He leaned back. "Well, so much for that." And, putting the matter to rest, he asked, "Now, what can I do for you?"
"I was hoping you'd explain some of what is going on. You know, help me to understand some of these horrific incidents, and what is left to hope for."
His eyebrows rose. "Explain? How could I? There's nothing to explain." He shook his head. "Not a thing."
I had learned to read people's faces, but Jenab did a good job of turning away and avoiding eye contact. I watched him, in search of a clue.
"I tried to guide that girl," he said and shrugged. "But she stopped listening to me a long time ago."
Each time he spoke, I noticed he turned his head to the right, slightly, inconspicuously. I looked around, but saw nothing unusual.
Jenab's dry voice interrupted my thoughts. "I didn't know much about her life beyond school."
"Weren't you and Mr. Payan friends?"
He shot me a look, but his reply was calm, not reflecting his anger. "Indeed we were. But that poor man didn't know what his daughter was up to either. In fact, he was as shocked as anyone by the news."
Now I knew he was lying. Each false word he uttered chiseled away at the idol my young mind had created.
"If you ask me, that brother of hers poisoned her mind."
"Mr. Elmi, Ali is dead," I said, hoping to shame him.
Jenab leaned forward and put a fist under his chin, his half opened eyes regaining some affection. "Yes," he said with a sigh. "And isn't it a shame to see these young people waste their lives?"
Years ago that gaze would have won me over, made me feel he understood the depth of my sorrow. Now I stared back and, like an illiterate looking at written words, I saw nothing meaningful.
"We come across all kinds of students," he said, resuming his fatherly tone. "Each student draws what he or she wants from a teacher's words."
"But you were different. We relied on your guidance," I said hopelessly.
He shook his head. "My hands were tied, Miss Afshar. I could only do so much to save my students."
"But it was you who encouraged us to think, to make a difference."
Panic rose in his eyes.
"She trusted you!"
He chuckled. "So did many others, so did you, dear Miss Afshar. And look how fine you've turned out."
Oh, how he had changed! I thought of the hardened clay and wondered about his true color. That programmed speech and his matter-of-fact manner were not what I had hoped to find. For the first time, he sounded like all the other teachers: unfeeling, having an agenda.
He pulled up his sleeve a little and glanced at his watch.
I stood. "I believed in you, Mr. Elmi, we all did." It was my turn to sneer. "Call it a child's intuition, but something about you alarmed me even back then." Ignoring his stunned expression, I grabbed my purse. "I hope in the future, when you teach your wonderful metaphors to young students, you'll remember to add that idols are also made of clay. Let them know that the bigger the idol, the more hollow it will be."
Before leaving, I looked back and there he stood, with his pathetic, crooked smile and eyes that were still trying to win me over. "That girl is finished," he said coldly, as if to throw in the last punch.
"Not for me, she isn't." I opened the door. "But you are."
Jenab didn't respond, but for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw deep sorrow in his eyes.
The next day, as I prepared to go to school, Auntie knocked on my door. She came in and sat on my crumpled bedspread.
"Your father and I think it best for you to stay home for a couple of days."
I dropped my hairbrush on the dresser. "Why?"
"Let's say he worries for your safety." She seemed uncomfortable acting as Pedar's messenger. "I think it has to do with what's going on."
"What about my classes?"
She shrugged. "A couple of days shouldn't matter."
"It matters to me!" I would have to take this up with my father. "Is Pedar up yet?"
"He went back to the farm early this morning."
"And I'll bet you promised him you'd keep me home, didn't you?" I said and shot her a look. "Reza better be in his room too!" I said and stormed out, but Auntie's voice stopped me.
"He's not here. Your father needed him at the farm."
"Great! The one person I could have talked to while being locked up!" Frustrated, I found nothing more to add.
