town—sit down before Soudabeh and meekly fan her.
So it came about that my father asked Mohammad Hossein to teach me at home. I used to study geometry and geography with him, drawing endless charts and maps. I was so wrapped up in my studies, I was often unaware of what was going on around me. Just imagine, the first day an airplane came to this town, everyone packed their rugs and took off at dawn to Baq Takht to watch its arrival. I was sitting on the roof of our house in the sunshine, drawing a map of India. The airplane flew right over my head and I didn’t even lift my eyes to look at it. Oh God, a person like that shouldn’t become an opium addict!
Mohammad Hossein was quite a character. He was a sun-worshipper . Every morning and evening he’d go on to the roof to watch the sun rise or set, until finally sunlight ruined his eyesight. He could also do conjuring tricks. He fried eggs in a felt hat floating on the pool. He could produce gold coins from bits of paper. He would swallow my Haj Agha’s fob-watch and bring it back out of Abol-Ghassem’s pocket. He dabbled in palmistry, too. Once he told my fortune, and said I would have twelve sons, all of whom would become ministers. I remember thinking that my family would make up the entire cabinet! My father used to say that Mohammad Hossein had spiritual powers. But the townspeople thought he dabbled in witchcraft and black magic. Whatever he was, the man took great pains over my lessons, God rest his soul.
That terrible night it was Mohammad Hossein who washed and buried my child. For a whole week he would make me sit in front of him, gaze into my eyes, and repeat, “I shall put you to sleep, and in your sleep you will see your child, see how well and happy he is in his new place.” But I couldn’t be hypnotized. He said I resisted too much. He even painted my thumbnail black and told me to gaze at that. “Your child will appear right now,” he said. “Can’t you see him? Here he is. Here he is. Ask him what he wants. He wants something to eat.” But no matter how hard I stared, I didn’t see anything.
His sister Soudabeh, however, had charmed my father. She never did become his wife, but she had him under her spell. What a woman she was! The kind who could draw people to herself as if by magnetism … once seduced, you could never be free of her. It hadnothing to do with beauty. It had more to do with charisma. Everyone around Haj Agha was amazed at his behaviour. Perhaps they even cursed him behind his back. One sly fellow—we never found out who it was—commissioned several lengths of hand-printed cloth from Isfahan, picturing the proverbial Sheikh San’an going to Europe with his followers. The Sheikh was shown as a besotted-looking old man, wearing a turban and cloak just like my Haj Agha. There was a train of followers behind him and a lewd woman languished in an upper chamber of the house. Those days wherever you went, they seemed to have hung up one of these cloths. People certainly know how to be vicious when they want to.
As for Haj Agha himself, he would say, “They’ve taken away my teaching and preaching from me. Far be it from me to interfere in other worldly affairs. I gave it a try and suffered the consequences. After all, a person must do something greater in life than just the daily business of living. He must bring about changes. Now that there’s nothing more left for me to do, I’ll abandon myself to love.” “Love hath done more than steal your faith,” he used to quote, “A Sufi it can turn to Christian.” And sometimes he would add, “The pilgrim’s destination is but the starting place for love.” The mullahs in town even spread a rumour that he had turned into a heretic and a Babi. But since my father was always a generous host, and continued to solve their problems by telephone, he was never officially excommunicated. Besides, the clergy had lost much of its power, and most mullahs had exchanged their
So it came about that my father asked Mohammad Hossein to teach me at home. I used to study geometry and geography with him, drawing endless charts and maps. I was so wrapped up in my studies, I was often unaware of what was going on around me. Just imagine, the first day an airplane came to this town, everyone packed their rugs and took off at dawn to Baq Takht to watch its arrival. I was sitting on the roof of our house in the sunshine, drawing a map of India. The airplane flew right over my head and I didn’t even lift my eyes to look at it. Oh God, a person like that shouldn’t become an opium addict!
Mohammad Hossein was quite a character. He was a sun-worshipper . Every morning and evening he’d go on to the roof to watch the sun rise or set, until finally sunlight ruined his eyesight. He could also do conjuring tricks. He fried eggs in a felt hat floating on the pool. He could produce gold coins from bits of paper. He would swallow my Haj Agha’s fob-watch and bring it back out of Abol-Ghassem’s pocket. He dabbled in palmistry, too. Once he told my fortune, and said I would have twelve sons, all of whom would become ministers. I remember thinking that my family would make up the entire cabinet! My father used to say that Mohammad Hossein had spiritual powers. But the townspeople thought he dabbled in witchcraft and black magic. Whatever he was, the man took great pains over my lessons, God rest his soul.
That terrible night it was Mohammad Hossein who washed and buried my child. For a whole week he would make me sit in front of him, gaze into my eyes, and repeat, “I shall put you to sleep, and in your sleep you will see your child, see how well and happy he is in his new place.” But I couldn’t be hypnotized. He said I resisted too much. He even painted my thumbnail black and told me to gaze at that. “Your child will appear right now,” he said. “Can’t you see him? Here he is. Here he is. Ask him what he wants. He wants something to eat.” But no matter how hard I stared, I didn’t see anything.
His sister Soudabeh, however, had charmed my father. She never did become his wife, but she had him under her spell. What a woman she was! The kind who could draw people to herself as if by magnetism … once seduced, you could never be free of her. It hadnothing to do with beauty. It had more to do with charisma. Everyone around Haj Agha was amazed at his behaviour. Perhaps they even cursed him behind his back. One sly fellow—we never found out who it was—commissioned several lengths of hand-printed cloth from Isfahan, picturing the proverbial Sheikh San’an going to Europe with his followers. The Sheikh was shown as a besotted-looking old man, wearing a turban and cloak just like my Haj Agha. There was a train of followers behind him and a lewd woman languished in an upper chamber of the house. Those days wherever you went, they seemed to have hung up one of these cloths. People certainly know how to be vicious when they want to.
As for Haj Agha himself, he would say, “They’ve taken away my teaching and preaching from me. Far be it from me to interfere in other worldly affairs. I gave it a try and suffered the consequences. After all, a person must do something greater in life than just the daily business of living. He must bring about changes. Now that there’s nothing more left for me to do, I’ll abandon myself to love.” “Love hath done more than steal your faith,” he used to quote, “A Sufi it can turn to Christian.” And sometimes he would add, “The pilgrim’s destination is but the starting place for love.” The mullahs in town even spread a rumour that he had turned into a heretic and a Babi. But since my father was always a generous host, and continued to solve their problems by telephone, he was never officially excommunicated. Besides, the clergy had lost much of its power, and most mullahs had exchanged their
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