Omar Khayyam - a life Read online

  Ayesha and Ishak, who had been intrigued by his preparations, watched it open-mouthed.

  "It goes toward the place of the magicians," observed the girl.

  "Belike," hazarded the gatekeeper, "it was a prayer or invocation. 'Tis better to deal with the djinn-folk that way. But no good," he added ominously, "ever came of going into a sack with a bear."

  The streets of Isfahan, at the end of the southern road, and the cellars of the Son of Fire.

  To Ayesha, Isfahan was one solid delight. The silks of the bazaar appealed to her woman's craving in their delicate coloring. She bought hugely of orange and magenta and glorious purple, while Ishak watched and grumbled that it was against all reason to let a handsome slave buy in the bazaar. Her ears were alert for every whisper of passing gossip, and Isfahan did not lack whispers. All this was much more exciting than sitting alone in a deserted garden. Even Ishak relished his new importance—he hired a pair of Dailamite swordsmen to follow them about for appearance's sake, when he was not sitting in majesty at the gate of Omar's new house.

  His master was now the solitary favorite of Malikshah, and the entrance to his house was crowded with dignitaries who had favors to seek. Their horses and grooms could be seen waiting from the hour of sunrise until after the last prayer. Ishak's cup was full the day that the Sipah-silar, the Commander of all the armies, sent his chamberlain with a request, and Ishak kept the chamberlain waiting until Omar had finished reading a book.

  "Don't stretch thy foot beyond thy carpet," Jafarak admonished the gatekeeper when Ishak related this, "or thou wilt know how scorpions sting."

  "Well, my feet will never be where my head should be."

  Jafarak spent his hours in wandering the alleys, and this seemed to Ishak a witless proceeding, when so much profit-because every Isfahani who came to the gate brought some slight token for the keeper of the gate—could be made at the entrance of Omar's house. Ishak only regretted that his master had so little patience with visitors.

  Instead of flattering the powerful nobles, and establishing mutually profitable arrangements with the wealthier merchants, and treating the poorer sort with becoming contempt, Omar listened to all of them impatiently and answered with a brusque word or two. He even assured them that he was not the Minister of Court—when his guests all knew perfectly well that he had the ear of Malikshah himself.

  "Because he can't sit a-toiling and a-moiling over the stars," Ishak observed, "he is angry. Lo, he is the wisest of men, and still he does not know how to encourage an amir who is willing to buy the post of King's physician. Wallahi, what a pity!"

  Ayesha did not reason about it, but she understood instinctively that if Omar had been an ordinary official, Malikshah would not trust him so utterly. The most satisfactory safeguard, she thought, was the favor of a man who could call four hundred thousand armored horsemen to his banner.

  She loved to sit in the screened balcony of their house, overlooking the public square when Malikshah was watching a polo game in the late afternoon. Then she could admire the plumed and jeweled turbans of the highest amirs, the cloaks of damask and cloth-of-gold, and the Sultan himself, sitting opposite under the scarlet canopy, with Omar at his elbow. The horsemen wheeling before the massive marble goal posts, the shouting and the din of musicians when the game ended at a word from Malikshah—all this seemed to increase Omar's power. Ayesha nibbled sugared ginger and watched jealously the other veiled women who sought to catch the eye of the King's astronomer.

  Only when she had overheard his remarks to a wool-clad Sufi, sitting on the roof one night did she protest. The Sufi had declared that from all eternity Allah had known what was to be.

  "Then hath he known that I would drink wine," Omar answered. "And who am I to deny him?"

  This frightened Ayesha, and when the Sufi had gone she came and rubbed her cheek against Omar's arm. " 'Tis ill, O heart of mine, to mock what Allah hath caused to be. Look at the wealth and the splendor he hath laid upon thy head."

  Omar swept her with his eyes—the slave girl, fearful of some impending evil. "When you go out of the world, Ayesha, will you take all this wealth and splendor with you?"

  "I do not know," she said, wistfully, fingering the silver on her arms.

  "Well, enjoy what you can now, for—believe me—you'll not be back again."

  Her lips drooped, and she stifled a sob.

