young soldier was in love with me, he wasn't from here, was in the regiment , had a childish face , dark blue eyes . One night I got up and I saw him if my father could get it he would turn him to a piece of..., I got dressed and bare-foot went to the garden , with tearfull eyes he said that he was not from this county ! Had come around to Kick the bucket. I said you must be insane! Lifting the lantern those satanic eyes looked like a hatchway to hell. He disappeared after some months. In the midwinter I got the words that he had taken the journey to the mountains. He entered the anti-government campaign. How's the fire-squad band doing now?"
" Filthy people!"
The old man frowned and nodded :" They're not filthy, it's the smell of yarrow leaves they consume!"
"The yarrow leaves?"
"Their boots are green , their lips livid blue, they consume pure grass."
"When did they come?"
Vahhab twisted his moustache by his fingers:" Not worth speaking , never understood their attitude, inhumane , vulgar, barbaric, do they ever think? ( He touched the white flowers of the table cloth) vain , hollow mechanical man!"
Mrs Edrisi asked :" Why don't you immigrate? Intellectuals like you have all left!"
The man yawned:" No Civilisation's left. People all over the world are dead from the neck up!" ( he grasped his hands ) never take me a pig-headed intellectual. Greedy and benumbed golden beard and necks , hand in hand with martial law have been buried somewhere in the hell!My books and room would suffice."
Vahhab's words seemed tedious to Yavar, he carried on with no care :" The time we were young , we climbed down the valley at moonlit nights. The fire squad band would stay on the mountain top and set a big fire."
Mrs Edrisi asked: "Didn't you get scared?"
Yavar blinked :" Fear, what shall we call it? Their dazzling sparkling eyes like wolves."
Mrs Edrisi wrapped the woolen scarf around her arms. " I don't know what happened to that soldier? Joined them and became a devil ? He was in the first gang , must be dead now!"
Yavar pondered:" Tongue-tied, a herb they've taken , mouth-shut!"
Mrs Edrisi said:" I've heard they never pay for the things they purchase."
Yavar nodded.
Vahhab closed the book :" This is the previlige we have . Money matters , they never care for the dainty stuff, they return them."
Mrs Edrisi asked :" How can they pull the wool over our eyes?"
Yavar hesitated:" They'd come for an enquiry , they'd asked how many we are and what we do , the neighboiurs have told them about the charity hospital."
Mrs Edrisi bent down:" Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Vahhab clicked his jaws:" So one of these days they swarm over us like bugs, they'll ruin culture and beauty. Decadence has taken its place( He stood up and the chair was knocked by the table, walked along the room)
The world is going to decline . We live at the age of Kali Yuga! Pity a city like Nisa's buried ( looked at Mrs Edrisi) I wish I hadn't been born at the present time. Several centuries ago would fit me better; the age of Achilles, Prickles, the knights of round table, queens and the empress, the story of Shehrzadeh and one thousand and one Arabian nights or saint Acquinas."
( His eyes radiant with the magnificance of the old age.)
The old lady turned up her nose:" You would have been a misanthropist at any age!( looked at the plaster moulding of the ceiling in regret) Before long it'll be our turn . Since last week I've been plagued with the nightmare of the fire-squad. As if their teeth were growing out of grass, fuzzy hair mixed with the smell of fleecing wool, marshing their boots. I got up and went to the window, gazed at the lamp-post in the street, shifting one by one , do they ever sleep?"
Yavar lifted his chin:" Two hours a day with nightmares, got used to it."
" And manners?"
" They laugh all in a group, hairy , bushy , beardy and filthy, people call them beefy!"
The old lady got a glimpse : " a mine of rumours ( asking Vahhab ), don't you look at the papers?"
The man crumbled a piece of paper:" Vulgar , all the same. Scruffy faces holding guns, with a flag in their hands marching, could you get it grannie? Long lists of executions, let's dispense with it!"
Mrs Edrisi stared at the lamp bulb:" No peace anymore!"
Chapter three
Mrs Edrisi was sitting next to the velvet cushion, looking into the garden. She was doing a piece of embroidery on that green table cloth. She was doing some maroon six-petal daisies, the feathers of peacock and some iris flowers, her fingers were really skilled, her hands full of grace.
Legha was dressing up in a long and green robe , wearing white wooden sandals, her fingers were wrinkled of the spa bath. Her wet hair braided, ribboned in pink. She used to do some exercise after breakfast.
For thirty times she stretched and joined her legs, lowering her head between the stretched legs and arms stretched moving along the room . She called it butterfly movement. Turning around her waist, she did some muscle breathing exercise, with each movement hands up, with no direction in the air moved along a curve. She took a deep breath , her belly inflated with the navel out, like new-born babies.
Yavar was sweeping the pavement of the yard. His cigarette unlit in the corner of his lips. He opened the fountains, listened to the music of the fountains. In the front the pigeons with bloated throats, left their feathers on the paved-stones . Somebody was knocking at the door, knock, knock and knock.It repeated for several times.
He left the broom , quite pale , walked to the corridor, opened the door in the corridor, kneeled with his hands posed for praying:" May God help us!"
The old man lowered his head. Legha shouted and took hold of her skirt , big tighs and red knees appeared. One sandal out:" I'll kill myself", half crawling burst into tears , her tears were dropping over her nose, twinkled, her pupils looked much bigger, the knocking at the door repeated. Vahhab was still in his sleeping gown, climbed down the stairs. With shabby hair, a sticky ringlet of hair over his forehead marked his restless nights and sleepiness . The lock of hair was stiffened over the parting, he tied his robe:
" Our game's over! Try not to show fear ( He went to the study and touched the leather binding of the books), they would take whatever we have."
The old lady responded:" I'll go and open the door."
Startled back , Vahhab looked into the mirror then straightened his hair:" Do I look good?"
Yavar buttoned up :"Your look doesn't matter, as if they were raiding into the yard."
Mrs Edrisi lifted her head:" Then I'll go."
She opened the door in the corridor ; a cold breeze was penetrating.
