The King

24. The Print Shop

The shah was still living in Tabriz as crown prince when the vizier sent a group of bright students to Europe to study. Now that they had graduated the vizier needed them to build up the country.

The engineers, who knew all there was to know about modern technology, provided Tehran with a new road network. The doctors were put to work in new hospitals, where people stood in long queues day and night waiting to be helped. Those who had learned new languages and had been introduced to modern academic disciplines became the teachers of teachers and would later be sent to work in schools that were yet to be built.

One of the young men was of particular importance to the vizier. He was the son of their family cook. Long ago, when the vizier was helping his own children with their French lessons, he noticed the cook’s son hiding behind the door and following everything he said. The vizier called him in, put the French textbook down in front of him, and said, ‘Read this aloud.’

To his astonishment the boy began to read. Recognising an exceptional talent the vizier had made him part of the family and had him join his own children in their private lessons. Later he sent the boy to Paris, and now that he was back he worked as the vizier’s right-hand man. His name was Tagi, but the vizier, who was convinced that this young fellow would later become a national leader, gave him an honorary name: Amir, a synonym for prince.

Another of the vizier’s dreams for the country was to open a print shop. He wanted a newspaper for Tehran. He had seen newspapers for the first time in Moscow when he went there with his father.

The vizier wrote poetry, and he also kept a diary for recording the day’s events. He hoped to publish his poems in book form one day. Poetry gave him peace of mind, and he always carried poems around with him to correct. It was a way of cutting himself off from the outside world. He also liked to write letters: letters as political documents, as historical markers.

The vizier wrote a new kind of prose. The Persian language was ponderous and complex, but the vizier’s style had a unique clarity. It all came from serving as chronicler for his father and from translating so many letters from Russia, France, England and India into Persian for the father of the shah, work that brought him into close contact with the direct European style of writing. The father of the shah had once given him a royal quill as a reward for his beautiful handwriting.

His most moving writings were the letters he wrote to his wife.

My love,

When I arrived home yesterday you were not there.

Our house seemed like the empty nest

of a rare bird that had flown away forever.

Always be home, my love, when I return,

or I am forced to go from room to room,

calling your name until you come.

This brief, simple letter provided a whole new glimpse into the relationship between men and women. Persian poetry was full of men’s declarations of love to women, but not a single man had ever written a letter to his own wife.

The vizier had asked Amir to start a newspaper that would deal with developments in the country and throughout the rest of the world. So it was with great pride that the vizier conducted the shah to the brand-new print shop. Inevitably the shah’s cannon was dragged along behind him.

The vizier told the shah about the young Persian engineers who had remodelled the streets of Tehran along French lines. Before going on to the print shop the shah would be presiding over the official opening of one of the city’s new squares.

The closer they drew to the centre of the city the more crowded it became. Everyone wanted to admire the king. His royal garb, and the way he rode his ornamented horse through the throngs of the poor, so tall in the saddle, made him seem like something from a different world. Having arrived at the square the shah was surprised to see all the important men of the city standing along the road in festive clothing. It was a relief to encounter these esteemed individuals after so many deaf and blind people, so many beggars. The shah got down from his horse to cut a ribbon. He had never been part of such a ceremony before. The square was paved with flat stones and decorated with large flower boxes, and in the middle was a fountain with leaping jets of water.

A pair of scissors were handed to the shah on a tray. He picked them up and walked somewhat awkwardly towards the ribbon. Making a royal gesture he grabbed the ribbon and slowly cut it through. Music was heard, followed by an outburst of cheers. The shah received the engineers, spoke with them briefly, pressed a few coins into their hands and proceeded to the print shop with the vizier. A group of young men walked with them.

The print shop was located behind the mosque in a new building. It was filled with an unfamiliar odour that stung the shah’s nostrils and eyes. The vizier had been supplying him with documents about the progress of its construction, but seeing a print shop up close was something quite different.

He looked at the new machines and equipment, but his eyes lingered on the young engineer who was leading the tour. He had heard about this Amir, the vizier’s right-hand man. The shah had no idea how the equipment worked, but he acted as if he knew everything. He looked at the lead letters in their cabinets and paused at one of the printing cylinders, running his index finger over it cautiously. The grease on the cylinder made his finger black. Not knowing what to do, he held the finger up in the air. Amir fetched a clean cloth. The shah wiped his finger and continued walking. He paused again at the type case, and the vizier motioned to Amir to provide the shah with an explanation.

