Kader Abdolah - The King

Everything was ready earlier than planned, and the engineer asked the shah to leave the palace for one day so he could do some trial runs. The shah complied with the request and waited for the evening to arrive with tense anticipation.

In the hall of mirrors the engineer had installed a special gold light switch for the shah on a small table next to the king’s chair. When it was more or less dark outside the shah drew the curtains closed and sat down in the chair. With his hand on the light switch he took a deep breath, waited for just a moment and then switched the light on.

A miracle took place. In a flash the darkness disappeared and the room was saturated in a golden light unlike anything he had ever seen before. Completely overwhelmed, the shah remained in his chair and looked around him. The chandelier gleamed, the mirror glittered, the colourful figures in the carpets shone like thousands of tiny jewels on the floor, and the pomegranate-coloured sofas and green curtains took on a lustre of unparalleled enchantment.

He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. His grey hair was like washed silver under his tall hat. The furrows of his face were accentuated. In this light he looked exactly like his father, and that moved him to tears.

In the days that followed the shah received the women of his harem in the hall of mirrors in small groups. He motioned for them to sit on the floor. As soon as it was completely dark outside he pulled the curtains shut, sat down in his chair and cried out, ‘Silence!’ He made the women wait for a whole minute, as still as mice. Then he threw the switch and sat back to enjoy their reactions. After the women had recovered from the shock they praised the shah for his lamps and tried to entice him into installing the same artificial light in the harem.

‘It will be done,’ the shah promised each group. ‘But don’t tell the other women. I want to surprise them, just as I have surprised you.’

Besides the new inventions he also enjoyed the company of his grandson. Every day after breakfast the little boy was brought to the palace so the shah could spend an hour playing with him. He would get down on all fours and lumber across the carpets with the child on his back. He recited his own poems for him and distorted his voice, which made the child laugh. Hand in hand the shah and his grandson walked together through the courtyard gardens, and he taught him to pay attention to the flowers and the birds.

Akkasbashi, the royal photographer, took dozens of photos of the shah and his grandson: the shah with the boy on his back, on his shoulders, on his desk, on his horse, on his cannon and on his lap, with the shah holding his finger on the electric switch.

Just when the women of the harem had resigned themselves to the idea that the shah was not going to keep his promise, he sent them on a day trip to the mausoleum of the holy saint Abdoldawood. He had a couple of cables laid from the generator to the harem. In half a day he had replaced the harem’s old chandeliers with new lamps. The shah asked the engineer whether he had enough cables and bulbs to illuminate the chandelier in the music room.

‘ Je peux tout arranger pour le shah ,’ said the Frenchman with a smile.

That evening, when the women returned to the palace completely worn out, they couldn’t believe their eyes. They screamed with happiness, and when the shah appeared in the doorway of the harem they kissed him and indulged his every whim and treated him to a long night of bliss.

It was still two weeks before the second session of parliament. The Russian troops had entered the country inconspicuously, scattering themselves along the border, and had gathered in the barracks around Tehran. They remained completely unobserved, which the shah saw as a sign that God had taken mercy on the operation.

As the day of reckoning approached, the shah felt burdened by an increasing sense of dread. To take his mind off his worries, and to keep anyone from sensing his agitation, he came up with a pastime that had never been tried before.

In Paris the shah had once attended a bal masqué . He decided to organise a Persian version in the music room. One would have thought that the shah had put politics aside for good and had resigned himself to a much lighter interpretation of monarchy.

He selected a group of forty women of all ages, including his oldest and youngest wives. He ordered them to design masks for themselves, to put on elaborate make-up and to dress themselves with great extravagance. He gave them the freedom to do whatever they wanted that evening.

The festivities in the harem were unforgettable. The masked women came out of their rooms one by one. They looked like extraordinary creatures, and among the other women curiosity won out over jealousy. The chosen women walked down a red carpet and into the music room to the sound of loud cheering. It was as if they had come from another planet and had just landed on earth. The shah glowed with pleasure. The masked women did what they normally would never do in the presence of the shah. They moved with elegant grace and made gestures with their hands that the shah found very arousing. A thick cloud of fragrant herbs hung in the room, and three masked female musicians played merry, rhythmic music.

The masked ball went on for one week. The shah kept choosing different women and having them dress up. He enjoyed it — it was truly a feast fit for a king — but it only suppressed his agitation rather than dispel it. The tension had to find a release. He wanted to smash something to pieces, to scream, to weep, to strike out with his fists. Then one evening he came up with a bizarre twist to the festivities.

‘Ladies, listen. This evening we’re going to play a game in the dark. Later on, when we switch off the lights, the musicians will begin to play. Then, in the dark, you’ll be able to do and say whatever you wish. You are completely free. You can push each other, kick, hit, pinch, bite — whatever you like. Is everyone ready? When the light goes out, you may begin.’

The shah switched off the light. It was pitch dark in the music room and completely silent. The musicians didn’t dare play. The women were quite at a loss as to what they were supposed to do. A nervous laugh broke the tension momentarily. Nothing else happened. Then one woman cried out, ‘Ouch, don’t do that, it hurts.’ She had probably been pinched by another woman, so she responded in kind. Silhouettes began to move.

‘Get away from me,’ they shouted. ‘No hitting,’ they giggled. ‘Don’t pinch me. What’s got into you?’ ‘Stop it, I said,’ ‘Ow, she bit me. I’m going to get you.’ They screamed, they laughed. No one knew who was doing the hitting, who was doing the pushing. Years of frustration erupted. The musicians began to play, cautiously at first, then louder and louder. The women tore each other’s clothing, pulled each other’s hair and shouted, ‘Turn the light on, please! Help! They’re strangling me, they’re beating me to death!’ The musicians coaxed hysterical noises from their instruments. The shah laughed and screamed like a madman.

The women pleaded with the shah to put an end to the bedlam until they fell on the floor, tired and spent. The shah waited a moment, then switched on the light. He was shocked by what he saw. All the women were badly beaten. Their clothes were in shreds, their masks in tatters, and black mascara mixed with tears was running down their cheeks. Stupefied they gazed up at the shah. He switched off the light and left the harem.

The text of the constitution was ready. The commission had succeeded in including parts of the French constitution as well as regulations from the Quran.