She climbed down the stairs outside in the courtyard. The moist over the lilacs was evaporating gradually. The water drops were dropping down the fir tree. She opened the gate, took hold of the door knob, it was cold and wet.
The one who was shorter leaned against the door.In a pale green uniform, dusty and creased , his fingers on the trigger, his hair scruffy rough like a cloth-brush, brushy waxy beard had covered his lips, all over his chin and cheeks.
He was watching the edifice in triumph . Mrs Edrisi turned and looked at the same point. The attic had become tattered, the hatched roof and the gable hazy in the fog, chimnies, draughty windsweepers, brown hatches and lace curtains, as if they had been forgotten over the years.
The firing-squad members sneered ; the one who was in the front, with thin lanky neck which much looked like the stem of a cherry and the second who was shorter and muscular.
The skinny boy looked at his worn-out boots:" How many people are living here?"
While smoothing her throat, Mrs Edrisi replied:" Four, does it matter?"
The second firing-squad member kicked to the fences:" We're supposed to ask and you're obliged to answer, understood?"
The shawl slipped over her shoulders and arms:
"No problem, there's nothing to say!"
The slim boy looked at her:" How many rooms do you have?"
Mrs Edrisi answered hesitatingly:"I guess twenty ."
They both laughed along, the man with broad shoulders asked:" How long have you been here?"
Mrs Edrisi lifted one hand:" For four generations."
"Then you don't know how many rooms you have?!"
Mrs Edrisi smiled:" Rooms are for living not for counting."
The short man said:" Not an excuse ( he stepped in) we'll go for further observation."
They went into the manor house, the march of boots on the stairs was echoing. One by one they came in , Legha was peeping , she jerked and ran away to the back room. Vahhab got dressed , buttoned up disorderly, as if one shoulder looked broader, holding hands, leaned on the wall. Yavar's lips moved in silence. Startled while facing them.
They entered the anteroom . They examined the walls and and the ceiling. The skinny boy whistled :"All accessories!"
The broad-shouldered turned around, pulling a thread of moustache:" Just four, (clapped hands and laughed), how many were we in each tent?"
" The number of these rooms."
The shortie nodded:" The number was adding up day by day, isn't it stupid to miss such horrible days?"
The other one sighed:"Just right at the dawn the skyline was clear, the wild birds used to sit over our shoulders, we shivered in cold."
The broad-shouldered pointed to the painting :" Is it a replica?"
Mrs Edrisi paused :" It should be the original."
The man got closer and touched the paint :" I had seen the replicas, never thought one day I could see the original. The waves look vivid, the seagulls flow away in a flock, just like us ( suddenly became firm) the possession of such items should be clarified. Belongs to the museum."
Mrs Edrisi objected : " people's posssession is not your business."
They both burst into laughter; the thinner blushed:" It's a part of our duty."
They went to the window, shoulder by shoulder, they stood. In the cloudy sunlight they looked vulgar and despicable. The broad-shouldered poked :" Such a garden has no borders!"
The scrawny pointed to a tree:"Silver leaves!"
The broad-shouldered nodded:" I hadn't seen such a tree before."
"Grows in cold places."
Mrs Edrisi followed them :" Would you like to chop it off for your museum ? Fourty-two at least, as old as my elder daughter."
Somebody who was hiding back at the partition said:" The silver fir tree is not over thirty."
The firing-squad band turned back, the broad-shouldered pleaded:"Who's voice was that?"
There was the hustles and bustles, a short breath , a short sigh, the broad-shouldered peeped in. Legha leaned on the closet, pushed the door knob." Don't get closer!"
The young one looked at the other in surprise, his finger on the trigger:"Why? Is she armed?"
Legha burst into tears, down in the partition, you could see her ankles. Her wooden sandal heels were being pressed on the floor, the scrawny looked at the old lady and said:" Has she got a contagious disease?"
Mrs Edrisi nodded:"She hates men."
The young men laughed loud. The candelabra moved. The sighs were short, something was falling down.
The broad-shouldered kicked over:
"And she detests us?"
The door opened and the smell of ambergris mixed with tiny waves was blowing over:" Legally you cannot hurt us, we are not guilty."
The slim-necked winked:" Good morning , living in such a house is the biggest crime."
Vahhab's nose vibrated, he put his hand over his mouth, something inside him was twitching:
"It's our heritage, should we have destroyed it?"
"No, you should have dedicated it to us."
" For the sake of Republic ? If it was easy you'd never resided in the mountains."
"Anyone willing can join the firing band."
" On what cost?"
" The cost of your life."
"Very kind of you! We don't deserve it! So what? what could get your place?!"
The slim figure headed forward:
" You would have been honoured if you could be in our place."
"We don't need an honourary degree."
The broad-shouldered knocked the gun stock over his shoulder.
As if your body's itching for a real punishment, go ahead but we'll behave you at the end."
Legha moaned and then collapsd . The old lady opened the closet , unfolded jasmine scented sheets. The aroma spread in the house, she covered her with a white sheet, the maiden sighed and fell asleep.
The fire-band turned around, inspected the first storey . They went to open Rahila's room , Vahhab pushed them away, held the door knob.
"The room's bleak , hasn't been open since twenty years ago."
The broad-shouldered twisted the new-grown moustache :" We'll inagurate it."
Vahhab shielded his breast:" Over my dead body."
His eyes flamed in the dark.
The fire-band member panicked and went back , furious and tempted turned back:
"What's the secret in the locked door?"
Mrs Edrisi explained :" It's not a secret, all perfume and dress, turned to a legend now. The room belonged to my daughter who died young( she wrapped the hems of the shawl around her fingers.)
The mysterious story of her death was never disclosed to us ( sighed bitterly) she died of ill-fate and the stuff there are Rahila's memorabalia, we kept everything untouched , even the strands of her hair over the comb.
One poked the other one and whispered some words and took out a stroll out of his pocket, lit a match , the light was faltering , he pointed to some lines in the stroll, marched on the floor and yelled:" For now there's nothing to do with this room."
They came back to the hallway, the broad-shouldered stared into the ceiling :
" Obscure and dim."
