The Arrogance of Ignorance
The next day, Nasrosoltan arrived at the Astoria to lunch with Rustam. After looking around the stately lobby, he did not see his friend, who would usually be reading the newspaper and smoking a cigarette. Nasrosoltan decided to sit down to wait for him, but after a half hour, he became concerned, as Rustam was never late for their meetings. He approached the hotel's front desk and asked the attendant to contact Rustam’s room to announce his arrival.
The man asked, “Was Monsieur Somkhishvili expecting you?”
Nasrosoltan replied, “Yes, for lunch at the restaurant.” The man requested that Nasrosoltan wait a moment while he informed the hotel manager, which seemed unusual.
When the manager arrived, he introduced himself and said, “Sir, are you a friend of Monsieur Somkhishvili?”
A perturbed Nasrosoltan responded with a curt “Yes! Why do you inquire?” feeling insulted, wondering what about his appearance this day raised so many questions from the staff.
The hotelier apologized with a somber face. “I am very sorry to inform you that just this morning, we received word that Monsieur Somkhishvili has passed away.”
A devastated Nasrosoltan could not believe what he just heard. In a flurried and anxious voice, he stammered, “This can’t be! How did this happen?”
The man responded sorrowfully, “It seems that yesterday there was some disturbance outside the Ministry of Commerce, and he was struck by a stray bullet. He was taken to the hospital, but his condition was too grave, and he died in the early morning.”
Nasrosoltan was overcome with sadness and looked around in disbelief. Witnessing his terrible distress, the hotelier continued gently, “The police just informed us a few hours ago. I am deeply sorry for your loss. I was just sending a note to inform his business manager of the tragedy.”
Nasrosoltan suddenly thought about the family Rustam left behind and asked, “What about his family? They were planning to move to St. Petersburg from Georgia. He was expecting them in the next few weeks!”
The man took in the heartbreaking information and replied, “Hopefully, his manager can get word to them before it is too late.”
Nasrosoltan was awestruck. He now realized he had been there at the same moment the shooting took place. He felt terrible that he had gone on to spend the whole afternoon at the museum, while unbeknownst to him, his friend lay dying alone in a hospital bed. How he wished he could have been at his side for those last few moments. He thought how Rustam had so much hope for the future, so many unfinished plans, all silenced in an instant by a bullet not even intended for him.
A thoroughly dejected Nasrosoltan left the hotel, consumed with worry for Rustam’s family. He knew the family would not want the funeral in St. Petersburg since Rustam’s wish had always been to be buried in Georgian soil.
Dazed and confused, he made his way back home. He spent the next two days entrenched in his apartment in a depressed state, not wanting to see or talk to anyone. He barely left the room, and he kept the shades pulled in total darkness.
The gloom in the air was intolerable. Nasrosoltan kneeled at the foot of his bed and began weeping and murmuring as if communicating with the soul of his dear friend. Within less than twenty-four hours, he had gone from a feeling of confusion to clear-mindedness to now deep sorrow. He spent the rest of his waking hours that evening cursing fate out loud.
On Monday morning, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the conservatory. Emerging from his dark apartment and busying himself with his coursework distracted him from his dark thoughts.
***
That afternoon Nasrosoltan once again visited the palace to tutor Irina, but today she noticed he was not the same man she had last seen just a week ago. His eyes carried little of the fire she was accustomed to seeing and instead exhibited a quiet suffering—of what, she did not know the reason. They sat side by side at the piano, and she began to play, but after a few minutes, she noticed his attention was elsewhere, as he was distant and silent.
Curious to know the cause, Irina inquired, “I thought perhaps that you are displeased with my playing, but there is a shade of grief upon your face that points to something other than a few misplayed notes; please tell me, what is troubling you?”
