“But… but what about you?” she said, wide-eyed and filled with hope at so much potential pishkesh.
“I’ve ten more,” he said, the lie coming easily. “Emergency funds, courtesy of Her Majesty’s Government.”
“Oh, Johnny, I think we’ve a chance now - this is so much money to them.” They both glanced at the window as a wind picked up and rustled the sacking that covered it. She got up and adjusted it as best she could. Not all the opening could be covered. “Never mind,” he said. “Come and sit down.” She obeyed, closer than before. “Here. Just in case.” He handed her the grenade. “Just hold the lever down, pull the pin out, count three, and throw. Three, not four.”
She nodded and pulled up her chador and carefully put the grenade into one of her ski-jacket pockets. Her tight ski pants were tucked into her boots. “Thanks. Now I feel better. Safer.” Involuntarily, she touched him and wished she hadn’t for she felt the fire. “I’d… I’d better go. I’ll bring you food at first light. Then we’ll leave.”
He got up and opened the door for her. Outside it was dark. Neither saw the figure scuttle away from the window, but both felt eyes feeding on them from every side.
“What about Gueng, Johnny? Do you think he’ll find us?”
“He’ll be watching, wherever he is.” He felt a spasm coming. ” ‘Night, sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams.”
They had always said it to each other in the olden time. Their eyes touched and their hearts and both of them were warmed and at the same time filled with foreboding. Then she turned, the darkness of her chador making her at once almost invisible. He saw the door of the headman’s hut open and she went in and then the door closed. He heard a truck grinding up the road not far off, then a honking car that went past and soon faded away. A spasm came and it was too much so he squatted. The pain was big but little came out and he was thankful that Azadeh had gone. His left hand groped for some snow and he cleansed himself. Eyes were still watching him, all around. Bastards, he thought, then went back into the hut and sat on the crude straw mattress. In the darkness he oiled the kookri. No need to sharpen it. He had done that earlier. Lights glinted off the blade. He slept with it out of its scabbard.
AT THE PALACE OF THE KHAN: 11:19 P.M. The doctor held the Khan’s wrist and checked his pulse again. “You must have plenty of rest, Highness,” he said worriedly, “and one of these pills every three hours.”
“Every three hours… yes,” Abdollah Khan said, his voice small and breathing bad. He was propped on cushions in the bed that was made up on deep carpets. Beside the bed was Najoud, his eldest daughter, thirty-five, and Aysha, his third wife, seventeen. Both women were white-faced. Two guards stood at the door and Ahmed knelt beside the doctor. “Now… now leave me.”
“I’ll come back at dawn with the ambulance an - ” “No ambulance! I stay here!” The Khan’s face reddened, another pain went through his chest. They watched him, hardly breathing. When he could speak he said throatily, “I stay… here.”
“But Highness, you’ve already had one heart attack, God be thanked just a mild one,” the doctor said, his voice quavering. “There’s no telling when you could have… I’ve no equipment here; you should have immediate treatment and observation.”
“What… whatever you need, bring it here. Ahmed, see to it!” “Yes Highness.” Ahmed looked at the doctor.
The doctor put his stethoscope and blood pressure equipment into his old-fashioned bag. At the door he slipped his shoes on and went out. Najoud and Ahmed followed him. Aysha hesitated. She was tiny and had been married two years and had a son and a daughter. The Khan’s face had an untoward pallor and his breath rasped heavily. She knelt closer and took his hand but he pulled it away angrily, rubbing his chest, cursing her. Her fear increased. Outside in the hall, the doctor stopped. His face was old and lined, older than his age, his hair white. “Highness,” he said to Najoud, “better he should be in hospital. Tabriz is not good enough. Tehran would be much better. He should be in Tehran though the trip there might… Tehran is better than here. His blood pressure’s too high, it’s been too high for years but, well, as God wants.”
“Whatever you need we’ll bring here,” Ahmed said.
Angrily the doctor said, “Fool, I can’t bring an operating theater and dispensary and aseptic surroundings!”
“He’s going to die?” Najoud said, her eyes wide.