For two days, I did not attend class. Nor did I join my aunt for meals. I locked my door and only opened it for Naneh's trays of food or to sneak to the bathroom. Auntie knocked on my door twice, asking me to open so we could talk. I ignored her. Thoughts multiplied in my head until it began to hurt. I wanted to know the exact point at which Shireen had become involved with the opposition movement. Had it, in fact, been Jenab's idea? Or was it her brother, Ali, who had planted the first seed as Jenab implied? Pedar had kept me home for my protection, but what he hadn't anticipated was that in my seclusion, more questions would arise and I would become determined to seek the answers. What was my place in a society that knew no j ustice, and just how long did my father hope to keep me within the walls of his false sanctuary? By the third day, I had decided.
When the house fell into its post-lunch silence, I changed my clothes and snuck out. Our alley was quiet in afternoon slumber and even on Golestan Avenue I saw no pedestrians. An unbearably hot sun baked the sidewalks. A man rode his bicycle, carrying a heap of crabap-ples on a round tray balanced on his head. I saw no demonstrators, and except for a few empty taxis, there were no cars. Closer to medical school, I noticed the police patrols in their usual spots, though no one seemed to be in the cars except for one, who had pulled his hat down and seemed to be napping.
Kyan greeted me with enthusiasm. Happy to have his buddy back, he skipped class so we could sit somewhere for a catch up.
"I wouldn't recommend the cafeteria," he said. "The new guy working there gives me a funny feeling. Let's walk."
"Another new guy?" I laughed. "Why don't they all just wear a SAVAK badge?"
"Shhhh!" He looked over his shoulder.
We walked along University Avenue. To see the school from outside brought the entrance exams to mind. I told Kyan about the blood I had seen on the tree the year before.
"Doesn't surprise me," he said. "Whenever there's police intervention, they clobber the poor demonstrators. Just wait 'til your hospital rotations. None of it is ever reported, but we see enough in the ER."
We walked for a while in silence. "During the past few days there were many more protests," he said. "All they seem to need to start another demonstration is for the news to call the activists names such as 'insurgents' and 'criminals'."
"Any news on the Payans?"
He shook his head.
We turned into a side street. "I've been saving a few articles for you. Here and there your friend's name was mentioned, but no big news."
I noticed a few shreds of pamphlets and typed notices pinned to trees and lampposts.
"What are those?"
"Announcements," Kyan said. "Students come out late at night and post them just to see the police remove them in the morning." He stopped and studied me. "Now your turn," he said. "Where were you?"
"In my glass bubble."
His face relaxed and he resumed walking.
"Will you tell me what happened back then in Siahkal?" I said. "I feel as if I've just awakened from a coma, but no one is willing to bring me up to date."
"A glass bubble, ha? I wondered about that." He looked at me sideways.
I tried to keep up with the poised stride of his long legs. "Tempted as I may be to put all the blame on my upbringing, I've really never cared much for politics, and maybe still wouldn't if it weren't for Shireen."
"Hmm," is all he said.
Even on busy streets I could feel the limp weight of a sleepy afternoon behind the drawn window shades. The asphalt felt soft under my shoes and the air was still.
Walking under
the shade of the high walls, Kyan told me about Siahkal. He started patiently at the beginning as if he were telling a story to a child.
"It began in a small village near the Caspian Sea, with guerrilla warfare in the mountains. Some believe it was modeled after the communists in Cuba."
I didn't mention that I knew nothing about Cuba, either.
"If you ask me," he continued, "that's how the oppositionists got their reputation for being communists. But they really aren't. There are some fundamental differences."
"Like what?"
"Religion, for one. These guys are devout Muslims." He held my elbow and made sure we cleared traffic while crossing.
"There are several anti-government organizations," he spoke in a whisper and stooped down to make sure I could hear. "Fadaiyan, Mojahedin, Toodeh, National Front, you name it. They each have their own set of ideas, but since Mossaddegh, none of them had done a thing beyond meetings, talks, and distribution of pamphlets. The Siahkal attack on government officials was the first dent in the security SAVAK had enjoyed for years."