Over the arch windows the piegons were flowing. Over the twigs and foliage was covered with dung and droppings, hovered over the winding stairs on the landing of the second storey, they opened the white doors with the white golden-bread room, the stuffy air spread around . The satin bedspread's lustrous radiant in the sunlight, its heavenly image reflected in the dusty mirrors. In Legha's room there was a wet towel hanging on the chair. The flared flappy pyjamas on the side of bed, the breeze which was blowing made it look much bigger in size.
On the bedside table the book of memoirs was turning page by page .The virgins of the rocks was the only ornament on the walls.
In Vahhab's room the canopy curtains had been drawing back . The smell of ambergris had covered the house. Rablais' "Great Garagantu" was open on the floor. In the light of lamp bulb, a bottle of water and the sleeping pills were seen on the bedside table. The broad-shouldered entered . Backed the bedspread. The dust over the fluffy velvet spread in the room.
"What's the use of it?"
Vahhab leaned against the door:" It barricades the sound and night . Gives security to me. "
The fire-band frowned:"Not a necessity ( he looked at his comrade ) stupid ! Let's take it the store!"
Vahhab complained :" I cannot sleep without them, ( marking the table) see the pills ! I suffer from insomnia."
While drawing the curtains, they parted it ! They folded the heavy velvet , bundled it and took it, punched to the shelf, the plaster moulder was dropping down, they made a fuss and left the room.
Vahhab hid his head in his knees, under the checkered coat his shoulders were trembling.
The slim figure turned back, put the pills into his pocket, slammed the door and left.
Yavar got closer to Vahhab, kneeled in front of him :" Don't worry sir, we'll make another!"
The broad-shouldered opened the door :" No curtains ! You'll sleep this way or you'll die of insomnia."
They went to the old lady's , the rocking chair was creaking and moved.There was a raw of small bottles on the dressing table, jasmine and pansy in a bottle of perfume, powder pad and a golden comb.
The broad-shouldered took a plastic bag out, put them all in. The rocking chair was moving , kicked to the legs of the table , looked at the comrade : "You like such stuff?"
The slim man nodded:" Such trinkets make me sick." ( glared at the chair) I dislike them."
Mrs Edrisi objected :" You don't have to like it, it's my personal stuff , I sit there in the afternoons."
The fire band shrugged :" You're not a child!"
The broad-shouldered confirmed :" It's okay."
He put the chair in the balcony , it was getting dark and cloudy, the fog was descending , it was raining, he lifted the chair but dropped it. The chair fell down and broke. He burst into laughter, a hysteric laughter perhaps , poked into his comrade . As a sign of victory , tapped on his knees. Showed some lines of the dirty stroll to the lady, Mrs Edrisi pushed back to the stroll :" These stupid lines doesn't make for the chair."
The rain and fog showed her face a little bit paler. She looked at the broken chair:" I used to sit there and reminisce old days, my whole family used it before me, all fingerprints of my mother, my husband and my young daughter who died young."
She placed her head into the frame, the fire-band had gone, they slammed the door, pranced over the stairs. Mrs Edrisi came into the room. She lay down, covered her body in the blanket, hands over her eyes.
TRANSLATED BY ROSA JAMALI
Ghazaleh Alizadeh's novel THE HOUSE OF THE EDRISIS to be published ...
Excerpts from THE HOUSE OF THE EDRISIS /Translated & prefaced by Rosa Jamali
Ghazaleh Alizadeh(1947-1996)
THE HOUSE OF EDRISIS
A Novel by Ghazaleh Alizadeh
Original language: Persian
Translator to English: Rosa Jamali
Number of pages:757 pages in Persian
First publication: Tirajeh, 1991
Type of novel: Dystopian, river-novel (roman-fleuve), Allegory
Season 1: Ashkhabad
Chapter one
The turn-out of a misfortune in a household is not all of a sudden, in the wooden cracks, on the sheets, throughout the hatchways and in the pleats of curtains, the dust covers everything longing for the wind to release the scattered constituents of a lurking-place.
In the house of Edrisis, life was going on; the engraved wall clock with the covered pinnacles of birds and flowers, a piece of work by the carpenters of Bokhara struck 10.
Legha looked at her wristwatch, she set it forward and stood up, she walked away from the breakfast table and took the bread crumbs for the fish.
Vahhab, the son of the household, gulped down the last sip of tea after pouring some from that azure Serve teacup and stopped yawning, turned to Mrs. Edrisi:” she is better today.” The old lady moved the glasses on her nose, her eyes behind the glasses were dark blue:” It’s not clear what she does.”
The fog descended down to the arcade, fretted the windows, turned around, and faced pine and poplar trees. Down at the end, from the corridor, there came the sound of washing the dishes. The tap-water popped and turned around and then there was the bubbling of semavar.
From time to time, Yavar coughed in the kitchen, sluggishly pulled his feet on the floor.
The lady crossed her eyebrows:” Poor man, growing old, lost his lung by smoking...!” Vahhab leaned against the margins of the table, stood up.”I should go to the library, I read an article about the ruins of a city “Nisa”, it was a magnificent place once, buried now.”
Mrs. Edrisi sighed:” Plenty of them have been buried and one day our city is going to be buried.” Vahhab closed his eyes, turned back, and walked away.
The household were a kind of quiet in eating, drinking, walking and talking.
Vahhab was thirty but looked much older, thin and hunchback, a pale face, solemn and lightless eyes. He had studied at British boarding schools, for any word or movement, he felt the lashes of punishment on his back. He ate a little and took a shower before noon, clipped his nails every week, and filed them. Below his eyes was bloated from the shortage of sleep. He stood across from the mirror, counted the strands of grey hair in a pile of soft and black hair. The other day he had twelve of them, all white. He didn’t go out, always residing in a shelter, twice a month he dropped in “Ashena Bookshop”, the man put aside some new books for him, Vahhab knitted his eyebrows and with a tight mouth paid for them, straightly came back home.
In the afternoon if the weather was good, he would sit by the pool, opened the fountain, and looked at the patterns and the flow of water, he remembered the past, his childhood was far away.
