The Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani Read Free Book Online

far exceeds what we deserve."
    Gordiyeh left us for the afternoon rest. I straightened my bedroll, raising dust, which brought on a fit of coughing. After a few moments, I heard one of the house servants enter a room next to ours, while another opened the door to the latrines, releasing a thick, earthy smell even more pungent than the odor of our camel.
    "Are we servants now?" I asked my mother in alarm. She was stretched out on a bedroll, her eyes wide open.
    "Not yet," she replied, but I could see that she was worried about that very question.
    AFTER SLEEPING, we arose and joined Gordiyeh and Gostaham in the birooni for the evening meal. What a feast was laid on cloths before us! I had not seen such food even at weddings, yet for Gordiyeh and Gostaham it seemed to be everyday fare. There was a chilled yogurt soup with dill, mint, green raisins, walnuts, and rose petals, cold and refreshing on the tongue; stewed chicken with tart sweetened barberries; tender eggplant cooked with garlic and whey; saffron rice with a crunchy brown crust; tangy sheep's cheese; hot bread; and a plate of radishes, fresh mint, and bitter greens for good digestion. I ate too much the first evening, as if to make up for the times in my village when we hadn't had enough.
    When we were all sated, my mother began to speak. "Exalted hosts," she said, "we are honored that you have taken us into your household and fed us as if it were only yesterday that we last parted. And yet, I haven't seen you, honorable Gostaham, for more than twenty-five years. In that time, you have risen faster than the highest star. How did you come to be here, in this grand house, with all the good fortune that a man could desire?"
    Gostaham smiled and put his hands on his large stomach. "Indeed, sometimes when I arise in the morning and look around, I can't believe it myself. And then when I see Gordiyeh beside me, I know my dreams have become real, and I thank God for my many blessings."
    "May they be forever plentiful," replied my mother.
    "It wasn't always like this, though. Long before you were born," Gostaham said to me, "my father realized that if he was to remain in his village, he would always be poor. Knowing there would be little to inherit, he moved to Shiraz to test his fortune. We were so poor that I had to help by making rugs. When I was twelve, I discovered that I could knot faster than almost anyone."
    "Just like my daughter," my mother said proudly.
    "Our home was so small that there was no space for a loom. When the weather was fine, I set up my loom outside, just as you must have done," Gostaham said to me. "One day I was knotting a rug with such speed that a small crowd gathered to watch. It was my good fortune that one of the passersby owned the largest rug workshop in Shiraz. He never looked for apprentices outside the workshop--why should he, when he could just train his workers' sons? But when he saw me, he offered to hire me, for my speed would increase his profits.
    "The next few years were the harshest of my life. The workshop owner made his demands according to ability, not age. Because I was fast, I was required to finish rugs more quickly than anyone else. Once, when the owner caught me away from the loom, he told one of his bullies to throw me onto my back and beat the soles of my feet until I screamed. No one but a fool would destroy a knotter's hands, but what did he care if I couldn't walk?"
    His story made me shiver. I had heard of children younger than me, mostly orphans, who had been forced to spend long hours at the loom. Sometimes, at the end of their day, they couldn't unbend their legs to stand up, and their caretakers had to bear them home on their backs. After they spent years laboring with folded legs, their bones grew twisted and their heads seemed too large for their bodies. When they tried to walk, they tottered like old people. I was glad I had grown up in a village where no one would allow a loom to break a child's body. Even so,