  "Nay, Ayesha!" He took her up in his arms. "I would not lose thee for all the promise of paradise."

  "Not for the houri who waits in the boat on the lake?"

  "For whom? Oh!" Omar considered, and shook his head. "Not even for that one."

  Sighing with satisfaction, Ayesha ran her finger down his forehead and nose and lips. But she was careful to go every day to the great mosque to pray. Secretly she cherished a hope that after her life ended on earth, she might be allowed to dwell with Omar in paradise. The thought that an infidel dream-maiden with golden hair might be waiting at the threshold of the hereafter to embrace Omar filled her with deep anger.

  Malikshah showed no inclination to release Omar from his attendance at Court. Since the dismissal of Nizam, the Sultan leaned more heavily upon the advice of his astronomer. He thought that the growth of the empire, and his own victories, had been brought about by Omar's inspired forecasts of events. Unquestionably the will of God had been the primary cause, but the interpretation of the stars had revealed to him what he must do.

  "Signs are in the power of God alone," he read aloud one day from the Koran. "And here it is said again: 'Though We had sent down angels to them, and the dead had spoken to them, they had not believed, unless God had willed it.'"

  "But if I should not read the signs aright, O Lord of the East and the West—what then? A man hath only human eyes to see, and he must fail often."

  Malikshah considered, and shook his head. "By the Kaabah, I have no reason to fear that. A soothsayer with a little mind might fail, but thou art perfect in knowledge of the stars. How then would it be possible to fail in simple observation?"

  When Omar would have answered, the Seljuk waved the matter impatiently from his thoughts. "See, here again it is written that even prophets have been given enemies, Satans among men. and djinn. I who am merely Sultan, by God's will, have many more enemies. So I have greater need to be guided aright."

  Closing the heavy pages of the Koran and taking Omar's silence for consent, he added thoughtfully, "An ordinary astrologer might be bribed to deceive. That has come into my mind at times. But I know well that even a tower of gold would not lead thee to say 'Yea' when the answer is 'Nay.'"

  Omar said nothing. No argument would shake the Sultan's belief in the stars. "Nizam al Mulk never betrayed your Majesty," he responded boldly.

  "Nizam took into his hand too much of the power of the throne." As if remembering something, Malikshah drew a small slip of paper from the pages of the Koran. "This has to do with thee," he said.

  The paper bore only a brief message in a fine, minute hand. "If the Tentmaker garbs himself in a prophet's robe, look to it that there is not a jackal hidden in a lion's skin."

  "I do not need to look," Malikshah observed before Omar could speak. "I know thy worth. Since the battle of Malasgird our fortunes have been joined together."

  Taking back the missive, he tore it in his strong fingers. Then with an angry hiss he tossed the pieces into a brazier.

  "Spies!" he cried. "I would like to whip all such out of the land. Nizam said they were my eyes and ears. They sit down with my officers and rise up with my servants. So men who fear me and plot against the throne are careful to pay these same spies well, to report praise of them. And by Allah, they who love me do not feel the need of paying the spies. After a long time I hear much good of my foes and ill of my friends. But until now no one has dared lay blame upon thy name."

  "I blame myself!" cried Omar. "I can do nothing here. Let me go back to the House of the Stars!"

  Malikshah stared in surprise. "Allah! I have need of t
hee."

  "Yet I have almost finished a new work. I have discovered something new about the sphere of the universe."

  "Ha! A new star!" The Sultan smiled and leaned forward to pick up a choice bunch of grapes soaked in wine from the dish before him. The grapes he handed to Omar—a sign of rare approval. "Verily, our reign will gain luster from thy wisdom."

  "It is not a star. I have seen—that the earth moves, turning upon itself."

  For an instant Malikshah looked startled. Then he nodded understanding. "Who can escape such a nightmare? I myself dreamed once that I was falling, falling. The ground gave way and I fell through emptiness. Thinkest thou it was an evil portent?"

