Somayyeh

SOMAYYEH

MARIAM SHIRAZI

with David Morisset

Smashwords Edition

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

This novel is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any of its fictional characters to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental. However, some historical events and the actual people involved are mentioned in the narrative to provide a realistic backdrop for the story.

Copyright © Mariam Shirazi and David Morisset 2015

For my husband

and for my friend, Karen

Prologue

SORAYA had wanted to call her fourth child Farah, a Persian name meaning happiness or joy. Her husband, Reza, went to the government offices to register his new daughter under that beautiful name.

It was an old two-storey building in the centre of Shiraz not far from the bazaar and only a few minutes’ walk from Reza’s hotel. The double entry doors opened to a broad empty foyer from which an elaborate wooden staircase rose to a wide landing off which passageways led to several government offices. Everywhere Reza looked there were untidy queues of people waiting to transact their business with the authorities.

Being well acquainted with the location of the registrar’s rooms from the times he had recorded the names of his three other children, Reza climbed the stairs and then strode past a line of people waiting near a closed door. He opened the door and walked into an open area containing a counter and several men seated on chairs waiting for their names to be called. A mullah was at the counter and behind him were several clerks who seemed to be busy shuffling mountains of paper stacked on their respective desks.

Reza walked right up to the counter, knocked on the well-worn wooden ledge politely, and passed a form under the iron grill that separated the mullah from his customers as if there was a need for the utmost security. The scene looked more like a banking chamber than a government workplace.

Many of the people waiting knew Reza by sight and by reputation. They knew that he was a busy man and very wealthy. It would clearly not be appropriate for such a man to wait while less important people had their forms processed.

After an exchange of pleasantries Reza appealed to the good graces of the mullah and requested his documents be finalised quickly so he could return to the heavy demands of his work. The mullah spoke to Reza very sharply, much to the astonishment of those within earshot.

"Agha, I cannot help you. He lifted his eyes from the document and clicked his tongue in a manner that signaled displeasure. There is no way I can register the name Farah. We are Muslims and Farah is not a good name. It would be better if you choose a name for your daughter from the family and followers of the Prophet, may he be exalted."

My daughter will be called Farah.

"No. That is not possible. But I have another suggestion. What about ‘Somayyeh’? She and her family were companions of the Prophet, may he be exalted. In fact, she was the first Muslim to be martyred by the infidels, may they be accursed." The mullah made a guttural sound as he pronounced the last phrase. It was a haughty attempt to intimidate Reza by exhibiting his status as a scholar of Arabic. Then he affected a half-smile that was only evident because of a sly glint in his shifty eyes. A greasy beard made it impossible to see the mullah’s mouth. He completed the registration form, inserting the name Somayyeh.

I

SOMAYYEH was born in the autumn of 1972. Soraya, her mother, was in labour for two days. Somayyeh became a sensitive and solitary child with hauntingly beautiful dark eyes as well as thick brown hair. The arrangement of her features often seemed to betray an inner anxiety or pessimistic foreboding as if she saw life as a series of unconnected disappointments. Despite her appearance there were many happy days in Somayyeh’s childhood. But she also experienced more than her share of some of the trials and traumas of growing up.

Unlike most children, who seem to love their grandparents instinctively, Somayyeh hated her paternal grandmother, Naghmeh. Her animus had its roots in Naghmeh’s treatment of Soraya. In addition to what Somayyeh witnessed herself, Soraya had told her one particularly disturbing story – an event which clawed at the child’s sensitive imagination and, at times, made her wish she had been born male.

"Maman, is Mamani Naghmeh coming to see us today?" Somayyeh was sitting at a small table in the kitchen and she had noticed that her mother was in an agitated mood. Usually this state of mind implied that Naghmeh was expected.

No. Not today. Soraya was stirring eggplant into a pot of khoresh badamjan that was almost ready for the oven. She started to cry.

"What is wrong, Maman?"

"Oh, for some reason I dreamt about Naghmeh joon last night. The dream brought back a bad memory. When I became engaged to your father, Naghmeh joon came to my mother’s house. She was hoping to find a reason to abandon our wedding plans, so she enforced an old tradition. She insisted that she had the right to inspect the bride. Naghmeh joon examined every aspect of my naked body. Nothing could be hidden from her because that would give her cause to cancel the wedding and that would bring shame on my family. Naghmeh joon even checked my mouth for bad breath and counted my teeth. Nothing about my body escaped her attention. Oh Somayyeh, I was not yet 14 years old and no one other than my own mother had seen me without clothes."

Had Somayyeh known more about her grandmother she might have felt differently. She had been married when she was 13 years old to Reza’s father, Ahmad, a much older man. Ahmad was a hard working and a moderately wealthy man by the standards of the time. He was prosperous enough to have been married twice before he took Naghmeh as his third wife in 1923.

They lived in Shiraz, a provincial city in the Persian heartland of southern Iran. Both Ahmad’s earlier wives were barren and he was desperate to have a son and heir. Naghmeh produced seven sons for Ahmad but, sadly, all of them died before reaching the age of one year.

