Forty Rules of Love(63)

I put my hand on Aladdin’s shoulder and forced him to look at me. “Besides, don’t you know the sect is not what it used to be? They are barely more than a name now.”

Aladdin briefly considered this possibility. “Yes, but they say there were three very loyal commandeers of Hassan Sabbah. They left the castle of Alamut, pledging to spread terror and trouble wherever they went. People suspect that Shams is their leader.”

I was starting to lose patience. “God help me! And could you please tell me why a Hashshashin would want to kill our father?”

“Because they hate influential people and love to create chaos, that’s why,” Aladdin responded. So agitated was he by his conspiracy theories that red blotches had formed on his cheeks.

I knew I had to handle this more carefully. “Look, people say all sorts of things all the time,” I said. “You can’t take these awful rumors seriously. Clear your mind of spiteful thoughts. They are poisoning you.”

Aladdin groaned resentfully, but I continued nonetheless. “You might not like Shams personally. You do not have to. But for Father’s sake you ought to show him some respect.”

Aladdin looked at me with bitterness and contempt. I understood that my younger brother was not only cross with our father and infuriated at Shams. He was also disappointed in me. He saw my appreciation of Shams as a sign of weakness. Perhaps he thought that in order to earn my father’s favor, I was being subservient and spineless. It was only a suspicion on my part, but one that hurt me deeply.

Still, I could not get angry at him, and even if I did, my anger would not last very long. He was my little brother. To me he would always be that boy running after street cats, getting his feet dirty in rain puddles, and nibbling slices of bread topped with yogurt all day long. I couldn’t help seeing in his face the boy he once had been, a bit on the plump side and a tad short for his age, the boy who took the news of the death of his mother without shedding a tear. All he did was to look down at his feet as if suddenly ashamed of his shoes and purse his bottom lip until its color was gone. Neither a word nor a sob had come out of his mouth. I wish he would have cried.

“Do you remember the time you got into a fight with some neighboring kids?” I asked. “You came home crying, with a bloody nose. What did our mother tell you then?”

Aladdin’s eyes first narrowed and then grew in recognition, but he didn’t say anything.

“She told you that whenever you got angry with someone, you should replace the face of that person in your mind with the face of someone you love. Have you tried replacing Shams’s face with our mother’s face? Perhaps you could find something to like in him.”

A furtive smile, as swift and timid as a passing cloud, hovered over Aladdin’s lips, and I was amazed at how much it softened his expression.

“Perhaps I could,” he said, all anger draining out of his voice now.

My heart melted. I gave my brother a hug, unsure of what else to say. As he hugged me back, I felt confident that he would repair his relationship with Shams and the harmony in our house would soon be restored.

Given the course of events that followed, I couldn’t have been more mistaken.





Kerra





KONYA, OCTOBER 22, 1245

Beyond the closed door, Shams and Rumi were talking fervently about God knows what the other day. I knocked and entered without waiting for a response, carrying a tray with a plate of halva. Normally Shams doesn’t say anything when I am around, as if my presence forces him into silence. And he never comments upon my cooking skills. He eats very little anyhow. Sometimes I have the impression it makes no difference to him whether I serve a fabulous dinner or dry bread. But this time as soon as he took a bite from my halva, his eyes lit up.

“This is delicious, Kerra. How did you make it?” he asked.

I don’t know what came over me. Instead of seeing the compliment for what it was, I heard myself retort, “Why are you asking? Even if I told you how, you couldn’t make it.”

Shams locked a level gaze into my eyes and nodded slightly, as if he agreed with what I’d said. I waited for him to say something in return, but he just stood there, mute and calm.

In a little while, I left the room and returned to the kitchen, thinking the incident was left behind. And I probably would not have remembered it again, had it not been for what transpired this morning.



I was churning butter by the hearth in the kitchen when I heard strange voices out in the courtyard. I rushed outside, only to witness the craziest scene ever. There were books everyplace, piled up in rickety towers, and still more books floating inside the fountain. From all the ink dissolving in it, the water in the fountain had turned a vivid blue.