which danced their way into the liquid and whirled into a bright streak of yellow. I watched him drop in the skeins of white wool. They licked up the shade, transforming into the color of sunshine.
I wanted to observe more closely, but Jahanshah handed me a pronged tool and said, "Lift out one of my skeins."
I dipped the tool into his pot and fished until I caught a skein, which I raised in the air. It had turned an unappealing shade of green, like the puddles left behind by a sick horse.
I turned to Jahanshah, puzzled. "Aren't you going to add the indigo?" I asked.
He burst out laughing, and Gostaham joined him while I stood holding the dripping skein. I couldn't see any reason for their great mirth.
"Don't take your eyes off the wool," Gostaham said.
For some reason, the skein didn't look as sickly as before. I blinked, feeling like one of those weary travelers who imagine greenery in the desert. But blinking didn't change what I saw: The skein now bore the color of a pale emerald. After a few moments, it changed into an intense green like the first leaves of spring, which deepened into a blue-green, perhaps like the Caspian Sea, and then became deeper still, like the color at the bottom of a lake. I thrust the prong toward Jahanshah and exclaimed, "May God protect us from the tricks of jinn!"
Jahanshah laughed again and said, "Don't worry, it is only one of the tricks of man."
The skein was now such a rich blue that it brought joy to my eyes with its boundlessness and depth. I watched it, amazed, and then I demanded, "Again!"
Jahanshah let me pull out another skein and observe its transformation through a rainbow of green and blue hues until it became a rich lapis lazuli.
"How?" I asked, astonished.
But Jahanshah only smiled. "That has been a family secret for a little more than a thousand years," he said, "ever since the Prophet Mohammad led his followers to Medina, home of my ancestors."
Gostaham wanted the wool to be a slightly darker hue, so Jahanshah immersed it again until Gostaham was satisfied. Then he cut a strand of it for Gostaham and kept the rest for himself, so both men would be able to verify the color of the order.
When we arrived home, I had hardly removed my outdoor coverings before I asked Gostaham what I could do next.
He looked surprised. "Don't you want to rest?"
"Not even for a moment," I said, for seeing the magic of indigo had made me eager.
Gostaham smiled and put me to work on another grid.
From then on, the more I begged Gostaham to allow me to help him, the more he wanted me by his side. There was always something to do: grids to be drawn, colors to be mixed, paper to be sized. Before long, he let me copy the simplest parts of his designs onto the master grid. Sometimes, he even snatched me away from kitchen work. I relished those moments, for I despised the long hours of cleaning and chopping. When he beckoned to me, I relinquished my knife or mortar and pestle gratefully to join him. The other servants mumbled with indignation behind me, especially Cook, who asked sarcastically if the deer and onagers I was learning to draw would fill my belly at the evening meal. Gordiyeh didn't like it, either. "With so many mouths to feed, everyone has to help," she once said, but Gostaham ignored her. With my assistance, he was starting to complete his commissions more quickly, and I think he enjoyed my company during the long hours of design work, for no one could have been more keen.
Things were not as easy in Isfahan for my mother. She remained in the kitchen at Gordiyeh's mercy and had to do the jobs I left behind. Gordiyeh always corrected her work as if scornful of our village ways. I believe she felt my mother's resistance to her and tried to break it whenever she could. She must rinse the rice six times, no more or less, to remove the starch; must cut the radishes lengthwise instead of into roses; must make chickpea cookies with extra pistachio chips on the outside; yet for the
I wanted to observe more closely, but Jahanshah handed me a pronged tool and said, "Lift out one of my skeins."
I dipped the tool into his pot and fished until I caught a skein, which I raised in the air. It had turned an unappealing shade of green, like the puddles left behind by a sick horse.
I turned to Jahanshah, puzzled. "Aren't you going to add the indigo?" I asked.
He burst out laughing, and Gostaham joined him while I stood holding the dripping skein. I couldn't see any reason for their great mirth.
"Don't take your eyes off the wool," Gostaham said.
For some reason, the skein didn't look as sickly as before. I blinked, feeling like one of those weary travelers who imagine greenery in the desert. But blinking didn't change what I saw: The skein now bore the color of a pale emerald. After a few moments, it changed into an intense green like the first leaves of spring, which deepened into a blue-green, perhaps like the Caspian Sea, and then became deeper still, like the color at the bottom of a lake. I thrust the prong toward Jahanshah and exclaimed, "May God protect us from the tricks of jinn!"
Jahanshah laughed again and said, "Don't worry, it is only one of the tricks of man."
The skein was now such a rich blue that it brought joy to my eyes with its boundlessness and depth. I watched it, amazed, and then I demanded, "Again!"
Jahanshah let me pull out another skein and observe its transformation through a rainbow of green and blue hues until it became a rich lapis lazuli.
"How?" I asked, astonished.
But Jahanshah only smiled. "That has been a family secret for a little more than a thousand years," he said, "ever since the Prophet Mohammad led his followers to Medina, home of my ancestors."
Gostaham wanted the wool to be a slightly darker hue, so Jahanshah immersed it again until Gostaham was satisfied. Then he cut a strand of it for Gostaham and kept the rest for himself, so both men would be able to verify the color of the order.
When we arrived home, I had hardly removed my outdoor coverings before I asked Gostaham what I could do next.
He looked surprised. "Don't you want to rest?"
"Not even for a moment," I said, for seeing the magic of indigo had made me eager.
Gostaham smiled and put me to work on another grid.
From then on, the more I begged Gostaham to allow me to help him, the more he wanted me by his side. There was always something to do: grids to be drawn, colors to be mixed, paper to be sized. Before long, he let me copy the simplest parts of his designs onto the master grid. Sometimes, he even snatched me away from kitchen work. I relished those moments, for I despised the long hours of cleaning and chopping. When he beckoned to me, I relinquished my knife or mortar and pestle gratefully to join him. The other servants mumbled with indignation behind me, especially Cook, who asked sarcastically if the deer and onagers I was learning to draw would fill my belly at the evening meal. Gordiyeh didn't like it, either. "With so many mouths to feed, everyone has to help," she once said, but Gostaham ignored her. With my assistance, he was starting to complete his commissions more quickly, and I think he enjoyed my company during the long hours of design work, for no one could have been more keen.
Things were not as easy in Isfahan for my mother. She remained in the kitchen at Gordiyeh's mercy and had to do the jobs I left behind. Gordiyeh always corrected her work as if scornful of our village ways. I believe she felt my mother's resistance to her and tried to break it whenever she could. She must rinse the rice six times, no more or less, to remove the starch; must cut the radishes lengthwise instead of into roses; must make chickpea cookies with extra pistachio chips on the outside; yet for the
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