Gradually when it was getting dark, the dreams faded away. Birds flew in the garden. In the hot weather females feeding cows at the end of the alfalfa field were mooing. On the second floor, his elder aunt, Legha sat behind the hatchway with her hand under a cheek, stared at the mulberry trees, clay-roofs, and faded attics till the time they would turn on the lamps around and drew the curtains. She didn't turn on the lamp but closed her eyes. Behind the dark dreamy drowned eye-lids, sometimes a blue and yellow pattern like flowers and silica glass expanded and amused her.
On the rocking chair, grannie leaned against the mahogany furniture of walnut trees, rubbed the perfume on the back-ears. The acrid extract of jasmine spread in the house. Once in a while, she would see the dreadful figure of her late husband, in a summer suit, with a white bow and salt and pepper whiskers, in a hoarse and throaty voice caused by tobacco and opium he whispered:” Such a nice smell!”
The time she stared into the dark, the white phantom had gone, then she heard the creaking hinges of the doors on the first storey, Yavar was walking in the corridor. He turned on the candelabra in the vault, it glared on the plaster moulding, the leaves of vine trees, lotus flowers, and clusters of grapes. The wind moved the candelabra and the chains squeaked. The rainbow prism glowed on the images of the carpet, the bifurcated winding stairs and bending balustrade all leaped around.
The first storey had three corridors, a big anteroom, a library and four bedrooms. On the second storey, around the balustrade there were ten attached bedrooms, all except three were locked.
In the morning, when Vahhab was tired of reading, leaning against the velvet cushion in the drawing-room , half asleep and behind the flower pots, he listened to the creaking of the springs, there were some pillows with the patterns of peacocks and parrots. He put them under his elbow, then he drank a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette.
Staring at the waterdrops, he yawned. There was a slight pain in his bones. shaking his legs he pondered into the past. He was dreaming of Rahila, his aunt who had died young of a strange fever. After her death, Mrs. Edrisi’s hair had grown white overnight, Vahhab was ten at that time.
She was engaged to a broad-shouldered stout man with big eyes and a Moorish face. A widower who was a grand landowner called Moayyed. People said that he lived in a mansion and had a lot of horses in the stable, in pomp and circumstance he came. They wanted to buy his chestnut horse for 3000 roubles, he came in hurry with three servants, the sound of his shoes on the pavement. Rahila would sit by the bed, didn’t move, her hands on the white satin weary and proud, pouted her lips like roses, grinned. Her head uplifted, her almond eyes half-open. The shade of her eyelashes on her moonlit cheeks and with a dreamy glance, tall, airy, introverted, and aloof, nothing made her happy. In the end of spring, she would sit in the courtyard. Sipping her tea on a straw chair under the trellis of lilacs, white pigeons surrounded her feet while hovering in the trellis. The rain started then she walked in the garden and her garments were wet. She looked at the clocks as if she were waiting for somebody, she didn’t have a friend. Never answered the letters, visits, or messages.
Vahhab used to look at her through the hatches. Rahila tucked up her skirt, skipping over the brook, soft and agile, pranced and tiptoed on the wet lawn, picked up a rose-bud, smelled and pinned it to her hair, she closed her eyes and opened them once more, wandered in the garden for hours, when she became tired, she went to the shade of that big elm tree then made a house with the rubble stones. She rooted up the grass and squeezed it with her teeth.In the end, while standing up, she ruined the built-up house with the rubble stones tossing over one another on the steep lawn.
The memory of Rahila was deeply moving, Rahila’s room at the end of the corridor, in the north frontline had two big windows, one to the garden and the other one to the courtyard and the arbour. The lace curtains had the smell of dust and the perfume of autumn crocuses, when he went to the mirror, his face looked like a stranger. He closed his eyes and wanted Rahila to be alive, her straight hair spreading around, loose on her shoulders, the strands slipped over one another like a flash of silk. Now Vahhab turned to a small boy, pulling her skirt naughtily, the young girl with her very charming eyes would send him off.
He opened the drawers, arranged the perfumes on the dressing table, nineteen hundred from Paris and Moscow, Italian, Chinese, Indian, the longlasting perfumes of far oceans: musk and birch and myrtle and black ambergris. In cosmetics she had nothing but perfume, there were several bottles in each drawer. He bent down the table, took a deep breath. He opened the closet, his face was lost in the white garments, muddy stains, flower buttons, dry grass and thorn, and beads. In the dark, it turned up a crack of mouth-worn wood, he tilted his head and closed the door. He put the perfume bottles in the right place, arranged the pleats of curtains, spread the bedspread to the pillows of lace and embroidery. He left the room, locked the door. In the dark corridor, walked on the polished parquet and went to the library.
They were some magazines in a drawer, he took them out and turned the pages over, he looked at the biography and pictures of Roxana Yashvili, she was a stage actress, starring in plays such as “Small Bourgeois”, “One Month in the Village”, “The Blue Bird” and “Chaika”, they called her a wildflower, the glimmering of a creative will-power in her eyes.
Critics believed she could show the spiritual images and transfer them to the audience, seemingly resembled Rahila, Vahhab looked at her pictures in the costumes of Normandy women, in a black velvet dress with a fan in one hand, beneath an arbour or at the breakfast table while playing with an actor. Painters had painted her on several canvases, poets had written many poems for her. Since six years before, she had been living with “Marenko”; the noted poet.
There was no picture of Rahila in the house. When Vahhab looked at Roxana’s almond and black and glimmering eyes and slim figure remembered Rahila. She came from Tbilisi with a different nature noted for her upheavals. Vahhab didn’t like her complacency, didn’t read the interviews, just looked at her pictures.
Just at twelve Legha climbed down the winding stairs, stepped in the hall, knitted her eyebrows, cross, broad-shouldered and tall, pale with big lips and a sharp chin and hooked nose, grey eyes, rummaging but lightless, fumbled around, wiggling, her backbones pricking in hatred, she was sensitive to heel-relief stone, even disliked the shape and the name. Naked and screaming she ran away and fainted on the floor. Mrs. Edrisi sneered and covered her hanging boobs with a sheet.