"Then why was it considered a failure?"
"Because it was... in a way. All of the involved members were captured and later executed. What makes Siahlak a historic incident is the fact that the oppositionists did rescue two of their previously captured members."
From time to time, someone walked by and Kyan stopped talking, only to resume when we were a safe distance away.
"It was so hushed that no one really knows the details, but rumor had it that a few key members of oppositionists were killed on the spot." He seemed disturbed. "The closed trials were just a puppet show. With so many executions, it was a serious blow to the Fadaiyan."
"So really, it was all pointless?"
"In a twisted way, no. The casualties brought more support than the Fadaiyan had dreamed of. There were hints, vague messages and public demonstrations." He pointed to the pamphlets on the wall. "SAVAK doesn't have the means to deal with all this."
Something about the name, Siahkal, had always brought a dark vision to mind. Now the word siah - black - matched the image. I was developing a strong curiosity, an obsession, and wanted to learn more. Unable to ask direct questions for fear I could not handle the answer, I said, "So, what is to become of the... detainees?"
Kyan stopped and looked at me. The dismal look in his eyes told me the answer. "Political prisoners are always convicted. And almost always executed."
I felt the razor's edge in every word. The vision that flashed before me made me gasp: Shireen, blindfolded, standing against the wall, waiting for the gunfire.
"I know you want me to tell you otherwise, but it's best to be prepared."
I shook my head in denial. "Then why would they operate on Eemon?"
"Don't be naive, Roya. They just want him to live long enough to talk."
"There's always hope."
He put a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself."
I wondered what I had ever done to deserve his friendship. What had I done to deserve any of my good fortune?
He walked me back to school and before we parted, he said, "Don't build up much hope, my friend. The way things are, no amount of support can rescue your friend."
I wanted to tell Kyan of my decision to visit Shireen in prison, but thought it best to save him the worry. I spent the rest of my day listening to other students, trying to catch up on what I had missed. Around five in the afternoon, I heard a crowd in the distance, "Freeeedom and solidaaaaarity!"
My heart leapt with excitement as I ran outside. Damned if I was going to remain silent! No more, not now that I knew so much, not after what Kyan had told me. Those demonstrators were my peers and, whether my father approved or not, I was part of them. History was being made and I had every right to be out there, voicing my thoughts, protesting, demanding justice.
Outside, traffic had stopped for the demonstrators to pass. Their march must have started at the School of Science because a few trailed behind from around the corner. Police stood all along the street, just watching. I noticed a few had their hands on their holsters.
Someone handed me a yellow pamphlet just as I started to cross the street. Printed in large letters was: FREE POLITICAL PRISONERS. I held it with both hands above my head and ran toward the demonstrators. I had only gotten halfway when someone grabbed my arm, "This way, miss!"
Startled, I turned to find Akbar bearing down on me with a fierce expression on his face. No longer the friendly driver, he held my arm with such force that I thought he was willing to break it if he had to.
"Let go of me!"
He would not look at me and, ignoring a couple of spectators, he raised his voice, "Into the car, Miss Roya!"
A few students stopped and stared, but no one came forward. I wanted to scream and fight, but it was obvious that Akbar would win.
On the ride home neither of us spoke a word. I sulked in the back corner of the car and once in a while, Akbar checked me in his mirror. No doubt my father was waiting for me and it would be best to prepare for whatever punishment he had planned.
The gate was open and we drove straight in. I left the car and found the house a little too quiet. Even the servants didn't seem to be around. Akbar motioned to the family room. "You're expected there."
By now, I had cooled down enough to grasp the gravity of my actions. No one ever dared to disobey my father and, with the exception of Mitra's political comments and occasional whining, none of the Afshars had ever taken part in anti-government activities. In fact, with Mitra being abroad, no one even bothered to initiate a political discussion at our house.
