Cry of the Peacock: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

woman. She had known his way of speaking, the garbled language of Esfahani Jews that was a mixture of ancient Farsi, Arabic, and incorrect Hebrew. She had called her keeper, who had come with three others, tied the Jew to a tree, and cut off his penis.
    Esther heard footsteps and turned around. Behind her in the alley, under an opening in the arched roof where sunlight shone in the shape of a perfect cylinder, she thought she saw Yehuda the Just.
    She began to walk again, away from Yehuda the Just, toward the distant music of the bells. She rushed down the alley, past the houses that stretched on either side of her, toward the mouth of a tunnel that opened where the Castle ended. When she had got closer she realized that the tunnel was three steps underground and pitch dark. She went in.
    The stale air froze the beads of perspiration on her face. She walked down a dirt track that sloped first deeper into the earth and then slowly rose, up seven steps that took her out of the tunnel and into the abandoned cobblers' bazaar, past the small shops all boarded up and forgotten, toward an opening at the end of the corridor where she could see daylight. Her eyes were fixed on the light, her body overtaken by its own momentum. One more step and she was out.
    She stopped. She peeled off the lamb's stomach from her head, threw away her chador. It was dawn in Persia. Esther the Soothsayer was at last free.
    All around her was endless, open space. The street was wide and long, paved with cobblestones and lined with old willow trees that shivered lightly in the late afternoon breeze. The air, pale blue and sweet, smelled of jasmine and apples. Water flowed in the gutters, like streams of liquid glass. Farther behind the trees and the gutters, brick walls reached to the end of the street.
    Above her the sky was calm, not oppressive, an infinity of light and colors that stretched over the roofs of houses— red brick and marble and tiles. The horizon was dotted by brown minarets and the blue domes of mosques. Far away, she could see the green jade columns of the Shah's Square: the sun was red, sinking into the glass walls of the Palace of Forty Pillars.
    Esther the Soothsayer stood, belittled. She heard the sound of trumpets and drums, of women's cries and men's cheers. A crowd had appeared at the end of the street, an excited congregation of people and colors and sounds. Esther raised herself on the small platform alongside a wall and looked: Agha Muhammad Shah had come to Esfahan. His cavalcade was passing through Char Bagh Street.
    Esther the Soothsayer saw a two-humped camel in front, covered with purple embroideries, ridden by the Supreme
    Marshal of the Imperial Camel Drivers. Behind it was a train of Arabian camels loaded with trunks, two bells hanging from heavy silver chains on each of their flanks. They were followed by the Royal Mule—cloaked in ornaments and draperies, ridden by the High Chief of the Shah's Mule Drivers. Three hundred other mules followed, charged with tents and equipment, carrying bells of different shapes and sizes.
    There was a pause. Then came a procession of riflemen. They were dressed in black tunics and riding boots, rifles slung over their shoulders, each wearing two belts of cartridges. Behind them rode the “Shah's Warriors," carrying no weapons except ornamental swords.
    A multicolored parade of high officials and royal attendants, of courtiers and pages, of seers and astrologers and spies followed. The men all wore elaborate outfits of embroidered silk and velvet, rode Arabian horses with tails painted red to show the purity of their stock.
    Then came the eunuchs—beautiful young boys with pale faces and arched eyebrows, dressed in bejeweled gowns, looking forlorn and nostalgic.
    Esther the Soothsayer left her corner and approached the procession. The crowd was fighting to get closer to the cavalcade. Bodies pressed forward, hands grabbed blindly. He had come to their town, Agha Muhammad Shah, the