The smell of men revolted Legha, when the workers came for some days to dig the garden or trim the trees or cut the weeds, she locked herself in the room and didn’t come down. A strike of smell made her sick. She opened all the windows, the candelabra moved, in the arcade the wind blew and howled, for two times a day she took a shower. She had the smell of soap and foam with herself. At nights, right after the dinner she used to brew sour orange blossoms, she stirred it with a little teaspoon, the leaves soaked and spread out, the steam on the cup had a smell of moss and bare moors, she sipped the root beer slowly, with decency and dignity, her lips were not wet. She stood up and very cold said good night, in a flower-patterned gown and with plait hair, a hand on the banister, she climbed up the stairs and her pale countenance lost in the dark landing.
Chapter two
Mrs. Edrisi sighed in despair, card reading was over. She tossed the deck of cards on the dining table; it's getting worse day by day. Vahhab stopped reading, scratching his nose, nothing's moved.
The old lady smiled:" Poor the man who'd marry her!"
Vahhab's eyes glimmered mischievously. "Is there a man like that?"
"At least for money!"
"One should be perilous to marry such a freak!"
Mrs. Edrisi closed her eyes:" They do as if you don't know people!"
"Poor the man, what if she saw heel-relief stone...?!"
The old lady chuckled:" She would see far-off!"
"A whole sum of all contradictions!"
Fed up with cards, the old lady nodded. The clock struck eleven, in the far-off distance the owl was howling, placing her ears on the window, grannie listened:" Such a throat, howls excruciatingly loud, won't it cut its throat?"
Vahhab smiled wondering what the owl does.
Grannie left, resting the door ajar.
Vahhab kept solitary vigil at nights, reading and staying up by the daybreak.
About midnight a grey cat popped through the window.
Through the cat's eyes there was a wavy spectrum of seaweed colours, Vahhab pampered the cat, soothed its backbones, purring and mewing around, up and down into the cushions, turning a page over, the cat opened its eyes. Just before the sunrise, he used to move to the kitchen. The kitchen was in the corner of the dinning room. Warsaw Samavars with paintings on the wall, they looked crooked in the copper pans.
A cockroach was squeaking around on onion crusts. Branches of that weeping willow hit the windows, Vahhab would leave the kettle on to boil some water. Brewing tea and setting the silver tea set and then he left for the dinning room. Drinking cups and cups of tea one after another, Yavar was in the next door, the hedge of the doors creaked, twilight glowed on Yavar's salt and pepper beard, shabby and scruffy, untidy hair, bony skinny cheeks, dreamy and bewitched sleepy eyes seemed rather like sockets and holes carved into the darkness. His hunchback and loose and expressionless arms seemed like objects out of his body. He used to make a lot of noise and the cat cocked his ears, peeping around.
The cat leaped around the sofa and crept away. Yavar coughed huskily in the bright-lit corridor. The long shadow of fences over the yard. Vahhab switched off the candle on the wall, went up the stairs, his footsteps faded into the fluffy carpet. Grannie was snoring, turning the doorknob, he entered the room. Morning twilight with its mellow and pale light murkily was shading a silhouette of velvet. Arch over his head and morning sunlight was shading all over the place, dressed in pyjamas, drawing the bedspread, rested and rolled into that satin and soft bed, the crimson blanket over his head, to his chin, while reading he fell fast asleep.
Around ten in the morning, while Legha was playing the piano, he woke up. For another half an hour, he lay down in bed rolling from side to side.
Two times a day Legha played the piano, Italian Caprichoes, Franz Liszt's Rhapsodies, and Mandelson's Romances. For so many years she had played them with great skill in her fingers. No stranger could believe her skill, the spirit in her fingers, and many years of practice. The stagnant maidenhood and silent youth, all were her oppressed desires, yearning in music and all this deepened her strength. Closing the piano lid, she felt young once more, while turning back, she was Legha once again, fierce and impatient yelled at Yavar for mixing up her exceptional plate with others on the dish rack, she had secluded herself with her cutlery and dishes, golden felt-tip mug, the blue china dish, Sheffield bony forks. Before each meal, she watched her mug carefully in a bright-lit place not to observe a speck of dirt and stains on it. If there was a guest at home, Mrs. Edrisi would glare at her out of anger.
Yawning in bed, Vahhab got up and dressed impeccably in a white ironed shirt and tied, a trench coat with button cuffs. Brushing his hair, opened a central parting. In the pick of youth, he used to dress like an old man. Wearing a very strong perfume came to the breakfast table. Grannie coughed:" What an awful smell! you're reeking like Egyptian mummies, where the hell did you find it?"
Vahhab knitted his eyebrows:" It's the perfume of deep oceans, extracted essence of whale's abdomen, a gift of Buenos Aires."
Mrs. Edrisi nodded: "You call it a present?"
Aunt Legha frowned:" Much better than a man's smell!"
Grannie Chuckled:" Don't exaggerate it. A man has a job, a love affair, a riding horse, a hunting game, or at least a kinda drinking habit in a pub (sighed) I wish there were a man here."
Legha crumpled the napkin:" If you'd like a man here, I'll go and get a room in the town."
"Dear nowhere is free of men. One would crawl into your room one night!"
With a twist around the corner lines of her lips, Legha blushed. Hiding her face in her hands, ran towards the door. The sound of crying covered all over the house.
Yavar came in, smiling and peeping, asked the Grannie:" Anything you would like?"
Mrs. Edrisi smiled:" Come in!"
"Miss Legha's annoyed!"
Grannie said, her hands clasping: "Then if you could find her a suitor, it would be...."
Stealthily Yavar tiptoed to the door:" Ooooh! Heaven forbid, never ever! Haven't found a suitor and she hates me!"
Mrs. Edrisi pointed to the wooden stool:" Get sit down!"
He hesitated, blew the dust over the stool, and finally sat down on the clean stool.
Mrs. Edrisi said:" Oooooh! Leave it dear ...!You'll dust off the stuff later!"
