[ kaveh looks at him. in the refracted reflections within his eyes, alhaitham can see the shards of war. anger, confusion, wariness, terror, an unsaid sorrow that permeates the very living fabric of what kaveh stands for. to use emotion, you must first recognise it. alhaitham's grandmother had walked him to the leather-bound journals of his parents, and said to him - alhaitham, my haitham, you must learn to weep.
the red of kaveh's neck stands for condemnation. alhaitham looks back at him, at the question being posed, and shakes his head. ]
I had thought the reasoning is obvious. [ is what he says into the stunned silence. ] How can you eat supper while chained?
[ as if on cue, the doors to his suite opens. servants with their heads bowed low enter. the headmaid looks between alhaitham and his slave, and merely gestures for the slaves to bring in their platters. one with silver manacles carefully lays out a dinner mat on the floor, dyed jute and woven cashmere depicting a repeating geometric pattern in blues and greens. dinner is spread: silver platters of khoresh-e ghormeh sabzi, laden with fragrant lamb and peppered with acrid morsels of yellowed ormani limes. an ash reshteh heralding the scent of spring, fresh greens imported from pardis dhyai coupled with beans and soaked in the salt of a fragrant yoghurt. platters of tomato salad coupled with diced green cucumbers interspersed with the purple of crips onions. chunks of chickens skewered laid out on a bed of flatbread, dotted with minute strands of saffron. one by one, the slaves bow their head, and one by one, the room clears, leaving behind alhaitham, and kaveh, and food enough to feed a small contingent of elephants.
alhaitham is the one who sits down first cross-legged at the end of the dinner mat. he wipes his hands with the moist towels provided in a little bowl of rosewater, and, without further ado, picks up the ends of a skewer. ]
no subject
the red of kaveh's neck stands for condemnation. alhaitham looks back at him, at the question being posed, and shakes his head. ]
I had thought the reasoning is obvious. [ is what he says into the stunned silence. ] How can you eat supper while chained?
[ as if on cue, the doors to his suite opens. servants with their heads bowed low enter. the headmaid looks between alhaitham and his slave, and merely gestures for the slaves to bring in their platters. one with silver manacles carefully lays out a dinner mat on the floor, dyed jute and woven cashmere depicting a repeating geometric pattern in blues and greens. dinner is spread: silver platters of khoresh-e ghormeh sabzi, laden with fragrant lamb and peppered with acrid morsels of yellowed ormani limes. an ash reshteh heralding the scent of spring, fresh greens imported from pardis dhyai coupled with beans and soaked in the salt of a fragrant yoghurt. platters of tomato salad coupled with diced green cucumbers interspersed with the purple of crips onions. chunks of chickens skewered laid out on a bed of flatbread, dotted with minute strands of saffron. one by one, the slaves bow their head, and one by one, the room clears, leaving behind alhaitham, and kaveh, and food enough to feed a small contingent of elephants.
alhaitham is the one who sits down first cross-legged at the end of the dinner mat. he wipes his hands with the moist towels provided in a little bowl of rosewater, and, without further ado, picks up the ends of a skewer. ]