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CHAPTER 13
That day Khayyam was no longer capable of reflecting, weighing up or
evaluating. After leaving the
diwan
, he disappeared into the narrowest alley of
the bazaar, meandered past men and beasts and made his way under the stucco
vaults between mounds of spices. At each step the alley became a little darker
and the crowd seemed to be moving sluggishly and speaking in murmurs.
Merchants and customers were masked actors and sleepwalking dancers. Omar
groped his way along, now to the left, now to the right, afraid of falling down or
fainting. Suddenly he came upon a small square which was flooded with light, a
clearing in the jungle. The harsh sun beat down on him. He straightened up and
breathed. What was happening to him? He was being offered a paradise which
was shackled to a hell. How could he say yes, how could he say no. How could
he face the Grand Vizir or leave town with any dignity? To his right, a tavern
door was half open. He pushed it and went down a few steps strewn with sand
and came out into a dimly lit room with a low ceiling. The floor was damp earth,
the benches looked unsteady and the tables unwashed. He ordered a dry wine
from Qom. It was brought to him in a chipped jar. He breathed it in for a long
while with shut eyes.
The blessed time of my youth passes by
,
I pour out the wine of my oblivion
.
Bitter it is, and thus it pleases me
.
For this bitterness is the zest of my life
.
Suddenly, however, an idea occurred to him. He doubtless had had to come
to this sordid den to find it; the idea had been waiting for him there, on that
table, at the third mouthful of the fourth goblet. He settled his bill, left a
generous
baksheesh
and resurfaced. Night had fallen, the square was already
empty, with every alley of the bazaar closed off by a heavy portal and Omar had
to make a detour to get back to his caravansary.
Hassan was already asleep, his face severe and pained, as Khayyam tiptoed
into his room. Omar contemplated him for a long while. A thousand questions
ran through his mind, but he brushed them aside without trying to find answers.
His decision was taken and it was irrevocable.
There is a legend common in the books. It speaks of three friends, three
Persians who marked, each in his own fashion, the beginnings of our millenium:
Omar Khayym who observed the world, Nizam al-Mulk who governed it and
Hassan Sabbah who terrorized it. They are said to have studied together at
Nishapur, which cannot be correct since Nizam was thirty years older than Omar
and Hassan carried on his studies at Rayy, and perhaps a little in his native town
of Qom, but certainly not at Nishapur.
Is the truth to be found in the
Samarkand Manuscript?
The chronicle which
runs along the margins asserts that the three men met for the first time in Isfahan,
in the
diwan
of the Grand Vizir, on the initiative of Khayyam – acting as
destiny’s blind apprentice.
Nizam had secluded himself in the palace’s small hall and was surrounded by
papers. As soon as he saw Omar’s face in the doorway he understood that his
response would be negative.
‘So, you are indifferent to my projects.’
Khayyam replied, contritely but firmly:
‘Your dreams are grandiose and I hope that they will be realized, but my
contribution cannot be what you have proposed. When it comes to secrets and
those who reveal them, I am on the side of the secrets. The first time an agent
came to me to report a conversation, I would order him to be silent, state that it
was neither my business nor his and I would ban him from my house. My
curiosity about people and things is expressed in a different way.’
‘I respect your decision and do not deem it useless for the empire that some
men devote themselves completely to science. Naturally, you will still receive
everything I promised you – the annual sum of gold, the house, the observatory.
I never take back what I have given of my own accord. I would have wished to
be able to associate you more closely with my work, but I take consolation in the
fact that the chronicles will write for posterity that Omar Khayyam lived in the
era of Nizam al-Mulk and that he was honoured, sheltered from bad weather and
was able to say no to the Grand Vizir without risking disgrace.’
‘I do not know if I will ever be able to show the gratitude which your
magnanimity deserves.’
Omar broke off. He hesitated before continuing:
‘Perhaps I may be able to make you forget my refusal by presenting to you a
man I have just met. He is a man of great intelligence, his knowledge is immense
and his genius is disarming. He seems just right for the office of
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