"There won't be enough time, such a big manor house needs more servants."
Mrs. Edrisis's lips wrinkled in the corner: "Come on! We're single-handed, when the wages are low they come and see Legha and they flee! Nobody's as faithful as you. Remember the old days, those were the days. Once we cooked twenty rice bowls, what was the name of that chef? ( Scratching her forehead)...pity I don't remember the name!."
Yavar lifted his chin haughtily: "Ebrahim Beigh!"
" Ooooooh! Good!... I wish he had quit such horrible habits, he used to aim the knife at you as if stabbing!"
Yavar was bitting his lips:" Mr. Edrisi sacked him for his dirty look at women!"
Mrs. Edrisi placed her hair behind ears:" And you were the eye witness?!"
The air was penetrating into his cheeks, thoughtfully he spoke: "What shall I say ?! He was a Tatar with the habit of dancing with a knife!"
Quite irritated Mrs. Edrisi said: "Such nonsense! My Grannie was a half-breed Tatar, never seen such habits among them! Rahila was as decent as her."
Vahhab moved:" Where was she from?"
"Around Crimea, with a glamorous voice like nightingales, her voice got a move on the windows."
With a sparkle in his eyes, Vahhab asked:" What did she sing, Grannie?"
" It's a shame I cannot recall, Legha has taken after her in playing music."
Vahhab grinned:" The only talent she's got!"
Mrs. Edrisi said: "She might have some other abilities not flowered yet!"
Vahhab sneered: "It's apparently late now, you've counted on her a big deal!"
Mrs. Edrisi's face colored: " You two bear a resemblance!"
Quite irritated, looking at the table, Vahhab complained: "Grannie!!!... We have nothing in common."
The old lady sighed:" A mere bagatelle! At least Legha's touching her life in hatred, how about you?(scowling)
as dry as dust!"
Yavar stared into flower patterns of carpet, twisting a hair of his mustache:" Poor indigestion, it's the yellow bile, some jejebu and aloe vera would help."
Vahhab looked at the snowy landscape of the painting over the wall. At the end of poplar trees, dark and cold, the footprints of Rahila which were left seemed to fade.
Mrs. Esrisi's and Yavar's eyes met. The old lady shrugged her shoulders. Looked at the cards:" The knave of hearts, it's a good sign(lifted her eyebrows) a letter might come. Who is it from? Only God knows the soldiers of the new government might have written letters to Legha. What were they called?"
"Fire-squad-band they're called."
The wrinkles on Mrs. Edrisi's face disappeared at once:" Long ago they used to write letters to me.I never read them, tore up all ( stared at the foggy branches of maple ) a young soldier was in love with me, he wasn't from here, was in the regiment, had a childish face, dark blue eyes. One night I got up and I saw him if my father could get it he would turn him to a piece of..., I got dressed and bare-foot went to the garden, with tearful eyes he said that he was not from this county! Had come around to Kick the bucket. I said you must be insane! Lifting the lantern those satanic eyes looked like a hatchway to hell. He disappeared after some months. In the midwinter, I got the words that he had taken the journey to the mountains. He entered the anti-government campaign. How's the fire-squad band doing now?"
" Filthy people!"
The old man frowned and nodded:" They're not filthy, it's the smell of yarrow leaves they consume!"
"The yarrow leaves?"
"Their boots are green, their lips livid blue, they consume pure grass."
"When did they come?"
Vahhab twisted his mustache by his fingers:" Not worth speaking, never understood their attitude, inhumane, vulgar, barbaric, do they ever think? ( He touched the white flowers of the table cloth) vain, hollow mechanical man!"
Mrs. Edrisi asked:" Why don't you immigrate? Intellectuals like you have all left!"
The man yawned:" No Civilisation's left. People all over the world are dying from the neck up!" ( he grasped his hands ) never take me a pig-headed intellectual. Greedy and benumbed golden beard and necks, hand in hand with martial law have been buried somewhere in the hell! My books and room would suffice."
Vahhab's words seemed tedious to Yavar, he carried on with no care:" The time we were young, we climbed down the valley at moonlit nights. The fire squad band would stay on the mountain top and set a big fire."
Mrs. Edrisi asked: "Didn't you get scared?"
Yavar blinked:" Fear, what shall we call it? Their dazzling sparkling eyes like wolves."
Mrs. Edrisi wrapped the woolen scarf around her arms. " I don't know what happened to that soldier? Joined them and became a devil? He was in the first gang, must be dead now!"
Yavar pondered:" Tongue-tied, a herb they've taken, mouth-shut!"
Mrs. Edrisi said:" I've heard they never pay for the things they purchase."
Yavar nodded.
Vahhab closed the book:" This is the privilege we have. Money matters, they never care for the dainty stuff, they return them."
Mrs. Edrisi asked:" How can they pull the wool over our eyes?"
Yavar hesitated:" They'd come for an inquiry, they'd asked how many we are and what we do, the neighbors have told them about the charity hospital."
Mrs. Edrisi bent down:" Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Vahhab clicked his jaws:" So one of these days they swarm over us like bugs, they'll ruin culture and beauty. Decadence has taken its place( He stood up and the chair was knocked by the table, walked along the room)
The world is going to decline. We live at the age of Kali Yuga! Pity a city like Nisa's buried ( looked at Mrs. Edrisi) I wish I hadn't been born at the present time. Several centuries ago would fit me better; the age of Achilles, Prickles, the knights of the round table, queens and the empress, the story of Shehrzadeh and one thousand and one Arabian nights or saint Aquinas."
( His eyes radiant with the magnificence of old age.)
The old lady turned up her nose:" You would have been a misanthropist at any age! ( looked at the plaster molding of the ceiling in regret) Before long it'll be our turn. Since last week I've been plagued with the nightmare of the fire-squad. As if their teeth were growing out of grass, fuzzy hair mixed with the smell of fleecing wool, marching their boots. I got up and went to the window, gazed at the lamp-post in the street, shifting one by one, do they ever sleep?"
Yavar lifted his chin:" Two hours a day with nightmares, got used to it."
