Page 11 of Exquisite Things
“Well, of course you haven’t.” He spits in my face as he speaks. Little liquid weapons. “Your future is not yours to decide. Which is why decisions have been made for you.”
“What decisions?” I can’t hide the tremble of fear in my voice.
“I sent you to London so you would master the language of power. You have evidently done that. You speak English like an Englishman and will be ready to do international business on behalf of your empire.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“London is no place for a boy like you. Not anymore. You think I don’t read international newspapers. All those stories about men who... I won’t even speak the word; it’s beneath us. I can’t have you influenced by degeneracy. Not when you’re doing so well. Top of your class.”Thisis when he acknowledges my accomplishments. As tactic, not praise. “I’m pulling you out of school. You’re coming home with me.”
My pulse races. I always knew he would bring me home someday. That day was meant to be years away. I was meant to stay through university before returning to Persia with my world-class education complete. I had resigned myself to returning after university.To making my father proud by marrying well and making piles of money. But since seeing Wilde’s play... I’d let myself dream of a different future. Studying writing. Finding love. Pursuing passion instead of fulfilling duty. I’m a fool.
Foolish enough to yell at him: “I’m staying here. This is my world.”
“Yourworld?” His rage is a growing thing. A torrent. “I will decide what your world is. You have a duty to our family.” He’s my only family. My duty is to him alone. Mother died when I was born. My original sin. “You’re a seventeen-year-old boy. When you’re my age and your own son tells you what hisworldis, I hope you slap him across the face.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” I dare him. “Wouldn’t you rather take your belt off and—”
He uses the back of his hand. The sting of it feels worse than a belt. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
“Imagine, me, a nobody from Semnan, working for the king. And now you can join my team. You can bring English accounting practices to our country. You can be twice the man I am. Not some piece of filth in a city of vice!” His booming words sound like a jagged drumbeat. Each utterance a new shock.
“They might hear us in the other rooms.” I’m embarrassed by him.
“Let them hear us! Let them know that if they don’t do something about the crimes of men like thatwriter, the great families of the world like ours will stop sending their sons to be educated here. We want our sons to be real men, not, not—” Buggers. Sodomites. Those are the words he’s too afraid to speak.
I gaze out at Hyde Park. Young men in three-piece suits walk—briefcases in hand—toward grim office buildings. Women in plushwinter coats push prams. Walk their perfectly groomed dogs on tight leashes. Yank them to their sides if they stray too far.
“Real men.” I speak the words like a sigh. “Aren’t we all real, whether we follow your rules or not?” It’s not until the question escapes me that I realize it sounds more like a confession than a question. I await his response with fear.
“When I was your age, I would never have dreamed of talking back to my father.”
“But I’m not you.” Rage stirs within me too. Inherited anger. It bangs at my skin. Wants to be set free. Expressed. “Ineverwant to be you.”
“Watch yourself.” A terrifyingly delivered warning.
I am watching myself. In the ornate mirror on the wall. I like what I see. He isnotmy only family.Iam my own family. I feel a duty to myself. “You think my future belongs to you. That you can twist me into whatever shape you want me to take.”
“You will respect me!”
“But I do respect you.” My own words surprise me. “You created your own destiny. First in your family to go to university. A man who was born in dirt and ascended to the halls of power. All I ask is for you to understand that if your aim is for me to be a better version of you, then you must grant me the same luxury.”
“I’ve granted you every luxury.” He paces around the hotel suite. Throws a cashmere blanket onto the plush carpet. Runs his fingers on the gradient wallpaper. “Look at this place. I couldn’t imagine a room like this when I was your age.”
“I don’t care about any of this.” I gaze at the opulence with disgust. “I don’t care about being at the right parties or marrying royalty or attending the very best schools.”
“If it weren’t for me sending you to the best schools, you wouldn’t love poetry, so you have me to thank for that.”
“I love it despite you, not because of you.” My lips curl into a sneer. “I don’t see poetry as a means to an end. I see it as the end, the goal. I want my life to be poetry.”
“You won’t understand until you’re older.” He catches his own reflection in the gilded mirror. Next to mine. Freezes for a moment. Perhaps he sees—for the first time—what I see. An embittered old man losing control of his only child. His turn at life is almost over. Mine is just beginning. “You haven’t known the poverty I’ve known. I hope you never will.”
“I only want one luxury from you. The luxury to choose my own destiny.” I pause to make sure he hears the next part. “As you did.”
I turn my gaze back to the window. The sun make its golden ascent over Hyde Park. Its rays illuminate the sharply dressed people beginning their daily rituals of obligation. Two young men in the park catch my attention. Foppish hair blowing in the winter wind like they just rolled out of bed. Wilted green carnations on their lapels. Shoulders held high as they swish like ladies of the evening. Backsides swinging like pendulums. They might be the mostalivepeople I’ve ever seen. The bravest too. Unlike Wilde, they don’t get to hide behind fame or wit. They’re nobodies daring to be the kind of somebodies that scare the world into change. I’m overwhelmed by a surge of love for them. A swell of bravery in myself.
“There is no debate. The decision is made. We will visit the headmaster this afternoon and give him the news. Then you’ll pack your bags, and we’ll leave in the morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Disbelief in my voice.