  "That dream? Nay, thy Sign is favored by the planets. Have no fear." Omar wanted to tell Malikshah how for years he had been testing his theory that the earth, instead of resting motionless, revolved once in a day and night upon itself. That instead of being larger than the sun or the moon it was in reality a small speck in the universe. But Malikshah would never believe. So he began to eat the grapes slowly, praising their flavor.

  "The other day," resumed the Sultan, "I counted the heads of game slain in one of my great hunts. There were more than nine thousand. I thought, Is it right to slay so many of Allah's creatures for my pleasure?' And now I think I shall give away in alms nine thousand pieces of silver, to make amends."

  "Bism'allah—in the name of God."

  "Ay, to Allah be the praise." Milkshah inclined his head devoutly. "Some time, perhaps, I shall let thee wander again. But now I would rather lose a slice from my liver."

  Omar went from the Sultan's presence, through the crowded antechamber, in deep dejection. As he crossed the square, where lamps were beginning to wink through the dust haze, he was recognized. Behind his back he heard whispers.

  "It is the Tentmaker, who measured the years. . . . Look, there goes Khwaja Imam Omar who tells what is to come to pass . . . Companion of infidels ... he destroys the verses he writes, lest . . ."

  Saying to those who still waited at his door that he would talk with no one, he climbed to the harem chambers, where Ayesha greeted him with a dancing girl's salaam, in mock solemnity. She had bathed, she had some sweetmeats from the bazaar for him, she had bought a casket of lapis-lazuli set in jeweled gold, she was burning ambergris to make the air sweet for him, and her heart had grown weary waiting for him.

  But Omar lay down by his writing materials, in no mood for prattle, or pungent ambergris. When Ayesha saw his fingers move toward a quill pen, she made a face unseen.

  For a while she occupied herself combing her hair, then she demanded jealously:

  "What does it say, the writing?"

  "Nothing."

  "It is one of those things——" she peered over his shoulder—"that make you miserable. Is it a charm? What says it?"

  "I was a hawk, uptossed to Heaven's gate,

  Therefrom to seize the book of human Fate,

  And now, with none to share my thoughts,

  I seek That very door from which I flew of late"

  "Falcons don't seize books," Ayesha observed maliciously. 'They stoop at birds or hares. It's stupid, anyway. If you were a falcon you couldn't think, and if you were a man you couldn't fly." She yawned with ostentation. "Only scribes and priests write . . . such dull things."

  Omar stared about the room, full of Ayesha's small treasures. The dish of stuffed dates before him had not been touched. She had waited for him to taste them and she was very fond of fresh stuffed dates.

  She lay close to him, her body relaxed, her eyes closed. When Ayesha put on her finest silks and painted her face she looked like some strange bird of paradise, but lying thus unveiled—and unaware of him—he could not help but feel her loveliness.

  Bending down, he kissed her lips gently. His kiss was instantly returned, and the girls warm arms twisted about his neck. She had not been asleep or at all distrait, and her eyes flashed triumphantly at the paper with the four lines of writing that had fallen unnoticed to the floor.

  "Master," said Jafarak, "the magicians of thy mountains have followed us to Isfahan."

  At least, the jester maintained, marvelous things were happening in the streets of the city. He had heard whispering at the mosque gates of nights. The whispers told of a man who had torn down the veil that separated the living from the dead. He had died, he had entered Muhammad's paradise and had returned to earth to tell of it.

  "What," Omar asked, "did he find in paradise?"

  "Wine flowing from fountains, and carpets spread upon the grass, and dark-eyed houris who intoxicated him with bliss."

  "Is there no river in paradise?"

  Eagerly, Jafarak shook his head. Often he had pondered what would await him on the other side of the grave. "The ones who heard this dead man speak—they say otherwise. It is no river but a lake under a silver moon."

  Curiously he glanced at Omar. Often Ayesha had related to the jester how Omar had seen a vision when he was struggling with the magicians of the mountains, and in that vision there had been just such a lake. But unlike the man who had returned from beyond the grave, Omar had little to say about his vision.

  "Ay," he assented, "a lake, and upon that lake a pleasure boat floating as silently as a sleeping swan."

  "Wallahi! And what more, O master?"

  "The awakening on the morrow."