Finding only my aunt in the family room, I wondered where Pedar was. Auntie stood by the mantle, with my mother's picture in her hand. She kept on staring at it without responding to my hello.
I took the chair nearest the door and sat down.
My aunt continued to look at Marxian's picture for another minute or so before she put it down and looked at me. "I'm not sure if not bringing your father into this is the right thing to do."
The mere fact that Pedar did not know helped me to exhale, but even my aunt sounded calmer than I expected.
"Maybe I'm wrong," she went on in the same calm tone. "At this point, it might be in your best interest to let him deal with you."
Unable to defend myself, I just sat there and looked at my hands.
"As it stands," Auntie said, "no one but Akbar knows about your foolish act. And, I'm willing to keep it that way, only if I can trust it will never happen again."
When I didn't say a word, she hissed, "What possessed you?"
Finding some of my courage again I said, "You can't treat me like this. I am not a child to be sent to my room. This is my society and those are my peers out there. How can Pedar expect me to sit around and watch them do this to my friend?"
My voice came out stronger than I felt, as if being out of immediate danger had generated new energy in me.
"Oh, I see," she said. "So you're willing to put your life on the line for a chadori girl; a girl who came over one time to study with you."
I resented the way she spoke about Shireen. "No, Auntie, not for one girl, not for anyone in particular, but for equality and freedom." I gave an angry chuckle. "The kind of freedom that allows me to march peacefully alongside others without having a servant drag me back home."
"Well, well!" she said and the look in her eyes told me I had gone too far. "So much for equal rights. Where do you get off calling the man, who has been like a member of this family, 'a servant?' Let me tell you, young lady. That 'servant' obviously cares more about this family than you do. He'd never do anything that might put the rest of us in jeopardy. As for today, he was only acting on my orders."
"I'm doing what feels right."
She shook her head. "Looks like I may be too late to save your neck after all."
My aunt picked up my mother's picture and, wiping the dust off the top of it, she whispered to the picture, "I won'
t break the promise I made you." Then she lowered herself into a wing chair, covered her face, and wept.
The mere sight of my aunt in tears, something I had never seen before, was enough to transform me back to the little girl who worshipped her. I rushed across the room and knelt by her side. "Please don't, Auntie. I didn't do this to hurt you. Can't you try to see it from my point of view?"
Auntie sat up and reached for the box of tissues on the table. "Never mind."
"Please finish what you were saying, Auntie. What promise did you make to Maman? What is it that you're not telling me?"
"Nothing." She wiped her tears. "But even if there was a secret, I'd be the last one to talk." She sat taller, as if to regain her poise. "If you ever do anything so foolish again, I'll have to leave you to your father."
"What secret, Auntie? Who will tell me?" I insisted.
She looked at my mother's photograph and said, "Don't pressure me, Roya, I have nothing to tell you." She stood up, and gently put the frame back on the mantle before leaving the room.
Thirteen
KYAN MUST HAVE KNOWN from my face after a sleepless night that my problem was too personal to talk about. When I didn't make an attempt to find him at noon, he kept his distance for the rest of the day.
After an entire night of mulling over the day's events, I concluded there was nothing I could do. Auntie's tears had shaken me. The ones who are worth it will never make you cry. For the first time, I questioned whether I had been worthy of my aunt's unconditional love. Indeed, if my actions only upset the ones I loved, maybe it would be best to disassociate myself from what went on. This I would do, not so much to please my authoritarian father, but to put an end to my aunt's grief.
For many days, I was torn between two worlds. I vowed to stay in the shadows and keep my head low, but those were thoughts contained by the walls of my own room.
Once I left the sanctuary of my father's house, I saw and heard too much to remain calm. At school, all I had to do to learn about the different opposition groups - was keep my ears open. Sometimes Kyan offered me a ride home in his beat-up Volkswagen and he talked about the latest news. In a society where most people ignored the demonstrators and kept their distance, I admired the way Kyan cared about their small accomplishments.
Sky of Red Poppies Page 14