Finally Reza was born during the spring of 1930. He lived to become a strong and intelligent young boy. Later Naghmeh had two daughters, Giti and Mitra.

In the 1930s, Reza’s namesake, Reza Shah, was at the height of his powers. His reign had commenced after the removal of Ahmad Shah, the last ruler of the Qajar dynasty, and he had set himself the task of modernising Iran. Amongst Reza Shah’s many reforms was his decree that the nation be referred to by its ancient name of Iran rather than Persia.

Not everyone in Iran agreed with the aims of the Shah. In his way there were many conservative opponents and vested interests. None were more potent than the mullahs, the priests of Shi’a Islam. While the mullahs’ hold on the people appeared to be weakening in parts of the capital, Tehran, it remained strong in Iran’s smaller cities and throughout the vast countryside. So the majority of Iran’s population kept to most of the old traditions and the mullahs demanded strict adherence to the distinctive doctrines and practices of Shi’a Islam.

It was a time when sons were much more highly valued than daughters and the rights of women were limited. Thus Reza was Ahmad’s favourite child and the recipient of much love and constant affection. It was impossible for Giti and Mitra to see such blatant partiality as anything other than natural and just.

Shiraz has come to be known as the city of roses, poets and wine. Because it is located on a high plateau about 1,600 metres above sea level, the climate is moderate. So Shiraz is much more pleasant in summer than the arid landscapes in other parts of the province of Fars. The city is famous for its parks, orchards and wide, shady, tree-lined streets.

It has always been an important trading centre and a convenient resting place for some of the nomadic tribal groups that still wander the southern regions of Iran. Many a visitor has been enchanted by the fabulously decorated dresses of the Qashqai women who stand out in the streets of the city amongst the rest of the women in their dull chadors.

The Vakil Bazaar in the centre of Shiraz has a long history and in the time of Reza’s childhood it was a huge and rambling set of alleys with numerous stalls and small shops. As well making purchases for their everyday needs, shoppers could buy examples of Persian crafts including colourful kilims and magnificent carpets. The bazaar stands beside the Vakil Mosque. This stately place of worship has a prayer hall 75 metres long and more than 30 metres wide under an array of small cupolas. In its courtyard the floral patterns on the mosque’s arches have always been admired for their intricacy.

Many tourists are drawn to Shiraz’s parks and gardens as well as the elaborate mausoleums of famous poets including Hafez and Saadi. Iranians from all over the country come to touch the flagstones beside the graves. By doing so they recognise the genius of these masters of Persian verse. Moreover, the nearby hinterland is dotted with splendours that rival the marvels of Shiraz itself. The ancient ruins of Persepolis and the tomb of Cyrus the Great are only a short distance away.

For young Reza the city was so familiar that he took much of its charm for granted. He was too busy making friends amongst the boys he met at school. Of course, the schools in Iran in those days were very different from the modern schools in the country now, especially in the provincial cities and small towns. Classes were supervised by mullahs and children learned only to read and write. If they misbehaved or failed to learn quickly enough, the mullahs would hit the students with a cane. The mullah who taught Reza was so aggressive that all of his classmates were very frightened of him. Teaching rooms were bare and the boys would sit on the floor around a carpet. Sometimes classes took place on a porch or a verandah. A lot of text books were learned by rote and each day the mullahs would drill the latest lesson into the boys under their charge. Girls did not go to school in Shiraz in those days.

Even when he was still a boy Reza showed all the signs of becoming a very good businessman. He began to work at the age of ten as a labourer on the site of a new building in the city. Young Reza saved almost all of the money he earned.

When he was 12 years old Reza became the assistant of the owner of a plumbing shop. He worked hard and he learned quickly. Everyone liked him. He was respected and respectful.

Ahmad became more and more proud of Reza’s achievements. He had done well at school and earned good money in his spare time. Reza had also made friends amongst the most prominent Shirazi families.

When Reza was 16 years old, Ahmed called him into his study. The room was only a tiny chamber in a spacious home but it benefited from a full-length window that opened out on to a patio next to a lush garden at the front of the family’s house. It was summer and there were birds chirping amongst the leafy trees. A cool breeze made the small space a comfortable retreat for Ahmad.

My son, here is 10,000 tomans. Show me you can use it and make it more and more. That was the only directive Ahmad gave to Reza. He smiled and turned back to a pile of letters on his desk.

In the 1940s, after the disruption of World War II, 10,000 tomans was a large amount of money. It was equivalent to about US$3,000 but, more importantly, it was over three times the yearly income of the average Iranian family. Reza was overawed not only by his father’s generosity but also by his confidence.

Naghmeh, on the other hand, was fuming. Ahmad gave her ample money for housekeeping but he was usually a very careful man and she thought him somewhat miserly. As Reza emerged from Ahmad’s study, Naghmeh drew her son aside and whispered in his ear, Don’t come back if you lose the money. I don’t want to see you.

She gripped his forearm to prevent him moving away from her but Reza broke free. He would never answer back to his mother but he was annoyed by her interference in financial matters involving him and his father. From that moment forward Reza never told Naghmeh anything about his investments and enterprises.

