Jemshid spoke up with an ironic expression that turned to pride. “Khatami, by the way, is from here. He has been in our house.” He cleared his throat as though inserting punctuation. “A year ago, the usual topic of conversation among my friends was the international economy, the markets in New York and London, and how their businesses were faring. Now, it’s the price of tomatoes.
“Too much emphasis on spreading the faith beyond our borders. A faith that, for reasons no one understands was communicated to an illiterate Arab, a desert Bedouin, and was designed for a desert people. We, our Community, are the descendants of the original Aryans, or Persians. We have never had to borrow from the Arabs for either a language or a God.”
Steve looked at Farah, the only Muslim at the table, for a reaction. He guessed that, in some circles, those were fighting words, perhaps even sacrilegious words. He wondered if she was willing or able to do battle on this dangerous religious ground.
For a second, she didn’t seem motivated to take up the challenge. However, noticing Steve’s glance, she said, “I believe that Shiism will survive and flourish. Unlike, the dominant Sunni branch, Shiias have the advantage of Ijtihad, like constitutional amendments, which have permitted the American Constitution to be a living document, allowing for change. The radical Sunnis are hidebound by the Koran of a thousand years ago.”
Jemshid, looking at her with increased respect, nodded. The silence at the table was filled by the fountain’s soothing sound coming in through the open door to the garden.
A hearty broth followed by Chelo Koresh, rice topped with vegetables, lamb in a nut sauce had been accompanied by a mild wine. A hint of cinnamon, cloves, turmeric, and cardamom lingered as the plates were cleared to make room for tea and pastries.
Changing the subject, Kella asked, “I noticed that your front door has two knockers, one smaller than the other. Is it a special architectural design, or is there another reason?”
Maryam smiled, “In the old days,” she explained, “and today still to a degree, it is important to know whether a man or a woman is knocking. If it’s a man, a woman cannot go to the door. So a woman visitor uses the small knocker, which makes a different sound. It informs the people inside the house so they will know whether a man or a woman should answer the door.”
A servant came in and said something that caused Jemshid to frown and leave his seat. “I have a phone call,” he explained, and left the room.
He returned a few minutes later and sat down. Turning to Farah, he said, “Leila told us that you met Mr. Kharazzi yesterday. That was him on the phone. We still do occasional business together. He is coming here this afternoon to discuss a shipment of textiles.”
Jemshid stopped for an instant to choose an orange and started to peel it. “However,” he continued, “he also asked if you were still here and said he would like to visit with you. In fact, the textile discussion is a pretext.” Jemshid looked at Farah with concern. “You are the purpose of his visit. The business meeting he wants is not of an urgent nature, in my opinion.”
Leila giggled.
“I have no desire to see him,” Farah said quietly, meeting Jemshid’s gaze. “I understand,” their host responded. “However, it would be impolite to refuse.”
“Well,” Steve interjected lightly, “we can’t have you running around town again. You’re likely to attract more admirers every time you go out.” Everyone except Farah smiled.
Turning to Jemshid, Steve said, “Could you tell this gentleman she is ill?” “Farah could certainly say that to him directly to his visit if she wishes.”
Farah indicated her assent by changing the subject. She pointed to the plate of sugared bonbons that a servant had just put on the table and said, “Our community is renowned for these bonbons.”
“Yes, they’re very refreshing in this hot and dry climate,” Maryam added.
Steve accepted a bonbon absent-mindedly. His eyes focused on Farah and Kella. All three realized that this Kharazzi could cause their house of cards to tumble.
At the end of the lunch, he said, “We need to give Farah a good story on how she knows you, where you met, and why she’s here. Kharazzi worries me.”
“Kharazzi is also a politician,” Jemshid said. “He has influence. He is tied to the IRGC and has connections to people who made their way up after the Iraq War where they all met each other. In that way, he has been helpful to me in my business. He is not a member of our Community, that is.”
This, Steve recognized, was as close as Jemshid would come to confirming that their worries were well founded.
* **
Kharazzi arrived mid-afternoon. Kella, Steve, and Farah stayed out of sight while Jemshid and Kharazzi conducted their pretext of business. Farah’s serene demeanor belied her nervousness. She understood that her objective was to make this man go away, or all of their lives would be in danger.
To that end, she had avoided using any make-up whatsoever and wore a shapeless black robe. It was not usual to wear a hijab in the house, but she put one on anyway since Kharazzi was a stranger to her. The only person who was not anxious was Leila. She seemed to find the situation amusing and couldn’t get the grin off her face.
When Jemshid summoned Farah, both he and Kharazzi were standing in the living room. Farah’s continuous obsessing about Kharazzi since she had learned that he wanted to see her, to court her, as everyone assumed, had increased his physical stature in her mind to where he was well over six foot tall. However, she realized on seeing him in person that he was no taller
