Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 340 Kemal's Sights and Hearings (Part 3)
In the evenings, after a day's work, laborers liked to go to taverns for a drink. Wine, date wine, and cider—fruit-based beverages—were very popular. This was not the case in the Ottoman Empire; the prohibition on alcohol was still in effect. While the upper classes might secretly enjoy a drink, the lower classes were required to strictly adhere to the order. Unlike in Iran, where it was done openly.

The laborers waited for this moment, where they could find solace after a long day's work. Of course, they couldn't afford the expensive wines, so they could only drink other kinds of fruit wines.

Antam's Tavern, located near the Tabriz industrial area, is a favorite among the workers. The tavern gets lively at sunset.

"Alright, alright, three cups of date juice and two cups of grape juice are coming right away! Polcha, don't just stand there, hurry up and move the two barrels of wine over there."

"Yes Yes Yes"

The tavern, after renovation, not only offered drinks but also provided lodging. Some busy factory workers who didn't have time to go home would spend a little money to stay here for a night. At the same time, as a gathering place for laborers, Kemal also planned to investigate the situation of the Ottomans.

To blend in with the locals, Kemal changed his clothes. He ordered a glass of date wine and sat quietly in a corner, observing everything around him.

One Ottoman laborer complained, “Working in the factory is really tiring, but at least I can earn money here, which is much better than farming in Ottoman.”

"I heard the factory is going to have to work night shifts again. This never ends," a stubble-faced laborer complained in a low voice, his voice filled with helplessness and a hint of numbness.

“Working the night shift is better than starving in the Ottomans.” His companion sitting across from him shrugged, picked up his glass and took a big gulp. “At least here, we can have a drink and a good meal.”

Kemal listened quietly, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him. He knew that most of these laborers were refugees from the Ottoman Empire. They had found work in Iran, but at a great cost—long hours of labor, meager wages, and the loneliness of being far from home. Yet, even so, they still felt that things were far better here than in the Ottoman Empire. This contrast filled Kemal with a profound sense of powerlessness.

"Bolcha! Another glass of date wine!" A gruff voice interrupted Kemal's thoughts. He looked up and saw a burly worker waving an empty glass, his face showing signs of drunkenness.

"Coming, coming!" Polcha hurried over with a glass of wine, a fawning smile on his face. He was a waiter at the tavern, young but quick and efficient, always handling the workers' orders with ease.

Kemal's gaze fell on Polçay, and a thought suddenly popped into his head. He put down his wine glass and beckoned to Polçay.

“Sir, what do you need?” Polcha quickly walked up to Kemal and asked respectfully.

“Sit down and let’s talk,” Kemal said, gesturing to the seat opposite him. His tone was gentle but firm.

Polcha paused for a moment, then nodded and sat down cautiously. He rubbed his hands nervously and asked in a low voice, "Sir, are you from out of town? You don't look like a worker here."

“You don’t seem to be a local either; your Persian has a mixed accent from other places.”

Polcha nodded. "That's right, sir. I came here from Ankara to work. It's been about two years."

"How do you feel about life here?" Kemal continued to ask.

Polcha remained silent for a moment, seemingly considering how to answer. Finally, he sighed and said softly, "Compared to life in Ankara, at least I can earn money here. Back home, renting land from my master to farm, I barely save any money at the end of the year. It's much better here, even though it's more tiring. But I earn twice as much as in Ankara, and if I'm frugal, I can improve my family's life."

"Have you ever thought about bringing your sister over?" Kemal asked tentatively.

Polcha gave a wry smile and shook his head: "Take her over? It's not that easy. The rent here is so expensive. I can barely make ends meet by myself. How can I afford to support another person? Besides, her health is so poor. She can't work at all. She would only be a burden if she came."

Kemal said nothing more, but silently picked up his glass and took a sip. The wine tasted somewhat bitter, as if reflecting his current mood. This was the reality behind the prosperity: Iran's industry was booming, and behind it were tens of thousands of workers, many of whom were Ottomans.

Just then, the tavern door opened again, and a thin boy walked in. He wore a tattered coat and had a timid expression on his face. Paul saw him, immediately stood up, and waved to him.

“Amin, over here!” Polcha shouted.

The boy walked over quickly, a smile on his face: "Big brother, I'm here."

Polcha patted him on the shoulder and introduced him to Kemal: "This is Amin, also from Ankara. He's young and hasn't been here long, so I take extra care of him."

Kemal nodded, his gaze falling on Amin. The boy's face still held a touch of childishness, but his eyes revealed a resolute determination. Kemal knew that boys like Amin were not uncommon among the Ottoman lower classes. They left their homes early to come to unfamiliar cities, simply to make a living.

"Such a young child is already working?"

“I’m not young anymore, I’m already sixteen,” Amin retorted.

"What kind of work do you do in the factory?" Kemal continued to ask.

“I…I’m an apprentice in a textile factory,” Amin said in a low voice. “I work twelve hours a day, and the wages are very low, but at least I can support myself.”

Borcha continued, "This is the norm for most people who come from the Ottomans. At first, they can only do hard labor. After a few years, when they have more money, they go to other places. If they can obtain Iranian citizenship, they can get a lot of benefits and can also go to other places to cultivate land."

Kemal had heard a lot about Iran's land reclamation policies; if he wanted, he could obtain a plot of land up to 100 acres in size. But the prerequisite was that he had to cultivate it for five years.

"Are you planning to stay here permanently and not return to the Ottoman Empire?"

“Go back? Go back and be exploited by those people again? Half of the income we earn in a year is taken by the landlords and half by the officials, leaving us with only a little bit, and we still have to support a large family. In comparison, although it’s tiring here, the income is high, and the officials aren’t too arrogant. I’m grateful to the Shah from the bottom of my heart.”

Upon hearing this, Kemal abruptly ended the conversation. In the Ottoman Empire, this would likely have resulted in immediate imprisonment. What a pathetic country, what a hateful government! Why treat its subjects this way, forcing them to seek a living in neighboring countries? It seems there are still many places here for him to observe.

(End of this chapter)