Reza took his fortune to a friend who had an idea for a promising business venture. Together they started making windows and doors. Because of their artistry and their hard work, their products were very popular. They bought a shop in a good street in Shiraz and they made more and more money. Reza had a pleasant manner with customers and he treated all people well, rich and poor. Eventually his friend decided to leave the business and Reza bought his out share.

Nevertheless, they remained close friends. Indeed, his early success in business underlined for Reza how important friendship was in any entrepreneurial undertaking. Friends were to help Reza in many ways during his long life and he was always good to them in return. He also treated very well the increasing number of employees he hired as his business interests grew. Soon Reza, through hard work and diligence, was becoming very rich. He started to invest in property. This was a time when Iran was becoming more prosperous and Mohammad Reza Pahlavi was the Shah. With the reforms of the Shah’s White Revolution taking effect, many talented businessmen were accumulating wealth in most of the larger cities of Iran. Foreign investors were also becoming involved in Iran and the country was changing rapidly, with the oil industry becoming a prominent force and the dominant source of funds for modernisation.

Friendship and building businesses were not the only matters on Reza’s mind. One day he noticed a beautiful girl as she walked by his shop. He was in the fourth decade of his life, he was rich and handsome, and he had been thinking for some time that it was time to marry. By this time, most girls in the city now went to school and they were no longer obliged to wear the chador. However, this particular girl was dressed very modestly even by the strict standards of that era.

Reza followed the girl, Soraya, to her classes – for she was only 12 years old – and began to find out all he could about her. Soraya was happy that a man had shown interest in her but she was also scared. So Soraya’s mother, Hengameh, began to walk to and from school with her daughter. Reza took this as a sign that should be more cautious and he decided that he could not go on following Soraya.

However, Reza could not dismiss Soraya from his mind and his heart. She was indeed very beautiful. Her hair was dark and luxuriant. She had big brown eyes and a soft mouth. Her skin was smooth and her face was radiant.

To such a young girl, Reza must have seemed old but she did not regard that as a reason to ignore him. Her own mother had been married when she was 11 years old to a man in his mid-thirties. Hengameh had had six children – five girls and one boy – but her husband had passed away when she was only 22 years old. At first Hengameh was helped by her brother-in-law but his wife became jealous. Hengameh was still young and very beautiful and her brother-in-law’s wife was worried that he would decide to marry Hengameh.

With six hungry children and no financial help from her dead husband’s family, Hengameh had become depressed. Many suitors had come to her house seeking to marry her. However, she had not wanted another husband. Instead, she had devoted herself to looking after her children. Hengameh never forgot the husband she had lost and, after his death, she did not have sex with any other man. There was nobody in her life but her children.

Like many poor people in Iran, Hengameh worked mostly as a cleaner of other people’s houses. Rich people looked down on her and her family. Eventually, because of her reputation as a reliable and trustworthy worker, a wealthy family asked Hengameh to live in the basement below their grand house and paid her to do their cleaning, wash their dishes and launder their clothes. With a permanent position and a settled place of residence, Hengameh had finally obtained some degree of security for her children. She was not only able to survive but she had also managed to save some money. Hengameh was so grateful to this family for helping her and she was happy in their service.

When Hengameh’s oldest daughter was twelve years old, a rich, 40 year old man, who was an officer in the Shah’s army, asked for the girl’s hand in marriage. Hengameh had no choice but to agree to the match. So the little girl was married to a man much older than her own mother at a time when she knew nothing about marriage and nothing about the sex act. Fortunately, for her he was a good man. Later, Hengameh’s three other daughters married when they were twelve, thirteen and fourteen years old respectively. Each married men in their late thirties or early forties. At that time, it seemed, there were always middle-aged men looking for little girls to marry. Then it was Soraya’s turn.

Soraya knew only that Reza was very handsome and from his clothes and his bearing she could tell that he was rich enough to take a wife. He had piercing eyes under his thick eyebrows and his jawline was strong. His roman nose gave him an air of authority and a neatly trimmed moustache drew attention to his smile. While his hair was dark, there were just a few flecks of grey appearing.

As was the custom, Reza asked Naghmeh to approach Soraya’s mother and ask whether her son could marry Soraya. Unfortunately, Soraya’s beauty and Reza’s wishes did not impress Naghmeh. She became very angry and refused to do as Reza had asked.

But Naghmeh knew she had to set aside her opposition to the marriage or face the wrath of Ahmad. He was a stickler for tradition and he loved his son. So Naghmeh knew she had no choice but to go to the basement of the grand house where Hengameh and Soraya were living and make enquiries on behalf of Reza. It was early morning when she arrived and knocked on the door. While she waited Naghmeh’s eyes took in the scene. The house itself was one of the finest in Shiraz and Naghmeh listed in her mind several points of comparison with her own home.

Luckily Hengameh was at work in the kitchen of the house and she could see Naghmeh standing by the door to the stairs that led down the basement. She emerged, hurriedly removing her apron and wiping the soap and water from her hands. Naghmeh turned and saw Hengameh coming