" And manners?"
" They laugh all in a group, hairy, bushy, beardy and filthy, people call them beefy!"
The old lady got a glimpse: " a mine of rumors ( asking Vahhab ), don't you look at the papers?"
The man crumbled a piece of paper:" Vulgar, all the same. Scruffy faces holding guns, with a flag in their hands marching, could you get it, grannie? Long lists of executions, let's dispense with it!"
Mrs. Edrisi stared at the lamp bulb:" No peace anymore!"
Chapter three
Mrs. Edrisi was sitting next to the velvet cushion, looking into the garden. She was doing a piece of embroidery on that green table cloth. She was doing some maroon six-petal daisies, the feathers of peacock and some iris flowers, her fingers were really skilled, her hands full of grace.
Legha was dressing up in a long and green robe, wearing white wooden sandals, her fingers were wrinkled of the spa bath. Her wet hair was braided, ribboned in pink. She used to do some exercise after breakfast.
For thirty times she stretched and joined her legs, lowering her head between the stretched legs and arms stretched moving along the room. She called it butterfly movement. Turning around her waist, she did some muscle breathing exercise, with each movement hands up, with no direction in the air moved along a curve. She took a deep breath, her belly inflated with the navel out, like newborn babies.
Yavar was sweeping the pavement of the yard. His cigarette unlit in the corner of his lips. He opened the fountains, listened to the music of the fountains. In the front, the pigeons with bloated throats left their feathers on the paving stones. Somebody was knocking at the door, knock, knock and knock. It repeated several times.
He left the broom, quite pale, walked to the corridor, opened the door in the corridor, kneeled with his hands posed for praying:" May God help us!"
The old man lowered his head. Legha shouted and took hold of her skirt, big thighs and red knees appeared. One sandal out:" I'll kill myself", half crawling burst into tears, her tears were dropping over her nose, twinkled, her pupils looked much bigger, the knocking at the door repeated. Vahhab was still in his sleeping gown, climbed down the stairs. With shabby hair, a sticky ringlet of hair over his forehead marked his restless nights and sleepiness. The lock of hair was stiffened over the parting, he tied his robe:
" Our game's over! Try not to show fear ( He went to the study and touched the leather binding of the books), they would take whatever we have."
The old lady responded:" I'll go and open the door."
Startled back, Vahhab looked into the mirror then straightened his hair:" Do I look good?"
Yavar buttoned up: "Your look doesn't matter, as if they were raiding into the yard."
Mrs. Edrisi lifted her head:" Then I'll go."
She opened the door in the corridor; a cold breeze was penetrating.
She climbed down the stairs outside in the courtyard. The moisture on the lilacs was evaporating gradually. The water drops were dropping down the fir tree. She opened the gate, took hold of the doorknob, it was cold and wet.
The one who was shorter leaned against the door. In a pale green uniform, dusty and creased, his fingers on the trigger, his hair scruffy rough like a cloth brush, the brushy waxy beard had covered his lips, all over his chin and cheeks.
He was watching the edifice in triumph. Mrs. Edrisi turned and looked at the same point. The attic had become tattered, the hatched roof and the gable hazy in the fog, chimnies, draughty corridors, ventilators, brown hatches, and lace curtains, as if they had been forgotten over the years.
The firing squad members sneered; the one who was in the front, with a thin lanky neck which much looked like the stem of a cherry, and the second who was shorter and muscular.
The skinny boy looked at his worn-out boots:" How many people are living here?"
While smoothing her throat, Mrs. Edrisi replied:" Four, does it matter?"
The second firing-squad member kicked to the fences:" We're supposed to ask and you're obliged to answer, understood?"
The shawl slipped over her shoulders and arms:
"No problem, there's nothing to say!"
The slim boy looked at her:" How many rooms do you have?"
Mrs. Edrisi answered hesitatingly: "I guess twenty ."
They both laughed along, the man with broad shoulders asked:" How long have you been here?"
Mrs. Edrisi lifted one hand:" For four generations."
"Then you don't know how many rooms you have?!"
Mrs. Edrisi smiled:" Rooms are for living not for counting."
The short man said:" Not an excuse ( he stepped in) we'll go for further observation."
They went into the manor house, the march of boots on the stairs was echoing. One by one they came in, Legha was peeping, she jumped and ran away to the back room. Vahhab got dressed, buttoned-up disorderly, as if one shoulder looked broader, holding hands, leaned on the wall. Yavar's lips moved in silence. Startled while facing them.
They entered the anteroom. They examined the walls and the ceiling. The skinny boy whistled: "All accessories!"
The broad-shouldered turned around, pulling a thread of mustache:" Just four, (clapped hands and laughed), how many were we in each tent?"
" The number of these rooms."
The shortie nodded:" The number was adding up day by day, isn't it stupid to miss such horrible days?"
The other one sighed: "Just right at the dawn the skyline was clear, the wild birds used to sit over our shoulders, we shivered in cold."
The broad-shouldered pointed to the painting:" Is it a replica?"
Mrs. Edrisi paused:" It should be the original."
The man got closer and touched the paint:" I had seen the replicas, never thought one day I could see the original. The waves look vivid, the seagulls flow away in a flock, just like us ( suddenly became firm) the possession of such items should be clarified. Belongs to the museum."
Mrs. Edrisi objected: " people's possessions are not your business."
They both burst into laughter; the thinner blushed:" It's a part of our duty."
They went to the window, shoulder by shoulder, they stood. In the cloudy sunlight, they looked vulgar and despicable. The broad-shouldered poked:" Such a garden has no borders!"
The scrawny pointed to a tree: "Silver leaves!"
The broad-shouldered nodded:" I hadn't seen such a tree before."
"Grows in cold places."
Mrs. Edrisi followed them:" Would you like to chop it off for your museum? Forty-two at least, as old as my elder daughter."
Somebody who was hiding back at the partition said:" The silver fir tree is not over thirty."
The firing-squad band turned back, the broad-shouldered pleaded: "Whose voice was that?"