  Jafarak sighed. His joints were stiffening, and he felt his years. A longing had come upon him—an unvoiced hope that after the angels of death had stood over him, he might become youthful and strong and erect as other men, within Muhammad's paradise.

  "Who has ever come back," Omar mused, "from that long journey?"

  "Perhaps, at last, one has come back."

  Secretly, Jafarak believed this had happened. Surely Muhammad had promised ever-flowing fountains, and Omar who never lied, had beheld in his vision—Ayesha was quite certain on that point—fountains flowing with wine. So, could he not believe this dead man who also told of the fountains? Jafarak wanted to believe, and he haunted the gate of the great mosque at night, his ears pricked for whispers.

  A dervish spoke with him, a lean, tattered dervish who also believed. He confided in Jafarak that he had been present when the dead man appeared to some chosen spirits, and that the dead man would speak again on the coming Friday-eve, after the last prayer, in the house of Ibn Atash in the street behind the Jami Masjid. It seemed to Jafarak that if a dervish would testify to another man's miracle, it must be true.

  He told Omar, who glanced at him thoughtfully and said nothing. But excitement gripped him, until he could not resist going to the street back of the great mosque and examining the houses to see which belonged to Ibn Atash. The next night he made his way back again, wondering if he might not by some chance behold the strange traveler.

  Instead he noticed a man seated on a horse, watching from the shadows, who hailed him.

  "What dost thou, O Jafarak?"

  It was Tutush, but a harassed and suspicious Tutush. More miracles than one, the master of the spies related, had been happening in the streets of Isfahan.

  For the last months, men had disappeared in steady succession. That, of course, was nothing remarkable. But these had been no common souls or mendicants. Rich merchants, noted visitors, heads of large families—five had vanished without a trace.

  They had not been carried off by raiding tribesmen, because they had dropped out of sight within the city walls, and always in the late evening. All the five had been riding, or walking alone—most of them on the way home from the mosque.

  Moreover—and here was a strange thing—the five had been the recipients of unusual gifts. By questioning the members of the households, Tutush had discovered that at various times the missing men had awakened from sleep to find two rolls of fresh bread by their heads.

  "How could bread appear in that fashion by a rich man's couch?" Tutush demanded, in exasperation. "Ay, bread fresh-baked, as if carried that night from the oven?"

&nb
sp; Jafarak shook his head. Such matters were unwonted, but surely Allah had caused them to be. They were not a miracle, like the one the dervish had beheld.

  "Behold," grumbled Tutush—they were moving away from the mosque at a foot pace—"three of the five were last seen in the Jami Masjid. So must I watch all the gates, and post my men upon the roofs. What can we see? Have we eyes to pierce the dark? The friends of the men who are lost have made great wailing and calamity at Court, and the governor——but what dost thou i' the alley yonder every night?"

  "I wait for a friend who has promised to pay a debt. Nay, perhaps the five men went away secretly."

  "Then where did they go? The guards upon the roads have not seen them. Moreover they were rich 'arif, not runagate thieves. When did rich men with full money sacks ever go off alone with nothing in their hands?"

  Jafarak was glad that the stout master of the spies had stopped questioning him. "Perhaps if they were all wealthy, they were carried off by lawless men to be held for a ransom."

  Tutush grunted, fingering the beads of his rosary. "They call thee fool, but I have known wise men who had less sense. Nay, it was not for ransom, because no demand hath come to the families of the five. Yet—Allah kerim—someone may come to ask for gold. The blame is upon my head in either case."

  "May thy search be fortunate."

  Jafarak left the master of the spies, and hesitated for a moment. He did not relish being watched by Tutush's servants; still he wanted to return to the alley, on the chance of meeting the dervish and hearing some more talk of the coming miracle. So he hurried off toward the mosque, deciding to look in at the gate first.

  By then it was the third hour of the night and the last prayer had been finished. In the glow of the lantern above the arched entrance he saw only a pair of mullahs and a spearman who leaned drowsily on his weapon. A blind man was tapping with his staff in the shadows, and when Jafarak came abreast him, he turned with a supplication.