I craned my neck to try and make out all the details.
It was a relief, carved directly into the stone. A bearded man sat on a throne, holding a staff in one hand and a hyacinth in the other.
Maybe he was preparing for Nowruz. Lots of people like to add sonbols to their haft-seen.
Carved in relief, the figure’s beard looked like it was made of enormous stone beads, each with a little swirl in the center, countless tiny galaxies of rock.
“It’s you.” Babou poked me in the chest.
“Me?”
I was certain I would never be able to grow a beard so luxurious as the one hewn into the wall above me. Stephen Kellner’s fair-haired Teutonic genes would prevent it.
“It’s Darioush the Great,” Sohrab said.
“Oh.”
Babou said, “He built many of these things.”
Until they got burned to the ground by angry Greeks.
Well, Macedonians, technically.
Babou looked right at me. “Darioush was a great man. Strong. Smart. Brave.”
I didn’t feel strong or smart or brave.
Like I said, my parents were setting themselves up for disappointment, naming me after a titanic figure like that.
Darius the Great was a diplomat and a conqueror. And I was just me.
“Your mom and dad picked a good name for you.”
Babou put his arm on my shoulder. I swallowed and followed his gaze to stare at the carving.
“Mamou thought it was too much driving to come here. To see this. But it’s important for you to know where you come from.”
I didn’t understand Ardeshir Bahrami.
Yesterday I wasn’t Persian enough because I didn’t speak Farsi, because I took medicine for depression, because I brought him and Mamou fancy tea.
He made me feel small and stupid.
Now he was determined to show me my heritage.
Maybe Ardeshir Bahrami experienced Mood Slingshot Maneuvers too.
Babou squeezed my shoulder and then led Laleh away, leaving me and Sohrab alone.
“Babou is right,” Sohrab said. “It’s good to see where you come from.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No. It’s just...”
Sohrab had grown up with this history all around him.