Nasrosoltan turned to her, vulnerable and teary-eyed, telling Irina, “You are quite observant. I apologize if I am not prepared for today’s lesson. I did not plan to mention this, and I did not want to disturb you with talk of unpleasant things, but unfortunately, it seems my eyes have betrayed me this day. I am carrying the pain of losing a dear friend so unexpectedly,” and he went on to explain the tragic events leading up to Rustam’s death. “He was a good man, and I am quite saddened by the calamity that befell him.”
Irina, who was overwhelmed at his expression of sorrow and display of love for his friend, suddenly placed her hand upon his in a gesture of comfort and sympathy. Boldly, he grasped her hand and kissed it gently.
This time when they touched, there was no giggling on her part and no pulling away of his hand in fright, just an instant frozen in time. They looked into each other’s eyes, sharing this tender moment without a word needing to be exchanged.
That her touch could be so comforting to him at a time when he felt so unguarded was something he had not contemplated. Nasrosoltan never imagined that the loss of his friend could have awakened such feelings within him. A sense of calm engulfed him as he breathed in the scent of lavender on her hand, and he cherished this closeness, as it gave him much-needed solace.
Irina gently pulled her hand away as they both heard footsteps in the distance, worried that someone would witness the display of affection between them. It seemed as if they both wished the lesson would never end, as neither wanted to leave the presence of the other.
Unexpectedly, the grand duke’s secretary entered the music room and announced that Grand Duke Alexander wanted to meet with Nasrosoltan. He bid farewell to Irina, whose eyes were glowing with excitement as she leaned in closer to wish him goodbye, already counting the days until next week’s lesson. Even though he had left her presence, she was delighted that they were still under the same roof, as Nasrosoltan joined her father in his study.
She rushed up to her room and pulled out her diary in haste to record every emotion she had just experienced. This was the first time she felt so strongly toward a man, and she wanted to safeguard, in her own words, the beauty of each moment of the past hour. She wrote:
I am sad to see how Nasrosoltan is tormented by the fate that has befallen his friend. It is surprising that just a while ago, I believed him to be so strict, so indifferent. But now, he shows such tenderness and warmth towards me and has kindled indescribable feelings within me.
When he took hold of my hand today, I trembled with anticipation, especially when he kissed it—such a gentle kiss. I tried so much not to show my excitement, for I did not want him to think I was alarmed at the gesture. I did not want him to pull away! Sometimes it is unbearably painful to sit close to him and to look into his eyes without being able to express what I can so effortlessly write on these pages. I pray he feels the same way towards me, for I think of him all my waking hours and dream of him while asleep!
Meanwhile, when Nasrosoltan walked into the grand duke’s study, he noticed that the grand duke was not in his usual jovial mood and seemed sorrowful. Nasrosoltan was curious to know why but said nothing, waiting for the grand duke to break the silence. After offering Nasrosoltan a brandy, the grand duke, mournful and despondent, told him, “I was disheartened today. I heard terrible news concerning a wealthy industrialist killed a few days ago during a workers’ protest. The government officials in charge of the investigation are unsure if it was the Bolsheviks or a lone wolf from the striking metalworkers. Some surmise it was a stray bullet, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but in any event, the death of this man has saddened me.”
Startled to hear of the same event he could not stop thinking about, Nasrosoltan choked up and asked, “Are you referring to Monsieur Rustam Somkhishvili?”
The grand duke replied with surprise, “Yes, that is correct. He was a Georgian, and his company was supplying us with artillery. How do you know of him?”
“He was my dear friend,” Nasrosoltan replied as he choked back the tears. “I was there the day it happened. In this whole city, I had no closer friend, but now he is gone.”
Then, with his voice cracking, a desolate Nasrosoltan said how much he would miss Rustam and in one fell swoop downed his entire snifter of brandy. The grand duke, wishing to console him, followed suit by raising his glass and saying, “May God rest his soul!”
Grand Duke Alexander witnessed a side of Nasrosoltan that he would not have seen if this tragedy had not happened. He was impressed that the young man had never mentioned his connection with this supremely wealthy businessman. It was a quality the grand duke found refreshing in a city where many considered name-dropping a virtue.