Amir picked up a few lead letters from the type case, arranged them in a line on the composing stick and placed the stick in the printing machine. Then he handily sliced off a sheet of paper and laid it on the machine’s paper holder. The shah watched the engineer with amazement and waited for the results. Amir turned the handle of the machine. It made a sound that was totally unfamiliar to him, after which the sheet of paper fell into a tray down at the other end. Amir picked up the paper and handed it to the shah. Speaking to himself the shah read the sentence that was printed on the paper: ‘The shah is welcome to the first Royal Print Shop.’

He gazed at Amir in admiration. Then the vizier led the shah to another printing machine that already contained a fully composed text. He asked the shah if he would like to turn the handle of the machine to declare the print shop officially open. With one hand on his sword and the other on the handle, the shah turned the wheel three times. A large sheet of printed paper fell out of the machine. The vizier picked the paper up with both hands, gave it to the shah and said, ‘The newspaper.’

The shah found it confusing to see his own portrait superimposed over the lion from the royal coat of arms with a sword in its paw and a dazzling sun on its back. A momentary smile appeared on his face. His eyes fell on a brief text printed below his portrait. It gave him goose pimples.

‘Look! One of our poems is printed here!’ He beamed with happiness and gave the newspaper to Amir, who was standing beside him. ‘Read it aloud to us!’

Amir began.

‘We can’t hear you. Speak up,’ said the shah.

With more feeling this time, Amir began to declaim:

‘Said one among them — “Surely not in vain

“My substance of the common Earth was ta’en

“And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,

“Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again.”’

‘Excellent,’ said the shah, ‘but our eyes must grow accustomed to these letters. It’s not like reading a book.’ He pointed to an article that was printed beneath his poem and said, ‘Read this!’

It was an article about telegraphy that Amir himself had written. He began reading with deep conviction: ‘“At one time the world’s fastest communication system was a work of our own devising. The great King Darius had built an enormous network of roads, with couriers who rode ceaselessly day and night to bring reports to the palace with the utmost speed from every corner of the world. They even used echoes, gestures and mirrors to convey the messages across rivers and over mountains. Back then we were proud of our inventions, but now we have become dependent on the Russians to build donkey trails for us …”’

The vizier saw the look of unease on the shah’s face. Amir hesitated a moment but continued, ‘“Telegraphy is the sending of a message by cable. It works as follows. The sender hands his message to the postal clerk, who sends it to its destination at exactly the same moment …”’

‘Go on, go on,’ said the shah impatiently.

‘“England used to be dependent on ships. It took months for a message from London to reach the Far East, and it took even more months for an answer to be sent back. But now England sends …”’

‘Yes, yes?’ urged the shah.

‘“The vizier has informed this newspaper that we won’t have to wait for decades for telegraphy to come to us, if that is our desire. And if the vizier says this, we must believe that we too will soon be able to send our messages from one city to another in the blink of an eye, but— ”’

The shah snatched the newspaper from Amir’s hands, rolled it up and kept walking through the print shop. He inspected the cables, the ink pots and the lead letters, tossed the workers a few coins and walked out.

Once outside the vizier shed some light on the newspaper article. ‘The information in the newspaper is not new to Your Majesty, of course, but we think our fellow countrymen also ought to be informed of these big changes. The articles in the newspaper will cover developments in our own land. The British have told us informally that they are thinking about running a telegraph line to India via our country. Not so very long ago they laid cables along the bottom of the sea, a difficult and expensive method that takes a very long time. Now they have approached us, since the cheapest and shortest way for them to run their cable to India is through our country. It has also been drawn to our attention that they are considering a railway line that would run straight through our country and on to India. We have not had any official discussions with them, but we expect that very soon they will come knocking on our door.’

The shah listened in silence and thought about the tsar’s message with regard to the invasion of Herat. He wanted to talk this over with the vizier, but decided not to. ‘Keep us informed,’ said the shah.

That night the shah awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. Sharmin rubbed up against him. Sitting up in bed he thought about his visit to the square and the print shop. Only now did he realise that wherever the vizier went he was followed by a group of young men. These were the ones who had studied abroad. They looked different, they had a different way of sitting on their horses, and the way they walked was different from that of the merchants and princes. Together they represented the face of a land that the shah had never seen before.

‘Perhaps our mother is right,’ said the shah to the cat. ‘You weren’t there in the print shop, or you too would have seen how those young men are brimming with ambition. This won’t be the last we hear from them.’