“In God’s time, only in God’s time. His pressure’s much too high… I’m not a magician and we’re so short of supplies. Have you any idea what caused the attack - was there a quarrel or anything?”
“No, no quarrel, but it was surely Azadeh. It was her again, that stepsister of mine.” Najoud began wringing her hands. “It was her, running off with the saboteur yesterday morning, it wa - ”
“What saboteur?” the doctor asked astonished.
“The saboteur everyone is looking for, the enemy of Iran. But I’m sure he didn’t kidnap her, I’m sure she ran off with him - how could he kidnap her from inside the palace? She’s the one who caused His Highness such rage - we’ve all been in terror since yesterday morning….”
Stupid hag! Ahmed thought. The insane, roaring outburst was because of the men from Tehran, Hashemi Fazir and the Farsispeaking Infidel, and what they demanded of my Master and what my Master had to agree to. Such a little thing, giving over to them a Soviet, a pretended friend who was an enemy, surely no cause to explode? Clever of my Master to set everything into motion: the day after tomorrow the burnt offering comes back over the border into the web and the two enemies from Tehran come back into the web. Soon my Master will decide and then I will act. Meanwhile, Azadeh and the saboteur are safely bottled in the village, at my Master’s will - word sent to him by the headman the first moment. Few men on earth are as clever as Abdollah Khan and only God will decide when he should die, not this dog of a doctor. “Let us go on,” he said. “Please excuse me, Highness, but we should fetch a nurse and drugs and some equipment. Doctor, we should hurry.” The door at the far end of the corridor opened. Aysha was even paler. “Ahmed, His Highness wants you for a moment.”
When they were alone, Najoud caught the doctor by the sleeve and whispered, “How bad is His Highness? You must tell me the truth. I’ve got to know.” The doctor lifted his hands helplessly. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I’ve been expecting worse than this for… for a year or more. The attack was mild. The next could be massive or mild, in an hour or a year, I don’t know.”
Najoud had been in a panic ever since the Khan had collapsed a couple of hours before. If the Khan died, then Hakim, Azadeh’s brother, was his legitimate heir - Najoud’s own two brothers had died in infancy. Aysha’s son was barely a year old. The Khan had no living brothers, so his heir should be Hakim. But Hakim was in disgrace and disinherited so there would have to be a regency. Her husband, Mahmud, was senior of the sons-in-law. He would be regent, unless the Khan ordered otherwise.
Why should he order otherwise? she thought, her stomach once more a bottomless pit. The Khan knows I can guide my husband and make us all strong. Aysha’s son - pshaw, a sickly child, as sickly as the mother. As God wants, but infants die. He’s not a threat, but Hakim - Hakim is. She remembered going to the Khan when Azadeh had returned from school in Switzerland: “Father, I bring you bad tidings but you must know the truth. I overheard Hakim and Azadeh. Highness, she told him she’d been with child but with the help of a doctor had cast it out.”
“What?”
“Yes … yes I heard her say it.”
“Azadeh could not… Azadeh would not, could not do that!” “Question her - I beg you do not say from where you heard it - ask her before God, question her, have a doctor examine her, but wait, that’s not all. Against your wishes, Hakim’s still determined to become a pianist and he told her he was going to run away, asking Azadeh to come with him to Paris ‘then you can marry your lover,’ he said, but she said, Azadeh said, ‘Father will bring you back, he’ll force us back. He’ll never permit us to go without his prior permission, never.’ Then Hakim said, ‘I will go. I’m not going to stay here and waste my life. I’m going!’ Again she said, ‘Father will never permit it, never.’ ‘Then better he’s dead,’ Hakim said and she said, ‘I agree.’”
“I - I don’t - believe it!”
Najoud remembered the face gone purple, and how terrified she had been. “Before God,” she had said, “I heard them say it, Highness, before God. Then they said we must plan, we m - ” She had quailed as he shouted at her, telling her to tell it exactly.
“Exactly he said, Hakim said, ‘A little poison in his halvah, or in a drink, we can bribe a servant, perhaps we could bribe one of his guards to kill him or we could leave the gates open at night for assassins … there are a hundred ways for any one of a thousand enemies to do it for us, everyone hates him. We must think and be