There were the hustles and bustles, a short breath, a short sigh, the broad-shouldered peeped in. Legha leaned on the closet, pushed the doorknob." Don't get closer!"
The young one looked at the other in surprise, his finger on the trigger: "Why? Is she armed?"
Legha burst into tears, down in the partition, you could see her ankles. Her wooden sandal heels were being pressed on the floor, the scrawny looked at the old lady and said:" Has she got a contagious disease?"
Mrs. Edrisi nodded: "She hates men."
The young men laughed aloud. The candelabra moved. The sighs were short, something was falling down.
The broad-shouldered kicked over:
"And she detests us?"
The door opened and the smell of ambergris mixed with tiny waves was blowing over:" Legally you cannot hurt us, we are not guilty."
The slim-necked winked:" Good morning, living in such a house is the biggest crime."
Vahhab's nose vibrated, he put his hand over his mouth, something inside him was twitching:
"It's our heritage, should we have destroyed it?"
"No, you should have dedicated it to us."
" For the sake of Republic? If it was easy you'd never resided in the mountains."
"Anyone willing can join the firing band."
" On what cost?"
" The cost of your life."
"Very kind of you! We don't deserve it! So what? what could get your place?!"
The slim figure headed forward:
" You would have been honoured if you could be in our place."
"We don't need an honourary degree."
The broad-shouldered knocked the gun stock over his shoulder.
As if your body's itching for real punishment, go ahead but we'll make you behave at the end."
Legha screamed and fainted. The old lady opened the closet, unfolded jasmine-scented sheets. The aroma spread in the house, she covered her with a white sheet, the maiden sighed and fell asleep.
The fire-band turned around, inspected the first storey. They went to open Rahila's room, Vahhab pushed them away, held the doorknob.
"The room's bleak hasn't been open since twenty years ago."
The broad-shouldered twisted the new-grown mustache:" We'll inaugurate it."
Vahhab shielded his breast:" Over my dead body."
His eyes flamed in the dark.
The fire-band member panicked and went back, furious and tempted turned back:
"What's the secret in the locked door?"
Mrs. Edrisi explained:" It's not a secret, all perfume and dress, turned to a legend now. The room belonged to my daughter who died young( she wrapped the hems of the shawl around her fingers.)
The mysterious story of her death was never disclosed to us ( sighed bitterly) she died of ill fate and the stuff there are Rahila's memorabilia, we kept everything untouched, even the strands of her hair over the comb.
One poked the other one and whispered some words and took a stroll out of his pocket, lit a match, the light was faltering, he pointed to some lines in the stroll, marched on the floor and yelled:" For now there's nothing to do with this room."
They came back to the hallway, the broad-shouldered stared into the ceiling :
" Obscure and dim."
Over the arched windows, the pigeons were flying. Over the twigs and foliage was covered with dung and droppings, hovered over the winding stairs on the landing of the second story, they opened the white doors with the white golden-bread room, the stuffy air spread around. The satin bedspread's lustrous radiant in the sunlight, its heavenly image reflected in the dusty mirrors. In Legha's room, there was a wet towel hanging on the chair. The flared flappy pyjamas on the side of the bed, the breeze which was blowing made it look much bigger in size.
On the bedside table, the book of memoirs was turning page by page. The virgins of the rocks were the only ornament on the walls.
In Vahhab's room, the canopy curtains had been drawing back. The smell of ambergris had covered the house. Rablais' "Great Garagantu" was open on the floor. In the light of the lamp bulb, a bottle of water and sleeping pills were seen on the bedside table. The broad-shouldered entered. Backed the bedspread. The dust over the fluffy velvet spread in the room.
"What's the use of it?"
Vahhab leaned against the door:" It barricades the sound and night. Gives security to me. "
The fire-band frowned: "Not a necessity ( he looked at his comrade ) stupid! Let's take it to the store!"
Vahhab complained:" I cannot sleep without them, ( marking the table) see the pills! I suffer from insomnia."
While drawing the curtains, they parted it! They folded the heavy velvet, bundled it and took it, punched to the shelf, the plaster moulder was dropping down, they made a fuss and left the room.
Vahhab hid his head in his knees, under the checkered coat, his shoulders were trembling.
The slim figure turned back, put the pills into his pocket, slammed the door, and left.
Yavar got closer to Vahhab, kneeled in front of him:" Don't worry sir, we'll make another!"
The broad-shouldered opened the door:" No curtains! You'll sleep this way or you'll die of insomnia."
They went to the old lady's, the rocking chair was creaking and moved. There was a raw of small bottles on the dressing table, jasmine, and pansy in a bottle of perfume, powder pad, and a golden comb.
The broad-shouldered took a plastic bag out, put them all in. The rocking chair was moving, kicked to the legs of the table, looked at the comrade: "You like such stuff?"
The slim man nodded:" Such trinkets make me sick." ( glared at the chair) I dislike them."
Mrs. Edrisi objected:" You don't have to like it, it's my personal stuff, I sit there in the afternoons."
The fire band shrugged:" You're not a child!"
The broad-shouldered confirmed:" It's okay."
He put the chair on the balcony, it was getting dark and cloudy, the fog was descending, it was raining, he lifted the chair but dropped it. The chair fell down and broke. He burst into laughter, a burst of hysteric laughter perhaps, poked into his comrade. As a sign of victory, tapped on his knees. Showed some lines of the dirty stroll to the lady, Mrs. Edrisi pushed back to the stroll:" These stupid lines don't make for the chair."
The rain and fog showed her face a little bit paler. She looked at the broken chair:" I used to sit there and reminisce old days, my whole family used it before me, all fingerprints of my mother, my husband, and my young daughter who died young."
She placed her head into the frame, the fire-band had gone, they slammed the door, pranced over the stairs. Mrs. Edrisi came into the room. She lay down, covered her body in the blanket, hands over her eyes.
The House of Edrisis is a prominent post-revolutionary novel in Iran by Ghazaleh Alizadeh, a noted novelist, translated from original Persian to English by Rosa Jamali.
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THE HOUSE OF THE EDRISIS