Hearing how Nasrosoltan had just lost his dear friend, in a gesture of kindness, the grand duke offered, “The grand duchess and I would like to invite you to dine with us one evening in the next few weeks when our schedules permit.”
Nasrosoltan thanked him for his thoughtfulness and gratefully responded, “Your Highness, it would be an honor and a privilege, and I look forward to the occasion.”
The grand duke announced, “Splendid; a formal invitation will be forthcoming.”
Having finished their drinks, Nasrosoltan got up and asked the grand duke’s permission to leave, as he didn't want to overstay his welcome. Before departing the room, Nasrosoltan added apologetically, “Your Highness, forgive me for showing such emotion today.”
With a friendly tone, the grand duke advised him, “Never apologize for shedding tears for a dead friend, for it is not a sign of weakness but a measure of the love and respect you had for another. We lost many good men in the war with the Japanese, and I saw men who shed tears for their compatriots without much grieving and some who suffered without shedding tears. I see the profound sorrow you feel has penetrated deep into your heart. Cherish this and be grateful for the ability to express grief in such a manner. Truly there is no shame in that. But always remember this about death; people only die when you forget them!”
Nasrosoltan, with his hand on his heart, bowed his head in gratitude for the grand duke’s heartwarming words. The grand duke, wanting to show respect, especially at such a difficult time for him, got up and said, “Let me walk you out.”
They both walked outside the palace entrance and spent another few minutes conversing. Unbeknownst to them both, Irina had found a window within view, stationing herself in position to have one last glance at Nasrosoltan before he left.
That evening he could not sleep once again, but this time, he felt excited, not confused. Nasrosoltan had cursed fate for taking away Rustam in the strangest manner, precisely at a time his friendship was needed the most. But he now realized the irony, that the fate he cursed for putting Rustam in front of a bullet was also the same fate that placed him side by side with Irina at the piano.
To still his mind, he reached for the Divan of Hafez and randomly opened a page in the Persian tradition for consultation. To his surprise, he landed on the same sonnet he had read back in Shiraz, at the tomb of Hafez, which at the time had disappointed him. When he reread it now, it seemed the sonneteer’s words relayed a completely different message:
“Love,” I cried, “a little pity
Show to me, a hapless stranger,
Poor and lonely in Love's City.”
But she answered:
“Foolish stranger,
Yours the fault, not mine, for losing
Thus, your way; ’t is your own choosing
Blame not me, O tiresome stranger.”
Once more, O HAFIZ, dawns the morning cup,
Another day in which to seek her face!
Patience! The day will come, in some strange place,
When thy strong hands her veil at last lift up.
Upon reading this, it was as if a whirlwind of emotion hit him. Had the poet so many years ago foretold how he would feel this night? Might it be that the love Hafez had spoken of was not the pursuit of music but instead the love of a woman?
As if standing before him, he recalled how the mute falgir a summer ago in their Tehran garden pointed to the word love on his cloth, adding on a scrap of paper, You do not believe in fortunes, not even those that poets tell you from the grave! All in response to Nasrosoltan’s mockery of fortune-telling. He reflected upon the arrogance of his ignorance years earlier, passionately believing that love would be the furthest thought from his mind when destiny seemed to be hinting otherwise.
Just as the poet had predicted, Nasrosoltan had been “a hapless stranger, poor and lonely in Love’s City” back in Shiraz, and he now found himself in “some strange place.” He suddenly began to worry about what followed in the same verse, When thy strong hands her veil at last lift up, for he did not want any misstep led by such feelings to take him and the princess down a ruinous path.
Pieces of this mysterious puzzle were falling into place right in front of his eyes. Nasrosoltan now accepted that he had powerful feelings for Irina. He also knew that this could put him in a precarious position if he was not careful. But he felt different this time than in Shiraz, where he struggled with his own blindness, leading him to be fearful of loving any woman.
This night, thoughts of Irina did not frighten him. All doubts, despair, and fear had now become insignificant, with Irina on his mind and with her foothold in his heart.